We're gonna kill this pretty thing.
First of the Gang to Die
The Boy Racer
Time Pass: A month and a half later
Sunday, July 15th, 1934
“Will you fuckin come out already? Keepin us in goddamn suspense, Frankie.”
“Just a minute, Jesus, Bob!”
“Man, you don’t fuckin come out right this fuckin minute Imma bust in on you, even if you’re naked or something, man,I don’t give a shit-“
“I said, just a minute, I will be out soon-“
“You said that like an hour ago, man, I mean-“
“I’M JUST DOING THE FINISHING TOUCHES-“
“That’s it-I’m comin in-“
“You are actually both huge children,” Ray Toro told them both, reclining on the bed, hands behind head, eyes closed. “Bob; you’re meant to be one of the most ruthless and dangerous men in the Italian Mafia. Frank; you’re married to the most ruthless and dangerous man in the Italian Mafia.”
“Oooh, look at me, fuckin Toro getting all preachy,” Bob mimicked in a high voice, making Frank giggle from the bathroom. He rapped on the door with his fist. “Iero, youse better be out soon or so help me God-“
Bob revived a series of half-joking threats that neither scared nor moved Frank to any specific emotion, apart from laughing hysterically, that is. For the last hour and a half he had been spending the afternoon with the two defenders in the master bedroom himself and his husband shared. It had been one of the few times the pair had ever been in the room-they had expected a lot more weaponry, a lot more chains or something. Frank had smacked Bob over the head when he asked where “all the sex toys are, Frankie?” The boy had informed them he was going to dye his hair, and that he wanted their opinion before he showed Gerard, who would be home shortly. He hadn’t told either of them the new colour, and had simply talked to them through the bathroom door for the previous ninety minutes. Ray had been relaxing on the bed for the time being-Bob had just been bullying Iero into getting out and showing them.
“Goddamn, boy, this better be good. I wanna see your hair, man!”
Inside the jacks, Frank smiled to himself as he admired his work. The brown tufts that had been sitting on his head for the last twenty three, nearing twenty four, years were now gone, replaced with a two tone hair colour that he was most pleased with. He had separated his hair into two sections-one was the majority of his hair, now a deep, thick raven black that rivalled Gerard’s. Then he had shaved the other side of his fringe close to the scalp, leaving a thin covering of hair that was segregated to the black, hitching up above his ear. He had bleached this patch bright, peroxide blond, blending wonderfully with the black. Then he had layered and cut the back of his hair, at the nape of his neck, so that his haircut in general was neater than before.
If I didn’t describe that well then basically it’s what he had during the revenge era, you know the blond and black
He liked it. He liked it a lot.
The only problem was he hoped that Gerard would like it to the same extent that Frank did. He knew his husband had loved his natural hair colour, the rich chocolate brown, but Iero felt he needed a change; he wanted to be a bit more drastic. He could only hope that Gerard had meant it when he said he’d always love him, no matter what he looked like.
He had blow-dried it now to the point where it was fluffy and soft, and he had bought gel so that he could twist the small curl of a lock that fell down on his left ear into a perfect hook. He had made sure his hair was completely flawless and immaculate; combed and combed again until all the knots and cow licks were completely erased.
Okay, since I’m a girl, I kinda went on a little rampage describing clothes and make up here, making Frank look extremely gay and effeminate. Apologies
This was one of the plans he had had with all of his new found money-he had bought nearly one hundred dollars worth of hair products, as well as paler make up that made him look better, made his skin ivory and impeccable. Dior, Chanel, and Armani-he had pretty much bought all the powders and foundations and colognes the sales lady had been promoting, no matter the price and street cred.
He had acquired new clothes too, since he spent most of the time indoors, and away from people who were not in the gang-he realized that while most men wore suits and the women wore cocktail dresses and pencil skirts, he did not need to wear such formal attire all of the time. He had bought tight, dark denim jeans that showed off his skinny thighs, his slender calves. He had bought another pair of Converse, red high tops, as well as plain Nike sneakers, seeing as dress shoes and loafers didn’t seem to suit him.
