'quote' i and the madmen

Filled Prompt (1/2)

2009-08-21T00:29:05Z

Fandom: Star Trek

Warnings: physical and sexual abuse of a child, incest, and a really, really mean and nasty Sarek, probably delves a little into the au realm as well

Pairing: Sarek/Spock, non-con

Rating: R

Disclaimer: Don't own, never happened, most definitely not making any money.

A/N: I had to post this here because it became too long to post in a comment and I didn't want to break the parts up anywhere else. I hope this is okay.

A/N: Based on this prompt at

st_xi_kink : I need to see Spock abused. As in abused as a child. (Sarek's Pon Farr went out of control and Amanda wasn't there maybe?) And the crew finding out.

Part One: Unrepentant Sins

The first thing Sarek remembered, as he blearily opened his eyes, was the panic.

Vulcans did not panic.

Terror lingered in his mind, though. A fear, he soon realized, was not his own, but an echo from a strained link.

Curious, he thought, as he forced his stiff body to sit up, Amanda never displayed that emotion quite so intensely before.

Amanda was not here, though, his logical mind supplied, nor had she been when Pon Farr descended.

Sarek remembered now.

Amanda left for Earth to bury a relative, promising to return before the madness took hold of him.

She had not made it time. Her shuttle broke down on the return trip.

And Sarek, he’d…he’d…he had done what exactly? His mind was suspiciously blank on the matter.

It was obvious he mated, but he did not like the implications of with whom he had copulated.

There was only one other person, besides Amanda, in which he shared the necessary link to survive Pon Farr.

He peeled his sheets from sticky skin to reveal green blood splattered across the bed and his own body, confirming his hypothesis.

Sarek raped his son.

He is quiet and unsurprised by the matter. His insouciance on the incident should have disturbed him. But it doesn’t.

Instead he is strangely satisfied.

He stands, carefully, washes the evidence from his skin and locates Spock.

The child is eating his breakfast in the kitchen, sitting with his back to his father as if nothing has happened. Sarek, though, can see the slight tremors in the small shoulders; he can feel the fear in the back of his mind and hear the quiet gasp of pain.

“Spock.”

“Yes Father,” the boy replies as emotionless as him, only a small hitch of breath giving away his true feelings.

“Your lack of control of your emotions is disappointing.”

The boy’s left hand curls into a fist, but immediately relaxes.

“I am sorry, father,” Spock hesitates slightly still refusing to look at him.

Sarek finds his way to the other side of the table and finally takes in the sight of his son. His left eye is nearly swollen shut, both cheeks puffy and bruised and his lips torn from biting them to hold back the screams, his thoughts provided, but he does not know where the memory came from.

Sarek can tell, by the way Spock carefully cradles his arm to the chest, that the boy’s wrist is broken. Dark bruises encircle both wrists that travel up his arms to disappear under the sleeves of his shirt.

He’s clutching both wrists in one hand, pining the smaller body to the bed as his free hand tears the boy’s clothes from his body.

He hears the snap seconds before he feels the broken bones of Spock’s wrist shift underneath his punishing grip.

Spock gasps in pain as tears silently roll down his cheeks and Sarek is suddenly angry that his son would show such weakness in his presence.

“Control yourself,” he growls, punctuating his point with a sharp slap. Spock does not reply.

He finally ferociously tears the last article of clothing from his son’s body. The rest is lost in a haze of pleasure as he pushes Spock’s knees to his chest and forces his erection into the tiny body trapped helplessly below him.

Sarek almost feels guilty, almost, but he quietly suppresses it.

The older Vulcan can tell by the slight slouch in Spock’s posture and how his back does not quite touch the chair that there are other, hidden injuries.

“No!” Spock finally screamed after Sarek had ravished his body countless times. Sarek narrowed his eyebrows.

“You do not disobey me, child.” He shoves Spock and the boy hits the bookcase hard before sliding to the floor painfully.

He quickly descends on Spock, forcing him onto his stomach. Green blood spills onto his hands and seeps into the floor, but he is so beyond control, so deeply entrenched in the madness that he does not care.

He does not know how many days ago that was.

“Come,” he finally says, “it would be wise to treat your injuries.”

Spock does not reply, but he does follow Sarek out of the room. Spock says nothing as the bones in his wrist are painfully set and healed, he remains silent as his cuts are healed and his bruises tended to.

Spock does not allow him to take his pants off to heal the injuries hidden underneath. Sarek chides him for it, but the boy remains stubborn on the issue and so Sarek concedes.

And though Spock has not said one word, has not uttered a single exclamation of pain, Sarek can still see the hurt shining bright in his too human eyes.

***

It is seven years, 12 days, 14 hours, 3 minutes and 6 seconds since that moment and Sarek can feel the fever burning through his body demanding his attention.

He sends Amanda away without a second thought.

She says nothing, her silence the only answer he needs.

She knows. She knows what happened and she blames him, not for what happened during his last Pon Far, but for every time he’s done it since then.

The blame she feels for herself, though, is far greater than her hate for him and so she remains silent, quietly packing her things and leaving without so much as a stir of the air around them.

Spock is a gangly teenager now, all awkward angles and long, lanky limbs.

There is a much tighter Vulcan control displayed by his son and he’s almost proud. Almost, but the emotions still stir beneath the surface of his human eyes.

Sarek is possessed by those eyes.

It is something of a routine now, as he pushes the boy on his bed, to watch those beautiful eyes for any hint of emotion that might pass through them during the coming ordeal.

He does not know why he does it.

Because you are jealous, Amanda screamed at him one night.

Vulcans were never jealous. It was curiosity, nothing more.

Spock does not scream this time, not even when his leg snaps under Sarek’s weight or when his shoulder sickeningly ‘pops’ from the strain of being restrained for too long at an awkward angle.

He takes his time making the boy suffer.

Spock hobbles out the room on his broken leg when Sarek is finally satisfied. He does not allow Sarek to heal his injuries, has not since he was nine and stubbornly defiant.

Sarek retains some measure of control, though, he does not let the boy heal his bruises. He does not want to admit it, not even to himself, but the bruises bring a pit of burning passion to his gut that he can never ignore.

Spock is 18 before he dares to defy Sarek. He pressured the boy to accept the Vulcan Science Academy’s invitation.

Spock turns it down for-

“Starfleet?” the words drip from his mouth in what Sarek refuses to admit was disdain.

His son says nothing, but folds his clothes meticulously. It is the only answer Sarek needs.

He watches Spock leave knowing the boy will never return.

Somewhere Only We Know (13/15)

2009-08-20T19:41:02Z

Chapter Thirteen: This Road is a Dead End, My Friend
Characters: Mason, Miley
Pairing: Implied Mason/Trace
Rating: PG - 13
Warnings: mentions of slash
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't know, never happened.

Chapter 13: This Road is a Dead End, My Friend

Maybe it wasn’t the best of ideas, but I couldn’t find it in myself to care anymore.

I walked away from home that night with only the clothes on my back. And I just kept walking. To where? I don’t know. I’m still not entirely sure where I ended up.

I was living off the streets, from moment to moment, just waiting to…well, I’m waiting to be forgiven…or die. Naturally, whatever comes first.

There really wasn’t anything else left for I abandoned everything I knew, family, relationships, and memories.

My only friend left was a wrinkled old man I met on the streets one night. He offered me a place to stay in exchange for doing odd jobs for him. I don’t know why he asked, nor why I agreed.

But his kind eyes drew me in and I couldn’t refuse.

Perhaps I found in his eyes what I was missing.

Acceptance.

Joe Stenson was an odd man with odd humor, odd hobbies and fascinating stories, but we had come to a quite understanding the gentleman was like a grandfather to me.

“Mr. Stenson, I’m back with the groceries,” I called into the silent house shuffling bags in my arms as I nearly stumbled.

Mr. Stenson, Joe, as he insisted I call him, but never quite could, shuffled into the kitchen. His hunched form kindly took one of the bags from me. “Thank you, child.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him thanks were unnecessary, that he had done more than enough for me already.

“You have a visitor,” his deep voice told me after several silent minutes of stashing away groceries.

My blood ran cold as my hand froze in midair, the can in my hand slipping from my nerveless fingers.

“A…a visitor?” I stuttered.

Panic briefly welled inside me. How did they know where I was? I hadn’t told anyone where I was going. I didn’t even know myself.

I didn’t know why I left. I didn’t know why I was here. I didn’t even know what I hoped to find.

And I never expected I’d see anyone that I left behind ever again. I didn’t even think I’d make it this far.

“Ya, she’s in the living room. What a sweet child that one is. She has something quite interesting to tell you.”

My hands clenched into fists to stop the shaking. I didn’t want to see her, but my trembling legs stumbled towards the living room none-the-less with a gentle nod from Joe.

“Miley?” She looked small and vulnerable curled up on the couch of Mr. Stenson’s living room. I stood stiffly on the threshold unable to move closer. “How did you find me?”

Her eyes darted towards me but couldn’t quite meet my own. Her fingers nervously clenched the fabric of her skirt. “I hired a private detective.”

“Why are you here?”

“Come home, Mason, please,” she pleaded. I pursed my lips, but said nothing.

“It’s my fault, you know?” she continued, knowing I would not easily be persuaded. “I put ideas in Trace’s head, I manipulated him, made him say stupid shit.”

“You didn’t make Trace say anything he didn’t mean,” I countered, not easily swayed by her confession.

“I know about your uncle,” she whispered, her gaze intensely fixed on the floor. “I made him believe you didn’t trust him, that he couldn’t trust you.”

“You only made him see the truth.” I didn’t trust, Trace, not enough. “I pushed him away, Miley, not you.”

“Mitchel needs you Mason. Trace needs you. He loves you, you know?”

Too heartbroken and too tired of the same old argument I couldn’t do much more than whisper my reply. “I know.”

“You really love Trace, don’t you?”

I turned around, unable to face her anymore. “I do.”

“Then what is the problem, exactly? Why can’t you two just be together?”

“I’ll never be what he wants me to be.” The horrible truth I'd lived with since my uncle. I'll never be what anyone wants me to be. I'll never be good enough.

Miley stood up slowly and crossed the distance between us. She placed a hand lightly on my tense shoulder.

“Trace doesn’t want you to be perfect, Mason, no one does," she assured me softly as if reading my thoughts. "They want you for you, and they want to know they’re loved back. Sometimes it’s as simple as that.”

Only it wasn’t as simple as that.

Her hand dropped from my shoulder as she turned to leave. “Just think about it Mason, please.”

My tight nod was the only response she would get, but it was enough for now.

I couldn’t watch her walk through the door, I couldn’t watch her leave.

I refused to believe her words were true.

“Sounds like someone really misses you,” Joe cut into the dark thoughts clouding my mind.

“She’s exaggerating,” my scathing reply was.

Joe’s smile was sad as he placed his hand where Miley’s was seconds before.

“She cared enough to come looking for you.”

But not enough. “Too little, too late is the phrase that comes to mind.”

“Oh child, you’re young still, so I’ll share a little secret only us old folks now. You can spend your whole life trying to be what everyone else wants you to be, but all they want is for you to be yourself. It is never too late to be yourself, unless your dead or they’re married, and then you can haunt them.”

I laughed despite myself. “Not even too late to be forgiven?”

“Especially not for that. There is always a second chance.” I nodded.

It’s odd how a set of seemingly random set of circumstances all comes together to prove a point or show the way, leading to a moment of enlightening.

Maybe it was the words I’ve always needed to hear, simple as they may be, or maybe I just finally understood, finally knew they were meant for me.

All I had to do now was take that final jump, to love back, to trust. It was a long jump, though.

“Joe,” I chocked on the words, not quite sure how to express my gratitude. We both knew this was goodbye. “How can I ever repay you for everything you’ve done for me? You saved my life.”

“Just be happy,” Joe smiled, one of those compassionate, warm smiles that first drew me towards his kindness, “and live a long rewarding life with that boy of yours. Now get out of here!”

I could only smile as I hugged the man tightly to my chest.

“Thank you,” I whispered over and over again before I followed Miley’s path out of the door, still wearing Joe’s old clothes.

And I just kept walking, the same way I had come. I walked and walked until my feet led me to the front door of the Cyrus house.

Years later after I became a celebrity, I tried to find that old man who saved my life, to repay him, even just a little for his kindness. But he just disappeared. No one had ever seen him before or again. I could find no trace of him at all.

It was like he never really existed.

But I like to think, even if I couldn’t tell him myself, he knew just how things turned out.

Somewhere Only We Know (12/ ?)

2009-07-20T01:11:12Z

Chapter Twelve: I Watched You Die
Characters: Mitchel, Mason, Miley, Trace
Pairing: Miley/Trace, implied Mason/Trace
Rating: R
Warnings: Implied incest
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't know, never happened.

I know, I know, I'm sorry this is so late guys. I've been really busy. I feel like I haven't stopped moving in days. But I've finally got a day off and this is just the first half, just to whet your appetites. More, hopefully, by the end of the week.

It is meant to be confusing due to the confliction of emotions.

Chapter 12: I Watched You Die

I watched you die, knowing I was to blame.

I used to think Hollywood was killing you, but now I know it’s really me.

I watched you walk in the door this morning, eyes black and hollow, the color drained from your face, the skin around your eyes bruised and sunken in from too many sleepless nights. Bruises and cuts lined your arms and the grim reaper hangs patiently above your head like a cloud, waiting for you do die.

It won’t be long now, I think sadly, guiltily, to myself.

Inside I’m screaming to tell him the truth, to tell him what I’ve done, but my shame holds my tongue still.

My mother’s words are silent as she too watches him walk away, despair and hopelessness sucking the air from the room as he goes.

I used to wonder if Mason would make it through the night, wondering if he even wanted to be alive. But now I know. He wants to die; and he’s just trying to find the person willing to do it for him.

He’s been this way since Trace broke up with him.

Mason has given up. .

After all these years of struggling with painful memories and the depression they brought, Mason finally gave up.

And now he is actively seeking death.

It scares me.

Because there’s nothing I can do, even if I told him what I’d really done.

I ruined my last chance at happiness, I heard him say the other day.

What could I possibly say to make him change his mind, to make him take back his guilt, to make Trace take back his words?

It’s tearing me apart. And I realize how selfish that is.

Yet, as you come home less and less, more beat up and rundown, your spirit crushed a little more than before, still my reticence hangs in the air, like a knife over your heart.

Until one day, I think, you finally snap.

I watch you sit on the back porch one night, exactly six weeks since you broke up with Trace, staring into the nothingness that is the night sky. You’ve finally snapped, is all that comes to mind.

There is definitely something quite different about you, a quiet calm where there was once turbulence, acceptance where there was once anguish.

Is this the silence before the storm, I wonder.

Is this my final goodbye?

And yet still no words form on the tip of my tongue, no thoughts come to mind. No apology. No explanation. Nothing.

The silent night reigns as I quietly sit next to him and gaze into the night sky as well.

We sit there for the longest time, just the two of us, the way it used to be, in comfortable acceptance of the truth we both know, before finally he turns to look at me.

I can’t do this anymore, the pain etched into the lines of his young face clearly tells me.

Tears leak from my eyes as I evenly meet his stare. I know, my slight nod replies.

Goodbye, and I’m sorry, are written in his eyes, but go unsaid before he stands up and begins to walk away.

It is the time to say something, anything, to make him turn around, to make him stay. My will crumbles, though, under the agonizing truth.

He’s not coming back.

My mouth opens uselessly because the words hanging on the tip of my tongue refuse to be spoken.

Nothing I say will change his mind.

As he walks by me, I gently grasp his hand, asking where will you go, with the gentle touch.

He doesn’t turn to look at me, doesn’t let me see the answer that must be shining in his bright eyes, but his slumped shoulders tell me anyway.

I don’t know.

I let him go. I let him walk away. I let him search for his place in the world knowing I just may never see him again.

Knowing I couldn’t make him stay hurt more than I would ever have liked to admit.

Sometimes, they say, goodbye is a second chance.

I can’t help, but wonder, though, if maybe that second chance has already passed us by.

Goodbye, dear brother.

I never told you...it wasn’t your fault.

***

It was a hollow victory that flowed through my ice cold veins.

I got what I wanted. I won the damn game. Somewhere along the line, though, I lost more than just myself.

Trace’s tear filled eyes turn dark as I enter his room. His empty eyes stare past me as we impassively make love on his bed.

It doesn’t mean anything anymore.

Life goes on, but I cannot help but feel that I have violently ripped out the heart of it.

I’m so sorry, I want to, but cannot, will not, say.

He will get over it, I tell myself once again, because he has to get over it. He has to move on.

He has to love me.

But he doesn’t, not that way, at least, and he never will.

Sometimes I wake up and ask myself why?

Why do I always act on impulse?

Why are those impulses always so wrong?

Why can’t I be a better person?

Why am I not perfect?

Why must I be the center of attention?

Why must I feel needed when I never wanted to be in the first place?

I hate my life and everything about it.

But it’s my own damn fault.

It’s my fault we’re here in this god forsaken town. It’s my fault Trace broke up with Mason. It’s my fault I’m miserable and so is everyone around me.

I’m afraid. I’m afraid people won’t like me and yet afraid that I might actually need someone.

I don’t. I don’t need anyone, but the loneliness welling inside me says otherwise.

I want love at first sight to exist, but it doesn’t and it never will.

I want someone to save me, but I cannot be saved. I cannot be loved.

I am incapable of being loved or loving anyone back.

I simply exist in a torrent of misery and depression and false happiness.

Sometimes I can delude even myself into believing I’m happy, but then the crushing weight of reality destroys every last notion of joy, of life, leaving me gasping for breath and then I realize… I cannot live the lie.

It isn’t real. I’m not real.

Or I just wish it wasn’t.

Live the lie you’re meant to be.

I tell myself to keep going, that I need to keep trudging on. That Trace will continue to move forward.

But sometimes, no matter how hard you want to keep going, there comes a point when you just have to stop.

And maybe I realized it too late, that now we are so far beyond that point that we can’t even crawl back to it.

Was it really worth it, Miley?

Because of my heartless actions, we both live empty, expressionless lives hoping for something more, hoping to regain what we’ve lost.

But it’s too late for that too.

And I see the torturous truth in Mitchel’s condescending eyes that bore through me as we step on set nearly two months after the disastrous break up.

He blames me, as he should.

I thought I was doing the right thing. I had no idea things would turn out this badly for everyone.

I didn’t know Trace would stop taking care of himself. I didn’t know he’d stop caring. I didn’t know Mason would self-destruct, literally imploding as if nothing mattered anymore.

It doesn’t excuse my actions, though, it does not lesson the guilt or ease the pain in Mitchel’s eyes.

It does not make my co-star hate me any less.

I’m so sorry, I wish to say to Mitchel, to Mason, to Trace, to both of our families who thought, for just a moment that their children could be happy, before their apparent utopia was brutally torn from beneath their feet by a vicious usurper named Miley Cyrus.

We were almost a family again, almost happy. I had never seen Trace so…happy before than when he was with Mason.

But then I had to go and fuck things up.

And now Trace was trying to destroy himself again.

Mason was dangerously close to completely and utterly falling apart for good.

Mitchel refused to talk to me.

I was alone still, and the world around me was slowly killing itself.

I’m sorry. God I’m sorry.

“Mitchel, we need to talk,” I finally force out after weeks of sitting by in silent acquiescence.

Mitchel’s angry, grieving eyes dart towards me before quickly looking away, plainly indicating his wish not to speak to me.

I cannot blame him; his silent reprimand only serves to deepen the guilt furiously pounding through my heart.

“Mitchel, please,” I beg as he turns away from me, grasping his hand lightly to prevent his escape.

He flinches before quickly pulling his hand away, his icy glare reminds me exactly whose fault this is.

“Please can’t we talk about this,” I desperately tried to sway him.

His fingers clench into a fist. “You mean listen to you talk,” he accuses. Mitchel shakes his head, a bitter scoff escapes him. “I listened to you ‘talk’ before, and I did everything that you told me to and LOOK what happened? Look what you did! I haven’t seen Mason in days. No. one. even. knows. if. he’s. alive! And it’s your fault!”

“I know,” I nearly sob, oblivious to the stares of the crew, “I know what I did, Mitchel. I know what I’ve destroyed. I thought…I just wanted everyone to be happy. I thought…I just thought…I wanted to be happy, Mitchel. I wanted it so badly.”

His face softens a bit as tears roll around my eyes. “I can’t make him love me, though. I was heartless to think destroying their own bliss would make me happy. I just…I want to fix this. I don’t know if I can fix this, but I have to try and I need your help.

“Trust me, please trust me that this has nothing to do with self righteous bullshit, that I’m trying to redeem myself because I’m not. All I know is that Trace was happy, my parents were happy, we had a real family before my jealousy ruined it all.”

Mitchel was silent, his cold unforgiving eyes staring hard just past me.

“I’ll do it,” he finally ground out, “but not for you. For Mason.”

Despite my tears, despite the heartbreak I knew it would cause myself, I smiled. I smiled despite my pain.

“I’ve got a plan.”

How Metro Station Pwned Fall Out Boy (But Lost the End Game)

2009-06-13T23:07:21Z

Title: How Metro Station pwned Fall Out Boy (But Lost the End Game)
Rating: PG - 13
Fandom: Metro Station, Fall Out Boy, Cobra Starship, All Time Low
Pairing: Mason/Trace , Pete/Patrick, Alex Gaskarth/Gabe Saporta kind of
Disclamer: I do not know NOR own Metro Station, Fall Out Boy, All Time Low, or Cobra Starship. They belong entirely to themselves. This is a work of fanficition i.e it never happened.
Summary: After Trace insults Patrick, the boys decided to settle things with a Rock Band duel with commentary provided by Alex Gaskarth and Gabe Saporta.
Warnings: Implied m/m sex, swearing
Author's Notes: This is pure and utter, well crack I think, no this story is on crack. If you're looking for something serious, you're looking in the wrong place. It's more like just a humurous snippet of my imagination that can hardly be counted as a story.

I saw someone requesting a Fall Out Boy and Metro Station fanfic. The next day I saw Fall Out Boy performing live on the Today show...and it was terrible. I'm a big Fall Out Boy fan, but all Patrick did was mumble and sing incoherently during the performance. So this is kind of the story spawned from those two inspirations and my own crack. And I have played Rock Band before but I'm not entirely sure one can do these kind of things with the game. I might have made that up.

The One Shot To Make You Pee Your Pants

“Ladies and Gentlemen do we have a show for you! I’m Gabe Saporta.”

“And I’m Alex Gaskarth.”

“And this is the ultimate showdown,” they said together.

Ryland snickered and Victoria elbowed him lightly holding back her own laughter at the sheer absurdity of it all.

“Today we have the amazing, the awesome, the coolest of the cool—” Gabe began.

“and the totally dreamy,” and Alex interrupted.

“Okay we get it!” someone shouted from the back.

Gabe glared at them before finishing. “Fall Out Boy!”

Fall Out Boy with arms crossed, stood tall and intimidating, staring down their opponent.

“Battling the formidable,”

“but old,” Alex interrupted and Pete directed his scary stare towards him. Alex merely flashed him a cheeky smile as Gabe continued.

“rock stars, we have the young, the hip,”

“and the surprisingly geeky,”

“Hey,” Blake argued.

“Can’t deny the truth,” Gabe decided and Metro Station shrugged. “Ladies and Gentlemen I give you Metro Station!”

Metro Station bowed and took their place while the crowd provided appropriate fake cheers.

“In our first match we have the amazingly awesome Pete Wentz versus the grandmister of geek Blake ‘Blanket’ Healy!” Gabe said.

“In a fight to the death, these two men will duel it out for the title of ultimate champion,” Alex finished.

Mason rolled his eyes and leaned closer to Trace. “You’d think we were fighting for our lives on a remote island for ownership of the title of greatest ninja ever and not just playing Rock Band,” Mason whispered to him.

The taller boy shook his head and chuckled softly. “Well, we are challenging Fall Out Boy’s awesomeness,” Trace sarcastically replied. “How did we get sucked into doing this again?”

“It was all your fault,” Mason whispered back. “You insulted Patrick’s singing and Pete jumped to his defense saying everyone in Metro Station sucked. And then Ant got mad and challenged them.”

“And all of that somehow turned into us seeing who rocked more using Rock Band as the judge?” Trace was slightly confused at the chain of events that really didn’t make any sense.

“Apparently so,” Mason nodded.

“I hate you, Trace” Blake said as he timidly stepped forward to face Pete.

“Don’t worry guys, we got this,” Trace replied, brushing off Blake’s heated glare.

“We have a concert to put on tonight, so Gentlemen could you please approach the ring a little quicker,” Gabe obviously directed towards Blake.

“What ring?” Someone in the back asked.

“Shut up, no one asked you!” Alex told them.

Blake nervously picked up the guitar as Pete confidently smirked at him. “You’re going down, Blake,” Pete glared.

Blake did not doubt that.

“Why do I have to battle Pete? I play the synthesizer!” Blake cringed as Pete flashed him a big toothy grin with and evil glint in his eyes.

“But you’re the closest thing we have to a bassist. So try hard and kick his ass!” Trace smiled innocently at him.

Only it didn’t quite happen that way.

Blake was not a bassist and he sucked at video games and his poor ass was booed off the stage before the intro even ended.

But the rock gods bowed to Pete’s awesomeness. As the bassist threw his hands up in the air the crowd whistling, Blake could only hang his head in shame.

“How embarrassing,” Gabe remarked, “Blanket gets swatted down like an insect on the wall by Peter the Great!”

“Stick to your piano, buddy.” Alex added.

“It’s a synthesizer,” Blake scowled.

“Things aren’t looking so good for Metro Station as Andy and Ant step up to the plate.”

“It’s not baseball!”

“Thank you for once more pointing out the obvious, random person in the back,” Gabe retorted.

Pete leaned closer to Pat and smiled at the slightly irate man. “See I told you. We got this in the bag. We’ll show those brats who’s boss,” he whispered to Patrick.

“Win or loose this is still ridiculous,” Patrick replied.

And oh how right he was.

“Alright, you guys ready?” they heard Alex ask.

Andy twirled his drumsticks and challenged Ant with his eyes, but the ‘I’m way too old to be in Metro Station’ drummer did not back down. They nodded.

“Last one standing is a winner!”

“But they’re sitting?” the guy in the back pointed out and Gabe ignored him.

Ant performed remarkably better than Blake and finished the song superbly, but unfortunately so did Andy and when the final score came up it was 93% for Ant to…93% for Andy.

“A…tie?” Ant questioned.

“A tie,” Andy said and shook hands with Ant.

“That means Fall Out Boy is still winning!” Gabe announced.

“Yay!”

“And Metro Station is still loosing!” Alex added.

“Yay!”

“But it’s not over yet!” Gabe continued. “We still have four remaining contestants. Can Trace Cyrus beat Joe Trohman and bring his team back into the game?”

“You bet I can?”

“Not gonna let that happen,” Joe replied.

But Joe was proved wrong as Trace was victorious over him by a landslide.

Joe looked at the younger man with mouth wide open. How did he lose to that?

Trace smirked. “I’m a teenager,” he said as if reading Joe’s mind. “Playing video games is like a second career.”

Joe gracefully admitted defeat.

“In a surprise twist—” said Gabe.

“It’s not that much of a twist,” the guy in the back interrupted.

“—Metro Station’s Trace Cyrus defeats Fall Out Boy’s Joe Trohman forcing a tie between the two bands. The next battle will decide who is the ultimate champion.”

“Who’s Captain Obvious now?”

“Shut up, mother fucker, don’t make me come back there.” Gabe threatened as Alex laughed.

On the one side of the room Trace was rubbing Mason’s shoulders encouragingly. “Alright Mason, it’s all up to you now,” Trace said. “You gotta win to show everyone how superior Metro Station is.”

“But no pressure or anything,” Ant added.

And on the other side of the room: “You got this, babe,” Pete said throwing an arm around Patrick who glared in response. “He’s young and inexperienced and he ain’t got nothin’ on you.” Patrick nodded. He may have thought this was ridiculous, but he was still determined to win.

Trace did after all insult his live performance, however accidental it may have been.

“In a twist ending, it has come down to the last battle between Mason Musso and Patrick Stump on vocals. Who will win this final battle, who will take home the prize, who will be the ultimate champion? Can Metro Station come from behind and steal the title?” Gabe ran on.

“I don’t think they can Gabe,” Alex suddenly said as the challenge song popped up.

“Oh no!” Gabe gasped, as the song began. “It’s a Fall Out Boy song. How is Mason going to handle this? Will he crumble under the disadvantage or will he beat all odds and defeat Patrick?”

Mason beat all odds. Poor Patrick, the game could not understand a word he was saying and his pitch did not match the song he created.

Patrick failed out. Mason finished. “Take that!” Mason shouted and pointed at Pat.

“How pathetic,” Gabe commentated. “Poor Patrick is the ultimate loser as he is beat by Mason Musso at his own game.”

“I’m a perfectionist, what can I say,” Mason said and smugly shrugged his shoulders.

The crowd, which was really only All Time Low and Cobra Starship, were not really surprised at all.

“Metro Station is the ultimate champion!” Alex announced as Fall Out Boy left the room in shame.

“Who hoo,” the guy in the back shouted.

