Control yourself, take only what you need from it.
Also, I personally think this chapter is absolutely adorable.
Hello. Do you still hate me after last chapter?
If no, then yay!
If yes, then I’m very sorry. If that really pissed you off, go check out the other smut chapter after the wedding.
(I don’t care if you think I’m promoting myself shamelessly; that’s what I do. Embrace it, man.)
But anyway, I couldn’t stay all serious and stuff for ages, I needed some cuteness and whatnot. Please voice your opinions here, I want to know what you think of this one.
When I think of what I write, I generally sum up with:
-mindless author’s notes
-random shit like two people on the planet find funny; they being myself and my cat
-some more swearing
-bit more swearing
-complain about the Universal Channel
-romance/ soft smut
-did I mention swearing?
Cuteness generally doesn’t come into it, because in my opinion anyway, I can’t write it. It comes out wrong or un-romantic or something...
...not that this chapter is meant to be romantic. Can I get a ‘fuck no’ for paedophilia/incest?
So as opposed to the Oreo one, this is just lovableness and whatnot here, which is fucking rare for me. The title refers to how they act in the first bit, the main character in the second bit, and then there's a really really cute bit in the next chapter:D
Btw this is pretty long...
First of the Gang to Die
Frank was up early the next morning, as he always was. He had noticed that his sleeping patterns were gradually getting more and more normal-he had fallen asleep at around one last night, after one of the most amazing and intense evenings of his life, and was now up at half seven. He stretched and smiled to himself as he got up; remembering the enjoyment the two had gotten up to the previous period of darkness.
He wasn’t surprised that the area his husband occupied was now empty-Gerard always got up early, usually six or sometimes even earlier. He didn’t have the faintest idea why-maybe to talk to his men, or have a little alone time to read or paint or something, or maybe he just liked to get up early, I don’t know. Whatever the reasoning behind it, he was always dressed and fed by seven in the morning, usually leaving Frank to sleep in, unless it was a Sunday, in which case they both woke up at seven-a sleep-in for Gerard and absolute brutality for Iero.
I’m that way in the mornings. For school I have to get up at six in the morning and I literally cry myself to sleep the night before
He got off the bed and pulled out the syringes he had been given by the doctor, watching as he filled them up with clear, thick liquid and tested it for bubbles, tapping the side of the glass with his nail.
After two weeks of living with TB, he was finding it remarkable easy-the medication was working magnificently, and although he occasionally found himself coughing for ten minutes straight until his throat became scratched and bloody, or didn’t eat a lot, he pretty much thought it was okay. Gerard had been tested-which had been an ordeal in itself; he had been more worried about getting the needle than getting the fucking disease-and was benign for tuberculosis bacillus, though the doctor had told him he needed to stop drinking, go on a diet, and avoid standing for long periods of time. Way had rolled his eyes and muttered something about pricks minding their own goddamn business. That night he had drank two bottles of wine, ate three helpings of dinner and stood for about an hour and a half continuously. When Frank has asked him why, he just shrugged and said he wanted to piss off his MD.
The boy didn’t even think about his illness most of the time-the first day he had come down from the bedroom he had briefed all of the members he was friends with of the sickness and its treatment, how he was going to be skinnier and weaker generally. Even the most relaxed people like Bob had been anxious about his wellbeing, but Iero had explained calmly and logically that as long as he took two injections a day-once in the morning and once when he went to sleep- and didn’t swallow a cigar he’d be pretty much okay. If the breathing got extremely haggard and he would have to be hooked up to an oxygen machine, but that had so far not happened and everything had been acceptable.
Gerard had held his hand the entire time he had talked, smiling down at him, utterly proud and beaming that his lover was so calm and level-headed about the lethal infirmity that had attacked his lungs so viciously. At the very end he had kissed him lightly on the nose and squeezed his hand, not saying anything but speaking with his actions.
Meanwhile, Frank held the needle up to the light and then brought it down again, slipping the point underneath the soft skin in the middle of his forearm and pushing down on the plunger with his right thumb, waiting for several seconds and then lifting it out.