I was gonna include Vans but they were only created in 1966. Damn!
He threw on a white wife-beater and the jeans, as well as zipping up a plain grey hooded sweatshirt, lacing up the trainers and peering at himself in the full length mirror next to the sink. He thought he looked pretty good.
“Frankie!” He heard Bob hiss from the other side of the door. “He’s home!”
“Go quickly, Bob, I’ll show you guys later, but stall him first. By like five minutes.”
“Well...I’ll try. He gets pretty angry if he doesn’t see you.”
“Tell him I have a surprise for him.”
The scuff of dress shoes on floor and the closing of the bedroom door told Iero that he was now alone, having about two minutes to organize himself.
He exited the bathroom and made sure he looked alright, quickly running over the rim of his eye with kohl, smudging it with his thumb along the bottom so that clouds of smoke surrounded his hazel orbs. He pulled a trilby hat down over his head so that he would able to take it off with a flourish. He then heard feet ascending the stairs and knew it was Gerard-he grinned to himself and ran over to the bed, jumping on the bed so vigorously that he fell off again, getting trapped underneath the wardrobe.
Haha I love doing this to Frank making him like the most awkward person ever
The knock on the door. The boy swore to himself as he tried to squirm from under the cabinet.
“Sugar? You alright?”
The knob was turned by the strong fist of the gangster and he stepped inside, expecting to see the boy waiting on him in the bed or just generally within the vicinity of their bedroom. He couldn’t see him anywhere.
“Babe?” He was starting to get a little unnerved. “Are you here?”
“Under here,” he heard from somewhere in the room, and he started to smile. “I got stuck underneath the closet.”
Gerard spluttered with laughter and tried to hold himself together.
“How in God’s name did you manage that?”
“I tried to jump on the bed and I fell off and now I’m under the closet,” he explained, and now the Mafioso was shaking with silent laughter. “Could you please help me?”
“I didn’t think my shoes could fit under there, baby,” he said between peals of laughter, nearly sobbing, “not to mention the diameter of the thing is like four feet. Have you shrunk or something? Oh wait; you’re always that size.”
“Oh, fuck off,” Frank huffed, trying to get out desperately, managing to let an arm fall outside the small space. Then he squealed shrilly.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Gerard asked absent mindedly as he took off his jacket and threw it in the corner.
“There’s a spi-spi-spider under here,” he rasped, not even moving. “Oh my God it’s fucking huge.”
“Aw, someone afraid of a little spider?” he mocked, really enjoying the sight of seeing nothing but Frank’s arm sticking out from underneath their wardrobe but hearing muffled thumps and squeaks from the space.
“Says the gangster who can’t get a shot!”
“Hey; needles are freaking terrifying. Spiders are just ugly as fuck.” He walked over to the closet and saw the spider edging near a shaking knee that could only belong to one person. It was quite large; big and brown, with eight long, thin legs coming from its body. The millions of eyes regarded Gerard with a questioning stare.
It is sad that I actually got really freaked out writing that? I FUCKING HATE SPIDERS
“Please kill it, Gee,” was whimpered from beneath, “oh my God it’s gonna touch me oh my God oh my God, please, Gee, please kill it now-“
One of the spider’s limbs brushed against the fabric of Frank’s jeans. He screamed and shoved himself into the farthest corner of the wardrobe.
Gerard pressed his foot down on the creature, using his heavy leather shoes to crush any life out of the arachnid. He rubbed his lace up’s into the ground until he felt nothing beneath him.
“Is it d-dead?”
“Dead, bunny rabbit,” he confirmed, bending down to stretch his arm underneath the closet, until he felt tugging on the other end and managed to pull the boy out. He smiled at his casual, yet charming dress sense, so generally unseen in the thirties.