“Who the fuck are you!” Gabe yelled.

“Hi! I’m Doug. I don’t belong here,” he said and ran out of the room.

Gabe and Alex could only look at each other in confusion.

“Dude why are you talking into a spoon?”

As part of the deal, during the concert that night, Fall Out Boy admitted on stage that Metro Station was the coolest band ever and totally pwned the lame Fall Out Boy leaving behind hundreds of confused fans.

It wasn’t over yet, though.

Later that night, after the show, Peter grabbed Patrick’s hand and dragged him to the closest room. “I must punish you,” Pete said in a sultry voice, “for loosing to those twerps.” Pat was only too happy to comply.

But the singer almost wet his pants as they entered the room and Pete…well he got a little harder at the sight that greeted them. For what they found was Trace Cyrus, shirtless and straddling Mason’s hips, as he passionately kissed the young singer.

“What are you guys doing?” Pete sweetly and innocently asked, startling the two teens who quickly broke apart.

Trace, never one to be ashamed, quickly responded. “Just a little victory sex cuz my boyfriend totally pwns your boyfriend.”

“Yeah well, my boyfriend’s hotter than yours,” Pete childishly retorted. Mason and Patrick both rolled their eyes, praying this wouldn’t turn into another challenge.

“That’s so not true,” Trace said. “Look at this face. How is he not more adorable than Patrick?”

Pete thought about it and conceded. Mason was more adorable…but definitely not hotter.

“True,” Pete said and Patrick punched him in the gut. He decided then and there to end things for good, because these mangy brats may have pwned him, but they were not going to win over his boyfriend.

“Yeah well, we’re more popular than you are. We have way more fans, we’re so much cooler than you are, we’re more awesome in every aspect, make much more money than you do and totally pwn you in every other aspect except singing and video games,” Patrick seethed.

“And adorableness,” Doug chipped in from the window.

“And my boyfriend is way more hotter than Trace!”

Pete and Trace stared at Patrick in awe after his rant.

Mason contemplated it, was deep in thought and then “That’ very true,” he said to everyone’s surprise. “Metro Station totally pwned Fall Out Boy, but you guys still win at everything else, except hotness. I’m sorry he’s my boyfriend, I have to think he’s cuter.”

Patrick nodded, Peter agreed and everyone was happy.

Mason sighed in relief.

Satisfied Peter pulled Pat away to find another room so he could enjoy his ‘punishment’ while Mason enjoyed his congratulatory fuck.

“And in the end, everyone wins,” Doug explained still watching the teens from the window.

“Will you get the fuck out of here, you creep!” Gabe yelled and watched Doug scamper away.

“Fucking pervert,” Alex scoffed from his seat at the window.

Gabe looked at him incredulously, but he didn’t want to think about, he just didn’t want to know.

So instead Gabe asked “do you wanna go have sex?”

And Alex could only nod.

Somewhere Only We Know (11 / ?)

2009-06-04T01:38:41Z

Chapter Eleven: I Trust You With My Lies
Characters: Mitchel, Mason, Miley, Trace
Pairing: Implied Mason/Trace
Rating: PG - 13
Warnings: ...for once I can't think of any, except maybe evil! Miley XD
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't know, never happened.

HELLO! I just want to thank everyone out there who has friended me, reviewed, or even read any of my stories. Thanks for reading and thanks for sticking with me. XD Sorry I haven't gotten back to some of you who have reviewed or friended me, I'm kind of a forgetful person, but I appreciate all of you taking the time to do so. I am sorry to say that my poor laptop....DIED on me. I unfortunately lost some of my files that weren't backed up. So with that said, with the loss of some of my files and the loss of my computer, updates will be slower (than they already were) until I can get (if I can get) my laptop fixed.

And a special thanks to Kristy for requesting this story and for the idea. XD Thanks Kristy! =)

And sorry, it's another short one, but I had to stop the chapter there. I just had to! It was too perfect.

XD
'quote' i and the madmen

Chapter 11: I Trust You With My Lies

“Tell him the truth…”

It just wasn’t the same.

I held his gaze, searching for answers, but his dark brown eyes held the same questions as mine.

Can I trust you?

Why don’t you trust me?

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

Miley’s words tore at me like nails on a chalkboard or lightning in the night sky.

She was jealous, I tried to tell myself, she didn’t know.

She still knew more than me, though. How? I didn’t know, but she had her…ways.

What was Mason hiding? What couldn’t he tell me? Why couldn’t he tell me?

Why didn’t he trust me? He always says he doesn't want to talk about it…but why?

What was he afraid of?

Mason was as tense as I was as we sat silently in his room. He absentmindedly strummed his guitar as he nervously watched me from the corner of his eyes. I held our more recent song more tightly than necessary, my own eyes watching him with anticipation.

We couldn’t meet the other’s gaze as we sat as far away as possible from one another.

Maybe coming over was a mistake after all.

I was hoping it was all a lie. I hoped I would come here and nothing would have changed. That everything would be…normal, I guess, relaxed and comfortable as the day we met.

But what I was greeted with was an anxious boyfriend, who couldn’t look me in the eyes and was acting strange and awkward.

I could not take the avoidance any longer, nor the uncomfortable silence.

“Mason, is there something you want to tell me?” I asked finally looking directly at him.

His gaze was slightly to the left of mine as he opened his mouth to answer, but he hesitated, thought better of it and replied with a soft ‘no,’ before quickly returning his gaze to the floor.

I was starting to get annoyed and it was frustrating and infuriating at the same time. I pulled out a bag of weed hoping to calm my mind when an idea I wished I had never formed came to mind.

“Wanna try some pot?” I asked Mason not for the first time.

He always said no, always, but this time I was hoping that something, anything, had changed.

“We’ve been through this before.” He was almost annoyed, I could tell, but still I pushed forward.

“I know, I just…what if I promised that I wouldn’t let anything happen to you?” I tried to appease.

Mason gazed at me sadly. “Too many bad memories, Trace. I just can’t do it. I’m sorry.”

“Does it have anything to do with that secret your keeping from me?” My soft, hopeful question caught him off guard and he faltered slightly, his hands freezing on his guitar, his bottom lip quivering.

He looked down and said nothing.

“It is, isn’t it?” I tried again, trying to remain calm.

“I don’t want to talk about,” his voice trembled and he pointedly refused to look anywhere, but at his feet.

“You never do, Mason.” I angrily retorted. He flinched, but I was too angry to care.

“Don’t do this, Trace, please don’t do this,” he begged, but I didn’t listen.

“Tell me, Mason, just tell me what you did that was so bad that you can’t tell me what it is.”

“I can’t.” He shook his head miserably, his breath hitching as he stared at the ground.

“Why can’t you tell me, Mason? You said you loved me. I thought you meant it.”

“I do, Trace. It’s not that, I—” he began to explain.

“I don’t want to hear your excuses! I want to know why you are hiding things from me. How am I supposed to trust you when you’re keeping these big secrets from me? I want to know the truth.”

He looked so miserable, I realized too late, as he shook his head slightly and looked down, not even bothering to give me an answer.

“Then I’m out of here.” I stood up heatedly, but gave him a last look of longing at my boyfriend begging him to just tell me the truth, to just let it all go, to forget his fears and tell me.

“Trace don’t this,” he begged. But it was too late. He failed.

“You can’t build a relationship on lies, Mason. If I can’t trust you and you can’t trust me, then there is no point in me being here.”

He didn’t say anything as I walked away. He didn’t even try to stop me.

I shook my head in disgust and slammed the door behind me.

I didn’t look back, because there was no way I was coming back.

And I just kept walking, straight out the front door, down the street, farther and farther away until the sun set and dark skies hovered above me.

It was under these skies that we met and fell in love, and under these dark skies, I walked away forever.

“…and he’ll demand an answer that cannot be given.”

***

Tell him the truth, Miley had said, and he’ll demand an answer that cannot be given.

We watched Trace walk away, his demand still hanging in the thick night air, Mason's answer still silent and unsaid. Miley’s victorious smirk hovered in front of my sight as her hand wandered up my thigh as a petty reward for a job well done.

And one last time I caved before I too walked away forever, the darkness in my heart blacker than the night sky.

Somewhere Only We Know (10 / ?)

2009-06-01T02:35:09Z

Chapter Ten: The Lies We Tell Ourselves
Characters: Mitchel, Mason, Miley
Pairing: Implied past Mitchel/Mason
Rating: PG - 13
Warnings: ...for once I can't think of any, except maybe evil! Miley XD
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't know, never happened.
AN: This was how chapter nine was supposed to go. This is NOT edited yet so beware of some mistakes.

HELLO! I just want to thank everyone out there who has friended me, reviewed, or even read any of my stories. Thanks for reading and thanks for sticking with me. XD Sorry I haven't gotten back to some of you who have reviewed or friended me, I'm kind of a forgetful person, but I appreciate all of you taking the time to do so. I am sorry to say that my poor laptop....DIED on me. I unfortunately lost some of my files that weren't backed up. So with that said, with the loss of some of my files and the loss of my computer, updates will be slower (than they already were) until I can get (if I can get) my laptop fixed.

Thanks again,
XD 'quote' i and the madmen

P.S: Only the second half of this chapter is new. Sorry it's so short. I will try to have another update by Wednesday on either this story or the Four Stages of Guilt series.

Chapter 10: The Lies We Tell Ourselves

“Mason, can I…can I talk to you?” I timidly asked as I hesitantly peaked into his room.

Mason was sitting on his bed, strumming his guitar, singing something I did not recognize before I interrupted.

I didn’t know he could sing.

“Sure Mitch, what’s up?” He set aside his guitar and smiled just for me.

There used to be a time where his smiles meant the whole word to me, where just one could cheer me up. But now they just confused.

I slowly entered his room, my palms sweaty and my heart racing anxiously. I was nervous, more nervous than I had ever been before. Because somehow I knew I was about to make the biggest mistake of my life.

“I…I…” I hesitated. If I went forward now, said what I needed to, told Mason things he didn’t need to know…well there would be no turning back. I could not take my words back once they were said, I could never…

“I miss you, Mason,” I nervously blurted out.

“Mitch—” he began and I knew what he would say. We talked about this, Mitchel, what else can I do? And he would mean it, he would do whatever he could.

But Mason didn’t know he could never do what I wanted him to.

“You’re never around anymore,” I angrily cut him off before he could say those words, before he could change my mind. I turned away, refusing to look at him, because if I saw his face, the hurt in his eyes, I knew I would not be able to continue. “You used to be my best friend Mason, but now that you…but now that you’ve changed, I don’t know who you are anymore. And I…I don’t know who to turn to, because well…I have no one else.”

Because of Trace I wanted to cruelly say, but held my tongue. My words may not have made the most sense, but they most certainly got that point across. This is all Trace’s fault, the subtle context said, how could you do this to me?

I'm all alone without you.

“I—” he stuttered, unsure of what to say, just like I knew would happen. I screwed my eyes shut and hugged myself tightly trying to force away the ache in my chest.

“I love you,” I quietly whispered, interrupting his pathetic stuttering.

“I love you too, Mitch,” and oh how he meant it, but oh how he just didn’t get it.

“No, Mason, I love you,” I tried to make him understand, “I’m in love with you.” I finally turned to face him, to see what damage I caused.

“Oh,” he said at a loss for words, his eyes wide in sudden understanding. A quiet, calm reaction I wasn’t quite hoping for. So I pushed on.

“Oh,” I echoed his words, hurt laced tightly in my voice. “Oh. That’s all you can say?”

Mason bit his lip and looked away, guilt shining bright in his unshed tears, but I mercilessly plowed on.

“Did you know, before you met Trace when you were so depressed, I thought you were going to kill yourself,” I bluntly said and he flinched at my vicious words. "I was so terrified, every time I left you, that I was never going to see to you again, that every time I said goodbye, it was for good. And now…you’re closer than you’ve been in a really long time. But every time you walk out that door, with all the time that you’re not here…it still feels the same. It still feels like I’m loosing you for good.” I looked down unable to face him anymore.

“Mitchel,” he softly responded and reached for me. I flinched away from him and with head down, shoulders hunched, and hurt shining in my eyes, I turned my back on him and walked away, leaving Mason, guilty and confused, behind.

As soon as I left his room, I nearly broke down in tears and Miley dared to saunter up to me. She grabbed my hand and placed a chaste kiss on my cheek.

“How’d it go?” she sweetly asked.

I snatched my hand back and folded my arms across my chest. “Don’t pretend to be all innocent Miley cuz we both know that’s a lie,” I snapped and walked away from her angry, confused and upset.

I was the world’s biggest jackass, I decided. How could I…how could I do that to Mason?

I just lied to Mason for the first time in my life. I made him feel guilty for a problem that didn’t exist.

I wasn’t in love with Mason. At one time…maybe, I don’t really know. At one time I was confused and lonely and latching onto Mason for all the wrong reasons, because he was there and I knew I couldn’t scare him away.

But now I supposedly knew better. Yet I still let Miley talk me into his asinine plan of hers.

I was a better actor than I thought if I could trick even Mason into believing me.

Or maybe he just didn’t know me anymore.

“Where are you going?” she hissed, her eyes glaring at me. “We are not done yet.”

She grabbed my arm forcing me to turn around to face her.

“Oh I think we—”

“Shut up Mitchel!” she abruptly cut me off with a fierce whisper. “He’s coming.” And I didn’t have to ask who.

Her eyes softened as she fell gracefully into character, her lip pouting, quivering slightly with her faked concern.

“I’m really worried about Trace,” she suddenly said loud enough for Mason to hear as he quietly walked down the hallway, just out of my sight. “These past couple of weeks, he just hasn’t been the same. He’s been really upset,” she continued

“About what?” I faked curiosity, halfheartedly playing along with her evil scheme. That ache in my chest, that oddly felt like guilt, gnawed away within me.

But I thought we were doing the right thing?

“I, I don’t know. That’s why I came to you. I think it might have something to do with… Mason.” She leaned in close as if sharing a secret.

I heard Mason quickly walk away and Miley’s face light up with delight as she peaked around the corner. “It worked,” she squealed. “I think he bought it.”

“Yay,” I mustered with as much enthusiasm as Ben Stein.

Yeah, it worked, but did we even know what that meant?

I lied to Mason, told him I loved him, made him believe his relationship with Trace was tearing me apart because Miley told me too. And then we staged a false conversation, all for what?

We didn’t know what would happen, but that doesn’t excuse either of us for what did.

Maybe I should have wondered more if I was really doing the right thing.

***

“He’s coming, get ready,” Miley furiously whispered.

“Miley, I don’t think—” I began to protest once more, but was immediately interrupted.

“For me Mitchel, please,” she batted her eyelashes and stuck out her lower lip in an adorable pout. “I’ll make it worth your time,” she promised. I should have just stopped there, I shouldn’t have been fooled by her promises.

But oh how I fell hard for those perfect lips and that gorgeous body.

“I’m really worried about, Mason,” I began exactly the same way Miley had the day before as I heard Trace approach. Though he was just out of sight I knew he was listening.

It wasn’t hard to guess that Mason had a dark past. I knew there were quite a few secrets Mason was harboring from Trace.

Anyone would be curious. Anyone would want to know more. Trace was no different.

“Why’s that?” Miley faked curiousity.

“He’s been so distant these last couple of weeks. Like he’s been hiding something,” I leaned forward despondently, pouring fake concern into my voice. “You know what happened last time he hide something important from us…” I trailed off, not sure if I wanted to continue. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t be the one to give away Mason’s personal secrets like that. But Miley had no problem.

“You mean where he was sleeping around with anyone who was willing?” Miley blatantly threw out there.

I cringed at her harsh words, however blunt and honest they may have been.

“I’m…I’m not sure we can through that again.” I was choked up, my chest tight and constricted, but not because I was really worried about Mason, but because I was the world’s biggest asshole.

“He was so depressed, Miley.” I was chocked up at this point, pleading with Miley not to take this any farther, to please, please, please let it go. Forget Trace, forget the damn plan, forget all of this. Please don’t make me do this, please. “I can’t—” and I just took off, not even bothering to finish the sentence. There was so much more Miley wanted me to say.

But I just couldn’t do it.

She wasn’t done, though. Miley let me go, but her vicious claws latched onto their next victim.

The poor man didn’t even know he was falling head first into Miley’s trap. She was the black witch with the gingerbread house in the forest and Mason and Trace were unknowingly Hansel and Gretel. Only instead of candy, she used secrets to ensnare her prey.

And they never knew the difference.

“Oh Trace, I didn’t see you there,” Miley innocently greeted her brother.

“I don’t appreciate you talking about my boyfriend like that,” Trace angrily snapped. I could barely see him around the corner, but I knew he was pissed off.

Not because we were talking about Mason like that, though, but because we knew something about Mason’s questionable past that he didn’t know.

“And I don’t appreciate you listening in on my private conversations like that,” Miley snapped back. It still surprised me how good of an actress she could be.

“Just stay out of it Miley! I know you don’t like Mason, but stop trying to insinuate yourself into our relationship. I love Mason and you’re not going to change my mind.” He spat at her in almost rage.

I didn’t know it was so easy to see through our lies, but Miley would never admit defeat, ever. She was too stubborn for that. She would carry on this false pretense to her grave.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Trace!” she yelled back and he rolled his eyes, crossing his arms as if daring her to prove it. “But I do know,” she began more quietly, subtly changing the topic without poor unsuspecting Trace ever knowing the difference, “that Mason isn’t good for you.”

“And what would you know about it?” he huffed, unknowingly taking the bait she blatantly threw out there. He was falling for her trap. I should have intervened then, I should have said, don’t listen to her lies, but I stayed rooted to the spot, my tongue guiltily frozen, an accomplice to her crimes.

“I know a lot more about Mason then you do, Trace.”

“Doubtful,” he snidely interrupted, just under his breath.

“And I know Mason has made a lot of mistakes,” she continued as if he’d said nothing. “I know he has a dark past that can’t be fixed, and an even darker personality. He’s got a lot of secrets that he won’t tell you right?”

She asked, but Trace stubbornly refused to answer. Didn’t matter, Miley already knew.

“It’s not my place to say such things but…there’s a reason Mason doesn’t tell you about those secrets,” she whispered as if it was some conspiracy.

Damn right there was reason! I wanted to shout. Mason is still terrified of those memories, still afraid to admit it happened. If he could barely admit to himself, how was he supposed to tell someone else?

Why did I have to tell Miley? This was all my fault.

Mason may have had his reasons, and they were damn good reasons, but Trace didn’t know that.

And so the seed of doubt was placed delicately into his mind. And I knew it would fester and grow, feeding on Mason’s insecurities and inability to speak about our uncle and his past mistakes. Until finally Trace would snap, no matter how hard I prayed to make him understand.

“Can you really trust him, Trace. Can you really trust someone who obviously does not trust you?” She placed a hand lightly on his arm and he didn’t shrug it off.

And I knew he’d fallen hard for her…no our lies.

But I just kept telling myself over and over again until I believed it was true, that I was doing the right thing.

Somewhere Only We Know (9/?)

2009-05-12T07:11:26Z

Chapter Nine: When Thunder Meets Lightning
Characters: Trace, Mason
Pairing: Trace/Mason
Rating: NC - 17
Warnings: graphic sex of the slash kind
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't know, never happened.

Chapter 9: When Thunder Meets Lightning

It had been three very long weeks since I last saw Trace.

We were too busy with family, work and whatever else was thrown our way to meet on the weekends. I’d been waiting for this moment for far too long and I was horny as hell. Fuck even saying hello, I was going to jump Trace the moment I saw him.

Still I knocked on his door and patiently waited to be let in.

“Come in,” Trace’s sultry voice replied and I was only too eager to comply.

When I opened the door, Trace was lying naked on his bed, propped casually on one arm fully erect and waiting for me.

My backpack slipped from my shoulders in shock as the blood rushed to my cock.

“I…uh…umm…ah…ha…”

Trace gracefully stood up to greet me with a gentle, but passionate kiss.

“Good to know I can make you speechless as well,” he breathily whispered hastily pulling me towards the bed.

He pushed me back onto the bed and straddled my hips.

“I missed you, babe,” he said and kissed me again running his hands up my shirt.

“I can see that.”

“Tell me you missed me,” he breathily commanded as he hastily unbuckled my belt.

“I missed you,” I said as I started sucking on his neck, running my hands down his naked back.

“Tell me that you love me,” he begged pulling down the zipper of my jeans and freeing my erection.

“I love you, Trace.” I poured my love into my words, into every syllable.

“I love you too, Mason.” His eyes were serious as they locked onto mine.

It was the first time we’d ever said ‘I love you’ to each other.

Trace smiled and kissed me again. My eyes nearly rolled into the back of my head as he dragged his calloused hand across my hot flesh.

I missed this, a lot. I missed his hands touching me, I missed his kisses, I missed just being with him.

But I especially missed the sex.

Apparently so had Trace. “I am going to ride you so hard you’ll be screaming my mine,” he told me as he positioned himself.

“Wait, don’t!” I protested, but Trace quickly silenced me with a kiss.

“Don’t worry, babe, I took the liberty to prepare myself,” he smirked.

The thought of Trace fingering himself made me harder than I thought possible. “That is so hot.”

“I know,” he said and sank down on my erection in one fluid motion.

“Oh God, Trace…” My eyes slipped shut involuntarily as his tight heat enveloped me.

Trace rolled his hips experimentally. I clenched my eyes shut tighter and bit my lip forcing myself to relax and not orgasm right there.

“You okay, babe?” Trace worriedly asked.

“Oh God, yes,” I moaned and forced my eyes open.

He tensed his thighs on either side of me and I immediately grabbed his hips, stopping him from moving. “Just, just give me a second,” I somehow managed to pant.

It was a long time since I last did something like this and I almost forgot what it was like.

I almost forgot how good this felt, and not just the sex, but having someone trust me enough to give up their control.

Though Trace was very much still in control right now.

“Am I just that awesome?” he teased.

I was suddenly embarrassed by my lack of control. “I’m…I’m just not used to this.”

His smirk faded into a soft smile as he stroked my cheek with his thumb.

“We can fix that.” And he was dead serious.

I loosened my grip on his hips and Trace raised himself up on his knees before slowly descending down again. He built up a slow rhythm, one hand on my chest keeping him steady while the other jerked himself off.

It was unbelievably sexy.

He swirled his hips again and the friction sent a shiver up my spine. A soft ‘ngh’ escaped my lips. Trace smirked down at me.

He wasn’t the only one with tricks up his sleeve, though.

I grabbed his hips and thrust into him, hard and fast, angling it just right so that it hit his prostrate. I may not have done this often, but it doesn’t mean I didn’t know what I was doing.

“Fuck,” Trace nearly shouted. “Oh God.”

“Yes, yes I am.” It was my turn to smirk.

We settled into a quicker rhythm, his thrusts meeting my own, but we had been deprived of sex for too long and it wasn’t long before I was moaning his name and coming inside him. Trace followed shortly after.

He pulled off and settled next to me and placed a quick peck on my cheek. “Hi.”

“Hello,” I chuckled in response.

Trace curled around me wrapping his arm and leg over me. “You’re not mad about Miley are you?” he abruptly and timidly asked. “I tried to stop her. I…I don’t know what’s gotten into her.”

“I’m not mad, Trace. I trust you.” I smiled softly. Trace was just too adorable sometimes. I admit, it was awkward walking in on them in such a compromising position, but Trace explained to me long before, and again after, his situation with Miley.

“I didn’t think, you know, that there was really anything between us, but Miley was so insistent. I am a terrible older brother.”

“No you’re not. You didn’t know,” I tried to help, but I was never very good at giving advice.

“I should have,” he moped. I kissed the top of his head affectionately and slide my arm under him to wrap around his shoulders.

“Can I…can I tell you something Mason?” Trace shyly asked and I raised my eyebrows in concern.

Trace was never reticent, ever. He was brash and bold and confident. If you got in his face, he got right back in yours. If you shoved him, he shoved back. Trace never shied away from saying what he wanted.

Everyone had secrets, though. That he would be willing to share this one with me made my heart swell with love.

No one had ever trusted me this much because I’d never been in a relationship this serious before.

It was terrifying.

“You can tell me anything,” I reassured and clasped our hands.

“I’ve…I’ve never told anyone before, not a single person, not my therapist or my mother.” He hesitated and gripped my hand tighter.

“You can tell me anything, Trace, anything and nothing will change between us. I will not judge anything you say to me.” I stroked his hand with my thumb encouragingly.

“My father tried to kill me,” he nervously blurted out.

My grip tightened around his shoulders and my movements stilled momentarily. “Billy Ray?” I incredulously asked. Billy Ray was the nicest person I had ever met. I couldn’t believe someone like him would do something like that to Trace, but Trace would not lie to me not about something as serious as this.

“Billy Ray adopted me when I was nine. My real father…my real father was paranoid schizophrenic. He…ah…he used to have custody of Brandi and I on the weekends. He was fine when he took his medicine, but it’s hard with paranoid schizophrenics, because he was so convinced that his medicine was bad for him that he would just stopped taking it.

“He was going through one of these phases when my mother dropped us off one weekend. She was usually so careful to check if he was okay before she dropped us off, but she was in a hurry that weekend and she didn’t…

“He just flipped out me and Brandi, screaming at us how everything was our fault. He kept telling us we were cursed and brought misfortune upon everyone we knew. He completely trashed the house and then he just…he just turned on us.

“He hit me before dragging us up the stairs. I was so terrified of him, but I still…I still wanted to trust him, you know, because he was my father and I was such a stupid child. So I didn’t fight back as he took us upstairs, but I should have. I should have.

“He was so convinced that we were possessed by the devil and that he had to fix us. So he took a knife and started cutting Brandi saying it would scare away whatever possessed her soul. Brandi was screaming so loudly…”

Trace tightened his grip on my hand until his knuckles turned white as my fingers began to go numb. Tears began to soak into my shirt as he shook.

“Trace—”

“I lost it, Mason. I just blew up and attacked the bastard. I tackled him to the ground and just started kicking and screaming, but he was so much bigger than me and pinned me to the ground.

“He dragged me to the bathroom, shouting how he was gonna cure me, filled the bathtub with water and then he…he held my head under.

“I passed out knowing I wasn’t going to wake up ever again. You don’t know…I’ve never been more terrified in my entire life. I really believed I was going to die.

“But I…I woke up in the hospital. The neighbor heard us screaming and came over to see what was happening. He saved our lives, but Brandi was…she was hurt real bad. She still has the scars...

“My father killed himself...and my mother.... she could never look at me the same after that. She blames me I know it! Brandi was only 6 I should have protected her, I should have kept her from getting hurt.

“My mother hates me for it and I started hating her right back. Because how could she have just left us there? If she had just…If only I had fought back originally, maybe I could have stopped it from happening—”

“Trace,” I firmly insisted to stop his ramblings, “this isn’t your fault. You were a child, he was an adult. You didn’t know what your father was going to do. You couldn’t have known. There was nothing you could have done,” I tried to make him believe.

“We’ll never know will we?" he bitterly huffed instead. "Brandi is scarred for life because of it and we will never know if there was something I could have done. She was only 6 years old, Mason. She shouldn’t have had to go through that,” his voice cracked as he held back sobs of pent up guilt and frustration.

“And neither should have you.” Trace gasped slightly as he curled more tightly around me, grabbing my hand so tightly it hurt. "I know what that’s like,” I began, holding back my own tears, because oh how I knew that feeling, “you loved your father and he had done nothing to make you believe he would ever hurt you or Brandi. You trusted him not to, you trusted him to make the right decision and you believed, you really believed in him, you believe the best of him because you knew he loved you. You trusted him and believe me, anyone would have, Trace, not just you. You had no reason to believe he was even capable of something like that when he was off his medication. And you can’t keep blaming yourself for something that isn’t your fault, that you couldn’t have stopped even if you tried.”

I meant every word of what I said and it struck me as ironic. Because I knew what it was like to be that child, to have faith in a person who didn’t deserve it. I knew what it was like to have my trust thrown back in my face and I suffered the consequences. And though logically I knew it wasn’t my fault, just like I believed Trace wasn’t to blame, I still carried the guilt and shame.

I was telling Trace to forgive himself for something that was never his fault, when I couldn’t do the same.

“If it’s not my fault, why did my mother ignore me for so long, huh? Why couldn’t she look me in the eyes?” He angrily ground out.

“Because she blames herself, Trace, not you. How would you feel if you left a loved one with someone you knew was mentally unstable and they ended up nearly dieing because you weren’t careful?”

“I would hate myself,” he sincerely whispered.

“She didn’t know how to deal with her guilt,” I surmised, though I knew I was right. “She feels responsible for what happened and she didn’t know how to deal with you.”

“It wasn’t her fault,” he choked on the verge of tears again.

“Just like it isn’t yours.”

He gasped again and buried his head in my shoulder. “So you don’t hate me?” he whispered like a lost child.

“I have no reason to,” I assured.

Trace finally broke down and sobbed, letting go of years worth of pain he didn’t deserve. I held him tightly as he cried hoping he felt comforted by my love and reassurance. He cried for a long time and it tore at my heart to watch him break down, but Trace was finally free from a demon that had its claws dug deeply into his skin for too long.