Some red did seep out, but he had been instructed by nurses that this was normal, and certainly not rare when subcutaneous injections were given. He wrapped a strip of white bandage around his bicep, tying the tourniquet like he had done for James so many times before, waiting until the bleeding stopped and then removing it. He actually didn’t even mind this at all-sure, he might die young, but he made sure that he lived each day like he wanted to, the way he would like it to be. Anyway, the doc had said if he lived healthily for the first two years of the disease he might lengthen his lifespan by up to ten years.
He got up and proceeded to get dressed, in a white shirt and black trousers, quickly wetting his comb and running it through his hair, liking the look he had managed. He pulled on his Converse-which were filthy and ripped, after barely a month of wear. He had gone for a walk with Bob three weeks ago in the forest in the country and had ran through it like the wind when he saw a spider dangling off a tree-and walked downstairs to the kitchen.
“Good morning,” he greeted cheerfully to Gerard, who was bending over some sheets, writing at a rapid pace, entertained to see a pair of glasses were propped up on his nose. He knew better than to steal his husband’s food-Way once screamed at Ray for touching his dinner plate-and popped two slices of bread in the toaster.
“Hullo,” the mobster replied, sounding a little weary. His pen scratched and marked the paper, and Frank saw that he was using an old-fashioned quill as he sat down.
“What are you doing?” There were a lot of numbers on the page-and everything was written in Gerard’s slanted, curled calligraphy that belonged in a Gothic edition of literature. Everything was also in English, which struck Iero as a little strange.
“Taxes,” Way muttered begrudgingly, earning a surprised look from his lover.
“You...pay taxes?” That was slightly amusing. “But you...don’t work. And don’t they know you?”
“I'm under a different name.And you’d be surprised what these motherfuckers we call our government will charge you for,” he said, sliding the piece of paper over to Frank. He pointed to one fancied word-it was too looped and spiralled for the boy to make out. “Look, I get charging me for my house and my car, but because of my fuckin suits?” He sighed and sucked at his cheek. “Because I wear a shirt and tie I have to give those stingy bastards three hundred dollars.” He scoffed. “Democracy rules my ass...”
"What name do you go under?"
"I change it every so often."
"What is it now?"
"Anthony Rush," he responded, furrowing his eyebrows at a misspelling on the page. "Dammit, Gerard, stop spelling it the goddamn European way..."
That's what I tell myself whenever I write on FicWad
"Rush; that's your mother's name, isn't it?" Frank figured, judging by the maiden name on the gravestone he had seen. Way jerked his head. "What's Anthony for?"
"Your middle name, obviously," Gerard scoffed, and Frank had to admit that he was a little touched. "I thought that part was fairly obvious, Frankie."
"You use my middle name?" He asked, beaming, unable to help himself. "That's so awesome!"
Gerard laughed at his childish impression, but Frank stopped when he saw his name and the words “medicinal” and “cost” next to it, which was linked by a dash to a figure with the dollar sign slashed in front of it; six thousand, nine hundred and forty eight.
“Gerard?” He asked, his voice a little tight. “What does that mean?”
He pointed to the word beginning with m, which he couldn’t understand.
“Medicinal,” Way answered, shrugging his shoulders. “To do with medical aspects.”
“Like...the TB and stuff?”
“Yeah, for your shots and other such treatment,” he said, putting his pen down and looking over the glasses to peer cautiously at the other. “Why, sugar?”
“It’s so expensive,” he pointed out quickly, snatching the pen from Gerard and crossing it out, marking his initials next to it so that he would know it was his responsibility. “I’m paying for that, you aren’t.”
“Frank, with all due respect, I have over fourteen million dollars in the safe, I hardly doubt you are going to break me.” He smiled ruefully and took his pen back, continuing to scratch into the paper.
“Honey, we’re married. One of the major perks apart from a good sex life and a new surname is that we split the bills. I pay for you because we live together and love each other, yes?” Iero tried to protest. “Anyway, you’re priceless to me, baby,” he beamed, lacing their fingers together, “I’d pay anything to get you well again.”
“But I live in your house and drive in your car and eat your food and-“
“You are welcome to provide your own if you like,” he said, “but money is not a subject upon which you should worry about. Neither of us is in any way poor, sugar pop, I don’t think we’re homeless quite yet.”
