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what mood is that, sir? the subjunctive?

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In The Name Of Spiritual Advancement
Bandslash, NC-17, ~1800 words. Gerard/Grant Morrison. Thanks to verbyna for helping me get the chaos magic details right--I didn't take all her suggestions, so blame me rather than her for anything I got wrong.

Explanation of the "wankathon" for those who aren't familiar: in 1995, when The Invisibles was in danger of being canceled, Grant (a practitioner of chaos magic) wrote a letter to his fans asking them to jerk off on a particular day while focusing on a particular sigil in order to increase sales. Gerard Way was at that point 18 years old, a basement-dwelling comics nerd, and canonically a huge fan of Grant's work in general and The Invisibles in particular.


Gerard is in this for the fame. Money is nice, and there are other perks to being a celebrity, but nothing is truly important to him except reaching as many people as possible. All he wants from life is to throw his ideas at the world and watch them stick.

That's why he's nervous about how well Danger Days will sell. Not because of the actual sales numbers, but because they represent the extent of his influence.

"You're My Chemical fucking Romance," says Grant. "It isn't going to flop. Even if everyone hates it, it'll still sell. And there's filesharing to take into account. Numbers don't mean all that much."

Gerard's eyelid twitches. He can't seem to stop it twitching, actually, which is somewhat worrisome. He transfers his phone to his other hand so he can rub some peace into the spastic eye. "I know. It's still, I don't know, symbolic. It means people are paying attention."

It's all about attention. Gerard knows that. He's a whore for a glance and a raised eyebrow. Anything but indifference.

"You want to boost the sales numbers?" asks Grant. "I know how to do that. It would be even easier now, with Twitter. Did I ever tell you how I kept The Invisibles from being canceled in '95?"

Heat rushes through Gerard's face. He knew this would come up sometime, it had to. He'd hoped he might be able to handle it casually, but the images rush haphazardly through his head--the memory of being eighteen and reading the letters column in the new issue of the comic, being told by his favorite comic writer to jerk off in the name of spiritual advancement--and he can't say "I know about that, yeah" without his voice cracking.

Mercifully, Grant doesn't seem to notice. "You could try something like that, if you're concerned," he says.

"No," says Gerard. "I am not telling my fans to masturbate for me. Everyone already thinks I'm a Satanist pervert, I do not need them to be right."

"Some of my best friends are Satanist perverts," says Grant reproachfully.

Gerard sighs. "Sorry. No offense intended. Just, it would basically be taking sexual advantage of people. Thanks for the suggestion, but I don't think it's my style."

"I'll make you a sigil for it, just in case you change your mind," says Grant. There's a note of eagerness in his voice, like there always is when he talks about magic.

Gerard smiles into his phone. "Okay."

The line goes quiet. Gerard tries not to giggle when he realizes Grant is working up the sigil right now, while they're still on the phone. Gerard does his best to be respectful of chaos magic in general, not because he thinks it deserves respect but because it's important to Grant, and Grant is important to him.

Eventually Grant says, "Okay, I'm e-mailing it to you."

Gerard reaches for his laptop and refreshes his inbox a couple times until the message shows up. The subject line reads Increasing Danger Days revenue. He opens the attached image and examines the glyph. "Increasing revenue, huh? How many people do I need for it to work?"

"It's not an on-off switch," says Grant. "More energy means more results, but any number of people charging the sigil should have an effect."

Charging the sigil, thinks Gerard. That's a new way of putting it.

"Even just you," Grant continues, "or you and me, would make some small difference."

Gerard draws in a deep breath and lets it out, slow and silent. "Yeah?" he says softly.

He doesn't mean to sound as sultry as he does, but Grant says, "Yeah," and his voice is lower and quieter, too.

"So, I just..." Gerard inches his fingers underneath his waistband. "Just keep the image in my mind while I'm jerking off?"

"It's not the jerking off that matters, it's the moment of orgasm," Grant explains. "You want to be focusing on it while you come."

"Right." Gerard still isn't sure, isn't quite positive that they're doing this now, but then he hears Grant's breath catch, and he swallows. "Um. So should we, like. Time it? So we're... charging... together?"

"Shouldn't matter," says Grant, and Gerard is momentarily disappointed until he adds, "But it can't hurt, if you want to try."

Gerard unzips his jeans and starts massaging his cock, straining his ears for any hint of what Grant is doing. He can't hear anything rhythmic, although Grant's breathing is getting heavier, or maybe that's Gerard's own breathing coming through the line. He's still a little worried that he's misinterpreting something, but then Grant lets out a choked breath and gasps in another one, and yeah. This is happening.