“You should talk to your mother, I’m sure she’ll tell you the same thing,” I said when he finally calmed down.

“I will,” he sighed, wiping at his eyes with his free hand. “Thank you for being so amazing,” he told me, his eyes shining with more than just tears as his gaze held mine and a smile returned to his face.

I smiled back and kissed his nose, but buried deep in my chest was a tiny pool of guilt. I didn’t deserve to be thought of so highly.

“Do you still love me?” he quietly asked.

“Of course,” I responded without hesitation.

“Are you willing to show me just how much?” he gently queried as he uncurled from my side and moved to straddle my hips again.

Trace ran his hands up my shirt teasingly, tweaking my nipples as he leaned forward to kiss me.

“Yes,” I gasped.

“Then let’s get you naked,” he seductively whispered into my ear, “and do this nice and slow.”

He kissed me again and I melted under his touch as we made love.

But there was still that dark, angry thought buried deep in my mind that screamed I didn’t deserve this.

The Glory of Being Me

2009-05-07T06:45:25Z

Fandom: Good Charlotte, Metro Station

Word Count: 1,988

Rating: R

Pairings: Joel/Benji, Joel/Mason, Benji/Trace, Benji/Mason/Joel/Trace, Mason/Trace

Warnings: Incest, slash, m/m sex, course language, slightest bit of cheese, implied foursome (does that count as a warning?)

Disclaimer: I do not know nor own Good Charlotte or Metro Station and this never happened, not even in my wildest dreams.

Summary: I heard in an interview once Mason and Trace raving about how nice Good Charlotte was to them while they were touring together. This is the dirty reason my mind came up with for why. It is surprisingly not angst!

The Glory of Being Me

Joel first heard Metro Station on some shitty radio station in a dingy diner in some small town.

The song ‘Shake It’ that launched the band out of their former obscurity was nothing special, Joel decided, and did not warrant his attention.

Still Metro Station was the newest, youngest and next big thing at the record label and their name was being tossed around a lot more.

It wasn’t too much later that Good Charlotte found themselves on tour with Metro Station, but they were just another opening act, nothing of any importance.

At least that’s what Joel thought until he met them.

And then he was curious.

Joel expected them to be more arrogant, but Trace and Mason worked hard to get where they were and were grateful for every opportunity. Metro Station was the most down to earth and chill band Joel had ever toured with, taking everything in stride and never demanding anything because they were ‘famous.’

He remembered what it was like to be 19. He wanted the whole world to bow down to him and he was a nobody at the time. These kids weren’t like that.

It was cute how oblivious they were to their own fame, Joel decided secretly to himself, especially Mason.

Mason was an obsessive perfectionist, Joel learned after just a week with touring with them. He liked everything to be perfect, beat himself up when he made a mistake on stage and was a massive control freak.

Joel began to wonder what it would be like to strip the young singer of his control.

***

Benji was a closet freak.

Unlike his brother he was excited to be touring with Metro Station. He secretly had the band’s entire album and danced naked to it in the shower.

Seventeen Forever was his favorite song. He doesn’t know why, but the song makes him horny. Benji thinks that might make him a pervert.

But he’s okay with that.

Benji loved Mason’s voice, but it was Trace who intrigued him.

Benji had a bit of thing for guys with tattoos, well, who was he kidding, he had a bit of a thing for Trace.

Trace, he realized after their first week of touring, did whatever Trace wanted. He was relaxed, and laid back, acting like nothing fazed him.

Benji still remembers being 19. He was uptight and stressed out working various odd jobs just to help his mother pay the rent while simultaneously playing gigs.

He was never quite so carefree as Trace, but he admired the kid’s hard work to get to this point, even if he did lack in the talent department.

And Trace wasn’t just carefree; he was wild and foolish, still brimming with youthful energy.

Benji began to wonder what it would be like to tame the passion that embodied Trace Cyrus.

***

Joel kissed his brother passionately before settling next to him.

Yeah, so they kissed, they made out, and they occasionally had sex. There was nothing weird about it.

At least Joel didn’t think so, and he knew Benji didn’t.

He laid an arm around Benji’s shoulders and leaned in close to whisper into his brother’s ear.

“I know you got the hots for Trace.”

“And you’ve got the hots for Mason,” he quietly replied.

“That kid needs to loosen up,” Joel wistfully sighed, growing hard just thinking about exactly how he could get the teen to relax.

“Trace is the opposite. I think there’s a wild animal in there that needs to be tamed.” Joel looked at Benji their eyebrows raised.

“My dear brother, I think this calls for a challenge. Who can get their respective vocalist from Metro Station in bed before the end of tour?”

“Nice. And if we both succeed?” Benji curiously asked, an eyebrow still amusedly raised.

“Then I foresee a very hot foursome,” Joel smirked.

“I like the way you think.”

Joel watched Mason and Trace walk by. Trace had his arm slung across the shorter boy’s shoulders begging him to go along with some idiotic idea.

Everyone knew Mason would agree, though they heard him mildly protest.

“There’s a lot of unresolved sexual tension going on between those two,” Benji thought out loud.

“I’m surprised they haven’t done anything about it yet. It’s obvious how much they like each other.”

“It’s obvious to us,” Benji responded, “but teenagers can be very dense.”

“Maybe we can help them realize their potential together,” Joel teased.

But Benji was serious in thought. “Maybe.”

***

Mason was a little freaked out by Joel.

No one was this nice without reason.

He just didn’t know what Joel wanted in return. Actually that was a lie, he knew what Joel wanted, Mason just wasn’t sure he could give it to him.

“Would you and Trace like to go out to eat with Benji and I? Our treat?” Joel asked learning closer to Mason, his hand resting on Mace’s knee.

The young singer cringed just a bit.

“Umm…sure.” He didn’t sound very convinced and he wasn’t sure he wanted to go, but Joel and Benji were the nicest people he’d ever met. He couldn’t just turn down the offer of free dinner after everything the two had done for them because Joel was trying to get into his pants.

And it’s not that he didn’t want that to happen. He very much would have loved to be fucked by Joel.

But maybe that was the problem.

Joel rubbed a hand up his thigh inching closer and closer to the cock he was trying very hard to keep under control at the moment.

Mason bit his lip and tried to force away his blush because Trace was sitting right across the table from him and Mason didn’t want Trace to know.

Trace was too busy making out with Benji to notice.

Mason was not jealous.

But maybe he let Joel’s next touch linger longer than it should, maybe he returned the touch with his own.

And maybe he let Joel kiss him before letting himself be lead to the older singer’s hotel room.

He thought about turning back then, but then Mason remembered Trace unabashedly making out with Benji before he changed his mind and followed Joel.

Mason angrily shoved thoughts of Trace aside before he let Joel push him onto his back on the soft bed.

Joel was surprisingly gentle about it as he took his time to make Mason comfortable before slowly pushing in. Mason didn’t want gentle. So he bit Joel and demanded he go faster, harder, deeper.

Joel was only too happy to comply and by the end Mason was writhing in the sheets in pure ecstasy moaning Joel’s name loudly.

As Joel lied in the bed, staring at the ceiling, his arm wrapped around the teen curled against him, he whispered, ‘Just let go.’

And Mason did.

***

Trace didn’t like Benji’s attention anymore than Mason liked Joel’s, but he played along anyways.

Besides Benji was hot and he wanted him and Trace loved to be the center of someone else’s focus.

And maybe there was a tiny part of him that wanted to make Mason jealous.

When Benji invited him to dinner with Mason and Joel, there was no way in hell he was going to say no.

Trace was a determined young man. So when Benji put an arm around his shoulder, he leaned closer to the older man. When Benji put a hand on his thigh, he raised it higher and when Benji leaned in close he met him half way, letting the twin kiss him at the dinner table, which turned into a pretty hot make out session.

Trace thrived on danger and excitement and making out in public with the guitarist of Good Charlotte was pretty damn exciting.

He was hard and eager before Benji could even open the door to his hotel room.

They tore off each other’s clothes before Trace shoved the older man onto his back. He quickly prepared himself before sinking down on Benji’s erection, riding him hard and fast until they were both screaming each other’s name.

He fell asleep with his arm wrapped around the eerily silent Benji.

***

“Long night?” Joel teased when he saw Benji walk into the hotel dining room for breakfast. The other twin was scraggly after haphazardly throwing on some clothes, but Joel looked even worse.

“I was right, Trace is a wild mother fucker, but after our long ass night, I don’t think I’ve tamed him. I think the only thing I succeeded in was making him more fierce and uncontrollable,” Benji concluded as he sat next to Joel, his plate piled with food. “How’d it go with, Mason?”

“I definitely loosened that kid up, a lot,” Joel smirked and Benji raised his eyebrows questioningly. “That man has quite the talented tongue. There’s still something he’s holding back, though.”

“Huh,” Benji replied staring hard at the wall.

“How about that foursome!” Joel excitedly exclaimed.

But Benji was deep in thought, his brows knitted in concentration. “Yeah how about that.”

It wasn’t hard to get the two teens to agree. Mostly because Benji and Joel conveniently forgot to tell them of their plans.

The young singers were surprised to see each other and Joel was a little ashamed at how turned on he was by them and their obvious avoidance of one another. It was sweet and charming and Joel did not use those words often.

“We think you guys have some issues to work out.” Benji crossed his arms and stared down the two teens who promptly looked away from him.

“And we’re going to solve them with a massive orgy!” Joel cheerfully said.

Now that got their attention.

It was hard to dispel the awkwardness of the situation, but as they two sucked each other off as Benji fucked Mason and Joel took Trace from behind, any previous discomfiture was thrown out the window.

When the twins woke in the morning, wrapped tightly around one another, the two younger boys long gone, they worried for a moment they might have permanently fucked things up between the teens.

Their fears, however, were dispelled when they found the two sitting at a table in Denny’s, their hands entwined, sharing secret kisses and giggling like two school girls on crack.

Benji ruffled their hair affectionately and Joel teased them mercilessly.

And though Mason and Trace found themselves in a budding relationship, they still let Benji and Joel join in from time to time as a thank you for brining them together.

Plus they thought the twins were hot and who were they to pass up sex with Benji and Joel from Good Charlotte.

***

“Thanks a lot,” Blake sulked.

“What?” Joel asked and innocently shrugged his shoulders.

“Now that you got those two together, they can’t keep their damn hands off of each other. They are two horny teenagers and all they do is make out and have sex. And they’re all ‘no I love you more.’ It’s a little sickening.”

“It would have happened sooner or later.” Benji smirked and threw an arm around his brother.

“It was either the sexual tension or this,” Joel cheekily replied, “and this is just so adorable,” he joked.

“I prefer the sexual tension, it was amusing,” Blake moped.

Ant lightly punched Blake on the shoulder. “Don’t listen to this grouch. He’s just mad because he lost our bet. I said they’d pull their thick skulls out of their dense asses and figure things out before the end of this tour. Blake said it would take longer, and well, Blake lost.”

“It doesn’t count! They had help from these two,” he said and jerked a finer towards the twins.

Benji merely laughed and shook his head.

He was happy for Mason and Trace.

And now, whenever he got horny dancing to Seventeen Forever in the shower, he would have quite the memories to go along with it.

Somewhere Only We Know (8/?)

2009-05-03T05:10:08Z

Chapter Eight: Jealousy Will Rot Your Teeth
Characters: Miley, Trace, Mitchel, Mason
Pairing: Miley / Mitchel, mentions of Trace/Miley, Trace/Mason, and Mitchel/Mason
Rating: NC - 17
Warnings: graphic sex of the het kind, mentions of slash, kind of evil!Miley
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't know, never happened.

Chapter 8: Jealousy Will Rot Your Teeth

I heard him…singing cheerfully in the shower that morning. It freaked me out. A lot. Here Trace was singing raunchy upbeat lyrics in the shower and I was moping.

I was the one who lied in the bed all day refusing to do anything but work, school and party hard. I was miserable, absolutely despondent and it was slightly pathetic. So what if Trace never wanted to hang out with me anymore and spent all his time with Mason. I had plenty of other friends and I did not need him.

I was turning into…Trace, I realized during my self proclaimed pity party, while he was gallivanting off into happyland with his horse called sunshine and his trusty sword of gay.

How unfair was that?

I was angry, very, very angry to see Trace so happy, but I wasn’t sure why. Nor could I pinpoint exactly why I was so miserable. It was annoying, it was confusing and I hated it. I didn’t want to even think about it.

Trace was happy, he was finally happy, finally enjoying life! I should have been happy for him.

But I just wasn’t.

I furiously stabbed at my breakfast, forcefully tearing into it as Trace skipped into the dining room.

He didn’t just walk into the room, there was no gloomy cloud hanging over his head as usual. There was literally a hop to his step as he pranced into the room and sat himself at the table like the Easter bunny on crack. I cast suspicious eyes towards him.

“Trace, honey, how would you like your eggs?” My mother asked him, not for the first time.

I rolled my eyes. What did she expect, an answer? Had she not realized Trace never answered her questions and hadn’t talked to her in, well, maybe years?

“Sunny side up.”

My hand stopped midair and I swear my eyes widened comically. I heard my father’s fork fall from his startled grasp to clatter against his plate.

Did Trace just…speak directly to our mother?

My mother’s huge smile confirmed that yes, he just did. I could tell she wanted to hug, Trace, but wisely held back. “Sure, dear,” she smiled, “two sunny side eggs coming up.”

“Here you go,” she said and placed a plate in front of Trace, “made with an extra heaping of love,” my mother squealed and lightly hugged Trace before joining us at the table. Trace inhaled the food and I stared in amazement, my hand still frozen in midair and my mouth still wide open as Trace willing ate breakfast.

“What?” he asked as he noticed my father and I were still staring at him in surprise. “I am a growing young boy, I need to eat.”

My mother slapped Billy Ray lightly and sent a stern look in my direction. Don’t ruin this moment, her gaze said, stop staring in surprise and enjoy it.

But I couldn’t appreciate it. Instead something white hot and angry burned in the pit of my stomach.

“Mom can I have some more?” Trace asked and held up his plate.

I was holding the fork so tightly it was starting to leave a dent in my palm, my nails digging into my skin hard enough to draw blood.

“Of course, dear,” she said and skipped to her feet, eager to feed her once distant child.

“Well, someone’s chipper,” I sarcastically snapped in Trace’s direction.

Trace just shrugged it off. “What can I say? It’s Saturday.”

Ahh yes, Saturday. Saturday was the day Trace went over to the Mussos’. Saturday was the day Trace disappeared in a happy flutter to return late Sunday night in a delightful stupor or vice versa.

But I was not bitter. I didn’t care about how obviously love struck Trace was with this…Mason.

It was sickening how cute their 'love' was. I brought my worries up with my parents, about how I thought Mason and Trace were dating. They noticed it, as did Mason’s parents and they all agreed: their children were finally happy and who were they to deny that?

It was disgusting.

I pushed away my food in aversion as I watched Trace devour his.

He placed a revoltingly cute kiss on my mother’s cheek, cheerfully said ‘Thank you’ and frolicked up the stairs to wait for his knight in shining armor.

He was coming here today. I shuddered at the thought.

And then suddenly I couldn’t help, but follow Trace up the stairs.

I let myself in before he could even answer my knock.

Trace was sitting at his computer chair intently listening to an amateur recording I did not recognize, but he swiveled around to greet me.

“Oh hey, Miles. What can I do for you?”

“Nothing, just came to see how you’re doing. What are you listening to?”

“It’s a recording Mason and I made last week. What do you think?”

Of course it was freaking Mason again. I listened closely, shoving away my bitter thoughts. It wasn’t the best quality perhaps, and Trace didn’t have a strong voice, but I had to admit, it had potential, and Mason was pretty damn good. A little training and he could be great.

“It’s not bad. You guys starting a band or something?” I curiously asked, while trying to not to be suspicious.

“Nah,” he seriously replied, “we’re just dicking around, you know, cuz we’re both so into music.”

"Oh," I said and dejecetedly walked across his room and plopped onto his bed with a heavy sigh.

“Why are you really here, Miles?” he asked turning to face me again. He moved closer until his hand was resting on my knee. I ached to entwine our fingers, to pull him closer, but…I couldn’t.

“No reason,” I gloomily replied instead.

“Come on, sis, I know you better than that.”

I exaggeratedly sighed again. “I guess…I guess I just miss hanging out with you is all. I mean, ever since you ran away, I haven’t really had a chance to see you."

Trace flinched at my purposeful barb. He didn’t respond, though, and I grew a little bolder. I got up and sat on his lap, straddling his hips.

“And I…I miss the things we used to do,” I whispered seductively into his ear. I learned forward to kiss him, but Trace turned away and my lips fell upon his cheek instead.

“Miley I can’t. I’m in a relationship now…I’m sorry.”

“It never stopped you before,” I murmured into his ear, licking the lobe.

Trace sighed heavily. “Miley…I…” and he pushed me away slightly. “I…you know…Mason is really important to me,” he blurted out, “and I know we used to share something, but I can’t do that anymore. I’m sorry.”

“So you found someone better?” I crossly retorted.

“No! I just…”

“Found someone that isn’t your sister?”

“Miley, don’t be that way," he sighed. "I don’t know how to explain it…but what Mason and I have is special, you know? And I just can’t…” he lamely finished.

“But don’t you miss this,” I said and fervently pressed my lips to his. He struggled a bit, but I was insistent that if he just remembered…then maybe…

“Miley stop,” Trace pleaded.

The opening of the door and a chocked, awkward cough stole our attention. I turned to find Mason uncomfortably hovering at the door.

“Is this a bad time?” he timidly asked.

“No, Miley was just leaving, weren’t you Miley?” Trace ground out as he glared at me.

“Yes, I was just leaving,” I responded through clenched teeth meeting Trace’s gaze with my own fierce glare. I stomped out of the room, fuming, but undeterred.

That deep burning in my gut festered and grew as I heatedly pushed my way past Mason. And I realized, suddenly that it wasn’t white, hot fury, but green envy.

I was jealous of Mason.

But I knew just how to fix that.

***

(Author’s Notes: yeah I went there.)

She tricked me.

And I liked it.

“Oh God. Oh God! Oh God!” what was I getting myself into?

It started off so innocently as Miley emerged from the water her perfect, tan body gleaming in the sun, drops of water tantalizingly sliding down her gorgeous body. Her wet bathing suit clung to her skin.

“Have you talked to Mason, yet?” Miley sweetly asked as she sucked on her lollipop. I looked away my cheeks heating up as we lounged next to the pool in my backyard.

I was ashamed to admit I had a bit of a crush on Miley. I mean who wouldn’t! She was so hot, especially in that bikini.

Her innocent little sucker and her lips wrapped around it seemed so seductive and it took all my willpower to keep mini me under control.

“I have,” I chocked out in response thinking of my grandmother in her bathing suit to avoid a very embarrassing situation.

“And?” she asked pulling the lollipop away from her perfect lips.

“It went well.” I turned away again forcing myself to stop staring at her lips. How about grandpa in a thong?

“Care to be a little less vague?” she deadpanned.

“Well…Mason came to talk to me. I explained how I was just trying to help and that I was worried it was my fault he had a mental breakdown the next day. He explained that it wasn’t my fault and that he was sorry he made me feel that way. And well we cried and hugged and everything’s cool now. We can actually look the other in the eye and we’ve even started hanging out again, like the way things used to be,” I quickly replied still refusing to look at those long, toned legs spread out on the patio. And no I did not just imagine those legs spread wide below me as she moaned my name…

Damnit.

“If everything’s so cool, then why are you so upset still?” She licked her sucker again, innocently staring at me. I glared in response trying hard not flinch at her question.

Sometimes I hated it that Miley knew me so well.

“Trace was there,” I said absentmindedly picking at the hem of my shorts. “For all of it. I think Trace is the only reason Mason even bothered.”

“Aww honey. Even I know that’s not true.” She laid a perfectly manicured hand on my forearm.

“I know,” I sighed. “I know Mason cares. I know Mason eventually would have come talk to me to sort things out after we had sex. I just…” I shrugged my shoulders. I just…I don’t know. It just…wasn’t the same.

“That’s not the problem is it? You miss him still, don’t you?” God I hated that she knew everything about me, inside and out. Why did I tell her all of my secrets? Why?

“He just…he said ‘he’d never let it happen again.’ He thinks it was a mistake, Miley, and that he’s a bad older brother because we had sex and he let it happen. He was trying to make things better, but he just made everything worse and I feel like an even bigger douche bag, because maybe I didn’t cause him to have a complete freak out the next day, maybe I didn’t give him post traumatic stress or whatever the hell the doctor calls it, but he still regrets sleeping with me! And even though he’s closer than he’s been in years, he’s still farther away than ever, because of, because of…” Trace I wanted, but couldn’t, say.

“I know how to fix that,” she had told me and I soon found myself a sudden victim to her trap.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck!” Fuck my life. How do I find myself in these situations?

My wrists were tied to the headboard, but it made no difference because I was holding on to that piece of wood like my life depended on it.

My shirt was bunched up around my shoulders and my jeans were tangled around my ankles as Miley rode me hard.

It was quick and rough, two things I’d come to associate with Miley despite the misconception of Miley being a ‘good girl.’

Bullshit.

She was glory in human form as her boobs bounced joyously above me. I wanted to touch them, but I’m not sure, even if my hands weren’t tied, if I could have released my tight grip from the headboard.

“Oh shit,” I loudly moaned as Miley slowed her pace, taking me deeper. I could already feel the heat pooling in my grown.

Mason and Trace were right next door and I knew they could hear me, because God knows I could hear them every freakin’ time they did it…which was a lot.

But that was Miley’s plan apparently. She wanted them to hear us.

“They’ll hear us having sex and they’ll get really jealous. Then they’ll start fighting and they’ll break up and then everyone wins!” she excitedly exclaimed.

“No, no, no, no, no, no and…no.” I flatly commanded.

“But why not, Mitchel?” she pouted.

“Because Mason’s happy.” And I couldn’t remember the last time I put happy and Mason in the same sentence. “It’s because of Trace that he is, so we can’t just break them up.”

I tried for years to make Mason happy, I tried to make him stop cutting himself, I tried to understand, I tried to just…fix him. I never could though. Trace, on the other hand, somehow managed to accomplish what I never could in just under three months.

Now that he did, Mason stopped disappearing for days on end. Mason stopped coming home hurt and upset. He even stopped cutting himself.

And I didn’t stay up late wondering if Mason was even going to come home. I didn’t wonder if Mason was still going to be alive in the morning. Now I knew he would be.

As much as I wanted to be the reason for this change, I just knew I wasn’t, I knew it was Trace.

“Oh come on, Mitchel, Mason’s happiness has nothing to do with Trace. They’ll be better off without each other,” she tried to convince me.

I shook my head, she was wrong, I knew she was wrong.

“We need to break them up,” she said as if the answer was obvious.

“No!”

“But Mitchel, Mason and Trace…they’ll never work out. They are not meant for each other. We’ll be saving them a lot of heartache in the future if we break them up now,” she practically whined.

“No.”

“But Mitchel!” she continued to beg and I said no…again.

But somehow I still found myself tied to my bed with Miley rolling a condom on me.

“Oh shit,” she panted as she quickened her movements again. Her thighs flexed on either side of my hips, her hands clenched the blankets on either side of my head with eyes screwed shut.

If I thought sex with Mason was amazing, this was ten times better.

I could feel the tightening in my balls, but I bit my lip until it drew blood and gripped the headboard until my knuckles were turning white and my fingers were numb.

“I’m gonna,” I heard Miley begin, but it trailed off into a moan. I thrust up a few more times before I finally let myself go to.

I slowly loosened my tight grasp as Miley leaned over me panting harshly. I felt like dead weight, but she recovered quickly slipping off and hastily putting her clothes on.

“Remember this means nothing,” she said as she undid the knot holding me captive. I hurriedly tidied my own clothing. I could only nod because I didn’t trust myself to speak.

Because I wanted this to mean something.

We stumbled out my room in search of food, but we were stopped by two nearly identical smirks in the hallway as Mason and Trace staggered from Mason’s room.

They shared a secret look, barely holding back laughter.

“Thanks for the show,” Trace finally teased.

“Only returning the favor,” I threw back at him jokingly, but with an edge of caution.

“Touché,” Trace said.

“I don’t know, Trace. I think we need to sit them down and give them the birds and the bees talk,” Mason teased with his best serious impression.

“I don’t know Mason, I think we’ve done that already.”

“Oh yeah. Well then…I’m so proud of you little bro!” Mason hugged me tightly and I could only splutter in response.

“So you’re not mad?” Miley asked in disbelief, her hands clenching into fists.

Mason and Trace shared another look before simultaneously asking, “why would we be mad?”

Neither Miley nor I had an answer, so they shrugged their shoulders and left us confused and disappointed in the hallway.

“Fuck!” Miley cursed. “It didn’t work.”

“Did you really expect it to?”

“Kind of,” she shrugged.

“Why is this so important to you, Miley?” I was a bit miffed, not only at being used, but that she was intentionally trying to harm my brother.

“I’m just looking out for Trace and Mason’s best interests,” she answered.

“You mean your best interests?” I angrily countered.

“Look Mitchel, I’m just trying to do what’s best for everyone.”

“Sure,” I huffed.

“So you game for Plan B then?”

I wanted to turn her down. I wanted to leave things as it were before anyone got hurt, before this got too serious, but as I watched Miley walk away, her perfect butt swaying as she went, ‘no’ died on my lips.

Four Stages of Guilt: Stage Three (3/?)

2009-04-28T05:29:32Z

Series: Four Stages of Guilt
Title: Vicious Circle of Acceptance
Rating: PG - 13 for now
Fandom: Metro Station
Pairing: Mason/Trace
POV: Trace
Disclamer: I do not know NOR own Metro Station, the Cyrus or Musso family. They belong entirely to themselves. This is a work of fanficition i.e it never happened.
Summary: Mason and Trace finally find the acceptance of their relationship they were seeking, but Mason’s father makes a sudden reappearance and things quickly make a turn for the worse.
Warnings: Implied m/m sex, implied violence, implied abuse, slash
Author's Notes: Brandi, Noah and Braison are Trace's younger siblings, Noah being the youngest; Billy Ray is Trace's father and I prefer to use the terms interchangeably; Chris is one of their managers, I don't know which one; and Joey is a figment of my imagination and yes I watch too many youtube videos of Metro Station.

Chapter 3: Greenhouse Misery

There was only one place I knew, no I hoped, Mason would go after a confrontation with his father: an abandoned greenhouse several miles from his house. The owners had just left the greenhouse to rot, plants and all. He never went in there, but in the back, there was a garden. It was overrun and wild now, but there were still remnants of its former glory. It was still beautiful.

Mason almost always went to this garden when he was upset.

The ride there was silent. My father anxiously drove, my mother by his side and Brandi sat with me in the back, shooting me dirty glances the entire way.

“What’s your problem?” I angrily mumbled.

“You,” she snapped back. “You’re so convinced that you can’t trust him. You are so convinced he made a mistake! That’s probably why he didn’t tell you he was going!”

I stared in irritation out the window, stubbornly refusing to respond.

“You have to realize that you cannot protect him forever. Mason has to make his own decision before he’s willing to let go and you have to believe he will make the right choice.”

“And if he doesn’t?” I asked my anger deflating with the truth of her words. “Well…hasn’t?”

“Then we pick up the pieces and start all over again.”

“And I’m just supposed to let this happen?” I incredulously asked.

“Yes, you are,” she said as a matter of fact. “We may already see that he can’t keep letting his father walk all over, that it’s wrong and what his father did is not his fault, but Mason is the one that has to believe it, he is the one that has to come to terms with this. And no one can make that decision for him, no one can tell him it’s wrong and that he can’t do it. He has to realize it for himself before he can change.”

“That’s easier said than done.” Could it be done?

“I never said it was easy. It’s going to be hard, but this time you’re going to have to take a seat and let whatever happens, happen and stop trying to force him to see things your way.”

I shook my head sadly. Could I just let myself sit by and watch Mason potentially destroy himself, while I did nothing?

“I hate being useless, Brandi.”

“You’re not being useless. You’re still there for him; you will always be there to help him, but this time you have to accept that you cannot make the decision for him.”

I hugged Brandi tightly. I knew she was right. I knew this was something Mason had to do himself, that just because I saw what was obviously right and what was obviously wrong did not mean he saw things the same way. I had to trust Mason, as painful and nerve-wracking as it was to just sit back and let things happen. I couldn't make him stop the abuse, I couldn't make him see it wasn't his fault. Mason had to see it for himself.

“Thank you, Brandi,” I replied and finally let go.

She smiled and pulled back. “Anytime big bro. And you know, if you ever want to repay me for my awesome advice, I’d be willing to accept a very hot sex tape,” she cheekily said.

I rolled my eyes. “Mom,” I whined like a toddler, “Brandi keeps asking me for a sex tape. Make her stop.”

“Brandi, stop asking your brother to tape inappropriate acts for you,” my mother appropriately responded.

“I’m just sayin’ is all,” she giggled, but then her face became serious once more. “It’s tough, I know. I wish too that there was more I could do to help Mason and his brothers. But I have faith that you’ll both make the right decision.”

I nodded gravely. “I hope so too.”

“Trace,” my mother’s worried eyes turned to me, “We’re…here.”