“You look gorgeous,” he murmured, kissing him lightly on the mouth, the kid slipping into an involuntary straddle of Gerard’s waist, whose legs were spread apart as he sat, bent at the knee and facing opposite directions. “May I ask why you’re wearing my hat?” He was smiling as the garment slipped down in front of the other’s eyes, and the older tipped it up so he could kiss his rabbit’s nose.
“I did my hair today,” he said quietly, really worried now that Gerard wouldn’t like it, and would call him names or something-it had happened in the past. But he just looked a little confused.
“Do you not do it every day?”
“But I dyed it today,” Frank said in the lisp, tipping the hat off of him so that his haircut was exposed for the first time. “See?”
Way’s mouth fell open as he gazed at his lover, now completely reformed and changed from the boy he had met nearly a year ago, who had been brunette, so shy and meek, defenceless, completely submissive. Now it seemed that the change in appearance had topped off the whole thing; he was no longer some sex pawn of James Romano, but the respected and confident husband of Gerard Way. It was wonderful to see someone transform so hugely over the course of nine months, to see him not only put on weight and change physically but to see him so content with his life and his lover.
Frank assumed the worst after about a minute of silence.
“I can dye it back if you don’t like it,” he promised in a shy little whimper, “and I can wear different clothes if you want me to.” He hung his head, even though he had promised himself he wouldn’t change back. “I just wanted to dye my hair because I was never allowed to.” He sucked on his piercing and gazed longingly into the deep jade eye, the crimson remaining dark and dead. “I’m sorry, Gerard.”
The gangster raised an eyebrow and ran his fingers through the newly cropped locks of ebony and platinum, resting his jewellery shop worth of ringed fingers on the boy’s neck.
“What are you sorry for?”
“Well-you always said you liked the brown,” he sniffed, tugging on the other’s collar, “and now it’s gone.”
The older man nodded as if to say it was fair reasoning.
“You’re right. I did like the brown.” He pressed his forehead to Frank’s. “That doesn’t mean I can’t like the black and blond, right?”
“You like it?” His face lit up and his hands grasped clutches of the black silk shirt. “Do you really like it?”
“I don’t like it,” Gerard said, watching the boy crumble and tear up before him.
“Oh,” he said softly, slipping off of his knees. “I’ll just...”
“Aw, sweetie, I don’t like it because I fucking love it,” he soothed, kissing him on the mouth with a bit more passion than Frank expected, who was humming and giggling happily, “sorry about that, sugar, I just wanted to play with you a little bit. It really does look fucking beautiful.”
Iero slapped him playfully on the shoulder.
“So what’s this? Trying to make me so consumed by lust that I never leave the house again, that it?” He flicked his eyes over him again. “Because, being perfectly honest, it’s fucking working.”
“I just wanted to be nice looking for our six month anniversary,” he grinned widely, waggling his ring finger in front of the other, “we’ve been married for half a year.”
“Indeed we have,” the older purred, “and how would you like to celebrate that?”
Downstairs, Bob and Ray are playing cards while also watching TV contentedly. It is just after eleven at night; the Coro has been missing up in his room for over two hours.
“Got any sevens?” Ray asks, peering at Bob. He knows he’s cheating-Toro’s been asking for sevens for about twenty goddamned minutes; bastard’s probably got a million sevens in his hand. “Do you think we should go check on him?”
“No, go fish.” Of course. “Nah, don’t think he’d want us to interrupt-“ he coughed- “whatever, he’s, ah, doin. Probly get shot or somethin.”
Ray nodded and threw his cards down on the table.
“Ugh, what a shit hand.I didn’t think you could even get shit hands in Go Fish.”
“You kiddin me? That last hand I got was more like a foot,” Bob sighed, turning to man’s best friend: television. “Anythin good on?”
“Shitty movie about aliens, shitty documentary about the Germans, shitty docu-movie about German aliens, vampire movie, news,” Ray read from the paper, glancing up at Bob with unimpressed eyes. “Which one you wanna go for?”
“Vampire movie?” The blond suggested.