Gerard is hard now, jutting out from the opening in his pants. He pushes them down around his thighs as best he can with one hand, the other still clutching the phone to his ear. Blood pounds in his ears, matching the pulse he can feel in his dick if he stops stroking it and holds still.

"Grant," he moans, which wasn't supposed to happen at all, fuck.

Grant is definitely panting a little. "Yeah?"

Crap, now Gerard has to come up with something to say. "I did this fifteen years ago, when you wrote that letter in The Invisibles," comes out of his mouth, and he winces at himself.

"Did you?" says Grant, sounding interested. "Because you were curious about the magic?"

"No." He's in this far, might as well let loose and find out what happens. "Because you told me to."

"You want me to tell you when to wank?" says Grant without missing a beat, and a shiver tingles its way through Gerard's entire body, because this has just turned into something it wasn't before. "You want me to tell you when you're allowed to come?"

Gerard lets out a truly embarrassing noise, breathy and high-pitched, and clenches his fist around the base of his cock.

"Answer me," says Grant sternly.

Gerard squeezes tighter to stop himself coming right then. "Yes," he manages to get out. "Please."

"Stop touching," says Grant. Gerard wrenches his hand away from his dick with difficulty and presses it against his thigh, digging in with his fingertips. "Close your eyes," says Grant, and Gerard does.

There's a long pause, then Grant says, "Put your pants back on."

They're not going to fit, not with a hard-on like this in the way, but Gerard tries. They won't zip up. "They're too tight, I can't while I'm hard."

"Then hurt yourself until you're not hard," says Grant calmly, and Gerard's brain shorts out.

When he can think again, he breathes in deep and forces the zipper. It's not happy with him, but it eventually closes all the way. "Okay," he says.

"Don't touch with your hands," Grant tells him. "You can rub against things if you like. Tell me what you're thinking."

Gerard lies on the end of his bed on his belly, propping himself up with his elbows, and presses down against the corner of the mattress. "Your gun under my chin," he says. "The night before the video shoot, when we were practicing, trying to figure out what angle would be best for the camera. When I kept making you try it different ways, making up my mind, I was fucking lying. I knew how I was going to have you do it in the video. I just didn't want you to stop."

He can almost hear Grant's smile, that vicious toothy grin he wears so well. "You liked the gun?"

"I liked you holding it."

Gerard's cock is starting to hurt from the constriction and the harsh friction when Grant says, "I want you naked now." A pause, and then, "You can use your nails."

Gerard wriggles out of his clothes and lies down on his back, just staying still for a moment, then lightly running his fingernails over his chest and stomach and hips. He leaves his cock alone, because if he touches it at all, he doesn't trust himself to keep control.

"Tell me what you want," says Grant.

"To make you come," says Gerard instantly. All he is, all he will ever be, is wrapped up in his ability to affect other people. More than anything, he wants to matter, and he knows how he can matter right now.

"You're most of the way there," says Grant, and for a split second Gerard can hear the tension and desire in his voice before he smoothes it out. "Jerk yourself off. Don't come yet."

Gerard takes his cock in his hand gingerly and rubs it as slowly as he can. He hopes this part won't stretch out too long--he's pushing his physiological limits here, not just his mental ones.

"The sigil," says Grant. Gerard can hear him now, jerking off too. "Are you ready?"

Gerard completely forgot about the fucking sigil. He glances over at his computer, which has gone to sleep, and pulls his hand away from his cock just long enough to reach over and wake it up. The image is still on the screen. "Yeah, I've got it."

"Fuck, all right. Fuck. Come."

It takes about five more seconds for Gerard to push himself over the edge after hearing that. He tries to hold the image of the sigil in his mind, but he gets distracted by the pleasure pounding through him and the sound of Grant groaning in his ear. He keeps trying until the aftershocks start slowing down, and that will just have to be good enough.

He listens to the sound of Grant's breath evening out, and doesn't say anything. Gerard pretty much just bared his soul here. Whatever comes next is up to Grant.

"So you helped keep The Invisibles alive," Grant says finally. "Thank you for that."

Gerard grins guiltily. "Um. Not really, no. I tried to think about the sigil, but when I actually came, I was thinking about, um. King Mob."

Grant bursts out laughing.

"Hey," Gerard says defensively. "He's basically your self-insertion character. I'd only seen a few pictures of you, and I was completely in love with your mind. I just had a better visual frame of reference for him."

"You're wonderful," says Grant through his chuckles. "Of course, it makes such utter sense."

Gerard is pretty sure he's being mocked, but he can't bring himself to mind. He can't really care a whole lot about Danger Days sales at the moment, either, which was probably what Grant was going for with all this. He stretches out lazily on the bed. "Thanks," he says.

"Anytime," answers Grant, and that sounds promising indeed.

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