The car rolled to a stop and before us loomed the old, dilapidated greenhouse. It was Mason’s safe place, his haven during troubling times but in this moment it looked more haunted and intimidating.

Brandi went to unhook her seatbelt, but I stopped her.

“Please, I want to talk to him alone first.”

She nodded and I hesitantly began the slow trek towards Mason. What was I going to say? Where the fuck have you been and why didn't you tell me? I didn't want to scare him, he would close up and I would never get an answer from it.

I found him huddled in the garden, his sweater pulled tightly around him, the hood pulled low over his eyes. It was nearing 90 degrees. It was too hot for a sweater.

Mason didn’t say a word as I approached him and carefully sat next to him, but he leaned against me, shivering in the blistering heat and I didn’t hesitate to wrap my arm around him. I still didn't know what to say.

“Are you okay?” I asked the first question that came to mind as stupid as it may have been.

Mason rested his head on my shoulder and scooted closer. “Yeah.”

“You wanna tell me what happened?” My words came out angrier than I intended. I wasn’t mad, really I wasn’t. I just needed to know.

Mace took a deep, shuddering breath. “I just wanted to talk to them. I just wanted…I needed an answer before I said goodbye forever.”

A tiny spark of hope ignited, but it was suffocating in a blanket of doubt. I unconsciously tightened my grip, pulling him closer. He hissed in pain.

“Are you hurt?” I instantly asked, ready to give him a strip search to check for injuries.

“I’m fine,” he suspiciously responded.

I knew his definition of ‘fine,’ it was quite skewed.

“Don’t lie to me, Mason. Please don’t lie to me.”

“It’s just a bruised cheek. He got mad…” his words trailed off as he gestured towards his face.

“Can I see it?” It was more a demand than a question and was a bit more forceful than intended, but I was worried. Even if it was just one bruise it was important.

He shook his head and looked down. “Trace, it’s nothing.”

“I’ve seen your version of nothing before. Let me see it,” I demanded. Mason reluctantly raised his head and pushed back his hood.

It was a nasty bruise, I decided, that spread across his cheek just below his eye. It was a wicked shade of dark purple and blue, still swollen and it looked painful, but it wasn’t life threatening.

“Is there anything else?”

He shook his head.

“Are you sure?” I didn’t know why I was getting so angry or who I was angry at. I was irrationally pissed and unintentionally taking it out on Mason.

“Yes, I’m sure!” He responded with his own fury.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going? I would have come with you. I could have protected you!” I snapped finally unable to take it anymore. If Mason just wanted to talk, why didn’t he take me with him, why didn’t he let me know?

“I knew you would, that’s why I didn’t tell you!” He shook his head and looked away. “I’ve lived in fear of him, of what he could do to me for five years, Trace, and it’s all my fault,” he sadly derailed.

“Babe—” I interrupted, ready to tell him exactly why it wasn’t his fault, but Mason did not want to here it.

“No. Just let me finish,” he insisted. I nodded, forcibly keeping my mouth shut.

“It’s all my fault because I never stood up to him. Because there is a small part of me that still believes that I made him do this to me, that I did destroy our family.

“And maybe that’s why I let this go on for so long because maybe if I just did what he wanted I could fix things. I just…I just let him do whatever he wanted to me because I thought it would make everyone else happy.” He looked down and bit his lip.

“But then he called yesterday, gave me a ‘choice.’ He said if I broke up with you and came back home, he would forgive Mitchel and I and never try to hurt us. He said we could ‘be a family again. Is there really a choice there?” Voice trembling, he took a deep breath and look away.

My heart constricted painfully, he couldn’t possibly be insinuating…? I opened my mouth to protest, but Mason shook his head again.

“There is no choice because my answer would always be ‘no.’ I didn’t have to think about it before I told him where he could stick his ‘offer,’ right before he punched me.”

“Mason.” I almost sobbed in relief and guilt, taking hold of his hands. Brandi was right. I was so convinced Mason made another mistake that I didn't realize he finally saw the truth, that he finally realized he had to make himself happy too. "You took that hit for me?"

“It’s because I know you love me." Finally meeting my eyes, he continued, "and you’ve always been there for me even when I didn’t deserve you to be, and you’ve always thought about what’s best for me even when I yelled at you. And I would never give that up for my father. Why should I give up something that isn’t wrong? Something that is the best thing that’s ever happened to me for someone who hates me? And if I took this offer nothing would change. He would still hate me for loving you. And loving you…that’s the one thing I know isn’t wrong."

He leaned forward questioningly and I readily complied lightly pressing our lips together in a chaste kiss.

When we pulled back, Mason wearily rested his head on my shoulder. “I wanted to tell my parents this in person. I wanted to stand up for myself for once. And I knew if you were there it wouldn’t be the same, and you would have the possibility of getting hurt.

“I didn’t want to believe that he would do this,” he hesitated pointing to the bruise on his cheek, “but I kind of expected it.”

“And you still went?” disbelief colored my voice.

“I couldn’t do it over the phone and I knew I could handle what he threw at me. Maybe it was stupid,” he shrugged, “but I had to see them, Trace, I had to know if they still cared about me. And well… they don’t.” He shrugged it off as if it wasn’t important, but I knew Mason cared.

I hugged him tightly, but I knew he wouldn’t cry. He wouldn’t shed tears for them anymore.

That doesn’t mean it didn’t still hurt.

“Ahem!” My parents stood behind us anxiously. “You were taking a really long time, we got worried.” My father explained.

I forced a smile. I wondered how long they had been there. How much they had heard. “Everything’s…mostly fine,” I assured them, while helping Mason to his feet.

"How much did you guys hear?"

"Enough to know that we are so proud of you, Mason." My mother hugged Mason and for once, he didn't flinch.

“That’s one hell of a bruise,” Billy Ray whistled.

“Oh honey,” my mother said and lightly touched the side of Mason’s face, inspecting the bruise. “Let’s get you home and get some ice for that.”

It was home, as my mother said, for Mason and everyone realized it, but him. I just hoped he would one day come to see it as such.

It was later that night we found our lips meeting and our hands tugging insistently at suddenly offensive clothes until we lay naked together.

Dark bruises stood out in stark contrast to his pale skin, like ominous shadows in the pale moonlight.

“You lied to me,” I whispered as I caressed a dark bruise on his side.

“I lied to myself.”

And yeah, Mason had been lying to himself for years, pretending it didn’t hurt, pretending it never happened, so he could live the next moment in ignorance of the truth. It protected his sanity and I couldn’t really fault him for that.

I held him close as our bodies moved together.

Four Stages of Guilt: Stage Three (2/?)

2009-04-28T05:22:53Z

Chapter Two: Don't Fault Me for my Blame

I rolled over stretching sore muscles as I groggily awoke. I groaned, too tired still to want to move.

Mason and I had quite the fight last night.

His father called and Mase decided to take the call in private, refusing later to tell me what the conversation was about.

I hated when he hid things like this from me.

I didn’t trust him to make the right decision in regards to his father. He wanted me to believe in him, but how could I when he’d let me down before? How could I trust him to say no when he never had the balls to do so before? I had the unfortunate tact to tell him this.

“Then they’re my mistakes and I’ll live with them!” he sarcastically fumed at me, before he stomped out the door, slamming it closed behind him.

We never could stay mad at each other for long, though, and in no time we were quickly apologizing and making out on the back porch.

Mason insisted that he knew what he was doing and I promised to believe him, however halfhearted my promise may have been.

I didn’t like to fight with Mason, but the makeup sex was soooo worth it each and every one of the six times we did it over the course of the night.

My body was deliciously sore by morning in all the right places and still pleasantly tired.

I reached my hand across the bed, groping for Mason, but he wasn’t there, the bed already cold in his absence.

I groaned as I stood on wobbly legs, throwing on some clothes off the floor in search of my lover.

I was surprised he was up. Mason liked to sleep, especially after we fucked like rabbits all night.

But he had this twisted notion that he needed to repay my parents for their kindness. My parents had completely and wholly adopted Mason into the family within hours of us telling them about our relationship and my whole family did everything they could to make him feel welcome. He felt uncomfortable accepting their generosity, though, as if he owed them something in return. My parents were happy to cook for him and even wash his clothes as if he was one of their own and they expected nothing in return. But Mason couldn’t accept that and he still tried to help out as often as he could, getting up early these past two days to do whatever my parents asked of him. But they never asked him to do anything.

When they realized it was making Mason more uncomfortable and upset not letting him help they finally conceded letting him do little things like set the table.

It made him uncomfortable just being near them, though, no matter what they did. We were a hugging, touchy feely kind of family.My parents tried to keep touching him down to a minimum, but they couldn't always help themselves. Mason flinched everytime they got to close and carefully avoided coming near them.

It made me want to kill his bastard of a father for making him so anxious and tense around my parents. He was insistent that at any moment they would change their minds, but he never wanted to tell me that is what he really feared.

And he was no better around everyone else we told, acting increasingly awkward and strained, though they did their best to ease the tension. Their approach was to tease us to put everyone at ease. It was cool, it was really cool that everyone was okay with the news and both Mason and I were beyond grateful, but they mercilessly taunted us about it.

Joey, a long time friend of both Mason and I asked if would be willing to do a threesome because it “wasn’t fair that Mason gets to keep your fine ass all to himself” he told me.

Brandi asked if she could watch us having sex. “And if I can’t watch you,” she begged, “could you at least make a tape and give it to me?”

Miley seconded that request as did Mitchel and Blake and Ant and well after Ant asked I made it perfectly clear to everyone that there was no way in hell we would let them watch a sex tape of us.

“But you would make a sex tape, huh?”

Billy Ray and my mother tried to give us a sex talk, but I managed to end it by telling them that Mason and I had been having sex since we were 17 and neither of us was pregnant yet, so we must have been doing something right.

Chris jokingly wanted to know who topped. I refused to tell him we both did.

And the teasing went on from there, and it got annoying, it got really, really annoying, but I just couldn’t get mad. They didn’t have to be this nice to us. They didn’t have to be so understanding and so accepting. Who was I to get mad at them for it?

And as long as I got to make out with Mason wherever I wanted to and not care who the fuck walked by, then I was as happy as a mother fucking clam.

And not having to sneak around, not having to hide it was uplifting, plus it surprisingly made our sex life better.

Because god damnit if Mason wasn’t a moaner. I loved it, though. I loved those sexy sounds he made especially when I was the cause. He used to have to muffle them because it was hard to find time when we were utterly alone or we'd have to opt out of it so no one heard.

Now we just told people what we were up to and they cleared out rather quickly and oh god, just thinking of Mason moaning beneath me made me hard.

But perhaps the best thing of all, for Mason at least, was Mitchel. Mitchel had been the first to support us, the first to stand behind us, to stand up for us. He had been there for Mason when no one else was. Mitch had made his fair share of mistakes in the past, but we all had and no one blamed him.

Mason practically attacked his brother with a fierce hug after we told everyone about us. For reasons I still don’t understand, it meant a lot to Mason that Mitchel explained his situation with their parents to my family. I would have been pissed if any of my siblings did that, but Mason was so grateful to Mitchel. I chalked it up to one of those weird brotherly connections kind of thing.

Mitchel admitted to me he was gay and in a relationship. He wasn’t ready to tell everyone and was unwilling to out his boyfriend, but it meant a lot to me that he would trust me with that information.

And I finally understood a little why those two were so close.

Not only had Mason helped him come to terms with his sexuality, he protected Mitchel, I realized. Even after everything Mitchel had done to him when he was younger and confused, Mason never turned on Mitchel, never even thought of telling anyone, especially their father and tried to shelter him from the abuse he'd suffered for being gay. He kept Mitchel’s secret and would have done so indefinitely, no matter what happened to him.

I was so proud of Mason, and yet still so worried. There was a part of me that still wondered, even after everything, would he still try to go back? Was he still unable to see how wrong it was?

Did he still blame himself?

Lazily I stumbled down the stairs, shirtless with my pants hung low on my hips, the promising smell of delicious food finally drawing me from the comfort of my bed and momentarily making me forget my worries.

“Late night?” Brandi teased, flashing a toothy grin.

“Ha ha.” I stuck my tongue out at her, helping myself to a large plate of pasta.

“I see you finally decided to get up,” my mother said and kissed my cheek.

“Morning mom!” I said past my mouth full of food. “Have you seen Mason?”

“Chew your food honey.” She patted my shoulder and sat down at the table. “And no I haven’t seen Mason all day. We thought he was with you?”

“He wasn’t there when I woke up,” I mumbled forcing down the panic threatening to well inside me.

“I saw Mason this morning!” Noah, my youngest sister, piped up excitedly.

“Oh yeah? Did Mason say where he was going?” I asked.

“Yeah! Umm…I think he said he was going home to visit his parents.”

My blood ran cold. I gasped as the air rushed from my lungs in surprise. My mother stiffened next to me.

“Are you sure that’s where Mason said he was going, Noah?” my father carefully asked.

“Uh huh,” Noah nodded gleefully. “And he said to tell Trace that he would be back by 11 am.” She punctuated the last part, proud of her accomplishment of delivering her message, but I wasn’t sure my heart was still beating.

“It’s 12pm, oh my god, he’s dead!” I panicked.

“He’s not dead, Trace, calm down.” Billy Ray immediately commanded.

“He said he wouldn’t go! He promised me he wouldn’t!”

“We don’t know anything for sure, Trace.” My mother grabbed both of my shoulders and forced me to look at her. “We’ll call his mother, okay, and see if he’s there.”

I nodded dumbly and let Billy Ray guide me back to my seat. Miley ushered Noah and Braison up the stairs as Brandi hovered worriedly over me.

“I didn’t mean to make Trace upset. I didn’t know!” I heard Noah cry.

“It’s not your fault, honey. You didn’t do anything wrong,” Miley cajoled and then they were gone from sight.

I gripped the edge of the table as my mother dialed the Musso home phone number.

I couldn't hear what was said. tThe blood rushed past my ears, I was breathing much too fast to conentrate. My mother’s face looked worried as she absentmindedly chewed on her fingernails.

As soon as she hung up, I jumped to my feet anxiously. “What did they say?”

My mother hesitated. “What did they say!” I didn’t mean to sound so desperate, but I was. I was desperate. I needed to know what happened.

“Mason…was there this morning,” my mother cautiously began, “but his mother said things got pretty ugly between Mason and his father. Mason took off about an hour ago. She doesn’t know where he is.”

“So no one’s seen him for an hour? Is he okay?” I fired questions at her frantically.

“I don’t know, honey. His mother said he was pretty upset when he left and that he took off in a hurry.”

“Well of course he did! His father fucking beats him and his mother just ignores it! I would be pretty damn upset too!” I fell back into my seat feeling suddenly faint. “He said I could trust him. How could he do this?” I whispered.

“I’m sure Mason had his reasons! Don’t jump to any conclusions. I’m sure he has a very good explanation,” my mother appeased.

“Sure,” I angrily huffed. It better be a damn good reason, or this would be one fight that would not be easily forgiven.

“We’ll find him, Trace,” Billy Ray placated. “We’ll drive around, see if—”

“Don’t bother,” I interrupted. “I know where he is.”

Somewhere Only We Know (7B / ?)

2009-04-11T20:04:12Z

Rating: R-NC17
Warning: graphic m/m sex. slightest bit of a cheese factor
Pairing: Good ol' Trason

Chapter 7: It’s All About the Sex Part B

It was my first almost fight in any relationship I’d ever had, my first real promise I was determined to keep and I was genuinely surprised how well it was working out.

Trace came to understand the joys of eating food. I’m not even sure he tasted it, though, he inhaled it so quickly and I swear he grew an inch or two in the last couple of weeks. He was much…happier too.

I, on the other hand, came to understand the joy of being pain free. It was hard, though, every time I saw my wrists. It was like an itch I couldn’t scratch and oh how I just wanted to take that blade to my skin and slice it open. But I didn’t…for Trace. As long as he kept eating, I wouldn’t cut myself. That was the deal.

But how I ached to do it, just once more.

And our lyrics, god, our lyrics. They were all about sex! Your body’s cold, but girl we’re getting so warm…and while I’m pushing and I’m moving… I know you’re dieing to take off your clothes.

It was agony, pure agony. We both wanted it. That I would be stupid to deny, but neither of us was willing to make the first move. We both agreed to take it slow, but this was just…painful.

We were two horny teenage boys; there was no way in hell we were going to last much longer.

“Mason?”

“Yeah?”

“I—” he began and I leaned forward hopeful he would just say it. “Never mind,” he said instead and I instantly deflated. Chicken…

I guess it was up to me.

“Can we just have sex and get it over with,” I finally snapped.

Trace’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not something to just get over with!” he yelled back.

“I know, Trace, I’m sorry. It’s just…we both obviously want this. I mean God we’ve written five songs, and all of them are in some way shape or form about sex! But we’re being so damn careful about it, that’ we’re just tip-toeing around the issue and nothing is getting done about it! And with this hanging over our heads, everything is just so damn awkward! And I’m starting to get frustrated!” My voice steadily increased until I was shouting at Trace, my eyes narrowing in a challenge.

Trace stared back at me in awe, his eyes wide, and his mouth slightly opened in shock.

I never yelled, ever. I talked loudly, very loudly on occasion, but it was a rare indeed when I shouted, even rarer that I would rant or yell at someone. It was the first time I’d ever raised my voice in Trace’s presence.

“Uh…I…um….okay?” he spluttered, grasping at thin air for words that weren’t there.

I deflated, my shoulders hunching just a bit, worried that I somehow crossed a line. I wasn’t sorry I said any of it, but the awkwardness of the entire situation was starting to flay my ragged nerve endings. I didn’t think I could handle anymore.

“I just made things more awkward didn’t I?”

“No, no…I mean…” I didn’t know I could make Trace speechless, but it was kind of unnerving. I fell face first onto my bed, groaning loudly.

“Trace, just stop.”

Trace pouted slightly. “I’m sorry, Mase, but…are you sure this is really something you want? I mean, you always get so…tense every time we get close, and I…I didn’t want to say anything before, but…I’ve seen that flash of fear in your eyes sometimes, when you feel trapped.”

I felt a painful tug of my heart. I didn’t think he noticed. Nobody had ever noticed before. I was careful to hide just how uncomfortable I was having sex with another man. It bothered me, it still bothered me, no mater how many times I did it or how many years passed. And yeah it scared me still, because it always fucking hurt, always.

And I just had to resign myself to fate.

“Yes, I’m sure. But can we…I mean…” I felt nervous suddenly and uncomfortable in front of Trace, my palms grew sweaty, my heart raced and I felt suddenly lightheaded. “I’ve…uh…I’ve never asked for something like this before….but can we…you know I have no problem with…umm…”

It was my turn to stutter for words, they were there but I just couldn’t get them to leave my mouth.

“Mason,” Trace calmly interrupted, “it’s okay. You can tell me.” He wrapped his arms around me and I suddenly realized that I was shaking.

I took a deep breath and tried again. “I don’t mind, you know, being on the bottom, but I can’t be lying on my back, or stomach, with you above me. I just can’t.”

There…I finally said it. It was the one thing I feared most and the number one thing that ended almost all of my relationships before they began.

Because every fucking time I did it that way, their face always turned into my uncle’s and suddenly I would be that stupid, terrified 8 year old again who had no clue what they were doing and just wanted it to end.

I couldn’t bear to let that happen with Trace, because if it did, I wouldn’t be able to look at him anymore. I wouldn’t be able to do…this anymore, this whole thing…

“That’s fine, Mason, it’s fine.” I realized he was comforting me as if I was a frightened child, and I couldn’t be angry at him for it…because I was.

I still felt hands holding me down, a husky voice whispering in my ear do you like that, Mason and a sharp pain that lingered long after my uncle left. Plus the dark pit of guilt and shame that never quite went away. I don’t want to…

“I can’t,” I whispered, clutching onto him.

“Shh, I know, it’s okay.”

I forced myself to calm down using a routine I perfected when I was 9. Deep breaths until my heart stopped fluttering, flex the fingers until they stop shaking, don’t even think about it. I had become highly adept at controlling my panic attacks so that no one ever noticed, or if they did it didn’t last long. That Trace witnessed one, well, it was embarrassing. I didn’t like to be this weak, especially in front of other people. And I was usually so much better at hiding it…or maybe I was just around too many people who didn’t care.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” but I couldn’t finish the sentence, because I didn’t want to admit what just occurred.

“What happened to you Mason?” he quietly questioned.

I knew what he was asking. What happened to make you this way? Why are you so afraid? But I couldn’t tell him…I couldn’t have him looking at me with pity or disgust. I couldn’t tell him and risk losing him.

“It’s nothing.”

“That was not nothing, Mason. You just freaked out on me!”

“I don’t want to talk about it. It’s not important.” Please drop it, please, please, pleeease, drop the issue.

“Are you sure?”

“I am absolutely, 100%, completely and utterly sure. Now do me, Trace Cyrus,” I jokingly commanded, throwing my arms open wide.

He gave me a skeptical look and opened his mouth to speak, but I quickly interrupted. “And don’t you dare ask me again if I am sure, or I will withdraw my offer and we may just never have sex…EVER.”

His snapped his mouth shut and then smiled sheepishly, but then opened it again.

“And yes I know, when I am ready to talk about it, you are there for me,” I interrupted again.

Trace shut his mouth again and mock glared at me. “Okay,” he conceded, “but if we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it, right. Do you got lube and condoms?”

“Yes and yes. They’re in the desk.” Trace quickly got up to retrieve them.

“Have you ever done it side to side before? I’m not quite sure of the technical name for it,” he queried.

“Can’t say I ever have.”

“It’s probably not the easiest way to do it, but it’ll be the most…comfortable, you know intimate,” he told me as he rummaged through the desk.

“Umm…okay, we could try that.”

“Ah ha! Found it! Hers KY Jelly? Warms on contact, huh?” He raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“Don’t even ask. Just don’t. It’s a very long, complicated story.” One I will never tell you.

“And one day I will ask you about it, but we’ve got other things to do. On your stomach!” he commanded.

“Trace, I…” I nervously began, but he interrupted with me with a quick peck to my lips.

“Don’t worry,” he quietly said, “I thought we could start things off with a massage.”

“Umm…okay,” I replied, slightly suspicious. No one had ever given me a massage before and it made me wary that he might want….something in return, something I wasn't willing to give.

But I let him pull my shirt over my head and gently coax me onto my stomach. My wary thoughts stayed looked up inside my brain, but I refused to get rid of them. I didn’t want to face disappointment if the time came for the return favor.

Trace straddled my hips and began kneading the knots out of my back and shoulders, pulling me from my paranoid thoughts.

“Wow, Mason, you’re really tight.” That’s a surprise, I thought I was loose. HA! I internally laughed, but refused to share with Trace. “Babe, you have too much stress.” Fucking tell me about it.

I could only moan in response, as the pain in my shoulders melted away beneath his touch. The tension slowly eased as I grew more and more comfortable, drowsy almost, groaning occasionally as we found a new knot and slowly loosened my tight muscles.

I was quickly turning into a puddle of goo beneath his talented fingers. Never before had I been this relaxed. It was…nice.

“You still with me, babe?” he smirked.

“Ugh, you’re amazing.” I mumbled into the pillow.

“I know,” he said as he laid down on his side next to me. I turned to face him with difficultly, nearly too comfortable to want to move.

We leaned forward and slowly kissed, as Trace wrapped his arm around me, urging me to move closer. I eagerly complied, until every inch of our bodies was touching, our legs tangled together.

Our kisses turned more passionate as my tongue snaked out to lick his lips. I let my hands slide up the back of his shirt, before grabbing the edges and lifting it up.

We briefly broke apart as the shirt slid of his head, but our lips immediately sought each other again. Trace rolled us over, so that I was on top, never breaking the kiss that was becoming more insistent. His hands found the button of my jeans, popping it open before pulling the zipper down. His hands slithered past the waistline of my boxers, massaging my butt briefly before he was pulling my boxers and pants down.

I quickly kicked them off, before focusing my attention on getting him naked. His lips sucked on my neck and his hands teasingly glided across sensitive flesh, sending shivers down my spine. He was making it very difficult to concentrate long enough to get his pants off.

But I finally managed and eagerly I licked my way back up, as soon as I got his pants off, stopping at his knee to swirl my tongue around his delicate skin before spreading kisses up his thigh. I ended at his erection, my breath ghosting across swollen flesh. Tentatively I licked him from tip to base.

“Oh God, Mason…” he moaned.

I cut him off with a fervent kiss, thrusting my tongue into his mouth. He rolled us onto our sides again so that we were face to face and grabbed the lube and condom.

I started growing nervous again as I heard the ominous snap of the condom, but I angrily shoved the feeling down.

He pulled my thigh over his hip. His blue eyes stared deep into mine.

“You ready?” he asked softly as he slicked up his fingers.

I nodded timidly and wrapped my arms around him, burying my head in his shoulder.

His first finger plunged in and I immediately tensed. It didn’t hurt, but the fear still lingered. Trace was patient, though, always so patient. He lazily thrust his finger in and out until I was fully relaxed again. He added a second finger and I forced myself to remain calm as a third soon joined the others.

He scissored his fingers and thrust them into me, curling them slightly until he hit my prostrate. I gasped as he brushed against it, stars dancing before my eyes and a burst of pleasure tingled through my limbs. My grip tightened. It was rare they my partners ever prepared me before hand, and it never felt this good.

Trace removed his fingers and I groaned softly. “Lift your hips, just a bit.” I complied and felt the tip of Trace’s erection against my ass. “You okay?”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak, still feeling that nervous flutter. I didn't want him to know, though.

Trace slowly pushed into me. It stung a bit, but it didn’t hurt, not like I thought it would. I felt him stretching me as he pushed in as far as he could go in this position, but there was no vicious, stabbing pain shooting up my spine, nor an unbearable ache that would last for days.

I wasn’t used to it not hurting.

He brushed against my prostrate again and I bit my lip as that amazing feeling teased my senses.

“How’s that feel, babe?” he worriedly asked, stilling his movements.

It was adorable how worried he was and I smiled into his neck. “Perfect.”

He pulled out and thrust back in, building up a steady rhythm, careful to hit that spot within me that made me incoherent as my brain hummed with a steady throb of lust and ecstasy. His hand snaked between us to fist my erection and it almost sent me over the edge, almost.

A thin thread of control kept me from coming as I dug my fingers into his back and bit my lip to stifle the moans.

But Trace hit my prostate again, dead on, with a hard, fast, shallow thrust and I couldn’t contain the moan that slipped from my parted lips.

“Oh God,” I panted. I knew sex could feel good, but I never thought bottoming could be this amazing.

“Fuck Mason, you feel so good,” he whispered into my ear. I could only gasp in return as he quickened his pace.

His thrusts grew erratic, but every single one set my nerves on fire with a torrent of pleasure and mind numbing bliss.

“Trace,” I panted. My breath hitched as he stroked me. I couldn’t think or feel anything besides Trace moving in me and his hand on me. I tried to hold out, but my balls tightened, my vision darkened and as Trace hit my prostrate again, I was violently coming between us.

Trace thrust again and clenched his eyes shut as he came inside me, my name falling from his lips.

"Mason..."

We stayed still for a long time, our limbs too numb and satisfied, our harsh breathing the only sound in the room as we slowly regained our senses.

“That was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

“Oh hell yes. It was so good, I can’t even move.”

“God I know. Fuck going slow, we should have done that from day one.”

“Yeah, but then it’s all we would have done.”

“True, very true.”

I rested my head on his sweaty shoulder, willing my heart to calm and my breathing to even. It was so comfortable I was slowly falling asleep, but Trace moved slightly, slipping out of me with a soft ‘pop.’ He tossed the condom into the trash and attempted to clean us up a bit, but I was practically dead weight in his arms, completely and utterly spent and oh so pleasantly tired. I slipped my leg from his hip, but let it tangle with his legs.

I was too tired to open my eyes, but I felt Trace pull the blanket over us. I snuggled further into his arms, sighing contentedly.

He kissed my forehead and held me close and whispered in my ear, “Goodnight, my love.”

Love…

At only two months into our relationship, we had been careful not to use the word love. It was no small trifle. It was not something to be thrown out casually. It was tough to even know what love was, and we wanted to be sure before we said.

But as I slowly succumbed to the pull of sleep, I realized for the first time that I was in love.

And if this is what love felt like, I was never going to let it go.

Somewhere Only We Know (7A / ?)

2009-04-10T22:02:36Z

Chapter Seven: It’s All About Sex Part A
Characters: Mason, Trace
Pairing: Trason
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none, really, just boy kissing, implied sexual content, implied slash but it's not even that bad

“Wait, wait, wait! So you’re telling me Miley caught you having a threesome? With another guy and a girl at the same time.”

I was lounging on Mason’s floor staring up into his captivating brown eyes that hung over the edge of his bed to peer at me. Our newest set of lyrics hung loosely in my hands.

For five weekends now my mother dropped me off at his house on Saturday morning and practically had to drag me away Sunday night.

Our first weekend was awkward to say the least. We didn’t know what to say to one another, where to even begin. It was the awkward task of getting to know someone. Mason began showing me his music collection, but half way through it, I pounced on him, pinning him to bed and kissing him. After the longest make out session ever and a couple of handjobs, we fell asleep cuddled close together on his bed.