The toast popped from the toaster and Gerard caught it in mid air, his husband gaping at him.
“How did you do that?”
“It’s catching toast, baby,” he murmured, “it ain’t rocket science.”
I don’t know why but I just burst out laughing at that line
“Gimme,” he whinged as Way held it above him, and he stretched far over to grab it. “I’m hungry.”
“Uh uh,” the other responded childishly, using his tallness to his advantage, drawing himself to his height. “Gotta fight me first.”
“Geeeeee,” Frank whined, “it’s my toast, I want it-“
“Your toast? Your name on it?”
“Neither is yours.”
“Oh yeah?” He picked up the pen and scrawled his signature on it. “Suck on that, bunny rabbit.”
“You did not just sign toast.”
“Did so.” He showed him the bread-true enough, the small, linked ‘g’ and the huge, towering ‘W’ was apparent on the white slice-Frank recoiled.
“I can’t eat it now!”
“Way ahead of ya,” the older replied, throwing it in his mouth and crunching it up, then dusting his hands off of crumbs.
“Geeeeee, you just ate my fucking toast!”
“I’m fat, you can’t blame me,” he shrugged, handing him the other slice. “You’re some scrawny little fucker; you’ll only nibble a bit off the edge anyway.” He frowned. “God, I’m starving.”
“Didn’t you have breakfast?”
“And you’re eating again?”
“Oh I’m very sorry, mother, I didn’t know that was a federal law now.” He searched the cupboards and Frank smiled to himself, perching up on the counter, gnawing at the bread. “Aw yeah, spaghetti, badass.”
“Could you be more stereotypically Italian?”
“Probably not, no, unless I had a beard or something.” He paused. “Should I grow a beard?”
“No way,” Frank replied instantly. “Then I wouldn’t be able to see you properly.”
“Aw, how cute,” Way smiled, turning on the oven and pouring the pasta into the saucepan. “That reminds me, actually. You still wanna come with me to Jersey?”
“Okay, okay, babe, no need to deafen me. Just thought you should know we’ll be going next week.”
“It’s gonna be so fun!” Frank giggled, jumping around the kitchen, darting his hand into the fruit basket and biting into an apple. “I’ve never been out of state before.”
“Really? I should take you to Italy sometime.”
“Oooh and England! I wanna see the King!”
I swear to God I went to the States for a few months when I was sixteen and sweet mother of God everyone said “do you know the Queen?”
By the way it was a king at the time
“He doesn’t just wander the streets, honey,” Gerard laughed, pulling him into his waist as his food simmered. “He has like a palace and shit.”
“Whatever, I still want to go,” he said, holding the apple in his mouth, teeth dug in. He tilted his chin up, offering it to Gerard.
“Ick, fruit, no fuckin way,” he shuddered, pulling it out of his mouth and throwing it out the window.
“What is with you and throwing stuff out windows?”
“Just unnecessary stuff. Like towels and fruit.”
“Shut up and kiss me, you fool!” Gerard quoted, seizing Frank by the hair and dipping like they were waltzing, sucking the air out of him. When he pulled him back up, Iero was squealing with laughter.
“Ughhh, you taste like apple.” He spat on the floor. “Damn you, tricking me into being healthy.”
“You must be tired. You’re talking with your accent,” Frank pointed out happily, pulling him down to press their lips together again. “I love it.”
“Haven’t had coffee yet,” the older man explained. “You wanna be like, the best person ever and make me some?”
“Okay,” Iero chirped happily, opening the cupboard that had been indicated, taking down a packet.
“No no no, get the black one. Ray goes out shopping and buys shit, when I expressedly tell him to buy the fancy gourmet shit.” He tossed his hair like a model in a commercial. “No taste.”
The boy chortled again and switched on the machine, watching the boiling liquid mix with the brown granules. They mixed together and formed the thick, black drink that steamed in the mug. He handed it to Gerard, who downed it like a shot.
“So do you talk fancily when you drink coffee?”
“Do I speak with accentuated rhythm and longer words when I exuberate myself with caffeine?” He questioned innocently. “Why, yes. Yes I do.”