A deep, throaty moan came from upstairs. It seemed to be so loud the house shook. Both defenders flushed bright pink.
“Uh, yeah, vampire movie, yeah, definitely, sounds good-“
“Oh you know it, man, for sure, yeah yeah-“
“Dude, you see the Lakers the other night, man that’s-“
“Oh, fuckin rad game, Toro, fuckin rad game.”
They coughed and settled back into the backs of their chairs, watching as the screen lit up.
“’Midnight’?” Bob asked, a tad cynical. “Who the fuck calls a movie-“
You will see what I’m getting at in a moment
“Yeah, and what’s with the-what? Why the fuck is he sparkling?Vampires don't fuckin sparkle.”
“And why would he leave her if he loves her?”
“Oh yeah, fuckin fall off a motherfuckin motorbike, fuckin tool-“
“I’m telling you, I don’t like the look of this guy. Something weird about him...”
“I told you!Did I not tell you?”
“You told me.”
“Fucking told you! I never trusted him.”
“Oh. Great. Havin sex. Fuckin havin sex.”
“Two years of whining about her safety and he just has sex with her, right goddamned on the spot? What is wrong with kids nowadays.”
In case you didn’t know this is my attack on Twilight
“Ugh-dude-you can’t fuckin be in love with a child! That’s fuckin nasty! Fuckin-Ray, change the channel, will ya? Got enough of this shit.”
Ray pressed the button on the top of the television and saw the screen flicker with a man’s stern, sullen face.
“News bulletin at eleven o’ clock, July fifteenth, nineteen thirty four. Good evening.”
“Good evenin to you too, prick,” Bob said lazily, lighting up his cigarette.
“Former leader of the Romano family feud, James S. Romano has reportedly been sighted in downtown Los Angeles-“
“WHAT THE FUCK-“
“Shut up, Bob, it might be a mistake-“
The two henchmen threw themselves in front of the TV and gaped, glaring at the image before them-the tall, brown haired monster that had taunted and tortured-not without retaliation-their leader, as well as Frank. The boy would be terrified if he ever found out about it.
But he wouldn’t. Because it wasn’t true. It wasn’t. It couldn't be.Right?
“Right?” Ray asked desperately. Even though he would never admit it, he was terrified of Romano. Everyone was. “It’s gotta be wrong!”
“It’s not,” Bob breathed, staring at the black and white screen, the profile mug shot of James Romano the police had on file. “Oh fucking hell, Ray, what the fuck-“
“But Coro killed him,” the older whined helplessly, nearly breaking his voice, “didn’t he?”
“He shot him in the head, and we were at his funeral, goddammit, and didn’t Coro say he’s buried at the cemetery?” He groaned. “Jesus Christ, Ray, what if it was all a hoax? What if he’s alive-“
The lights went out. Ray screamed and clung to Bob.
“Relax,and fuckin get off me,will ya? Just a fuckin power cut,” Bob growled, though he was terrified, shaking like a leaf. The rest of the defenders were in the kitchen, directly below the living room they were currently in. No one else would know about Romano.
“Oh Christ,” Ray whimpered, tugging at his hair. “Oh God, what if we die, and I’ll never see my wife again, or my dog, and I never got to go to Spain, and I never-“ He flopped down on the floor. “TELL CHRISTA I LOVE HER!”
Bob yanked him back up by the hair and slapped him across the face.
“Goddamnit, Ray, we have been in this shit too long to get a little bit shitified just because some TV station got it wrong and the electricity bill hasn’t been paid, got it? We’re fuckin better’n that.”
Ray nodded, although he doubted it severely that his boss could not afford to pay the bills.
“So calm the fuck down, okay?” Bob grasped his shoulder and did his best to put on a sympathetic tone. He failed, but Ray appreciated it. “James Romano is dead.”
There was a clack of a shoe in the hall. Even in the dark, both of them turned to see who it was.
“No, he’s not,” came a smooth voice, before both men were knocked out.