It wasn’t until the second weekend we officially declared ourselves a couple, to each other at least. We tried to play 20 questions. Like what is your favorite food, worst bad habit, but that ended with more making out and me giving Mason a blowjob…which he then returned the favor of.

Our third week was promising. We wrote, and recorded our first song and I was amazed out how beautiful his voice was. It came so naturally though, writing, singing…just being with Mason, that I realized halfway through our third attempt at recording the song, it wasn’t awkward anymore. We were fast becoming best friends.

I found out he was ticklish that week and mercilessly attacked him. I also found out that Mason screams like a little girl if you tickle him long enough.

It was the fourth weekend I realized all of our lyrics were about sex. We hadn’t taken that step yet because we decided, as a couple, we wanted to take things slow. But fuck it all if it wasn’t on our minds. And fuck it all if it was what all of our lyrics were about and what all of our conversations ended up being about.

I didn’t know how much longer I was going to be able to hold out. I didn’t want to fuck things up, though. All of my past relationships ended because of some stupid reason or another, but this time I really wanted things to work out. I really liked Mason and I didn’t want this to end over something stupid. I didn’t want to fuck up another relationship. I was going to let things happen naturally. I wasn’t going to push the issue.

“I was totally in the middle, if you get my drift.” I finally replied as I listlessly looked over our lyrics.

“You mean his,” I nodded, “and you were?” I nodded once more. “Oh,” he said, his eyebrows raising a fraction.

“I think Miley got it in her head to sleep with me after that,” I huffed, my eyes cringing as I came over a very blatant, and graphic, sexual reference in the lyrics. I felt a slight stir in my groin and stifled a groan.

“You slept with her, didn’t you?” I met his question with silence, staring a little more intently at the sheet of paper in my hands. “Oh my god, you did!” he squealed. I glared up at him. Mason only laughed in return.

“Oh honey,” he said and leaned off the bed to press a light kiss to my lips, “I slept with Mitchel. Does that make you feel better?”

“Yes,” I pouted and he kissed me again.

“Was it good?” he teased as he settled on the bed again.

“It was…pretty good. I think Miley has a real potential to be a wild sex kitten, though.”

“Wild sex kitten, huh?”

“Don’t get any ideas,” I warned.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he teased.

“And you? What was Mitchel like?”

“It was painful and just…bad.”

It took a moment to register and then…“You bottomed!?” I shouted.

“I had to,” he whined. “I just…I couldn’t do that to him, you know? But Mitchel was so damn adamant about it and…and I was kind of at a very dark place in my life. I shouldn’t have let it happen…but I did. Mitchel and I really haven’t talked since then.” He ran his fingers through my hair, absentmindedly playing with the dark strands.

“You wanna talk about it?” I asked and entwined my fingers with the ones in my hair.

“It’s not something I’m ready to talk about, not yet at least,” and he paused, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” I replied and squeezed his hand reassuringly. “When you’re ready to talk, I’m here to listen.”

“Thanks.”

Suddenly remembering the lyrics still held in my hand, I shoved the offending paper in his face. “They’re about sex again,” I told him as he grabbed the sheet. Mason casually dumped the paper off the side of the bed.

“Of course they are.” His eyes sparkled with laughter as he smiled down at me. “What else do we have to write about?”

“Teenage angst?” I suggested.

“HA! That’s certainly true.” We fell into a comfortable silence then, still holding hands. My fingers were beginning to fall asleep, but I was unwilling to let go.

I’d never reached this stage of a relationship before, the point where one was comfortable with the other, where we could sit in silence and not have to say anything awkward just to fill the gaps.

It was nice…to just sit there and stare at the wall, dozing slightly.

“Can I ask you something, Trace?” Mason asked after a while, rousing me from my almost slumber. He was lying on his stomach, his head resting on his arm to stare at the wall. Mason was chewing on his lips and refusing to look at me, two things I come to know meant he was nervous.

“Sure, babe, go ahead.”

“Why do you…why do you starve yourself?”

If I had expected something, it definitely wasn’t that.

“I…I didn’t know you’d noticed.” Mason shrugged uneasily.

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” he replied, trying to dismiss the situation, afraid that he’d upset me.

“No, no it’s okay. I guess…I guess it’s because it’s something that I can control, you know? No one else can tell me how to do it, or make me stop, or do anything about it and I just feel like it’s the only part of my life, sometimes, that I have control over. It’s the only thing I can do something about.

“And I think,” I continued, “I think a part of me does it, you know, to hurt my parents. I mean, we uprooted our entire lives for Miley’s career, but my mother, she’s always, you know, just ignored me. And I kind of did it, to not only get her attention, but to make her feel guilty about it. I just…I don’t know,” I lamely finished.

“Would you stop if I asked you to?” he whispered still unable to look at me.

I didn’t respond right away. I didn’t have an answer for him.

“And why would you ask that?” I asked instead.

“Because I care about you.” He finally turned to look at me and in his eyes, he showed me just how much he cared. “And I don’t want to see you keep hurting yourself like this.”

I was shocked. I didn’t think Mason cared that much. I didn’t think anyone cared that much. This was what I always wanted, though, wasn’t it? Someone to say ‘I care about you, I don’t want you to hurt yourself like this.’ Not someone to nag me about, not someone to state the facts, but someone who understood. The pieces of a complicated, confused puzzle clicked together and suddenly my crying soul became quiet. It felt…peaceful.

“I would,” I said, “but only if you promise me something.” Mason’s brown eyes turned suspicious.

“What?”

“I promise to eat…if you promise to stop cutting yourself.” He gasped softly and closed his eyes, looking away from me once more.

“Why do you care?” he defensively pouted.

“Why do you do it?” I evenly countered.

A long sigh came from his parted lips. “It makes me feel better,” he finally answered. “And I’m not talking that shit about serotonin or whatever. I just…I just make so many stupid mistakes and cutting myself is sort of like punishing myself for those mistakes, so that I don’t feel so stupid about them anymore.”

“You gotta stop beating yourself up about the small stuff, Mason. Cutting is really dangerous, you could really hurt yourself one day.”

“What does it matter?” he mumbled.

“It matters to me!” I shouted, wondering if I sounded this dense about eating. “Mason,” I said much more softly and he reluctantly turned his gaze towards me, “I don’t want to lose you either.”

He smiled sadly at me. “I know.”

“Do you promise then?”

“I, Mason Tyler Musso, promise you, Trace, that I will no longer cut myself.”

Satisfied with his statement I replied “I, Trace Dempsey Cyrus, promise you, Mason, that I will eat three square meals a day.”

I leaned up and placed a slow, tender kiss on his lips.

“Thank you Mason.”

He didn’t reply, but instead rolled over on his bed, taking my hand with him, so that I was forced to stand up and lie next to him. I wrapped my arms around him and he snuggled into me, humming contentedly.

It was our first almost fight and our first compromise. I was hopeful that maybe, just maybe we could make this work.

"So, Dempsey huh."

"Shut up."

Four Stages of Guilt: Stage Three (1/?)

2009-04-07T05:13:58Z

Series: Four Stages of Guilt -Stage Three
Title: Stage Three: The Vicious Circle of Acceptance
Summary: Mason and Trace finally find the acceptance of their relationship they were seeking, but Mason’s father makes a sudden reappearance and things quickly make a turn for the worse.
Warnings: slash, implied sexual content
Rating:PG-13 for some mm kissing and implied sexual content, rating will go up with chapters
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor know, Trace Cyrus, Mason Musso, or anyone else from Metro Station or the Musso or Cyrus family, including Metro Station's tour manager. For anyone who doesn't know, Brandi is Trace's sister, the other Cyrus children were left out of this because I felt they were too young for the conversation taking place.

Chapter One: This is me Damn it!

“There comes a time when you have to stand up and shout: This is me damn it! I look the way I look, think the way I think, feel the way I feel, love the way I love! I am a whole complex package. Take me... or leave me. Accept me - or walk away! Do not try to make me feel like less of a person, just because I don't fit your idea of who I should be and don't try to change me to fit your mold. If I need to change, I alone will make that decision. When you are strong enough to love yourself 100%, good and bad - you will be amazed at the opportunities that life presents you.” -Stacey Charter

Mason smoothed his hair back again, checking the mirror once more to make sure it was perfect. It was a nervous habit of his, fixing his hair incessantly, as if it somehow made a difference.

“Mason, honey, relax,” I told him and wrapped my arms around him from behind. “Our closest family and friends are in there. They will understand.”

“That’s what you said last time,” he bitterly huffed, but then his eyes softened. “Trace, I’m so–”

“No, you’re right. I’m sorry, Mason.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Trace. It would have happened either way.”

I kissed the top of his head. “Doesn’t make it any easier.”

“No…it doesn’t,” he sighed.

“It’ll be different this time,” I hope. I held him tighter with that thought.

We were on break for two weeks while we waited for our next tour to start. Mason and I finally decided that we needed to tell the rest of our friends and family.

So here we were now, with my parents, Brandi, Miley, Ant, Blake, Mitchel, our tour manager and several other of our closest friends waiting in the living room of my parent’s house for the ‘big news.’

It was understandable that Mason was nervous. I was nervous too. The first and only person I ever told I was gay, stabbed me in the back when he decided to tell the entire 8^th grade. He made middle school a living hell for me.

But we had to do this. These were our friends. This was our family. They had a right to know and we could not hide this forever.

And if they didn’t agree…well I wasn’t going to let Mason go, not for them, just like he didn’t for me.

“I love you,” I whispered into his ear, closing my eyes so I could feel his warmth.

“I love you, too.” He leaned back against me, his hands coming up to clasp my arms.

“We can do this.” I took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, stirring the hairs on Mason's neck.

“Yeah, we can.” He shivered slightly.

“Are you ready?” I finally asked.

“Yes," he sighed.

I reluctantly let go of him and watched as Mason nervously fixed his hair again. It was time.

“ ‘Bout time, boys,” Billy Ray said as we walked into the living room.

“Billy Ray!” my mother exclaimed, “please boys take your time.” She smiled softly and I tried to smile in return, but it was a weak attempt that came out more as a grimace. Mason’s eyes remained firmly fixed to the floor.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and when I opened my eyes I evenly looked around the room, unafraid.

“This…this isn’t easy for us to say,” I finally said. “We wanted to tell you sooner, but…everything just kept going so wrong every time we said something that we…just decided it was better to keep it a secret.”

The room was silent, even Billy Ray and Miley were quiet. My eyes met Mason’s and he nodded slightly.

“Mom, Dad, everyone… I'm gay."

Mason took a deep breath, "and I'm bi."

"And we’ve been dating for almost two years now.” I grabbed his hand and he squeezed back slightly. “I really love him,” I continued and turned to look to Mason. He lifted his eyes and our gazes met. I could see the love in his brown eyes and I knew it was mirrored in my own. “And he really loves me. And we’re really happy together,” I said and grabbed his other hand, our gazes still locked.

I was inches away from kissing him, right in the middle of the living room, right in front of everyone and not caring. But a forced cough tore my eyes from Mason and focused my attention on Billy Ray.

He had a huge smile on his face, his hands holding my mother’s, who looked just as happy. Miley and Brandy were trying hard not to snicker, while Ant and Blake just rolled their eyes. Our other friends looked no less surprised.

“Oh honey,” my mother said, “we know.”

I should have expected that. “Uhh…” I nervously chuckled, not sure what else to say.

“Oh come on,” Miley said, “it’s so obvious,” she mirrored Ant’s earlier words to me and I gave her a sheepish smile. Maybe we were a little too obvious about it.

“Miley and I caught you making out with Mason once or twice,” Brandi said.

"Or maybe three or four times," Miley added.

“It was really hot,” Brandi smirked, winking at us.

“We heard you on the bus last night,” our tour manager snickered and our other friends agreed.

I almost laughed at that, remembering exactly what they had heard.

"I saw you give Mason a blow job," Blake gleefully added. I mock glared in his direction. A chocked cough came from Mason who started blushing. He was just too adorable sometimes and I just had to place a quick peck on his cheek.

We had a long talk with Blake the other day about what he had done and why he did it. In the end we forgave him, it just wasn't worth it to be angry. Besides how could I be mad at him for wanting to kiss Mason's adorable face just once?

I childishly stuck my tongue out at him before turning to face my parents. They approached us with grim faces.

I half expected them to give us a sex talk. Now boys, are you having safe sex?

The thought was mortifying.

Mason clenched my hand more tightly and I squeezed back comfortingly. I knew my parents grim countenance scared him more than he wanted to let on. Panic settled in his eyes, but he fought hard to suppress it.

We both knew my parents would never hurt either of us, but fear and paranoia had become instinct for Mason. It both protected him and embarrassed him for the longest time. He tried hard not to let it show and kept his gaze firmly focused on the beige carpet underneath our feet.

“Mason,” my mother began softly, ignoring the slight hitch in his breath and the tensing of his muscles, “Mitchel told us what happened with your father and how your mother reacted.” She placed a gentle hand on his chin, lifting his eyes to meet hers. “And we want you to know that we would never do anything like that to you or Trace, ever.”

“We want you both to know,” Billy Ray continued, “that you are always welcome here. You're like a son to us already, Mason."

Mason was honestly surprised. After everything that happened, well we sort of expected to be thrown from the house by an angry mob with shouts of ‘you’re disgusting’ and ‘never come back.’ To be accepted like this, to not have to hear one derogatory remark was the biggest relief. The weight the size of an elephant slipped off our shoulders to crash to the ground below us and fall from sight. The sheer relief from the overburdening stress was enough to bring tears to our eyes. “I…I don’t know what to say,” Mason finally stuttered.

“You don’t have to say anything, son, welcome to the family,” my father said.

“Thank you,” he sincerely replied.

"Oh my babies," my mother cried and hugged us both tightly. It threw Mason off guard and he flinched as he dropped my hand. Mason did not like being touched; it took him almost a year to get used to my overly friendly displays. He still jumped in surprise when I accidentally sneaked up behind him. Overly friendly gestures was a common occurrence amongst the Cyrus family, though, and Mason would one day grow accustomed to it. At the moment, though, it was too overwhelming.

“Mom, while we really appreciate the gesture, this is just a little too much too soon.” My mother understood and she immediately let go of Mason.

“I’m so sorry, dear. I'm just so excited.”

“It’s…it’s not a problem,” Mason stuttered in response. “I’m sorry I can't be….” But my mother wouldn't let him finish.

“Oh sweetheart,” she sadly sighed, her heart reaching for Mason. I could tell she was forcibly stopping herself from comforting him, afraid he would flinch away from her touch again. “Never blame yourself for this, it's not your fault," she whispered so only the four of us heard. Her eyes turned cold. "If you need anything, just let us know. I am not afraid to kick your mother’s chicken ass if I have to.” My mother's enraged voice was passionate and angry.

“I know it’s gotta be tough moving on from something like that, but we’re here for you,” Miley said.

“Yeah and if anyone tries to threaten either of you ever again, well they’re going to have face the whole damn Cyrus clan.” Brandi added.

“And if anyone tries any shit at a concert, their asses will be kicked out so fast they won’t know what hit them.”

I was stunned into silence. This was better than I could have even hoped for. I was touched, I was really touched. I was so overwhelmed I practically threw myself at my parents. I hugged them tightly, whispering ‘thank you’ over and over again. But it wasn’t enough. They accepted me for who I was, they practically just adopted my boyfriend on the spot, promised to help him through his pain, gave him a new home…they didn’t have to be this…just amazing, but they were and I was more than grateful. “I love you guys.”

I told myself I wouldn’t cry, but my eyes were misty as I pulled away from them and I hastily wiped them away. Mason smiled at me, a true heartfelt smile and I couldn’t contain myself anymore. I grabbed the back of his head, pulled him close and kissed him. I ignored the catcalls and the whistles and just rested my forehead against his, reveling in the relief and joy this moment offered us.

Somewhere Only We Know (6/?)

2009-04-04T05:25:38Z

Chapter Characters: Trace Cyrus, Mason Musso
Warnings: Swearing? Geek bashing (I'm a geek, it's okay)
Pairing: Almost Mason/Trace, almost
AN: Listening to cheesy love songs gets you this.

Chapter Six: A Mother's Intermission

There goes the sun.

My anger stewed, I swear I felt steam coming off the top of my head.

“Mason is a really great guy,” my mother continued, “I think you’re really gonna like him, Trace.” Her chipper voice grated on my sorely tested nerves.

I don’t want to meet him! I internally screamed.

My mother had been nagging me for weeks to meet Mason Musso. She kept telling me how we had so much in common and just how nifty it would be if we became swell friends.

She even gave me a CD he made a couple of years ago.

I admit, the CD was really good. This Mason person was indeed a talented singer.

But I still didn’t want to meet him.

I was happy being alone and uncared for.

But you’ve come to find you’re alone.

I sulked in the car the entire way to the set. Miley shooting me dirty looks from the front seat. We had quite the fight this morning over the matter.

“I think this would be a great opportunity for you!”

“I don’t want to meet him!”

“Why not?”

“I just don’t.”

“Afraid you might actually like him?” Miley raised a cocky eyebrow.

What did she know? Bitch…

I had plenty of friends. So what if we only met at parties and got high or drunk together, so what if I didn’t trust half those people with my real name. That’s all I needed.

And this, this was just embarrassing, like my mother was trying to set me up on a play date with the two year old next door. Pathetic…

After weeks of incessant chatter and inane nagging, I finally agreed to meet this kid, meet being the key word. I didn’t actually have to like him, or hang out with him, or see him ever again after this day.

She told me he didn’t have many friends and so in my mind, I imagined only two things: fat and geeky or scrawny and geeky with thick glasses and buck teeth and an annoying voice that grated on my nerves and was too smart and too arrogant of their own knowledge.

“Well actually, Trace, the speed of light is 2.998 times 10 to the 8th meters per second…” I could already see it now. I knew this was going to painful.

I pounded my head against the window trying to forcefully rid myself of these horrid thoughts and that annoying stereotypical geek voice. “I am fluent in Klingon too, and computer programming."

Oh God, shoot me now, just right in the face. Just do it now, so that I do not have to waste the next few hours of my life listening to nonsense.

When the car finally stopped, just outside the studio, I hesitated in the car as long as I could. I dragged myself into the studio as if my feet were too heavy and pulled my hood over my head.

I pulled it a bit lower, almost covering my eyes, when I saw the Musso family and their sons Mitchel and what I assumed was Mason.

He was chunky, but he wasn’t fat or scrawny and he had his hood pulled low over his eyes as well. It gave me hope that, like me, he didn’t want to be here and that we could make this as quick and painless as possible.

My mother practically dragged me over to the Mussos, her excitement made me roll my eyes.

Mason’s eyes were glued firmly to the floor and I rolled my eyes again. Weak…

“Trace,” my mother cheerfully smiled, “this is Mason. Mason this is my son, Trace.”

I held out my hand politely and resisted the urge to sigh obnoxiously loud. He took my hand and finally looked up and when our eyes met I swear my heart nearly gave out on me. I thought for a second that it actually stopped beating and I literally forgot to breathe.

It was my mystery man, as I had dubbed him in the past weeks. Mason fucking Musso was my mystery man. It’s funny how fate works out like that.

His eyes widened in shock and recognition.

Our hands lingered together.

“Hi,” I pitifully squeaked like some prepubescent boy. It was the first words I’d spoken in front of my mother in 18 months. But I hardly even noticed her presence anymore, all I saw was the hauntingly beautiful eyes of my stranger.

“Hi,” he responded, his voice cracking as if strained. His bloodshot eyes were exhausted and his appearance was ragged, despite the neatly pressed clothes his mother probably made him wear. He screamed exhausted and worn down.

But still…he was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

Finally, I let go of his hand, but I instantly ached to touch him more.

“Maybe we should leave those two alone,” my mother said and lightly touched my shoulder. I missed the secret look she shared with Mrs. Musso. It was only years later I would come to learn of their secret plan to set me and Mason up. They never knew, just like we never did, what it would become. But perhaps their hopes that we could somehow save each other, was not unfounded.

As soon as they were out of sight, I grabbed his hand again and stepped closer. Mason entwined our fingers and leaned his forehead against mine, his eyes slipping shut.

If ever I had a doubt that maybe my strange mystery man did not return my feelings, it died in that moment.

“I never thought I’d see you again,” he whispered.

“I knew we would,” my eyes slid shut as a feeling I barely recognized hummed through me. It wasn’t just lust, or a primal instinct, it was something more, a deep connection yet to be explored. It wasn’t love, but it was pretty damn close.

And all I knew was his name.

***

It had been a long, long three weeks. Three damn weeks where I thought I was losing my mind.

I could have sworn Uncle Vern was there, I could have sworn he…

During long frightening nights, and the nightmares of day, I dreamt of blue eyes and the stranger at the party they belonged.

Night after night, he saved me from the terrors that have haunted me for years.

I…I didn’t know how to explain it, just like I wasn’t quite sure why my feet led me towards him that night. He was gorgeous, that I could not deny, but it was much more than that which forced those first words from my mouth.

After that kiss, though, God I just wanted to sit on those steps with him for the rest of my life. And when he cried on my shoulder…I felt wanted. I felt…needed, and felt like there was a part of my life that was actually right.

Things quickly went downhill that brief moment we shared together, though.

My ‘boyfriend’ at the time, pulled me away from the party when the cops came. We got out just in time.

But he had seen me kiss the stranger. He was beyond pissed and determined to punish me for it.

He beat me up, tied me down and brutally fucked me. It hurt more than I thought it would. This wasn’t the first time I’d ever let something like this happen, but it was the first time I’d ever fought back. It was the first time I’d said 'no' in a long, long time. It didn’t stop him, though. And somehow, it just made everything hurt so much more.

He took off, leaving me tied to his bed all night.

When he came back…I don’t really remember what happened exactly. I remember he tried to apologize and I remember I flipped out on him. Don't fucking touch me... The memory was still very hazy. The next thing I clearly remember is waking up in my parent’s bedroom.

The stranger’s bright blue eyes haunted me, but I’d come to believe it was just a dream because nothing good ever happened to me.

I was too afraid to leave the house after that night, afraid of what I would do, afraid of what I would let happen. I actually cared about what happened to me for once.

I still cut myself, but I stopped letting myself get abused. And it was all because of that stranger at the party, the angel who didn’t really exist.

I was confused, I didn’t know what was happening to me. Everything I’d done just felt so wrong, I felt so wrong and I didn’t know what to do anymore. I was losing my mind, I decided, no I lost it to a pervert named Vern.

Today, today was the first time I left the house in three weeks, only because my mother incessantly nagged me about it. And I…I didn’t want to worry them anymore: my parents, Mitchel…I wanted to be happy again, I wanted things to go back to normal, just like they did.

I had a feeling Mitchel was avoiding me too, but I couldn’t bring myself to face him. Even in the car to set, it was awkward and tense and I couldn’t find it in myself to say anything. We brooded in silence instead.

We gratefully arrived at set and I bolted from the car, only to meet the man of my dreams, literally.

I convinced myself he wasn’t real. I saved myself from the disappointment of never seeing him again by insisting upon the fact that I imagined the entire situation.

To see him standing before me was almost enough to break my heart and mend it all in the same breath.

I forcefully chocked back a sob of relief.

Maybe I wasn’t as crazy as I thought.

I leaned against him as soon as our mothers were out of sight. I don’t think Trace will ever understand just exactly what that moment meant to me.

I hadn’t slept in weeks. My eyes were bloodshot and so dry and tired they hurt. My clothes had become baggy. All in all I was a ragged mess.

But Trace somehow made everything…better.

“I never thought I’d see you again,” I whispered.

“I knew we would,” he confidently responded.

I squeezed his hand tighter, a sob catching in my throat as weeks, years worth of pain and anguish rushed to the surface and melted away in a puddle of relief and not quite happiness, but something pretty damn close.

A deep sigh, a tight squeeze back…and I never wanted to let this go, ever.

“Boys!”

My mother’s voice startled me and we immediately jumped apart before they saw us.

If they knew, would they change their minds about us being friends?

I couldn’t keep my eyes off of Trace, our eyes locked even as our mother’s approached us. In our intense stare, we missed the mischievous smirk our mother’s shared.

“Why doesn’t Trace come over to our house this weekend?” My mother cheerfully suggested.

“That’s a good idea,” Tish replied just as enthusiastically. “How about it boys.”

“Uhh…” was all I intelligently conveyed.

Trace faired slightly better. “Umm…sure,” he said and I hesitantly nodded, my eyes still locked on his eyes. A tiny spark of joy flashed through his eyes and a small smile found its way to my lips.

“Yeah, that’d be cool,” I finally stuttered.

We hardly saw each other the rest of the time we were on set, but my cold heart had warmed a fraction and layers of protective ice had begun to melt.

Trace…

And this weekend, couldn’t come any faster.

Somewhere Only We Know (5B/?)

2009-03-27T05:20:57Z

Character(s): Trace
Warnings: Slash

Chapter 5B: If Love Existed, I Would Love You

It was my last night in Hollywood.

And I was on the front steps at some house during some party high on cocaine and whatever else had been handed my way. I could hear muffled music vibrating through the thin walls. Drunken teenagers stumbled through the door. In the moonless night no one looked twice in my direction.

A young couple walked up the steps their hands entwined. She glanced his way, a secret joy shining in her bright eyes and he looked back the same look mirrored in his own face. Her breath caught and he squeezed her hand just a little tighter. A quick peck on the cheek and a gentle touch that lingered, soft I love yous whispered in the dark and then they were gone.

An ache wormed its way into my cold heart and I distantly recognized it as longing.

I glanced out at the plastic cups strewn across the lawn, my only company at a party fully of people.

It struck me for the first time how alone I really was.

And it hurt knowing more than I thought it would.

It was on those front steps in the dead of night as I sat wallowing in self pity when a beautiful stranger crossed my path. The one I didn’t know then would change my life forever, for better or worse.

His dark brown eyes enticed me as he sat next to me and offered me a drag from his cigarette. His easy smile sucked me in like air into lungs, like something I had to have.

There was something about him that looked so familiar, something that made him different from all the faces in the crowd, faces I would never remember.

He was silent as he smoked his cigarette, huddled close to me as if personal space meant nothing to him. I couldn’t help, but curiously cast my glance in his direction. He was definitely good looking enough to fuck.

Something about him, though, screamed at me that he was more than just a good fuck, that maybe I…I don’t know.

My eyes caught his and I couldn’t help the small thrill that snaked down my spine.

I didn’t believe in love and I especially did not believe in love at first sight. The idea was appalling.

But if I…if I did, then I would have just fallen head first for those brown eyes that felt so familiar.

We hadn’t even spoken one word to each other. I didn’t even know his name. And yet here I was, fawning over him like some prepubescent girl mesmerized by the new hottest guy on tv.

God I was so gay sometimes.

He smiled softly at me before tearing his eyes away to gaze at the night sky.

His smile dimmed, just a bit, and I couldn’t help but stare at him, transfixed.

“I miss the stars,” he suddenly said, pulling me from my reverie.

I followed his line of sight to the dark, hazy sky. The stars were lost behind the city lights. All that could be seen was a layer of pollution that blanketed the city and an unnatural lighting.

I returned my gaze to him, but said nothing. I watched his eyes turn somber and his smile fade completely. At that moment I would have given anything to bring his smile back.

“When I felt sad and lonely,” he continued, unaffected by my silence, “I used to walk in the moonlight and stare at the stars. They were always willing to be my friends, and they always listened, they always had an answer and it always made me feel better.

“There’s no stars here,” I replied sadly, knowing exactly what he was trying to do.

“Yeah, but I am,” he said, flashing a hesitant smile that nearly had my heart fluttering like a school girl.

I didn’t know why he cared, why he even bothered to sit next to me and start this pointless conversation.

I wanted to push him away, to tell him I didn’t need his help…

But I couldn’t.

“Why are you here?” I asked instead, a bit defensively and stupidly.

“The same reason as you, I suppose,” he responded, his eyes never leaving the dark sky.

I mentally cursed myself and looked away. I was usually smoother than this, but this stranger made me feel awkward and inarticulate.

He turned to look at me, leaning forward just a little and flashing another smile.

I moved just a bit closer my face tilting towards him, my lips hovering mere inches from his. Our breath mingled in the space between us. I didn’t dare break contact with those eyes.

“And how do you suppose that?” I whispered trying to catch him off guard.

“No one should be alone,” he sighed, his hot breath ghosting across my lips, “especially when they’re as beautiful as you are.”

“Are you my handsome prince coming to save me, then?” I teased and moved my hand slightly until it was touching his.

“I can try. I’m very good at listening,” he replied in a low sultry voice and entwined our pinkies.

Our lips were mere centimeters apart, our gaze held steadfast. My skin tingled where it touched his.

“And how about…acting?” I offered him a rare and genuine smile. The stranger did not reply, but instead closed the gap between us.

Our lips touched, like water to a parched throat it was a feeling I’d die to get and it burned with a needing ache.

I never thought a kiss could feel like this.

It wasn’t just the feeling of his lips moving against mine, but the small shudder of pure joy that fluttered from my heart. It was the ecstasy flowing through my veins, the lightheadedness that came with happiness and it just felt…so perfect, like a kiss you could only imagine from your favorite romance novel.

