Tell the truth-it really helped you.
I hope this chapter isn't shit because I wrote it really quickly on my iPod whilst eating lunch in my school's caf (writing gay mafia fic in Catholic school eateries FUCK YEAH) so if I accidentally type 'hey guys the chicken is shit today' you'll know why.
The title is like referring to how people can be addictive, like drugs.
First Of The Gang To Die
Frank was freaking out. Like, freaking out.
Being a naturally fretful person, Frank's mind was in neurotic overdrive. After making out with and groping the arch enemy of his fiance, seeing said fiance tortured and shot in the head, he had been bundled into a black automobile of probable Venician origin.
And was now being driven into the center of East Jesus Nowhere, right into the middle of God knows fucking where. Whilst involved with James (he found it strange to think this time period was over) he had resided in a one-bedroom flat in an apartment block in downtown LA, the more rundown and disadvantaged area of Los Angeles. He was most certainly now in upper LA; where mansions and expensive automobiles (much like the one he was travelling in curretly) were rife.
He was crying. Hyperventilating. Gasping in fear, apprehension, He didn't know how to deal with this-they didn't fucking tell him any of this in Catholic school. Sure, math is important, but dealing with your fiance being shot in the face you don't need to know about.
The car came to a halt. A disembodied voice from the front of the car demnded:
Frank didn't understand Italian. He just looked at the driver with a sort of desperate look in his eyes.
Oh. That he understood.
Frank fell from the vehicle, which immediately sped away once he had emerged from it. He found himself in front of a looming mansion, darkened by lack of light and aged by rusted gates. The house was completely ebony, from roof to foundation; the paint, the door, the gate, even the curtains that hung from within the windows. It looked haunting and pained.
Nonetheless, it was breath-takingly beautiful.
He stumbled toward it, unaware of any possible intentions. It was now pitch black and no one was to be seen-except a tabby cat lounging on a fence.
Even the cat looked scared shitless.
Frank made his way for the house, presuming this was the plan his captor had in mind. He noticed with surprise that the garden was full of life, but still with that increasing Gothic theme; all the roses were black, one or two smudged with red-dotted petals.
He thought he was dreaming for a moment when he pushed the door open. He had expected it to be locked; not too unusual an expectation,most people lock their goddamn houses. And yet this barren, black establishment was seemingly inviting. He stepped into a dark, unlit foyer decorated with paintings and sculptures.
"Hello?" Frank asked nervously.
As if someone's gonna be like "oh yeah, I'm in the kitchen, you wanna sandwich?"
He let out a shaky giggle. It rang through the house like manic laughter and made the hair on his neck stand up.
Then he heard it.
That...noise. The noise that indicated he was not the only person in the manor.
He cocked an ear in the damp air. It was coming from a darkened hallway, which Frank slowly made his way toward. He walked down the hall, not even daring to breathe. His lungs seemed to work of their own accord, as if they too feared some oncoming adversity.
There. It was coming from there, from above the winding staircase. The bathroom.
He opened the door pain-stakingly slowly. Then he saw.
It was Gerard.
He was facing away from Frank, dabbing at his shirt with cloth and water, cussing under his breath.
"Come out, goddammit,"he muttered, brow knitting together.
He saw from the mirror a smile had crawled across his face.
"Frank," was said softly. "You're here."
And where exactly is "here"?
"Yeah," he replied, "where am I?" He thought momentarily. "Am I dead?!"
Gerard chuckled, turning off the tap and throwing the cloth in the wastebasket.
"No," he said,turning around."Welcome to my home. Which does look very like a funeral emporium, it must be said." He wore a crooked grin, showing off tiny teeth, that made Frank's mouth a little dry.
Frank barely heard what the Don had said. He was fixated with the growing red stain that was flowering steadily on Gerard's white shirt.
"You're...bleeding." He walked towards the criminal, uncertain of his own intentions. This tall, pale creature in his scarlet and black tuxedo seemed almost surreal, like if the boy reached out to touch him he would simply turn into wisps of smoke.