The doorbell chimed and shook the house. Gerard nudged Frank with his foot.
“You can get that.”
“I’m good, thanks.”
"I'll have sex with you five times tonight."
Frank sprinted down the hall.“It’s your dad.”
“Tell him to fuck off.”
“I am not doing that, Gerard!”
“Tell him to go fornicate himself then, he is not coming in here.”
“There’s a little girl with him. It’s Luciana!”
“WHAT is that pervert doing with my niece?” Gerard yelled as he stormed to the front door, flinging it open and glaring at his father.
“Hello, my son-“
“What are you doing here, old man?” Way asked sulkily.
“Uncle Gerd!” The girl squealed, tugging at his trouser leg, giggling to herself. The gangster bent down and picked her up, kissing her on her cheek and nudging his nose against hers.
“Hello, my darling,” he cooed, and Frank’s love for his husband grew as he saw how good he was with his niece, though he pushed his current thought to the back of his mind for the time being. “I haven’t seen you in such a long time, sweetie, you’re getting so big now.”
“Tre,” she pronounced perfectly, holding up three fingers to her uncle’s face and giggling again. Gerard responded in fluent Italian and the pair chatted for a little before the girl noticed someone standing behind Way.
“Chi e che?” She asked, waving at Frank with a chubby, pale hand. He waved back and walked toward her, shaking her tiny limb as gently as he could.
“Ovvero Franco,” Gerard replied, and Iero grinned as he heard the mention of his name in their mother tongue. “Ti piacerebbe incontrarlo?"
“Si,” she nodded, wriggling in his arms to be let down. She was placed on the ground and walked over to Frank, who took her hand and knelt to greet her. “I’m Luciana Francesca Maria Way.”
Frank smiled. He had looked after many of his infant cousins growing up. He knew how kids ticked.
“Gosh, that’s such a long name,” he gasped, looking at her fully. Very much like Michael; huge, expressing chocolate eyes and light brown hair. She, like those of her family, wore black, a little dress with embroidery on the front. Her ears were pierced with gold studs and she wore patent Mary Jane’s on her feet. She was absolutely adorable. “I wish I had a name like that.”
“What’s your name?” She beamed with pride. “I have deu middle names.”
“That’s two,” Gerard pointed out from above.
“My name is Frank Anthony Iero–Way,” he told her intently, like he was sharing a secret. “I only have one.”
“Way?” She looked a little confused. “But I thought that was my name.”
“We can share names if you like,” he offered, and she nodded. She grabbed a tuft of his hair and pulled on it, but it didn’t hurt him. He was enjoying it-she was so cute.
“Your hair is so cool,” she said, “it’s yellow and black.” She giggled. “Like a bee!” More laughter. “I want my hair like that.”
“Nah,your hair is more awesome than mine,” he replied, and he was actually laughing as well from how much he was liking the girl.
“Luciana,” Donald ordered curtly from the door. “Shut up and stop bothering him.”
“Don’t talk to her like that,” Frank said before thinking. “She’s not bothering me at all, we’re just talking.”
“Listen, you cunt, don’t act like you run my family-“
Gerard slapped him sharply across the face and growled.
“Do not call him that,” he snarled quietly, “you hate me, not him. He was just being kind to your granddaughter when you were an ignorant asshole who was rude to her.” He shoved him hard in the chest. “Now get inside and we’ll talk for five minutes and no more.” He turned to his husband. “Baby, I’m so sorry about him, would you take Luciana to the kitchen for a minute?”
“Sure,” he said, taking her by the hand and leading her to the kitchen, lifting her up on a chair.
“Do you want a cookie?” He picked up a black biscuit and handed it to her.
“Yeah!” She responded positively, splitting the biscuit like Frank had instructed Gerard to do some months ago. “Do you have milk?”
He poured it out into two glasses and brought over the box of biscuits, deciding that he would probably eat his body weight in them today.
“When did you come into my family?” She asked as she nibbled. “I don’t remember you being here.”
“I married your uncle,” he told her, “a little while ago.” He was going to bring up that he met her when both her parents were alive but went against it.