My hand snaked into his hair pulling him closer as my tongue delved into his mouth to teasingly slide against his.

I’ve never felt anything that felt so right before, as if all my problems faded away in this perfect stranger’s presence.

He pulled away slightly and I reluctantly let go, gasping for air as I did so.

The shaggy haired stranger smiled as if he felt the magic I used to think was only a creation of overactive female imaginations.

His eyes were somber as he clasped my hand tighter. “I know what it feels like,” he said after a long silence and I found myself nodding for reasons I did not know.

And I don’t know why I felt so compelled to do so, but I launched myself into his arms. He hugged me tightly, protectively, and perhaps for a moment, I felt saved.

I felt cared about.

I was startled when I realized tears were rolling down my cheeks. I had not cried in years. I thought I cut myself off from these emotions, I thought I taught myself not to care anymore. But this strange beauty had me feeling things I never thought I’d feel again.

I liked him, I realized. And that thought scared me.

I’ve never liked anyone before in my entire life. I barely tolerated people as it was.

There were people I wanted to fuck, people I wanted to get hand jobs in bathroom stalls from, and various other people I tolerated because I had to, but no one I ever thought I could find myself caring for.

And maybe that was a good thing.

I forced myself to stop crying and rubbed my tired eyes with my sleeve. He didn’t let go, and I didn’t try to free myself from his protective hug. I felt too safe and too warm to let his go.

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, breaking the moment I did not realize we’d gotten so lost in. My stranger flinched slightly at the contact.

“We gotta go,” a gruff voice said as the newcomer gestured down the street where we could hear sirens approaching.

The brown eyed beauty and I stood quickly our hands still entwined. He was dragged away, but we kept our hands clasped as long as possible, a look of quiet understanding and longing passing between us, before he disappeared around the side of the house.

I fled too, quickly into the darkness.

His dark brown eyes followed me because I realized now why his eyes looked so familiar…

They looked just like mine. A reminder I did not need.

No.

I couldn’t stay here anymore. I couldn’t go back to a place I wasn’t cared for to be haunted by eyes I may never see again.

It was time to flee Hollywood and never look back.

Only it didn’t quite happen that way.

***

I never thought I’d end up like this and only four weeks since I left home too.

How pathetic.

I imagined things would go differently. In my mind I would be living high wherever I pleased, wherever the wind blew. I imagined I would be happy.

Instead I found myself spending the night in prison because I let some guy shove his dick up my ass for money.

Maybe it was wrong. Maybe I ‘sold’ services that should never be for sale. And maybe I was more addicted to drugs than I would have liked to admit, even to myself.

But did that warrant the night in prison?

Well, that and probably a lot more.

This isn’t right.

The wall was cold beneath my fingers, the linen underneath me was itchy and uncomfortable. It smelled like stale air and mold and an overwhelming stench of beer permeated the small cell. ‘Marc was here’ was immaturely scratched into the bed frame.

I had no idea where ‘here’ was. It sure as hell wasn’t Hollywood and it was some podink little shit hole somewhere in the forgotten outskirts of America. But that, my friend, is all I knew.

There was one other man in the cell. Crazy Steve I heard one of the officers call him. A pathetic homeless rat the officers took pity on and let stay here every night.

He was kind of like me, I realized, only I didn’t want their pity.

The arresting officer, with grim countenance, had led me here to rot. I could tell he was sorry for, that he dreadfully pitied me.

I wish he wouldn’t. I held no pity for myself, why should anyone else?

He administered a drug test that I already knew would be positive for weed, cocaine and maybe some others. I wasn’t really sure anymore.

“You’ve been missing for four weeks. They were almost ready to declare you dead,” the officer had told me as he locked the door behind me.

“It would be better if I was,” I replied casually.

I could see the sympathy welling in his eyes and I turned away in disgust.

“We’ll have to call your parents.”

Of course they would.

I was a 16 year old runaway and now a juvenile delinquent, selling sex for drugs in the middle of Fuck You, America.

Or was I seventeen?

Who gave a fuck? I hoped my parents didn’t, not enough to bail me out anyways. I would rather stay in prison with the drunk, crazy asshole batting his eyelashes at me, then go home with Billy Ray and the Bitch.

That’s just how bad things were.

There was only one thing keeping me going now: the brown haired stranger with sad, dark eyes.

I didn’t even know his name, but I couldn’t keep him off my mind.

Every time I turned a corner I hoped he would be there, every time someone walked by I hoped it would be him. He pervaded my every thought and I prayed to any God out there that serendipity would bring us together.

Hope that he was still out there, hope that someone understood me, somehow made this all worth it.

And I knew, I just knew I would see him again, or at least I wished it so.

“Your parents are on their way,” the officer kindly said pulling me from my thoughts of my beautiful stranger “They’ll be here in an hour.”

“Can’t you just let me go and send Crazy Steve in my place,” I borderline begged.

The officer sighed heavily. “I’m sure your parent’s wouldn’t appreciate if I tried to pass a homeless person off as their son.

“If they even notice the difference,” I bitterly huffed.

I bet anything in this world my mother was glad I was gone. She probably threw a victory party the minute she realized I wasn’t coming back. I was a spot, a black stain on an otherwise white couch. She was most likely angry that I survived to put a damper in her perfect life.

When they finally got there, I was almost childish enough to stubbornly refuse to remove myself from the cell to greet my parents. I almost begged the officer to let me stay.

My mother’s ragged appearance defeated any thoughts I had of rebelling. Her eyes were red-rimmed and tired. Her arms shook as she hugged me tightly, almost enough to cut off my breathing. She sobbed into my shoulder, saying ‘my baby, oh my sweet boy’ and ‘I’m so glad you’re okay’ over and over again.

Despite my protests, my body betrayed me and melted into the comfort she offered.

I wasn’t stupid. I knew part of me did this just to hurt them. That it actually worked, gave me a small thrill of victory and a tiny spark of remorse.

Billy Ray laid a heavy, guilt ridden hand on my shoulder. I stopped myself from rolling my eyes. Of course he would blame himself.

“We need to talk,” he said.

And talk he did. He talked and talked, and so did my mother. They told me how much they missed me and how it was their fault I ran away and they ‘would be better parents from now on.’ They were gonna get me off drugs and blah, blah, blah, sunshine and rainbows, blah, blah, blah.

I agreed with most of what they said, surprisingly, except maybe the part about the drugs, but that sure as hell didn’t make things better. You can talk all you want, but it don’t mean shit if you don’t act upon your words.

They talked for hours, but still I said nothing. I couldn’t.

And I’m not sure I ever could.

Because they said words like ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘this is our fault,’ but I could still see it in their eyes. The one question I knew I could never answer.

How could you do this to us?

Somewhere Only We Know (5A/?)

2009-03-22T03:31:51Z

Title: Somewhere Only We Know
Chapter Five Part A: If I Could Save You, I Wouldn't Be So Alone
Chapter Rating: PG-13
Chapter Warnings: Implied Incest
Chapter Character(s): Miley

Everyone knew Trace was a pothead.

“Disgraceful,” people would say as he walked by. “He’s wasting his life.”

No one said a word about it, though, especially not to Trace. No one told him no.

Because pot made Trace eat, an activity he had not voluntarily participated in since he was young.

Everyone knew Trace was…too skinny.

“Poor child,” I heard those same people whisper, their eyes filled with pity,

Trace never much cared for what they thought.

Everyone knew Trace was wasting away.

But only I knew he just couldn’t take it anymore.

Was it really my fault?

I quietly opened the door to his room and stared at the empty, tidily made bed. The edges of the blanket were neatly folded, the pillows evenly lined, the corners delicately tucked in.

A fine sheen of dust had begun to settle across the once more unused bed.

Another night alone…

My heart sank at the sight, a layer of hurt settling on my heart like the dust in the room.

I opened the door every morning with a bowl of oatmeal hoping to see Trace’s sleeping form. I resolved myself for disappointment every day when he was not there.

Another wasted day…

Trace had runaway. From more than just his problems. He ran away from our parents, from home.

He ran away from me.

No one even knew if he was still in the city.

We had not seen Trace in nearly 3 weeks and though my parents still hoped for his return, I knew he wasn’t coming back. Not voluntarily at least. He was pushed too far.

The police were looking for him, but they would never find him because Trace did not want to be found.

He was very good at being invisible.

It was my fault he left. I pressured him into it.

For years I harbored a secret, forbidden crush on Trace. I knew I shouldn’t and so I never dared to act on it, let alone think about. But after that party, after we had sex in the bathroom, I thought…I thought maybe Trace loved me back.

I was wrong

We had sex…a lot, whenever he was around, wherever and whenever we could.

I thought that meant we had something, so I took it upon myself to care for Trace. I made sure he ate, I made sure he came home at night, made sure he went to school, did his homework…I even tucked him in at night.

I wanted to save him.

But he never needed another mother, someone to nag him and look over his shoulder with a condescending eye. Trace did not need someone to take care of him.

He needed someone to care, to take away his pain, to love him. He needed someone to understand.

And I just don’t understand.

Another hour goes by…

No, I would never see Trace again. He was gone because we never cared, because we never tried to understand.

I knew, though, I knew that everyday I would still come to this room with a bowl of oatmeal hoping to see his mop of scraggly brown hair peaking out from beneath the blankets.

I closed the door sullenly and headed out to the car where my mother was waiting to take me to Disney’s set.

I hated Disney. I was ready to give up and just quit the damn show. Fuck Disney, fuck Hannah Montana, and fuck my life.

Except I couldn’t just quit because Disney owned my soul.

And I wish I was kidding. I was 99.9 percent sure that my soul was literally part of the contract, written somewhere, in my own blood, in the fine print.

I hated my mother too.

Beneath my own guilt for Trace’s disappearance, was a thick wall of hate and blame for my mother. She was the real reason Trace never wanted to see us again. She ruined our family.

I still remember the last time I saw Trace.

I hadn’t seen Trace in three days before this morning. It was becoming a common occurrence. Ever since we moved to Hollywood I’d come to accept it.

I’d even come to accept the tense silences that followed his reappearance.

Three days was the longest Trace had ever disappeared, though. My parents were so worried, they actually called his cell phone.

My older brother obviously did not answer for them. No use in taking a call from someone you are not going to speak to.

Out of pity for my parents, I called him. He answered, told me he was fine and that was that.

It didn’t stop my mother from fussing over him when he finally got home.

Trace ignored her, as usual, shrugged off her arms when she tried to hug him, and sulked off to his room.

She didn’t try to follow.

He reeked of pot and alcohol when I angrily stomped into his room with a bowl of oatmeal. He was tired, I could tell, and too thin and lanky for my liking.

Trace was as immature and stubborn as a child, but his eyes were as old as my grandparents.

“Eat it!” I snapped when he glared distastefully at it. “I’m not leaving until you do so!”

“You’ll be late to set,” he calmly said, playing with, rather than eating the food before him.

“I hate Disney! Let those fuckers wait.” I was angry, very, very angry, but again it was not Disney’s fault. “Please, Trace, just eat the goddamn food.”

He gave me a skeptical look, but started forcing down the oatmeal. When he was done, he shoved the bowl into my hands and tried to immediately crawl into his bed.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” I commanded and pulled him from the bed by his ear. “You smell like a trashcan. Go shower and then you can sleep off the rest of your hangover.”

Trace gave me his best are you kidding me look, but he humored me when I refused to back down.

“Yes mommy,” he sarcastically replied, but did as I asked.

No one wanted to obey their younger siblings. No one wanted to believe that their younger siblings knew better than them.

Trace always listened to me, though. And I think there was a small part of him that needed the attention that wished our mother cared as much I did.

He played along, because he needed someone to care about him.

And I was sick and tired of watching Trace destroy himself and knowing no one, but I, cared.

If she just cared a little more…maybe none of this would have happened. If I hadn’t felt the need to be such a nag…

I had plenty of time for ‘what ifs’ now…it was all I had time for now.

We stopped at the Musso residence and Mitchel sullenly slinked into the back seat. His mother couldn’t come today, family emergency or something like that.

I could tell by the look in his eyes that something bad happened to Mason…again.

Mitchel tugged at my heart, sometimes more than Trace did. Mitch and I had grown close these past couple of months. One look was all it took and I knew he understood what I was going through. It didn’t take long before we had told each other everything.

He worried about Mason too much. He just wanted to help Mason, to change him back into the brother he was before their uncle abused him.

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that he never could.

I was forcibly reminded that I couldn’t do the same for Trace.

It broke my heart. I looked out the window as the houses flew by, but I wasn’t sure if it was speed of the car or the tears in my eyes that made them blurry.

…and I’m still alone, here without you.

Somewhere Only We Know (4B/?)

2009-03-13T05:33:02Z

Title: Somewhere Only We Know
Chapter Four Part B: Rock Bottom Never Looked So Grim
Chapter Rating: PG-13
Chapter Warnings: None, surprisingly, actually that's not true: implied violence
Chapter Character(s): Mason

"Don't touch me!"

The room was dark. It was too dark. His dim green eyes almost glowed in the darkness.

"Mason, honey, calm down, we're not going to hurt you!"

Lies, it was all lies. His hands...their hands...they were everywhere. They wouldn't stop touching me. They were holding me down, suffocating me...breaking me.

"You're lying! Don't touch me!"

Why were my clothes gone?

Don't do this to me. Please don't do this to me.

Why did it hurt so much?

"You're hurting me! Stop!"

"Mason, please, listen to me sweetheart—”

A pale hand reached for my face. Don't let them touch you, a voice whispered in my ear.

"Get away from me!" I screamed at the hands holding me down as I tried to thrash away from them.

They were too close, far too close. Why were they touching me? Who were these people?

I looked around the room in panic. Where was I? I didn't know. Nor did I know how I got there.

Where am I?

"Calm down, Mason. We're backing up, okay? No one is going to hurt you. You're safe here. Just relax," a voice I did not recognize told me.

Relax...those words haunted me. Relax Mason, he used to say. It never made a difference. It still hurt.

"Relax, Mason. It won't hurt. I promise."

He was here now, staring at me, touching me, holding me down like he used to.

They called him. They brought him here.

"If you tell anyone about this, Mason, I'll hurt them. Mitchel, Marc, do you want to see them get hurt because you could not keep your mouth shut?"

"Don't hurt them, please don't hurt," I begged the blurry faces standing about me. "Please..."

My cheeks were wet? Was I crying? I tried to bring my hand to my face.

It wouldn't move.

Why do my limbs feel so heavy?

I heard someone moan. I think it was me.

It hurt. Oh God, everything...hurts.

Where...where am I?

"Mason, no one's going to get hurt, just relax."

"Just relax..."

"Please stop thrashing, you're going to hurt yourself."

"It'll hurt more if you do that."

It was hot in here, much too hot. I couldn't see past the haze much, but I knew those eyes.

"Why is he here?"

"Mason, who are you talking about?" Their pale hand reached for me once more.

"Don't touch me!" I screamed and cringed away. "Don't! Don't..."

Whose voice is that? Where...where am I? Who are you?!

"What wrong with him?" a panicked female voice cried out in desperation.

"He doesn't recognize us," someone replied.

That's a lie. I knew that voice. It was his. Why...why did they bring him here?

It was too hot.

"That's a good boy, Mason..."

Where were my clothes?

"You'll like this, I promise."

Where am I?

Don't do this to me. Please don't do this to me.

I thrashed and moaned and my nails clawed at my face.

But I could not escape their hands.

***

Morning came, a bright ray of sunshine filtering through the curtain. Birds chirped from the tree just outside and a cool breeze filtered through the window, ghosting across my flustered, sweat soaked skin.

A small, pale hand dabbed a cool cloth across my hot forehead. It was hot still, much too hot, and though the whispers had vanished, blurry faces still hovered above me.

"Mom?" my voice croaked, my throat dry and sore. In desperation I hoped it was her. God how I hoped I wasn't loosing my mind.

"I'm here, sweetie." She grasped my hand and squeezed tightly.

I had a vague feeling of lingering terror. I searched around the room confused, and then my eyes fell on...him.

I thought it was just a nightmare; a creation of my delusional mind. I was gravely mistaken.

"What is he doing here?" I panicked.

"He's here to help, honey," my mother replied, her own desperation rising.

"No, no." I grew agitated. He shouldn't be here. He had to go. "Make him go away, please make Uncle Vern go away. Please..."

I ripped my hand from hers and rolled away, curling into a tight ball and pulling the blankets around me, trying to hide as best as I could from the apparition in the room and my own memories.

"Mason..."

"Don't...don't. Please don't."

"But—” my mother began, but never finished. I heard two pairs of feet shuffle for the door, but I did not dare sigh in relief.

He was still there, just outside the door, watching me as he would always be.

***

It was not quite so hot next time I awoke. I was able to finally focus on the room around me.

It was my parent's bedroom, I decided, after looking around.

The sheets stuck to my sweaty skin and I gently peeled them off. The cold air caressed my skin as I gingerly sat up.

It hurt, far more than I thought it would.

I looked down to find I was only in my boxers. Dark bruises stood out in stark contrast to my pale skin on my hips and thighs. An ominous sharp pain spiked up my back every time I dared to move.

I didn't quite remember what I had done, but I could make a farily good guess.

I shivered as my bare feet touched the floor as I stood on shaky legs.

It was not often I felt this weak, physically.

I must have been very ill.

I shuffled forward unsteadily with the intention of peeing, but the near desperate voices outside the door stopped me.

"We don't know what to do anymore," my mother's voice, on the verge of tears, said.

"What's wrong with him? What exactly happened in there?" my father demanded.

"It seems like a case of post traumatic stress," a third voice replied. I know that voice. "It is common in post traumatic stress victims to re-experience the event. In his delusional state, he projected his fears onto me. He thought I was his abuser. Mason has never dealt with the abuse before and for years he ignored it, but it seems like his coping methods aren't working anymore."

"But why now?" my worried mother asked. "Why after all these years is this suddenly happening?"

"Oh I doubt this was sudden. It has most likely been building for years. It was probably triggered by an event that may have happened, though. I'm no doctor, but judging by your sons injuries, he appears as if he's been raped."

"It's not the first time we've found him with such injuries since that bastard harmed our son," my father's grave voice told what I now recognized was my therapist.

"But those times, Mason consented to the abuse. Maybe this time he didn't, or maybe this time it was different. Maybe he just couldn't handle it anymore."

"But...but what do we do?" my mother hesitantly asked afriad, as I was, of the answer.

"Mason needs to confront what happened to him. He has been seeking attention from strangers, whether good or bad, as a method of coping with the abuse, but it's not enough anymore. He can no longer deny what has happened. The first step to moving on from this, is simply trusting someone enough to tell them what happened to him."

"Mason will never trust us enough to talk to us," my father said in resignation.

"Then a friend, perhaps? He just needs someone who is willing to listen."

"Mason doesn't have any friends besides his brothers. Never really has."

"Perhaps, that is a good place to start on the path of healing for Mason," the therapist suggested. "Mason also needs you to..." the good therapist continued, but I stopped listening.

I didn't want to hear someone talking about me anymore, about how fucked up I really was.

I knew this day would come, though, oh how I knew. The day were I finally went bat shit crazy and there would be no going back.

And I would be shipped off to the first shitty crazy place that was willing to take me.

Maybe then they'd give me happy pills that actually worked.

Maybe then I could bounce around in the little padded rooms without a care in the world, happy as a clam and high as a kite on insane amounts of medication.

That kind of hell hole, would be better than this because right now...I was living for the next moment that wasn't going to get any better.

I was living to see a tomorrow that would be the same as today, where I would still be the same person.

And I'm not sure that's worth it anymore.

I felt the cold floor beneath my feet, the harsh thump of my heart thrumming too quickly beneath my frigid fingers. I felt the cold sweat upon my brow and a dull ache in my old bones.

I smelled of sweat and stale sex. Cigarette smoke clung to my skin like a child to its mother. No matter how many times I washed, though, I knew I would never be clean.

Scars gleamed across my too white skin, almost translucent at this point.

I hurt in places I knew I shouldn't.

The therapist was right.

I tried to deny that I was affected by what happened. I tried to deny it ever happened really. I went from person to person seeking attention I thought would hide me from my pain. But all I really did was start a cycle of abuse, a web I could not escape, until I was ensnared in a black widow's trap.

I could get no lower than this.

Rock bottom never looked so grim before.

Somewhere Only We Know (4A/?)

2009-03-09T18:35:27Z

Title: Somewhere Only We Know
Chapter Four Part A: Sell Your Soul
Rating: R
Warnings: Incest, slash, excessive angst
Pairing: Mason / Mitchel

Hollywood was slowly killing Mason.

Or maybe it was our mother.

She was just trying to help, just trying to stop Mason from going out night after night to get hurt and abused.

She tried to save Mason.

But Mason could not be saved, not from himself.

The bullshit therapist she sent him to, behind our father’s back, did nothing to help either. I think it was killing him faster.

Every time we picked him up from the psychiatrists there was lingering terror in his eyes. He was always shivering afterwards too.

It was the middle of summer here in Hollywood. It was too hot to shiver.

He didn’t talk either, for hours after his sessions were over. He locked himself in his room, usually for the night, refusing to respond to anyone or anything until the next day.

Even then it was nearly impossible for my mother to get him out of bed in the morning.

I heard the therapist tell my mother that “they were making progress.”

It was a bunch of bullshit if you asked me.

Because day by day Mason got worse.

He started cutting himself, sporadically at first until I was finding bloodstained bandages in his room nearly every day.

He popped pills like candy, taking the pills the therapist described just to sleep at night, more like pass out in a near death state for hours on end.

He didn’t leave his room except for school, and well…that was it. He didn’t make any friends in Hollywood. He didn’t want to.

He stopped playing his guitar, stopped singing, stopped writing…he stopped being alive really.

Every time I left his room, every time I left for set, I was so terrified that I would come back to find him dead.

I was so worried I started sleeping in his room at night.

Mason, I discovered, had a lot of nightmares. He always kicked me out, too, after I woke him up from them.

I spent the rest of the night wondering if I was going to find his cold body in the morning or if he would still have breath in him.

Either way, he’d still be lifeless.

I don’t know what made me do what I did next. I thought, maybe, since it made him so happy before, it could make him happy again. Just…hopefully?

So next time he had a nightmare, I woke him up with an insistent kiss upon his lips. Mason, in his half asleep daze melted into the kiss, his lips moving against mine, his mouth opening up to let my tongue in.

When he completely woke up, though, he panicked.

“What are you doing?!” he yelled and pushed me off of him. I nearly toppled off the bed.

I bit my lip, tears threatening to fall from my eyes. “I’m just…I’m just trying to help,” I whispered. A singled tear coursed down my cheek, carrying with it the fear I had been holding in for far too long.

Mason said nothing, merely rolled over and went back to sleep.

He let me stay, though. It gave me hope to try again.

Next time he had a nightmare, nearly a week later, I woke him up with a hand job.

I sat on his thighs, reached my hand into his boxers and awkwardly tried to return the favor he showed me all those months ago.

“Mitchel don’t, please don’t,” he had said.

I wanted to help him, though, I wanted Mason to stop hurting himself and I hoped…I thought…I thought this could help.

I kissed Mason with as much fervor as I could muster and jerked him off, like I had been practicing on myself.

He didn’t throw me off. It gave me hope to try again.

I didn’t see the tears, though, that my brother shed after I fell asleep.

The bed was cold in the morning, Mason long gone.

Mom said she hadn’t seen him all morning. Dad didn’t even bother to put down the newspaper when I asked him if he’d seen Mason. Marc said Mason left early that morning and ‘not to expect him back for a long while.’'

I spent the whole day wondering if they’d find his body washed up on shore.

It wasn’t until ten that night, after Mason missed his therapy session, that my mother finally got worried and called the police.

They found him aimlessly wandering.

My mother fussed and worried over him, but bought his stupid excuse of ‘I just wanted to go for a walk.’

I silently wondered why I was the only one who knew something was terribly wrong with Mason.

After that incident, I was determined to try harder to make Mason happy.

So I researched it and ambushed him one night.

I pressed him firmly into the bed with a hungry kiss, my hands fisted in his shirt. His hands remained motionless.

I growled deep in my throat and deepened the kiss, thrusting my tongue into his mouth. Mason responded with quite a bit less vehemence.

I let my hands wander. Teasingly they slid under his shirt as my mouth moved lower. I licked and sucked his neck as my hands circled his nipples, brining them to life before slowly moving their way down.

I softly rubbed the area just above his waistline before one hand slid down to grab his penis, stroking it to life.

When he was sufficiently hard from my slow, tantalizing strokes, I slicked his erection and positioned myself over it.

Mason’s eyes flew open wide in fright and his hands flew up to stop me from my destination.

“Don’t!” he cried and slid out from underneath me quickly.

“I leaned back on my heels. “But—”

“Just don’t Mitchel, please,” he whispered and looked away.

“Why?” I was not sure if it was hurt or anger that manipulated my voice.

Mason cringed either way. “Because I would be no better than Uncle Vern if I let this go on,” he replied, his voice soft and sad and…hurt.

I was not so naïve as I was four months ago. I learned somewhat of what Uncle did and exactly why it was so wrong.

“But I want this,” I hesitantly replied

“Do you really?” he asked, his tone blank, and his eyes staring straight through me.

I didn’t have an answer. I didn’t know. So I met his eyes, my uncertainty written clear in them.

“I didn’t think so,” he answered and looked away again.

I couldn’t just give up, though, not when I finally found something that just might help him.

“What if…what if I was, you know, on top?” I cautiously asked, biting my lip nervously in anticipation of his response.

Mason said nothing.

“Then I would be nothing like what Uncle Vern did,” I hesitantly added. And you could go back to being…well…how you were before Hollywood.

Mason said nothing again.

But most importantly, he didn’t say no.

So the next night, I tried again. I pressed him firmly into the bed with a hungry kiss, my hands fisted in his shirt.

I deepened the kiss as I let my hands wander. Again they teasingly slid under his shirt as my mouth moved lower. I licked and sucked his neck as my hands moved lower.

I stroked him until his was hard. This time, though, I slicked my own throbbing erection.

Mason rolled onto his hands and knees and I pushed into his slowly.

It didn’t quite go in as easily as I thought it would. I pushed harder, forcing myself in the rest of the way.

Mason gasped, but from pain or pleasure I was not sure, and clenched the blankets until his knuckles turned white.

I was blinded by pleasure. The heat that surrounded my erection was the most intense feeling I had ever felt. I knew now why sex was so alluring.

I had to still my movements or risk instantly, and embarrassingly, coming. Leaning over Mason, I panted heavily, my skin hot and flustered.

When I mustered enough control over myself, I began to thrust into that tight heat that had no right to feel this good.

It was unbelievably amazing and despite the resistance I quickened my thrusts, moaning each time, just to feel more faster. Sweat dripped from my forehead and my hands slid across Mason’s sweat slicked back.

I didn’t last very long, not with this heat surrounding me, before I felt the tightening in my balls. I held it as long as possible, thrusting slow and deep, just to keep the feeling alive, but it was not long before I was convulsing inside of Mason.

It was the most intense orgasm I’d ever had.

Panting heavily, I pulled out of Mason slowly, and practically collapsed next to him, a big, goofy grin across my face. Mason hissed in what I knew this time was pain. I would have apologized, but my brain was still too hazed to form coherent sentences.

Mason got out of bed rather quickly, as I slowly dazed off into a deep slumber.

I felt him pull the blanket over me and kiss my forehead. I dimly watched him clean up the mess he’d made, get dressed and disappear.

He was gone when I woke up. He was no where in sight when I got back from work the next day, or the day after that.

I didn’t see Mason again for 2 weeks. Mom and Dad began to get worried when he started coming home less and less and there was nothing they could do about it. And once more I felt that terror every time the phone rang, waiting for the police to say they’d found Mason.

And I knew it was all my fault.

When finally I saw him again, sitting at the kitchen table near 4 in the morning, I knew I fucked everything up.

His dark, red rimmed eyes were hazed over from lack of sleep and his skin was far too pale. He was shivering, even in the heat of the room, his arms wrapped around him in vain attempt to hold back his shaking. A hint of a bruise peaked up from under his collar.

I sat and stared in horrified guilt at what I’d done.

Footsteps approached, but all I could do was stare at Mason.

“Mitchel, what you—? Oh my god. Mason!” my mother’s shrill voice echoed through the dark kitchen.

I soon heard my father’s heavy footsteps quickly approaching.

My mother fretted and worried. My father’s grim eyes and gentle hands tenderly coaxed Mason away from the room.

But I was left standing in the kitchen knowing what I had done.

Hollywood was slowly killing Mason.

Or maybe, maybe it was me.

Somewhere Only We Know (3/?)

2009-02-28T05:43:56Z

Title: Somewhere Only We Know
Chapter Three: Degauss
Chapter Rating: R
Chapter Warnings: Het, graphic sex, incest
Chapter Pairing: Miley / Trace

Chapter Three: Degauss

I hadn’t meant for it to happen this way. I was drunk, horribly so, via Trace’s suggestion. I ended up making out with the first cute random guy that crossed my path.

That random guy, I later discovered as I pinned them against the wall my tongue licking their lips, turned out to be Trace.

