It's the only way to be!
This is a loooooong chapter, divided into lots of little sections. If you’re from London, you might like this. Or you might not. I dunno.
Reviews are welcome, I would like to hear some opinions on this chapter.
fellow punks and anarchists UNITE!
First of the Gang to Die
Anarchy in the U.K.
Frank couldn’t help grinning as he sat on the golden double bed.
He was in a different country. A whole new, completely separated country from the States. He and Gerard had now been in the capital of England for approximately three hours. He now sat in the penthouse suite of the Ritz Hotel in London, beaming at the gorgeous golden room he was in. Silk curtains draped against the windows, where through the boy could see sleepy commuters, in business ties and suits, armed with briefcases, beginning their journey to labour. The carpets were fluffy and plush, a regal ‘R’ shaved into them. The bed-oh God, the bed- was a King, with golden trimming and a white duvet, fresh and clean, starched and ready. A walk-in wardrobe was by the door, and the en suite across from Frank screamed of wealth, more sparkling gold dressing the tub, the sinks and the floors. He couldn’t help but be overcome with happiness as he breathed in this new state.
He fell back into the bed, the soft sheets enveloping him, the twenty four year old rolling in white. Gerard emerged from the en suite, smirking.
“Someone looks like they’re enjoying themselves,” he remarked as he ran a mangled hand through his raven locks.
“Gee, this is so cool,” he could only squeak, gesturing for the older man to join him on the bed. Gerard did so, leaning over him and sucking at his neck, while the boy gasped and writhed. “Oh Gee...please...” his eyes slid shut and he laced his hand with Gerard’s, then pressing their joined palms lightly to his lower regions. Way bit his lip and squeezed hard with his fist. “Gerard-“
“Mmm, Frankie,” he purred, flicking open Frank’s shirt, button by button. He realized he was going too fast and apologized. “Babe, I’m sorry. I don’t wanna make you upset, bunny.”
“Oh, no,” Iero lisped so softly, holding the bigger hand. “Don’t stop.”
“I’ll be gentle, baby,” he promised, figuring that Frank could use some encouragement after such horrible events in relation to intercourse. The boy nodded, fear still lurking in his hazel globes, and held his hand tighter. “I’ll make you feel good.”
“No hurting,” the twenty four year old requested meekly. “Be like you were last time.” His eyes filled with tears and his throat broke into a squeak. “Like you are all the time.”
“Of course, pet,” he swore, placing his finger over the others trembling lips. “I’m always good to you, ain’t I?”
His rabbit nodded as he was stroked.
“Will you do something for me?” He whispered into Gerard’s ear.
“While you do it...tell me you love me,” Gerard’s heart tugged when he heard the shy, pleading ask. “I wanna do it like we used to, Gerard, not just whenever I feel okay.” He placed the gangster’s hand over his heart, his left nipple. “But can we...wait till tonight?” Way nodded and brushed his lips to Frank’s forehead. “When we come back here.”
“Of course we can,” the killer confirmed, lips tugging into that Cheshire cat-like grin once again. “But tonight we will be going somewhere first.” The grin widened, until all of his pearly white, short teeth showed. “Somewhere special.”
“Really?” Frank chirped. “Where are we going?”
“Well,” the boss breathed right in the pink shell, and his husband shivered. “First I think we should go shopping. I need new suits and I would certainly not say no to you getting some tighter pants.”
“What?” His boy teased, pushing out his lip. “They aren’t tight enough already, Gee?” He closed his eyes and smirked. “Mmm, so hard for you, Gee...”
“Fuck, Frankie,” he cussed, and the other giggled. “Don’t fucking taunt me like that, I swear-“
Iero laughed cheekily and kissed his nose. The villain returned the favour and then stood up, hand in pockets, surveying the room.
“I suppose it’s nice enough,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. Then the simper returned. “Bed’s big enough.”
“We should do it in the hallway,” Frank suddenly blurted out, and then blushed bright pink. Gerard gasped with laughter as the shy rabbit with a knack for cuteness had now suggested engaging in public intercourse in the hotel corridor. “Oh God, please don’t tell anyone I ever said that, Gee, that’s so embarrassing,” he groaned, head in hands.
“Bullshit, babe,” the gangster replied airily, scooping his rabbit up in his arms, smiling ruefully and giggling a little. “I didn’t say no, I was just surprised is all...and the bathroom.”
“And on top of the sofa.”
“And the balcony, so all’s London can see us.”
“Gerard Way!” Frank declared dramatically, pretending to slap his husband on the arm. In real life, it was a faint tap that could have been a loving caress. “Such a filthy mind.”
“Uh huh,” he returned, planting kisses all over Frank. “Only because my husband gives such material for the dirty thoughts. My mind was fine until you entered it, with your lisp and your pout and your molfuckin cuteness that makes me wanna go out and kill something.” Another giggle. “C’mon. You wanna go shopping or what?”
“Promise you won’t be all manly?” Gerard set him down as the both of them gathered their coats and belongings. “Be a nancy boy with me, Gee.”
“Nancy boy,” he chortled. “I like it.”
“Welcome to Selfridges and co, sir, how may I assist you today?” The gentleman at the door asked Frank upon entering. The American giggled madly and rocked on the spot. “May I take your coat? Perhaps you would like a spot of tea?”