Gerard beckoned him closer with a crook of a finger. Frank felt his stomach flip girlishly when the boss cupped his cheek in a blood-encrusted hand.
"Yeah." He shrugged apathetically. "I got shot."
"Shot?" Frank felt his eyes begin to prick with warmth. This struck him as strange; he had never cried whe James had been shot. "I...why?"
"Because I shot someone." He shrugged again, and sat on the edge of a legged bath-tub, causing Frank to sink down with him. "Well. A few people. After I killed James. I suppose I..." he trailed off, raising a hand as if to say he was callous and unconcerned about the whole thing. "I went on a little rampage, you might say."
The twenty two year old was surprised by how complex and experienced Gerard's diction and articulation was. Frank was barely educated and was highly on tenterhooks by this mysterious mudering man.
"Who did you..." he bit down on his lip with his front tooth. Gerard leaned closer to him. "Who did you shoot?"
"Romano's friends." Frank's eyes grew. "Brownstone. Pentigelli. Harding." He sneered. "So weak. Begged me for their lives to be spared." He spat on the floor bitterly and jabbered an insult in Italian. "Bastardi senz valore." His demeanor changed suddenly and he smiled dreamily, stroking Frank's cheek with the pad of his thumb. "You're so pretty."
Frank giggled as a leakage of flattery seeped into his stomach and warmed his bones. He had never been called pretty before. "Are you delirious?"
"No way." A firm, steady shake of the head. "I'm too experienced for that. And you are...unspeakably gorgeous."
"Why did you shoot them?" Frank pondered, ignoring the wide grin that had accompanied Gerard's previous statement.
"Because they're pricks. They hurt you." Gerard shrugged and took the boy's hand in his. The older man's hands were warm and calloused. The gold rings decorated with jewels pressed into his skin. "I felt they had to be shot for making you suffer so."
"They're...dead?" He paused. "Killed?"
"Yes." He pointed a finger to his temple and and cocked it. "That man with the ear missing who pushed you at the horse race-I shot him seven times in the head. Pretty hard to live after that."
Frank felt oddly grateful. It felt good to know someone would actually kill for him. Sure, James had offered in the past ,but he had never carried out with the task. And yet this guy, after knowing Frank barely a week, had already taken out three guys for him.
"Thank you," Frank whispered. He swallowed hard as the Don slipped his hand down the boy's side. "That was real nice of you to do."
Gerard shrugged again, laughing on-commitedly, like assasiating three men was no big deal. "It was no problem, really. I'd kill for you anytime, Frankie." He smiled. "Happy to do it."
Frank's attention was reverted back to the injury.
"Should we clean that up?"
"I took the bullet out already. Just..." he pointed to the corner of the room. "Please get my stick for me."
Frank grabbed the walking stick from the counter and placed it within Gerard's grasp. He rose to his feet unsteadily and fell against Frank in the process.
"Sorry," he mumbled, feeling weak and dependent. The boy was pressed right up against him, their hair mixing together in a combination of raven and rich chocolate.
"It's okay," Frank told him, sucking his lip. He didn't like seeing him in this much pain. "Do you want to sit back down?"
"Yeah." He eased himself down onto the bath again, reveling in the relief.
"Do you want me to look at it?" Frank offered, slipping his hand in between Gerard's bloody, bejeweled one. Gerard raised an eyebrow. "It's okay, I know what to do. I'm a med student, I study medicine."
"How very kind of you to offer," the criminal replied smoothly. "But it's fine, really. Just standard phantom pain."
"But you're bleeding." His eyes were wide with concern."
"I'll be fine,"he repeated.
"You're not gonna...die, are you?"
Gerard wore a world-weary grin. He managed to strill look young and fruitful. "Baby, if I died every time I got shot up, I'd be dead for about twelve years at this point."
"You've been in the mafia for twelve years?"