“Married?” She cocked her head to the side. “I didn’t know boys could marry each other.”
“Why?” He asked quietly, and for some reason he was getting a little worried. “Do you think that’s wrong?”
“Well...I dunno." She narrowed her eyes. "Do you love each other?”
“Then it’s okay,” she simplified, happy again.“Since you love each other then it doesn’t matter.”
“Yeah,” he whispered back to her. He frowned a little when he heard the heated words being exchanged in the next room.
“Why does Gerd hate grampa?” She wondered as she climbed on top of Frank’s knees. “He hit him. That’s bad.”
“Sometimes people just don’t get on, honey,” he murmured to her as she sipped her milk. “I don’t think Gerard likes his dad a lot, that’s all.”
“I don’t like grampa,” she muttered darkly. “He’s mean.”
“He is mean,” he confirmed, chomping up another biscuit. He decided to brighten the mood. “Do you like me?”
“Yes,” she answered brightly, smiling. “I like you. I like your hair a lot. And you have something there.” She touched his lip piercing and gasped in a girly fashion. “What’s that?”
“I have a lip piercing. Like what you in your ears.” He tugged on her lobes and she giggled. It was infectious.
“Did it hurt?”
“It must be weird when you kiss.” She lit up. “Have you and him kissed?!”
He nodded and smiled.
“Was it weird?”
“It wasn’t weird at all,” he said, “I like it.”
“Ewwwwww!” Frank laughed at her gross-out. “My mommy and daddy used kiss and I’d run out of the room.”
Iero couldn’t help but smile. The girl was just adorable.
Then he noticed a bruise on her arm. Fresh, thick and purple. “How’d you get that, honey?”
“I was bad,” she said, biting her lip and tugging at her sleeve.
“But hitting is bad,” he repeated her analogy. “And that looks like it hurts.”
“It did for a little while,” she answered vaguely. “But it’s okay now.”
“You gotta tell someone if you get hurt, baby girl,” he cooed. “Gerard or me or anybody, okay?”
“Okay,” she said, nodding like it was a very serious task, and it was. Then, quick as a whim, she changed the subject. “How old are you?”
“That’s ventitre,” she translated. “Don’t you speak Italian?”
“No,” he admitted, looking downward. A six year old girl was smarter than him. “I only speak English.”
“Really?” She was genuinely interested as opposed to mocking. “You’re not Italian?”
“Nope. I was born here, in America. My mommy is American too.”
“What about your daddy?”
“I never met him, but he wasn’t Italian either. My grandmother was Polish, though.”
“Is that in Italy?”
He giggled. “No, sweetheart. It’s a country in Europe. Near Germany.”
“So can you speak Pole?”
“No. She was my dad’s mom so I never met her.”
“Was your daddy bad?”
“Yeah.” He glowered. “Very bad.”
“And Gerd hasn’t taught you anything?”
“No, he hasn’t.”
“Your name in Italian is Franco.” She grinned. “That’s what he said at the door.”
“Do you know your name in Italian?”
“Luciana de la Via,” she replied, the sentence rolling off her tongue.
“I wish I could speak Italian,” he pretended to be heart broken.
“It’s okay,” she soothed, as if he had started crying. “I still like you.”
He wiped his brow. “Phew! I was getting worried you’d hate me there.”
She giggled again as he finished up the cookies, and a door was slammed from outside. Her smile vanished.
“I wish Mommy and Daddy hadn’t gone to Heaven.” She sniffed. “God has his own family. Let me keep mine. Then I wouldn’t have to live with him.”
Frank nodded and hugged her as she embraced him. Then she scuttled off his knees and stood up again.
“I liked meeting you,” she said, sticking out her hand, which he took and shook. “Will I see you again?”
“Sure. We can go to the park or something.”
“Really?” She hugged him around the middle. “I can’t wait.”
The door flung open. Donald stood, vehement, with Gerard behind him.
“Come, Luciana,” he said in a clipped tone. “We’re going.”
“Bye Frankie,” she waved at him, and then hugged her uncle. “Bye Gerd.”
“Goodbye, honey,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head.
The eldest Way took her by the hand and marched her out the door and down a secret alley that must have lead to a taxi or something.