Trace’s mouth was pressed firmly against mine, his tongue thrust into my mouth, the cold metal of his piercing teasing against my lips.

This is wrong, my mind screamed, but oh did if feel so good.

I was turned on by my brother and what was more exciting than that?

Morals be damned. It wasn’t like a virgin, anyways.

Next thing I know, though, I’m pressed against the bathroom wall and Trace is sucking on my neck, sending shivers down my spine. My skirt was hiked up on my thighs and my underwear was long gone. Did I even bother to put any on?

Underwear is overrated anyways.

His hand slid up my shirt and unhooked my bra so he could fondle my boobs. My nipples instantly sprang to attention.

Trace’s other hand slithered up my thighs teasingly, until he reached my crotch and started rubbing my clit, and oh god did it feel so amazing.

I squeezed my eyes shut and arched forward into his touch, a thrum of pleasure hummed through me and made my mind go blissfully blank.

My hand fumbled for Trace’s zipper. Pulling out his erection, I teasingly stroked him.

Trace growled and bit down on my shoulder when my fingers lingered over a particularly sensitive spot just above the head.

I smirked and pushed him away. He stumbled and fell.

Before he could react, I hiked up my skirt the rest of the way, positioned myself and sank down on his erection.

Trace’s eyes slide shut as he moaned, a breathy whisper escaping from his swollen lips.

I crushed my lips to his, almost violently, thrusting my tongue into his mouth.

I lifted myself on my knees and thrust down again, building up a steady rhythm.

A whimper escaped Trace’s lips as he grabbed my hips and helplessly thrust into me.

“Oh god, oh shit,” I panted. My knees turned to jelly, but I sank down harder and faster meeting Trace’s thrusts.

My mind was turning blissfully blank as the tension grew. Our rhythm grew erratic and I was squeezing my eyes shut, going as fast I could to feel more.

It felt too damn good to be fucking my brother.

“Fuck,” I whispered as Trace thrust up hard and fast. I learned forward, my hands resting on either side of his head as I lifted myself up again. My arms shook and my thighs were beginning to ache, but the pain was lost between the heat that spread from my groin and the intense pleasure.

Trace’s hands slid up my sweat slicked back and I shivered, my skin tingling in the wake of his touch.

My breath hitched as the tightening grew, warning me that I was close. I squeezed my eyes shut, sank down and came, stilling my movements as I convulsed on top of Trace. Trace thrust a few more times and then came, a moan falling from his lips.

I panted heavily as my mind slowly cleared.

I raised myself up carefully, my limbs heavy, and pulled my skirt down as I lied next to my brother.

“You owe me ten bucks,” I panted, still catching my breath.

Trace chuckled and turned his eyes towards me. “What for?”

“Don’t you remember? I bet you that you would have sex with anyone,” I said as a matter of fact, still remembering that time I caught him having sex with another boy and a girl at the same time. “I win.”

“I have been bested,” Trace laughed and stumbled to his feet. He clumsily helped me up. “Oh, but wait,” he said his brows furrowing, “didn’t I bet that you were a slut?” he teased. I blushed and looked away.

“No.”

“Oh, but I think I did. I think that makes us even,” he said and flashed me a brilliant smile as we worked our way towards the living room and sat down.

My only response was to smack him.

It was getting late and nearly everyone had passed out or left the party. So we lazily lounged on the couch, the night quiet around us.

Trace took a long drag from his suddenly lit joint and offered it to me.

I eagerly accepted as I lazily rested my head on his shoulder.

The next thing I know it’s nearing midday and I’m still snuggled up close to Trace, on the couch belonging to a person whose name I would never know.

***

“Did you give Miley pot?!” my mother raged. “We trusted you Trace! And what did you do? You took your sister to a party! She’s too young for this!”

And I’m not? I wanted to, but did not, ask.

Everyone knew I was a pothead, and no one cared. Everyone knew I snuck out at night, went to party after party, got drunk night after night and no one ever said a goddamn thing about it.

So what if I got Miley a little drunk? So what if I gave her pot? She wasn’t the perfect, innocent child my mother liked to pretend she was. Miley had already long before discovered and tried these things, before I invited her to that party.

What would she say if she found out we fucked on the bathroom floor and that it wasn’t my idea?

I wasn’t going to open my mouth and tell my mother these things and have her call me a liar. For my mother failed to realize that I never lied, she just never believed me.

I understood the futility of trying to speak to her at all, so for over a year I had not said one word to my mother or to Billy Ray.

It wasn’t fair to Billy Ray. He was more of a parent to me than my own biological parents, but he always took my mother’s side, always, and for that I hated him.

I cast bored eyes at her as she ranted and nagged, barely catching the words at all as they rushed from her mouth.

I don’t think she even noticed I hadn’t said anything to her in 16 months. I stopped eating too. She never noticed, or cared, about that either. On an average day, I consumed more alcohol than food. I was 40 pounds underweight. Strangers asked me if I was okay, strangers.

Billy Ray brought it up once. My mother insisted that I was fine. Billy Ray never brought it up again.

The next week we did suddenly have a family nutritionist, though, and Billy Ray was very adamant that I stay for dinner every day.

At least someone cared. It wasn’t enough, however, to make me care about my own health.

I wasn’t the golden child. I wasn’t important enough to care about.

So my downward spiral continued until I found myself in the hospital one day. “Malnutrition” I heard the doctor say.

My mother finally got her wake up call.

And I haven’t talked to her since that day.

She sent me to a therapist, never did address the problem. Every week I sit in silence and stare at the poor lady with the fake smile. She always has questions and I never have answers.

So I never open my mouth and speak. That way nothing stupid ever comes out.

No one cares anyways.

My mother tried to be super sweet, tried to be the ‘best mother that she could’ to make up for all the horrible things she had said and done, for ignoring and neglecting me.

I couldn’t bring myself to forgive her, though. I still haven’t.

Because there was one thing she never did say, one thing I needed her to, but knew she never would.

I wanted to hear her say I’m sorry. But hell would freeze over long before she ever said those words to anyone.

So I brushed her off, ignored her attempts at appeasing me, because when it came right down to it, I was her last priority.

And her excuses enraged me. Well I had to do this, and I had to that, and I didn’t notice because of this…

But oh did I get the message loud and clear.

I just wasn’t that important.

Somewhere Only We Know (2/?)

2009-02-21T05:49:05Z

Title: Somewhere Only We Know
Chapter Two: I Walked Across An Empty Land
Chapter Rating: R, definitely R
Chapter Pairing: Mason Musso / Mitchel Musso
Chapter Warnings: Underage sexual situations, slash, incest. If it's not your fancy, then no one is forcing you to read it.

Chapter Two: I Walked Across An Empty Land

“We’re moving to Hollywood,” Dad commanded his eyes daring me to protest.

“We think the change might be good for you,” my mother said a bit more politely.

I said nothing as I gingerly settled into my bed, my body too sore and my mind too hurt to protest as my mother’s gentle hand guided me.

There was nothing I could say. I did, after all, bring this upon myself.

“We’re…really worried about you, Mason,” my mother whispered, a hesitant hand reaching out to touch my shoulder.

I wanted to roll my eyes. If they were this worried before, they sure as hell didn't show it.

I couldn’t deny that I felt comforted by their worry, though. There was still a small part of me that was eight years old, being raped by my uncle still, that needed my parent’s comfort.

I wanted my mother to hug me, to tell me that everything would be fine, even if it was a lie. I wanted my father to clap me on the shoulder and tell me he was proud, even if there was nothing to be proud of.

My mother grabbed my hand tightly instead, and she looked at me sadly, an apology written deep in her brown eyes as tears coursed down her cheeks.

I bit my lip and looked away, my own tears threatening to fall.

Her apology was far too late to matter anymore.

I wanted to blame her for everything in that moment. I wanted to tell them that if they'd just put their arm around me, told me it wasn't my fault, just looked at me once with eyes that didn't hold pity of blame, then maybe, just maybe, none of this would have happened. But I couldn’t say those words. This was my fault. I asked for it.

Her thumb gently brushed away tears I didn’t know I’d let fall. It stung against the dark bruise that engulfed my right eye, but it did not hurt nearly as much as the pain that twisted in my gut.

“Mason, please talk to us.”

I looked down at the blanket my mother had tucked around my legs. Fiddling with the hem, I kept my mouth shut. What was I to say? ‘Hey mom, I’ve been sleeping around with anyone that was willing since I was 14, and this isn’t the first time I’ve been beaten up. Thanks for noticing.’ Was I to tell her that I was a slut? That it was the only thing I was good at and if she had given a damn about me after she found out about Uncle Vern, then maybe none of this would have happened?

No, that wasn’t really fair.

So I said nothing, keeping the bitter words I wanted to shout at them to myself.

My mother brushed my hair from my face and I cringed away from her touch. Hurt shone bright in her eyes.

It was better if I just shut up. Nothing I said was really important anyways.

They left, hesitating at the door, but I kept staring at my bandaged wrists, reveling in the pain that ached through my body as a reminder of what I really was.

***

It had been two days since Mom and Dad brought Mason home from the hospital.

I’d never seen Mom so panicked before.

Mason actually spent the night at home. For two nights in a row, too.

It was the longest amount of time he’d spent here in over a year.

I wasn’t told what happened, and they wouldn’t let me into Mason’s room to see him. So I was surprised when I found him sitting in the hallway floor, outside of Mom and Dad’s room, his back resting against the wall. I was very, very relieved to see him, though, and I felt a surge of delight.

“Mason?”

He put his fingers to his lips indicating that I be quiet and patted the space next to him. I eagerly accepted the invitation. Any attention from Mason was enough to make me happy.

I shuffled next to him, as close as I could get, and finally got my first good look at Mason in a long time. His hair was unruly and longer than I remembered. His right eye was swollen, a dark bruise spreading across his eye and down his cheek out towards his ear. His wrists were bandaged and a hint of a bandage peaked out from under his t-shirt. Various bruises spread across his arm and neck.

Mason looked tired, and old, much older than I knew him to be. I knew he was 16, but my eyes denied it. His head rested on the wall, eyes closed as he listened to Mom and Dad vehemently arguing with each other, over him.

I turned my own ears to the conversation.

"What are you saying? That we just sit by and keep letting this happen? That we just let him destroy himself?" my mother's enraged voice echoed. I flinched at the anger in her words, but Mason stared straight ahead, unphased.

"We've been doing a damn good job of it so far. Haven't we, Katherine?" my father snapped.

"What is that supposed to mean?" my mother's voice cracked as it reached levels I'd never heard before.

Mason did flinch at that.

"You damn well know what it means. We've ignored the problem for far too long and look what happened!" my father yelled, the door nearly vibrating with his anger.

"That's why we need to keep him here, keep an eye on him and send him to therapy, Samuel," she scolded as if it was obvious.

"Do you really think that's going to help, Katherine? We let him deal with this on his own and he let himself get beaten and raped by some stranger! He chose that path for a reason, Katherine. How is therapy going to make any difference? How is it any different than ignoring the problem, ignoring him? Tell me, how is holding our son hostage in his own home going to help him?"

My eyes snapped open as my father's words hit me like a punch to the gut. Beaten? Raped? I spared a glance towards Mason. It certainly looked as if he had been. It explains a lot of things, I instantly thought. I felt horrible. Pity, anger, and a terrible despair for my brother engulfed me like flames on an oil slicked log. My horrified eyes turned towards his, but Mason ignored me, refused to look anywhere near me.

He never wanted my pity.

"It's better than doing nothing. Maybe then we won't lose him! Maybe then he'll be my little boy again."

Mason bit his lip, his hands clenching into fists as he stared at the wall opposite of me.

I cast my own suspicious gaze towards Mason, my mother's words stinging like a slap across my mind. Lose him, but...?

"We've already lost him, Katherine because we waited too long to do anything. We can't just send him to a therapist and expect him to be the way he was before any of this happened! We can just expect him to adjust to this. We cannot fix this. We cannot make him stop what he is doing to himself. We can help Mason, though, we can help him move on, help him accept what has happened.

"This isn't his fault, and we've been treating him like it is. We need to let him know we still love him."

Mason's breath hitched in his throat and I turned to look at him again. His eyes were bright with unshed tears as he stared, unseeing, before him.

I readily agreed with my father's words about Mason being different. My mother may not have been able to see it, but we did lose Mason, or in the very least the Mason we once knew. I wasn't sure what was in its place anymore. Over the years, though, the more Mason withdrew and disappeared, the more I learned to accept that I did not know who my brother really was anymore. We had to accept that. We could never go back to the way things were. Mason could never be the person he used to be.

But how I craved for the days where we used to be close, where we shared everything, knew everything about the other. The days before Mason was...

I missed my best friend.

"We're not suited to handle this kind of thing," mom's defeated voice drifted towards us.

My father scoffed. "If that's your excuse for doing a piss poor job of being his parent, then I want no part of it."

Mason stood up abruptly and stalked away. I hurriedly followed, just as my father stormed out of his bedroom, the door slamming behind him.

I slithered into Mason's room as he quietly shut and locked the door.

I pointedly looked away as Mason limped over to his bed and gratefully sank down onto it with a sigh. He laid there, an arm lying across his eyes, as I awkwardly hovered at the door, staring at him unsure what to do.

Four years ago I would have run and jumped onto his bed. I would have snuggled up next to him, and together we would stare at the ceiling. We would not be separated by this distance between us now, this uncertainty, this knowledge of what had been done.

“Are you okay?” I asked. I knew, from experience, that it could not be easy hearing the things our parents said. It was never easy when parents argued about you like that.

Startled, Mason turned to look at me as if he forgot I was there.

“Yeah,” he said without hesitation, as if the answer was automatic rather than sincere. He fell silent once more. I continued to hover awkwardly at the door.

After a few minutes of contemplating whether I should continue standing by the door, go sit next to Mason, or just leave... (and did...did he if he even want me there) Mason finally peaked out from behind his arm to look at me and he quietly laughed.

“I'm not diseased, you can come over and sit, ya know.”

I let a sigh of relief and cheerfully plopped next to him, glad to see that at least not everything had changed.

Mason stared at the ceiling and for the longest time I just watched him. I watched his brown eyes stare vacantly at something I could not see. I watched his shallow, labored breathing. I watched him...just be. Happy to lie in comfortable silence with me.

I was not so comfortable with the silence and stared straight through him, a million questions threatening to burst from behind my closed teeth. Where were you? What happened to you?

Why are you doing this?

But when I opened my mouth to speak, not one of those questions came forth.

"I...I missed you, Mace."

Mason tore his gaze from the ceiling to stare at me with an unreadable expression. He smiled, a soft, sad smile, a distant look settling in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Mitchel."

I nodded and looked away, unable to meet his eyes anymore. "Now...now that we're moving to Hollywood, are you…are you going to be around more often?”

“I don’t know,” he replied truthfully.

“Will you…will you at least come see me on set?” I asked a tad bit hopefully and just a bit more hesitantly as I spared a quick glance towards him.

“Set?” he asked and quirked an eyebrow.

“Yeah! I got the part of Oliver Oken in this show for Disney, called Hannah Montana,” I replied loosing some of my hesitance over my excitement.

“That’s really cool, Mitchell. I’m really proud of you,” he said sincerely a spark of emotion in his voice.

I felt a surge of excitement and pride. A compliment like that from Mason, was better than, well, anything.

“Please, Mason. I want you there. Pleeease.”

Mason smiled again. “Sure, Mitch, I’ll be there.”

I should have known then it was a lie.

We lapsed into silence again, Mason’s praise ringing through my mind like a healing song.

I never could take silence for long, before I said something stupid and there was one stupid request sitting on the tip of my tongue like old man in the park.

I still wanted to know about this…sex thing.

“Would you…would you kiss me?” I didn’t know where the words came from, but I knew I meant them.

I had seen people kiss before, and it usually led to this sex business I heard so much about. I wanted to learn from Mason what was so interesting about it. I trusted and loved Mason and I was told that was all I needed to share a kiss.

No one ever told me it was wrong to kiss your brother. Uncle kissed Mason, why couldn’t I?

I felt Mason tense next to me.

“Why?” was not quite the answer I was hoping for.

“I…umm…I was hoping you could teach me,” I said suddenly embarrassed.

“Mitchel, I don’t think I should be the one teaching you how to kiss.”

“But Mason, I just…I want to know. I mean I hear all this talk about sex, and you have it all the time, but sex is evil and gross and disgusting and I just wanna know what’s so alluring about it, why people do it and I know kissing leads to sex and I just…I wanna learn how to kiss so I can know what’s so special about it. And I know you wouldn’t make fun of me…Please Mason.” I was aware that I was rambling, but I couldn’t stop the words from pouring out of my mouth in desperation.

“It’s not evil.”

“What?” I asked confused and upset.

“Sex. It’s not evil.”

“Oh…but then why did Uncle go to jail for it? Why did it make you so sick that one time? Why are mom and dad so mad at you for doing it all the time?”

“Is that what you really think about sex?”

“Well, yeah.” Did I have any other example that taught me it was good? No, hell no.

“Those…are just….well…there are certain people you should not do it with, that make it bad.”

“Like uncle?”

“Yeah, like uncle. And both parties have to consent to it and use proper precaution, and then it can be fun, amazing in fact.”

“Why don’t you teach me how to do it right then?”

“Because it’s wrong, Mitchel.”

There was that word again: wrong. I hated it. It was like the word complicated, something I learned people said when they didn’t want to explain something.

“What’s so wrong about it?! Everyone tells me it’s wrong. Wrong this and wrong that and don’t do it cuz it’s wrong! I just wanna know. I’m curious. You’re experienced. You’re only two years older than me and you were having sex at my age!” I protested.

“I grew up a little bit faster than you did, Mitchel, and it was far too soon. Sex…changes you.” Mason said calm and level, in stark contrast to my distress.

“Don’t give me that bullshit Mason.”

Mason looked at me worriedly.

“Please, what harm could it cause? I just want to know and it’s just a kiss and no one has to know and I’ll stop pestering you.” If it’s as gross as I think, a small part of my brain added.

“You could always find someone better than me. Someone your own age that you like,” he sighed softly.

“No, I can’t. I want it to be you. I don’t want it to be some stranger off the streets, or some other person I hardly know and there’s no one beside you that I’d really want to learn this from. You're my age and I like you. Please, Mason, pleeease.” I pleaded, pouting just a little. Mason cringed at my words and his uncertainty still lingered like smoke on clothing.

But I knew he could never say no to me.

“Fine, but just one kiss and don’t tell anyone about this, okay?”

“Okay,” I eagerly nodded.

“Promise.”

“I promise.”

“Alright,” he reluctantly agreed, “come here.”

Propped up on my elbow, I leaned over Mason. My lips hovered over his, unsure of what to do. Mason tipped his head up slightly and pressed his lips softly to mine. His hand snaked into my hair and pulled me closer, the kiss becoming more insistent, but still soft and tender as he moved delicately compared to my own sloppiness. His tongue licked my lips and I opened my mouth, like they did in the movies. He thrust his tongue into my mouth and it slid and rolled against mine teasingly.

I felt a powerful stir in my groin that combined with the sensation of the kiss left my mind blank with a hum of pleasure that buzzed through my body.

My lips moved perfectly against his, soft and slow, with just the right amount of pressure. And it wasn't gross or disgusting, like I thought it would be, but alluring and pleasant and just...amazing.

My cheeks grew hot and my head turned fuzzy with the need for air. Mason abruptly pulled away then, panting heavily for air.

I sank down next to him heavily, gasping with the sudden rush of air. My head still felt light.

I didn’t want it end.

When I looked down, though, I realized with sudden embarrassment that I was horribly hard. My cheeks burned with humiliation.

Mason was staring at the ceiling again, completely unaware.

I knew now was my chance to ask him for never before did I dare touch what my teachers called an erection. I was too afraid.

“Umm…Mason?”

“Yeah?”

“Umm…what do I do with this?” I asked and vaguely gestured towards my erection.

Mason looked at me incredulously before his eyes opened wide in realization and he laughed at me. I was beyond mortified.

“You…don’t know? You’ve never…ya know, tried.”

“Tried what? Sex?”

“No, masturbating.”

My cheeks burned a darker shade of red.

“No,” I whispered shamefully, unable to look at Mason anymore. “I heard it was painful.”

“Who told you that?”

I just shrugged my shoulders. I didn’t want to tell him that no one did, that it was just something I’d inferred, and risk being laughed at again.

“It’s not painful, Mitch. I don’t know who told you that, but they’re not very bright.”

I did not think it was possible, but my cheeks burned hotter. I would never tell Mason that that idiot was me.

I continued to stare at the opposite wall firmly keeping my mouth shut before I said anything stupid. Mason was silent too, but I felt his eyes staring at me.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Mitch,” he finally softly whispered to me. “Everyone does it, and if they say they don’t, they’re lying. It’s a completely natural thing to do, and I promise it doesn’t hurt. You should try it, you’ll thank me later.”

“Have you ever tried it?” I asked hopefully and turned to look at him. If Mason did, then I knew I could too.

His stare turned dark, pain, anger and confusion flashed through his eyes and then it was quickly gone.

“Yes,” he whispered in a tone that said don’t ask more, please, don’t ask more about it.

“Will you…show me how?” I asked instead.

The cold look in Mason’s eyes quickly fled in the wake of his surprise.

“Mitchel, I don’t—”

“I only trust you,” I interrupted. “Please Mason.” The pleading, almost childish voice, and the puppy dog eyes I knew were something Mason could not say no to. They were my skills of manipulation that I had been fine tuning since I was very young. They almost always got me what I wanted.

There was a small part of me that almost felt guilty for manipulating my older brother like this. But it was a very small part that was quickly defeated by my need to know more, by a need that I couldn’t quite describe, but I knew Mason had to fill.

“Fine, but I’m only doing this once and I’m only doing it so that you lose this insane fear of masturbation,” he joked as if to alleviate his own fear.

I nodded excitedly. “Lie on your side,” he instructed as he reached into the drawer next to his bed.

“What’s that?” I asked as he pulled out a small tube of what looked like lotion.

“It’s lube,” he replied. “It helps ease things along.”

“Need lube. Okay,” I nodded, ready to memorize everything Mason said and did.

“Relax, Mitch. Don't be so nervous. Trust me, you won't forget.""

“I’m not nervous,” I lied as I shuffled onto my side and began undoing my pants. At least that much I knew I had to do.

“Uh huh.”

Mason slicked his and gently fisted my erection.

"Oh," I gasped as he started stroking me with slow, teasing strokes, slowly working up speed, paying particular attention to a very sensitive spot on the underside of my penis close to the head. It surprised my by how good it felt and I instinctively thrust into his hands.

Mason merely smirked.

I shivered at how good it felt, clenching the sheets between my hands as my vision dimmed slightly. Something amazing was happening and the feeling in my groin grew. I needed more and I tried to get it by thrusting again into Mason's hand. Mason said nothing, so I assumed it was fine to do so.

“Oh god,” I panted as his hand moved faster, his other hand beginning to fondle my balls.

It felt good, oh so good, and my whole body throbbed with ecstasy. I was suddenly uncomfortable hot, but I hardly noticed.

I clutched the sheets tighter and clenched my eyes shut and all I could think of was how good this felt, how I didn’t want it to end.

I gasped as Mason’s surprisingly soft hands dragged over that sensitive area again with determined exaggeration.

“This is…oh god…” I didn’t know what I was saying anymore. I couldn’t really think of anything as Mason hands continued their tantalizing motions and the sheer amount of ecstasy that coursed through my body rendered me speechless.

Each stroke began to feel more amazing, sending greater waves of pleasure through me unit I was thrusting helpless into his hand. There was a soft haze covering my eyes and I twisted the sheets in my hands, panting heavily.

"Faster," I begged as I felt an odd tightening in my groin, a slow buildup of pressure. I clenched the sheets as tightly as I could, something pleasant and numbing built in my mind as well.

That odd feeling built up further and then it was suddenly released in a violent burst of bliss as stars exploded behind my eye lids. It pulsed through me like a cool breeze on a hot day and when it finally ended, I still felt the aftereffects course through my heavy limbs.

“How was that?” Mason asked, but my mind was slow to react, still fuzzy from what I dimly recognized was an orgasm. “Did it hurt?” he teased.

“Hmmm,” was my only response. I was too numb still, my limbs too heavy and my mind still too blissfully empty to think of anything to say.

I heard Mason chuckle, but it was distant and my vision once more was becoming dark. I curled closer to my older brother and fell deeply asleep in a happy, naïve slumber.

For I woke up alone, Mason already long gone, as it would always be.

***

Somewhere Only We Know (1/?)

2009-02-15T07:00:20Z

Title: Somewhere Only We Know
Author: quoteintangible
Rating: Between PG13 and R. Rating will go up later on
Fandom: Metro Station
Pairing: Mason / OC (well OCs) Will change with each chapter.
POV: First half: Mitchel Musso, Second Half: Mason
Disclamer: I do not know NOR own Metro Station or the Musso family. They belong entirely to themselves. This is a work of fanficition.
Summary: They were too fucked up to be together, but too messed up to be alone.
Author's Notes: This was written as a request in which I was asked if I could write a dramatic but smutty story with Trace, Mason, Mitchel, and Miley with all of them being involved with one another in at least some way. Well this is the dark and interesting path my mind chose to wander down.
Warnings: Implied slash this chapter and implied pedophilia/sexual abuse/underage sex, ratings and warnings will change with each chapter.

Chapter One: Sex is the Devil's Way of Saying 'Fuck You'

I didn’t know much about sex.

Except for, maybe, that it was bad. Or at least that’s what everything in life had taught me.

I was six years old when I got my first lesson in sex.

Uncle Vern, or Uncle Pervert, as I liked to call him sat Mason and I down one day and showed us his porn collection.

I don’t really remember much and I didn’t really understand what I was seeing, but I remember that I thought it was gross and that I never wanted to do anything like that.

When I was 10 years old, Uncle Pervert was arrested for having sex. Some nice police lady asked me a lot of questions about it too.

She kept asking me if Uncle ever touched me in a way that made me uncomfortable or if he ever made me do something I didn’t want to. “If he did,” she said, “you need to tell me, because what he did was wrong.”

I still didn’t understand, but I got the impression that sex was evil.

I did know that having sex made Mason sick, with an STD I heard my parents whisper alone in the dark of the living room one night. He got it from Uncle.

Mom cried herself to sleep that night.

Mason cried himself to sleep every night for two weeks after Mom and Dad found out about what Uncle did. I could hear him from my room.

I’ve never head Mason cry before. It scared me.

I asked Mason about this sex thing, and all he said was that ‘it hurt’ and he ‘didn’t really want to talk about it.’

When I was 12, they tried to teach us about sex in health class, but it wasn’t very encouraging.

Sticking my penis up a woman’s vagina did not seem very pleasant at all, especially if I was to expect a baby at the end of it and seriously if that’s what sex was for, why did anyone do it for fun?

Therefore, for my much of my young life, I’d come to associate sex as something painful and useless and just plain gross and disgusting.

But Mason seemed to be having an awful lot of it for something that was supposed to be unpleasant or so one of the school bullies told me.

“I heard he’ll have sex with anything that walks on two feet.”

I bristled with anger because I knew he was insulting my brother, but the truth was…I didn’t really know if it was true or not and that thought kept my mouth firmly shut. I never saw him long enough to ask, because Mason never really came home anymore and when he did, he did not stay long before taking off.

I missed Mason. We used to be close. After the trial, though, after Uncle went to prison, Mason became distant.

He stopped being happy.

I didn’t know what Mason was doing while he was away, but I knew it made our parents upset.

I heard them talk, when they thought no one was listening, about how wrong it was: what Uncle did, what Mason was doing.

And there was that word again: wrong. I still did not know what was right about it, why Mason wanted to do it.

So I asked Mason on one of those rare days he home for more than a few hours, if the rumor about his sex life was true and if that’s what he was doing when he was away. He looked away, a choked ‘yeah’ falling from his lips.

He never could lie to me.

I wanted to ask him why, but there was a shine to his eyes that threatened to bring tears. I couldn’t be the one to make Mason cry, because I still remembered the last time I heard him do it. It hurt to see my brother in pain, and it scared me to know that Mason was not invincible.

And I needed Mason to be like he used to be: happy, strong…just normal. So I could not watch him cry, I could not acknowledge, at least not yet, that Mason could not be what I needed him to be.

So I let the question slide, just like our parents let Mason’s behavior slide, let him come home later and later, let him do whatever he wanted.

Until it got bad, real bad, and they couldn’t ignore it anymore.

***

I was nothing more than a whore.

At least that’s what Uncle told me every time he…

I couldn’t really disagree. I wasn’t good for much else.

I thought maybe I could go back to the way things were before…

I thought I could be the same person.

But my own father wouldn’t even look me in the eyes and my mother cried herself to sleep.

They were selfish bastards. They wanted to pretend that nothing had happened; they didn’t want to look at me and be reminded of the fact that my father’s brother, his best friend since they were children, was a pedophile.

They did not want to know what I had done.

Not once did they ever mention the problem, except in the dark glances sent my way.

So I ignored the problem too, because it obviously wasn’t even important enough for them to acknowledge, then why should I bother?