He nodded. "Uh huh. My father was the Don." He scoffed. "Rat bastard. He shot me when I was fifteen to 'ready me for it'." A pause. He sucked at his cheek like he saw swallowing a hard candy. "Was never allowed have a goddamn childhood."
"That's horrible." Frank kissed his hand, covered in blood and brain and bristle. In every mafia movie he had ever seen, all crime bosses were treated with a great deal of respect. "That must have been awful. I'm sorry, Don Way."
"Don't apologize for my mistakes,Frank," Gerard said in a low, hollow voice, not quite looking at the boy. "That isn't your burden to bear."
Frank didn't know to react to that. The criminal seemed to be quite bitter towards his family. Frank veered the subject.
"Are you feeling any better?"
"Mmm," he breathed again, closing his eyes momentarily and then letting them flit open. Frank bit his lip; his eyes were absolutely stunning, a brilliant shade of bright beryl. "Let us go downstairs and we can converse there." He looked to Frank. "I apologize in advance if I fall on you."
Slowly, oh so slowly, the two men made their way down the steps until Gerard hobbled into a room, followed by Frank. The boy wasn't sure if he was wanted inside the room; he lingered outside the door in an awkward fashion, hands linked behind his back. He waited until Gerard laughed loudly and delcared:
"Come in, baby. No need to be so afraid."
The bedroom was old; that was obvious. Like everything else in and outside the house, it was black. The bed covers were black, the wardrobe standing in the corner was black, the mirror sitting atop the dressing table was black. Gerard's funeral emporium joke had not been too far off.
The bed was a four-poster, with two small wooden bed-side tables, occupied by two objects, both equally deadly in value; a revolver and a Bible.
Whilst Frank was drinking in the magnificent surroundings, Gerard was undressing, throwing his clothes into a corner. His back was covered in faint red dots, as was his chest and parts of his arms. His trousers stayed on, and he lay back on the bed. Frank blushed a little pink. Gerard was toned and muscular, with his abdominal muscles clenching when he moved. The boy found this man irresistitable.
"Would you mind dressing the wound for me?" Gerard asked politely. "I always whine like a little bitch when it's done. Perhaps your medical expertise will be of benefit, no?"
Frank nodded dumbly. He was impressed at Gerard's stamina of pai. In a horrible, morbid, fucked up kind of a way.
"Besides, I want to talk to you."
Frank made his way over to the bed, sitting gingerly next to Gerard. The Don laughed at him and pulled him onto his hips, hand resting on Frank's thigh. The boy protested.
"I can just sit next to you while I do it," he gabbled, blushing redder and redder. "I'll hurt you."
"Nothing can really hurt when you're straddling me," grinned Way. "Unless you're uncomfortable in this position."
"Oh, of course not."
Frank set to work, cleaning the hole with alcohol and tweezers. He was quite used to this from his previous relationship. The bullet had only lodged partially in Gerard's empedermis, so the wound was superficial enough.
"I wish to talk to you about something."
"From now on, we are together. An item, as it were." He shifted underneath his medic. "I presume you know that already."
Frank nodded again. "I don't mind. I like it." He bit his lip and said softly; "You saved me.Thank you."
"You're very welcome," he murmured. "Now, I don't want to be like that fucking cunt," he continued, "but I do want to protect you. I want you to accompany me when we go to meetings and coalitions. Not the raids, not when the rackets are due. That's too dangerous. Just when violence isn't involved, I want you to be with me." Frank was gently poking the needle through his skin; Gerard sucked in a large gulp of air. "When I'm not around you, you will have bodyguards accompanying you wherever you go." A pause for consideration. "Is that alright?"
The boy nodded, his eyes becoming warm with tears.
"I would never hurt you,Frank," Gerard murmured, sliding his hand up Frank's shirt. He let his hand rest over the young one's heart, treasuring that soft, tender flesh. "I'll shoot myself in the head if that happens." He paused again. "Secondly, we're going into town tomorrow. After Church. We need to get you tailored again."
"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" Frank glanced at the white shirt and grey trousers he was wearing.