“What a fucking bastard,” Gerard cussed, wrapping his arms around Frank. “I am so sorry about him, sugar, such a fucking prick.”
“It’s alright,” he responded, sitting at the table. “She’s really cute.”
“She is,” Way agreed, shaking pepper and salt over the pasta, as well as a thick, red sauce. Frank grinned as he ate. “What?”
“You have sauce all over your face,” he said, smug that for once that he had the upper hand.
“Would you like to lick it off?” The sinful simper was back.
“Gerard, you are just so strange-“
“Oh please, Frank, last night was miles more dirty than licking sauce off my face.”
“Don’t say that! What if someone heard?!”
“Oh yeah, all these invisible people, Frankie, that it?”
“The guards are upstairs-they’ll hear-“
“They probably heard us first hand.”
“Oh my God!” He squeaked, clinging to the gangster’s shirt. “Do you think so?!”
“I don’t know. Let’s check, shall we?”
“What do you-“
“I WOULD LIKE TO ADDRESS THE ATTENTION OF ALL MEMBERS OF THE HOUSE,” he screamed as loud as he could, as Frank tried to hush him. “LAST NIGHT, ON FRIDAY, THE TENTH OF AUGUST NINETEEN THIRTY FOUR, I, GERARD WAY, HAD SEX WITH-“
Iero jumped on him, forcing their mouths together, tearing at his hair, slapping him in the chest, pushing him off the chair so that they were wrestling on the ground together, bodies entwined and twisted, both of them dying with laughter.
“OW! Fuck me, Frank, you bit my tongue!”
“You told the entire house we had sex!”
“No. I said that I had sex, and then did not go on to name the other person.” He sparked with an idea. “WITH FRANK IERO, MY HUS-“
“NO WE DIDN’T, DON’T LISTEN TO HIM, HE’S DRUNK-“
“I RESENT THAT, THAT IS ACCUSING ME UNJUSTLY-“
“YOU DID LAST NIGHT!”
Frank groaned, exasperated and weak from laughing and shouting, and rolled over onto Way, who was still giggling away.
“You know they’re gonna kill us for waking them up, right?”
“We woke them up already, Frankie, with your moaning and-“
“You liked it too!”
“Of course I did, but I wasn’t as loud as you.” He closed his eyes and put on a high voice, sliding his hands up and down his torso. “Oh Gerard, oh God, do me now, I can’t stand it-“
Iero smacked him on the shoulder.
“Oh yeah?” He narrowed his eyes and laced his fingers, clicking his thumbs together and holding his indexes out straight, like a gun, pointing his forefingers to the gangster’s nose. The words he followed with were said in a deep growl. “My name’s Gerard Way and I talk really poshly and I’m gonna kill you and I’ m actually English but I’m just in denial-“
“’I talk really poshly’?!” Gerard spluttered. “And I am not English-“
“Oooh, now I’m a racist who hates English people-“
“I do not hate English people-“
“I speak Italian and I love food and I’ll kill you if you touch my food-“
“Yeah, can’t deny that one-“
“And I’m married to Frank and he’s my bunny rabbit and I love him more than anything else in the entire world,” he whispered, smiling. “I wanna be with him forever and I’ll never let anyone hurt him because I love him so much,” he finished softly, now sitting up on Gerard’s hips.
“Was I right?”
“No.” He pulled him down to mesh their mouths together. “You forgot the bit about being the best thing to happen to me.”
“That too then,” he replied, lying on top of the other man, knees on either side of his waist, sucking on the others lips. “We must look so weird.”
Gerard reached down and pressed two fingers into the inside of the boy’s thigh, making him spread his legs, Frank mewling as he did, biting down on his bottom lip.
“As if we are conventional normally,” he chuckled. “Come; let’s get up off the floor. This can’t be good for your chest and my food is getting cold.”
Gerard sat up and helped the other up, noticing something on his arm.
“Your scar still hasn’t healed,” he muttered, tracing the white R. “Does it hurt?”
“No, no, it’s fine, “he said, shrugging. “I never even notice it.”
Gerard nodded and smiled. Things had changed, indeed.