I never could forget the feeling of his hands, though…the look in his eyes, the pain, the feel of his hot breath on my neck burned into my mind like a tattoo.

It sent me to a dark place, someplace I never want to go again, where day after day I wasn’t sure it was worth it anymore, living for the next moment that wasn’t going to get any better.

It was at this point in my sad, pathetic life when I met Steve.

Steve paid attention to me when no one else did. Steve loved me when no one else wanted to, not even my parents. Steve was something to look forward to.

Even though he used to hit me and he often made me do things I didn’t want to…it was still better than nothing.

That relationship ended poorly.

But then there was Ashley, who had the intelligence of a beetle, but she wanted a good fuck and I could give her that.

Things ended with her on a…rather sour note.

After that, the people didn’t really mater. It was one night stands one after another, sometimes brief flings or relationships, until I managed to string together enough fuck buddies that on the good days, I didn’t even have to go home.

Home, if I could have even called it that anymore, was where I’d have to look at my mother and know she thought I was a failure. Home was where I’d have to face the disappointment of my father, and the eyes of Mitchel who still thought I could be the person I once was. Only Marc looked at me with eyes that didn’t hope, did not expect something, but that wasn’t enough to keep me from staying away.

I let my partners do anything they wanted, because I needed to please them, I needed to feel important to someone. I needed to do the one thing I knew I was good at…

I let it go too far.

I was only 16 years old, but I was drunk, so very, very drunk. I was naked and tied to a bed with some guy’s dick shoved up my ass.

I couldn’t even remember his name anymore. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d even bothered to learn their names. John Doe number…well…does it even matter?

This John was particularly vicious and he beat me up pretty bad. I don’t know how I made it home, but when I got there I passed out on the front steps.

I woke up in the hospital suffering a severe concussion, alcohol poisoning, serious rope burns to my wrists, and broken ribs among other things.

My parents were beyond pissed, but that was fine. At least they noticed me for once and did not ignore me for the sake of normalizing their life.

And all it took was getting the shit beat out of me.

My mother yelled and cried and threw out words like ‘therapy’ and ‘you need help’ and ‘you can’t keep doing this to yourself,’ but I knew by tomorrow morning it would all blow over and she would return to ignoring me.

It didn’t quite happen that way.

Four Stages of Guilt: Intermission to Depression

2009-02-01T07:39:49Z

Series: Four Stages of Guilt
Title: Intermission to Depression
Author: quoteintangible
Rating: Between R and NC-17
Fandom: Metro Station
Pairing: Mason/Trace
POV: Trace
Disclamer: I do not know NOR own Metro Station. They belong entirely to themselves. This is a work of fanficition.
Summary: Mason needs Trace to make him feel better. Pure smut.
Author's Notes: After a six week haitus, I have finally returned. The first two stories in this series were so depressing, I thought I'd write something happy for a change. This is pure and utter smut.
Warnings: Graphic boy on boy sex. I'm just warning, cuz i don't want to hear any complaining.

“Make love to me.”

I raised my eyebrow and smirked at Mason as he sat next to me on my bunk.

“Now’s hardly the time…or place,” I teased.

Mason cast his glance around nervously. We were alone back here, but we could hear laughter in the lounge and other ominous sounds that proved we were not entirely alone.

Mace licked his lips nervously. “I know that, but I…I need this, Trace. Please.”

How was I to pass up the chance of sex? I smiled devilishly at Mason and pulled him further into the bunk, shutting the curtain behind us. There was something so alluring about the danger of being caught.

The bunk was small and cramped, but it was decidedly bigger than some of the bathroom stalls we had done it in.

We couldn’t exactly afford to be picky.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked when I finally maneuvered him onto his back, my fingers lightly brushing over his nipple through his t-shirt. “Even if there’s a possibility that at any moment someone could rip that curtain open and we could both be butt naked with my cock buried up your ass?”

Mason looked away, a dark blush crept up the edges of his cheeks to adorn his face, but he still nodded.

It wasn’t quite the reaction I expected, well hoped for. I had hoped for a teasing remark, not this quiet, withdrawn response.

My hand stilled its gentle caress. “Mason,” his eyes continued to stare vacantly at the wall, “why do you want to do this?”

“Does it matter?” he replied, his lower lip trembling.

“It does.”

“I just,” and he paused, his eyes scanning the wall as if the answer was there, “I just need to feel you.”

He turned to look at me, a hint of a smirk in his dark brown eyes and a coy smile dancing on his lips.

“Besides,” he teased, “do I really need an excuse for mind blowing sex?” He teased, his hands ghosting along my sides, his breath hot in my ear. “Especially when it’s with you,” he whispered.

Before I could say anything more, Mason grabbed my shirt and pulled me down into a fierce kiss.

He eagerly fumbled for the top button of my jeans, shoving his hands down my pants as soon as the button was free. He curled his hand around my erection and shoved my pants down with his other hand. I moaned and instinctually thrust into his hand.

“Someone’s eager,” I gasped and pinned his hands to the bed before I came too soon.

“Do you want this or not,” he growled, thrusting up so that our erections slid together in tantalizing friction, a challenge written clearly in his glazed eyes.

My eyes narrowed in response. “On your knees, slut.”

“Gladly master,” he readily complied.

I tugged down his pants and slicked two fingers with the lube we always kept handy for situations like this. I smoothed my free hand across his stomach and pressed wet kisses down his spine. Without warning I shoved my slickened fingers inside of him.

Mason grunted low in his throat as he opened his legs wider to accept the sudden invasion.

I pressed a kissed to his back and angled my fingers just right until it was hitting that spot and sending jolts of pleasure through him. Mason groaned, muffling the sound into the sheets, as he pushed back against my fingers.

It had been far too long since we’d last done this and the sight of Mason moaning for me, begging for me forced lust to surge through my foggy brain.

I withdrew my fingers and shuffled forward until I was pressing against him.

We both moaned as I pushed inside agonizingly slow. Mason tried to push back, but I gripped his hips tightly forcing him to remain still.

I buried my face into the hot curve of Mason’s shoulders, panting heavily at the intense heat that enveloped me and nearly sent me over the edge.

A groan caught in my throat and my breath hitched from the jolts of pleasure running through me.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I panted harshly, my eyes clenched shut until I was fully seated.

Mason only groaned in response, his fists clenching in the sheets.

My own hands gripped his hips tighter as I pulled out and thrust back in.

“O god, Trace, fuck…”

I leaned forward more, one hand settling on the wall to steady me as I pulled back and thrust in harder, faster. Mason pushed back, meeting me thrust for thrust.

I slid my free hand along slickened skin, across his stomach and reaching lower until my hand was ghosting over his erection, teasingly.

“Mason,” I whispered and grabbed his erection, jerking him off in time with my thrusts.

“Ugh.” I snapped my hips and Mason lowered his head, biting his lip to keep from crying out.

I thrust again, long and hard. I could feel the heat pooling in my groin and that familiar tightening. All I heard through the fog surrounding my brain were pleading, hoarse words of please, and more and muffled whimpers. My vision was hazy with pleasure, my thrusts erratic, as I finally came, muffling my cries into Mason’s shoulder as I bit down hard.

Mace came, biting his lip as he shuddered. His elbows caved and he sank down onto the bed.

Carefully I pulled back, wincing as Mason hissed. I lied down next to him and placed an apologetic kiss to his cheek.

“Did that satisfy your need?” I panted, my leaden eyes twinkling with amusement. Mason smacked me halfheartedly.

“Hard to tell,” he joked back.

Before I could formulate a response, the soft sound of feet approaching us reached our ears.

I wrapped a protective arm around Mason as he leaned back into me.

“Mason?” Blake’s worried voice floated towards us. Mason bit his lip, but did not respond.

“Mason, I understand if you don’t want to talk to me right now, but…I…I’m sorry, Mason. I know about you and Trace, and I…I had no right to kiss you like that. I’m sorry.” Blake walked away leaving me in stunned silence.

“He…he kissed you!” Mason buried his burning cheeks into the pillow.

“I’m sorry, Trace. I didn’t want him too. He just kind of threw himself at me and I didn’t know what to do.”

I chuckled softly. “I’m not mad, Mason. Amused is more like it. God, I don’t even know why we bothered to keep this a secret.”

“We weren’t very good at it.”

“Well I can’t help it that you’re so damn noisy.”

“You love it!” He growled playfully and turned around to face me.

“And I can’t help it that you’re just so damn sexy that I can’t keep my hands from you, keep you from making those sexy noises.”

“What can I say, I’m awesome.”

“And modest too.” I kissed his lips, a slow tender kiss. “I love you, Mason.”

“I love you too,” he replied and kissed me back.

“Why don’t you say we give them another show?” I smirked.

“I am always a willing participant to your desires.”

Sometime later, as Mason moaned rather obscenely and rhythmic thudding, I was later told could be heard throughout the whole bus, I realized this was all I ever really needed. And I didn’t really care if anyone else knew.

Four Stages of Guilt: Stage Two (2/2)

2008-12-04T05:33:02Z

Series: Four Stages of Guilt
Title: Stage Two: Anger
Fandom: Metro Station
Pairing: Trace / Mason
Summary: Sequel to Step One: Denial. Mason and Trace must deal with the consequences after Mason finally tells his mother about the abuse.
Disclaimer: I obviously do not own Metro Station, they belong to themselves. And I'm pretty sure this never happened nor am I making any money off this.
Rating: R
Genre: Major Mason angst
Warning: Mentions of child abuse, swearing

Chapter Two: It's not a disease, it's love

“Hello?”

“Trace.” She seemed almost relieved that Mason didn’t answer the phone. I felt a stir of anger. “Mason, is he…?”

“He’s sleeping.” There was more of a bite to my words than I intended, but I was worried and angered by her hesitance.

The answer should have been obvious.

“Mrs. Musso please—”

“I know Trace,” she interrupted. “God, I’ve always known. How couldn’t I have?”

It felt like an icy hand just grabbed my heart and forced it to stop beating.

“You…you knew?” I stuttered the words and shook my head in disbelief. “You fucking knew!”

“Trace you have to understand, I…I tried to help him. I did everything I could, but I just…I can’t leave him.”

I heard the words, but I could not process them. I told myself over and over again, that it simply could not be true.

“I—I don’t understand.”

“Trace –”

“No! No. Fuck! Did you really think you were helping? Did you really do everything you could?”

“I…I’m sorry Trace.”

I felt a storm brewing in my chest, a tumult of emotions like crashing waves and a burn of anger stronger than a strike of lightning.

“Please, just tell Mason I’m sorry.”

And that was the final straw that let loose the storm. My thin barrier of control snapped with a sudden flood of infuriation.

“I can’t.” I felt hot tears burn my eyes. “God, are you even really sorry?”

“Of course I am.”

I shook my head again. She did not get it. She just did not get it.

And she never would.

“Mason tried to kill himself.”

It was a secret I thought I would take to the grave, but I found the words forcing themselves past my lips now. As childish as is it was I wanted her to hurt as much as we did and I wanted to be the one that hurt her as much as she hurt Mason.

It was a low blow, but nothing could be worse than what she just told me.

“He wanted to die, Katherine. For years I’ve wondered how I let things get that bad, how I could have done things differently so Mason never had to feel that way.

“And now you’re telling me you knew just how miserable he was and you never did anything to stop it?! I’ve been blaming myself for years for never doing anything! But you’re his mother, you’re supposed to know better and you’re not even fucking sorry!

“Am I supposed to tell Mason this? Tell him that you said ‘sorry honey, I knew your life was a living hell, but I never did anything to stop it because you just weren’t important enough?’

“God, it would better off if you just never called.”

I was aware that my hands were shaking and my palms were sweating, but I was cold and trembling.

“Trace please. Please don’t do this.” But I hadn’t done anything wrong.

“If,” and I took a deep breath, “if Mason asked of you the same thing…what would you do?”

She stuttered and fell silent. There was no excuse out there that could answer my question.

“One day, when you’re all alone, you’re going to regret what you’ve done.

“But it’ll be too late to take back the hurt you caused. It is far too late already.

“So please, if at least part of you cares, however small and deep, you won’t call back ever again.” It’ll be easier to forget you that way…easier to move on.

I hung up in tears, not caring if she had an opinion or if she even heard anything I said. Like Mitchel told me…it didn’t matter, not anymore. All I could do now was pick up the shattered pieces she left behind and try to move on, try to help Mason move on.

Hopefully one day we could.

There would always be a few pieces, though, left behind with her.

A single tear caressed my eyelashes and glided down my cheek.

I had to calm down before I woke up Mason and he saw me like this. I couldn’t let him know I was breaking too.

But I was too angry to stop the tears, too heartbroken to make the pain go away.

I brushed the bangs from Mason’s eyes and placed a tender kiss on his forehead before fleeing as more tears coursed down my cheeks.

Ant found me nearly an hour later, still pathetically sniffling in a local park.

I looked down, unable to meet his gaze as he took the seat next to me.

I briefly glanced at him, unable to meet his eyes. “I really fucked things up this time.”

Ant shook his head. “You are not the one who hurt Mason, Trace. This isn’t your fault. His parents are assholes and there is nothing you could have or can do to change that.” I didn’t ask how he knew. Maybe it was too obvious, and maybe we were too.

“No,” I agreed, “but I didn’t do anything to help either.”

“Didn’t you? Have you not always been there for him? Would Mason even be here if it was not for you?” And maybe Ant was more perceptive than I gave him credit for.

“I don’t know,” I replied truthfully. “It’s just…he always been there for me Ant. He…he fixed me when no one else could and…I’ve never been able to do the same for him.”

Ant wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit, Trace. Mason needs you. And as much as you don’t believe it, you’re the best thing that’s happened to him in a long time. You’ve helped him so much, Trace.”

“I just wish I could have done things differently.”

“I’ve never met anyone who didn’t. We all make mistakes and we all have to live with those mistakes for the rest of our lives. But you have to know when to let them go, or they will destroy you.”

I knew he was right, but I wasn’t ready to do it. Not yet.

“How did you know, Ant?”

“Know what?”

“How did you know about his mother?”

Ant gave me a small sad smile.

“Have you ever seen Mason stand up for himself?” My eyes jerked towards him as a heavy feeling settled in my gut.

“No.”

“Have you ever seen him flinch because someone got too close, or because their voice was too loud?”

“All the damn time.”

“ And when was the last time Mason was happy?”

I shook my head. I didn’t know.

“What mother wouldn’t notice?”

Anyone who knew him had to be at least suspicious.

It was obvious, painfully obvious.

Too hard to miss.

It was true, any mother would have noticed even if she wasn’t paying attention. Even if she did not want to see it.

Ant hugged me tighter. “I’m sorry, Trace. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Was there?

Mason was an adult. We couldn’t tell him what to do. We couldn’t stop him from seeing his father. Neither could we open his mother’s eyes or stop his father from being a dick.

No. There was nothing we could do and I told Ant so. I think he already knew, though.

“There’s still one thing you want to know, though, isn’t there?”

I cringed as Ant’s eyes searched mine. He was too perceptive.

“You want to know how I know about the two of you.”

I cringed again and slunk down in the seat. Mason and I discussed telling Ant and Blake about our relationship, but we weren’t ready to tell them, or anyone for that matter, after the disasters we both experienced.

Ant smirked at me. “You two are so damn obvious. Sometimes I expect you two to just start humping each other on stage.”

He was trying to make me smile, but it didn’t work. I was too numb to feel anything at this point.

“We should really get back. Mason’s probably worried about you and I left him alone with Blake.” There was a hint of nervousness and an anxious edge to Ant’s voice. I turned questioning eyes toward him.

He looked away. “Don’t get mad, please, it’s just that…Blake is in love with Mason. He found out about your guy’s relationship the other day and he did not react well. I’m just, I’m worried about leaving him alone with Mason for too long.”

I bitterly laughed. Here I though it could not get any worse, we were already drowning.

But now something was holding our heads under.

I didn’t want to think about it too much for compared to our other problems, it was low on the list, but when we got back to the bus, there was something quite off about Mason.

He wouldn’t look me in the eyes.

And if there was one thing Mason was not afraid of, it was too look anyone in the eyes, even his father.

My paranoia got the better of me and I found myself giving Blake the glare of death.

Take care of this, I silently told Ant with a withering glare as I dragged Mason away.

As soon as we were far away I wrapped Mason in a tight hug letting him know I wasn’t mad at him.

Mason tended to avoid me when he thought I was angry with him. He was still too afraid to talk to me about his problems rather than running away. I could not let Mason avoid me now, not when we needed each other so badly.

I tried to kiss him, just a quick peck on the cheek, but he turned away and I felt slightly unnerved.

“Baby, what happened?”

“Nothing happened, Trace,” he replied still refusing to look at me.

I didn’t believe him, but I thought, in his own time Mason would tell me.

I should have pressed harder.

But I had a more pressing matter on my hands.

“I…”and I stopped. I knew I had to tell him about his mother. When I looked at him, though, truly looked at him, I saw the bags under his eyes that almost looked like bruises and the hopelessness written on his face and I just did not have the heart to tell him. “I love you Mason.”

He turned to face me. “Do you love me enough to tell me the truth?”

I was surprised by my lack of shock. I should have known Mason knew about his mother. All this time…the tears, the despair, the depression wasn’t just because his father hated him.

I wanted to look away, but his eyes drew me in and I could not lie to his face.

“Are you sure you want to know?” Mason bit his lip and finally looked away.

“For the longest time I…I tried to convince myself that maybe it wasn’t obvious. Maybe she was just tired and overworked and too busy to notice. One day, though, Dad got really pissed and gave me a black eye before taking off. When I went to get ice, she was in the kitchen with an ice pack already made.

“She never even asked me how I got the bruise.

“I kept trying to tell myself she didn’t know, though. I kept making excuses for her. But I can’t lie to myself anymore, Trace. But I need to hear you say it before I can convince myself to stop making excuses for her. Please, Trace, tell me. Did she know?”

Maybe I should have lied in that moment. Maybe I should have said ‘no, baby, how could you even think that?’ Maybe Mason needed me to lie to him. But instead I nodded and destroyed the last tendril of hope Mason had been holding onto for years.

“I’m sorry, Mason.”

“I know.”

***

I growled in frustration and angrily shoved more clothing into my suitcase.

“Mitchel, where are you going young man?”

“Away from you,” I heatedly spat back. If she wanted to deny the truth, forget everything I told her, then I would not stay here.

I pulled out a second suitcase and continued packing everything that was important to me because I knew, I just knew I wasn’t coming back.

“Where are you going, sweetie? Please don’t leave.” She tried the nice approach this time, but it would not work.

“Do you even care?” I shot back. I sounded like a petulant child, but if she wasn’t going to listen to anything I said, I was not going to play fair either.

With my luggage over my shoulders I took off for my best friend’s house. He already said I could stay as long as I needed and was already outside waiting to pick me up.

I passed my father on the steps out. He had that fake smile I absolutely hated plastered to his face.

“Mitchel, where you headed son?”

“I hate you.” The words tumbled from my mouth, but I realized with sudden clarity how true they were. “I know what you did, you sick bastard and I hate you for it!” and I walked away, but not without one last comment, a dark secret I had been harboring for years.

“And guess what? I’m gay too!”

I climbed into the van waiting for me and cast one last glance towards my parents knowing I would not come back ever again.

***

Mason hadn’t reacted much when I gave him the news about his mother. He hasn’t said much since and I’m beginning to wonder if this is what shock is.

I’m lucky if I can get him to move from under the blankets, let alone eat or talk or do much of anything at all.

Mitchel called back to tell us he moved out.

I can’t stay here knowing what he did, he confidently said, she can live with her own mistakes.

I was surprised, we both were, that Mitchel was willing to go so far. His love and loyalty meant more than he would ever know.

Even that little bright spot, however, was unable to stir a reaction from Mason.

Mason’s phone wouldn’t stop vibrating either and I was forced to delete numerous angry messages from his father.

It was going off again and I was sick and tired of his father’s childish attempts to bully Mason. So I stole his phone from him and decided that I was going to tell his father exactly what I thought of him.

“This is all your fault,” was the first thing his father said. “Your mother won’t stop crying because of you and you turned Mitchel into a faggot.” I cringed, I hated that word, absolutely hated that word and for a moment I saw red. “It this what you wanted? You destroyed our family. How does that make you feel you little shit? The next time I see you I will make you regret it.” Mason shrunk away from the phone in fear from just his father’s voice and seeing his fear stirred a hate so powerful it consumed me.

“I don’t think you get it,” I calmly began, “I sure as fucking hell don’t care what you think and neither does Mason. Your opinion does not matter. You do not matter, not to us. So don’t fucking call again or I will call the police and get a restraining order. And I swear to fucking god if you call back I will stick my goddamn hand down your fucking throat and tear out your voice box so that you fucking shut up for once in your life! Better yet, I’ll tear out your fucking heart so that you fucking die! And you know what, you can’t catch gay! It's called love, asshole, something you're obviously incapable of.”

I snapped the phone shut before he could respond.

And then Mason did the one thing I never expected him too.

He smiled, no, he laughed at me.

“You’re really funny when you get all worked up like this.”

I attempted to glare at him, but fell short and laughed with him. To see his smile was the single greatest thing I had seen in months.

“I’m glad.”

“Thank you, Trace.”

“If it gets you to smile, I really would shove my hand down his throat and tear out his heart.”

But he shook his head. “No, thank you for being there for me. Thank you for going through all of this just for me. Thank you for sticking up to my mother and father like that. Thank you, just, for loving me.”

“Thank you for loving me back.”

Maybe we were two bright colors living in a grey world. And maybe things weren’t perfect. And maybe they would never be. And maybe we would be hiding in the shadows for the rest of our life.

But we would always have these moments, and we would always have each other and there would always be someone out there to lend a helping hand.

There was a hint of winter chill left in his brown eyes, though, that scared me more than I wanted to admit. And I could not shake the feeling that something terrible was about to happen.

Jealousy Urges

2008-11-12T05:25:50Z

Series: Four Stages of Guilt
Title: Jealousy Urges
Summary: Blake witnesses an intimate moment between Trace and Mason and is suddenly jealous.
Disclaimer: I obviously do not own Metro Station, they belong to themselves. And I'm pretty sure this never happened nor am I making any money off this.
Rating: R
Genre: Major Mason angst
Pairing: Trace/Mason
Warnings: Minor sexual content

***

“Mason?”

The brown haired boy had gone completely silent as his phone slipped from shaking fingers to thud noisily to the floor of our tour bus.

“Mason, what’s wrong?” Trace tried again. Mason merely shook his head as unshed tears welled in his brown eyes.

Trace moved closer to the distraught teenager and settled a steady hand on Mason’s trembling shoulders. Mason flinched away from him.

It was unnerving, disturbingly so. Mason was usually so vibrant and energetic, but in the last three weeks he had become withdrawn and distant.

It started with a phone call exactly 19 days ago. Mason had taken the phone call in private and when he returned to the bus he hadn’t said a word. Merely ran to his bed, shut the curtain and refused to talk. 19 days later his messy and unkempt hair was a tangled disaster, he hadn’t slept in at least three days and he ate only when Trace forced him too. He still refused to talk and avoided everyone as much as we would let him.

And one day, late at night two days ago, I heard him quietly crying in the lounge of our bus.

It was hard to watch him fall apart like this, especially when we all relied on him so much. He was our energy and passion; he was our enthusiasm when we were feeling down. He entertained us when we were bored and cooked better than Ant, Trace and myself combined. It hurt to see Mason so upset and as hard as we tried, Mason refused to tell us why.

Even Trace could not get the truth from Mason and everyone knew how close those two were; inseparable from the moment they met. If Trace couldn’t figure it out, then no one could.

We still tried, though. And Ant, Trace and I would often stay up late worrying over him.

Trace moved closer and Mason flinched away from him again, but Trace pressed on. He grabbed Mason’s hand and gently squeezed before leaning over and whispering into Mason’s ear.

The smaller boy nodded slightly before letting Trace lead him out of the bus.
I was suddenly and irrationally jealous. I wanted what they had. I wanted to be as close to Mason as Trace was.

I wanted Mason.

I was in love with Mason Musso.

I had a sudden urge to follow the two of them so I got up.

“Where you going?” Ant asked.

“Just going to find some coffee.”

Ant shook his head. “Don’t do it, Blake. They need some time alone.”

I had the distinct feeling he knew something I didn’t and I think I knew what it was.

But I didn’t want to believe it. So against my better judgement, I left the tour bus.

It was easy to find the two of them, they hadn’t gone very far and I could hear Mason sobbing.

As I rounded a corner I finally spotted them in a dark, lonely alley just underneath a dim little light.

And as horrified as I was with Mason’s sobbing was I as angry now.

Trace was leaning against a wall with Mason in his arms. Their right hands were clasped and Trace had pulled the shorter man against his chest by an arm tightly secured around his waist. Mason let out another pitiful sob and Trace tightened his grip around Mason’s waist pulling him as close to him as possible.

Mason was shaking as he cried into Trace’s shoulder.

I wanted to be Trace.

I knew I should leave, but I couldn’t bring myself to move. So I stayed and watched such an intimate moment I knew I was never meant to see.

I was too far away to hear, but it did not really matter.

I still saw the way Trace tenderly pushed Mason’s hair out of his face, how he whispered lovingly into his ear, how tightly he held Mason, keeping him safe from the hurt that caused him such pain.

And it was if the world didn’t matter. It was just them under the little light and they were surrounded by darkness that meant absolutely nothing. I watched in amazement at what I knew was real love and not just a cheap imitation.

I could only imagine what it felt like. The pain I saw written on Trace’s face was Mason’s pain. To know someone else so well, to trust someone so completely, to just look in their eyes and know you were meant to be together forever…It hurt.

I tore my eyes away. This was a moment for only them that only they could understand, but still I watched.

Mason finally stopped crying as Trace rubbed soothing circles on his back. Mason pulled back and wiped at his tears ashamedly, and I wasn’t quite sure, but I thought I saw a light blush on his cheeks.

Trace smiled softly, a warm tender smile I had never seen him give before. He cupped Mason’s cheek and wiped away the tears with his thumbs. Mason smiled in embarrassment, but Trace shook his head.

He titled Mason’s head up so that the shorter boy would finally meet his eyes.

And I had never seen as much love and passion and concern as I saw in Trace’s eyes as he spoke softly to Mason in what I assumed was reassurance. I felt so wrong seeing this, but I still couldn’t bring myself to leave, to just walk away and leave them be.

And that pang of jealousy still ate away at my chest.

So I watched as Trace titled Mason’s head up and pressed their lips together. Mason returned the kiss hungrily, pressing Trace into the wall. Trace grinded his hips into the other boys and the moan that followed made the blood flow straight to my crotch. Mason titled his head back letting Trace suck on his neck as Trace flipped them around so Mason’s back was against the wall. They attacked each other’s lips again as Trace fumbled with the zipper on Mason’s suddenly too tight jeans.

My own jeans were becoming increasingly uncomfortable, but still I stayed.

And so I watched Trace kneel in front of his boyfriend, lover, friend?, and freed the younger man’s erection and wrapped the his lips around it.

Mason squeezed his eyes shut in pleasure and bit his lip to muffle his moans. His fingernails dug into the wall as Trace cupped and gently squeezed his sac. He gasped loudly as Trace pulled back and swirled his tongue around the head of his erection.

One of Mason’s hands snaked into Trace’s hair as he trust into the mouth wrapped around him. Mason moaned so loudly I could hear him from where I was and after a quieter gasp, he clenched his eyes tight and came into Trace’s mouth. Trace swallowed it all with ease that must have come with practice.

My mouth suddenly felt dry and I swallowed thickly hoping to ease the pain. I was horribly hard to the point where it was painful, but I dared not touch my own erection.

I stood there in dumb shook as Trace stood up and kissed Mason passionately, his tongue delving into the shorter boy’s mouth, but rather than take Mason’s pants off like I had thought he would, he zipped them up.

My mind was screaming Keep going and Mason seemed to be arguing the same, wanting to return the favor. But Trace smiled at him and kissed his nose and said something more that had Mason blushing again.

They grasped hands and headed back to the bus and I scrambled to take off, heading anywhere just to get away.

I was in absolute misery as I wandered aimlessly down the street. I had a tent in my pants and a broken heart. I loved Mason, but know I knew Mason was something I could never have.

I should have listened to Ant. He knew something like this was going to happen.

Two hours later I somehow made it back to the bus none the wiser and still miserable.

Ant was waiting for me.

“How long have you known?” I asked.

“Three months, give or take.”

“Did they tell you?”

“No. You can just tell by the way they look at each other how much they really care and love the other.” I contemplated Ant’s words and realized how true they were and how blind I was not to notice it. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” I said and sulked away to lie in my bed in misery for the rest of the night.

But something stopped me. Trace’s curtain was open enough for me to peak in and again my curiosity got the better of me. I looked in to find Mason curled in Trace’s arms in the most uncomfortable position in the tiny cramped space.

But I knew it wasn’t about being comfortable, it was about being loved. It was about giving and receiving without thinking of yourself first. It was about just being close to the other and never wanting to leave the warmth they offered.

I shut the curtain and walked away.

Mason trusted Trace, wanted him, loved him and Trace loved him back. And as much as I wanted that to be me, I knew this was something I could never have.

***