"Not the most street-savvy, are we?" He smiled. "Honey, there's nothing wrong per se, it's just that grey is the color of Romano's." His tone darkened. "Black is the colour of the Way's."
Ah, Frank gathered, so that's why everything he owns is black.
"Should I like, cut my hair? Colour it?" He was worried now. Worried about the Romano's revenge. "What if they recognize me?"
"Don't change your hair," he said quickly. "I fucking love the brown. It's cute. Besides. I had some help from some friends of mine," grinned Gerard, "so I can guarantee no one will come near you again after what we put them through."
"Who are they?" He knew mafia sydicates were meant to be traditional, with typical Italian family values. "Are they your family?"
"No. You'll meet them soon enough."
He nodded happily. "Okay. I'm finished with your cut now."
"Thank you." Frank was dragged into a slow, passionate kiss that ended in a soft pant from each of the participating parties. He tasted nicotine and coffee; the combination was delicious. "You're amazing."
Frank blushed. "Is that all you wanted to say?"
"No." Gerard gently pushed Frank off himself so that they sat cross-legged across from each other on the bed. "I'd like it a lot if you dressed modestly around others. I'm not an idiot; I don't want to flaunt you like a pet. I should be the only one who is allowed to see you like this." He rubbed Frank's thigh softly, smirking at the moan that flowed from the boy. "You're mine now-if someone offers to kiss your knuckles, please say no." He paused and regarded the twenty two year old. "I am of Catholic faith, as you may have guessed, and I believe in abstaining from sexual intercourse before marriage. James...may not have agreed with me."
Frank nodded, a tad ashamed. He imagined what making love with this person would be like; he blushed bright pink and shook the thought from his head.
"No," he whispered. "He took me a long time ago."
Gerard nodded. "I see." He sucked at Frank's neck lovingly. "No matter. You'll be mine when we get married."
Frank stopped breathing for several seconds.
"Of course." He grinned craftily, like the cat who got the cream. "Why wouldn't we?"
"I-I don't know," he stuttered. James had proposed to him two years ago but they had never, amazingly, discussed their wedding. His stomach flipped at the thought of wedding this criminal. "I guess I didn't think about it."
Gerard's eyebrow raised.
"You don't want to?"
"No!" Frank nearly screamed. "No, I do, I was just surprised, that's all!" He smiled sheepishly. "When were you thinking?"
"I don't know...a few months?"
Frank squealed. He couldn't help it. Gerard looked quite disturbed.
"Anyway, what I was saying, "Gerard said, pressing his lips to Frank's ear, "is that I'd like you to be off-limits for everyone else." He smirked. "Because Christ knows that you're too fucking pretty."
"You're the only person who says that to me." Frank said quietly, not quite facing the Don. "Who calls me pretty and stuff."
Gerard's eyebrow hooked itself once more. "James never said it?"
"What a prick," he swore quietly, caressing Frank's hand. A hand which would soon be glittering with a gold band.
"Do you want me to, like, wear something?"
"Excuse me?" Gerard began to laugh.
"No, I meant-like-belonging to you! As in, something that I wear showing that I'm with you or whatever."
"That's a good idea." He prized a ring from his finger. "Wear that."
The ring was a thick gold expanding band with a red jewel in the middle. Swirling silver italics engraved on the back proclaimed G.A.W.
"Thank you," Frank stuttered, flattered beyond anything. "It's beautiful."
"It's nothing, really," the gangster said. "I do have like seven hundred of them or something."
"Are these your initials?" He couldn't help but admire it on his hand.
"Hardly my phone number, Frank."
"Ha, ha." Then he thought of something. "Where am I going to sleep tonight?"
"Where do you think?" He smirked and gestured to the bed they were currently sitting on. "Right here, with me."
Frank's eyes widened. "Are you-"
"Yes, Frank, I'm serious ,but do not fear, I'm not going to come on to you in the middle of the night. Even gangsters have their limits, y'know."