“OH MY GAWD, GERARD!” The boy shrieked across the department store. “THEY HAVE THIS CUTE LITTLE OLD GUY AT THE DOOR WHO’S GIVING ME TEA!”
oh Americans you and your adorable touristy outbursts
Iero gave him his sopping jacket and sprinted toward where the gangster was. The store was absolutely amazing; he had never seen anything like it. Row upon row of cosmetics, soaps, hair products, perfumes, colognes-and this was just the first floor-he wondered where the clothes were. The workers were in dark grey work suits, the women friendly and polite, the men dour and respectful. Yellow and black banners with ‘Selfridges & Co’ were strewn across the shop. The boy was shaking with excitement.
He found Gerard hovering by the perfume section, asking the saleswoman in detail about each bottle.
“So, you say this is the new Armani?”
“Yes sir, just brought out this winter, sir-“
“That is impossible, madam, seeing as I have already purchased that cologne, therefore, no, this is not the newest perfume and your knowledge is incorrect.” He inhaled his wrist again. “I knew it-passion-fruit is summer, you see, and cherry is winter.”
“Gee,” Frank giggled, tugging at his sleeve. “I wanna go look at the clothes now.”
“Okay baby,” the murderer gave in, placing the glass down on the display counter. Frank sped ahead up to the second floor, gasping when he saw the sight laid before him. Racks upon racks of every piece of clothing imaginable-coats, jackets, shirts, ties, trousers, jeans, skirts, shorts, stockings, shoes, scarves, gloves, jewellery of every sort. Trainers, high heels, loafers, boots, pumps-every item you could think of, every colour under the sun. (Which is saying a lot-back then, black, grey and white were your only options. If you were really daring, brown.)
His mouth fell open a little. He couldn’t wait to simply run over to any shelf and just grab at something. His first thought was to buy absolutely anything he saw and wanted, and the second was to pick out the tightest, most on-show garments he could for his husband. He grinned vindictively, relishing the thought of Gerard in skinny jeans, hugging every muscle, a shirt so tight you could see his abs perfectly...
The twenty four year old raced over to the clothes and pulled out everything he could, hearing Gerard groan in earshot. Other shoppers peered at the boy curiously as he shoved hangers down rails in an attempt to salvage clothes. One such man pulled at a waistcoat in Frank’s vice-like grip.
“I got this first, mate, sorry,” the man said in a tone that hinted they were neither mates nor was he sorry. “Better luck next time.”
Better luck next time? That’s not how we do it in America, dammit!
“Um, excuse me, but no way, that was mine first,” Frank interjected, pulling the grey toward him. “You might wanna step off or something.”
“Listen, pip-squeak, I’m getting married next week, I don’t need this shit from a fucking twelve-year-old twat,” he declared, and Frank gaped at him. “So either hand it over or I’ll get security.”
Frank stared at him. Then at the waistcoat. Then back to the man.
“Felt? For a wedding?” His eyes widened in a form of shocked sass. “Really?”/]
“YOINK!” Frank shrieked, grabbing the coat and sprinting down the long halls, tearing at hangers of trousers and jackets, choosing the most sexualized for Gerard. “Oh yeah...tight leather, I [/like that...ooh, and white too! Oh God...” he picked up a women’s fluffy, soft boa. “Oh my God, this is freaking perfect.”
He neatly threw the scarf over his arm, so that he was now holding about fifty pounds of clothing. Some were for himself, yes, of course, but a lot were for Gerard. His hazel eyes swept the store in search for his lover, and found the gangster standing the grander, larger hall at the end of the corridor. Frank grinned and swaggered over to Gerard, tapping his shoulder.
“Umm, Gee,” he said, tugging at the boss’s hand. “Come with me.”
“Trying stuff on, baby?”
“You are as well,” he pouted. “You promised.”
“Yeah yeah, I know,” the gangster replied, taking a clasp of a bulk of suits and jackets under his arm. “I’m your nancy boy for today.”
“You’re my nancy boy every day,” the rabbit declared happily as they made their way to the dressing rooms. The changing rooms were as big as their bedroom back home. He threw the clothes he was holding over the chair and pulled Gerard in by his tie, capturing the killer’s lips with his own, moving softly together. Gerard’s skilled hands moved to the boy’s belt and pulled the metal grip through the ring. His tongue snaked into the other’s mouth as they began to play tonsil hockey, Frank pressed up against a wall, legs hovering in mid-air. Gerard let his feet touch the floor again as their lips stuck together. Frank giggled with delight and then began unbuttoning his own shirt.
“Always a nancy boy, huh?” Way teased, stripping of his clothes to his jocks. “Pansy my ass.”
Frank gazed at the other, muscled and tanned and marked. His back was peppered with little round holes, not bloody but encrusted in red. The younger smiled and picked up a pair of skinnies with a wicked beam.
“Geeeeee,” he trilled in a sing-song voice. “Guess what I have!”
“How tight are they?” The boss grimaced, nonetheless taking the pair of pants from his husband. He stretched them-nothing happened. “Jesus Christ, Frankie, I’d have to stop eating for three weeks to fit into this.”
“No you wouldn’t,” the med student assured, also handing him more suitable attire. “You’re not fat, Gerard, you’re so pretty.”
The killer snorted at the last word. He also pulled a face when he saw the shirt Frank had handed him.
“Where’s the shirt?”
“Right there. You’re holding it.”
Gerard raised an eyebrow.
“This is a wifebeater.”
“Exactly.” The boy grinned and settled down on the chair, flicking his eyes over his scarcely dressed lover. “Put on the jeans and then the wifebeater.”
“Wearing just a wifebeater?” He sucked at his cheek. “Wouldn’t I look quite...prejudiced?”
This is not my view as I fucking live in wifebeaters but hey Gerard is a multi-millionaire gangster what do you expect
“No,” the boy answered in a breathy little voice, biting his lip and hips twitching a little. “I wanna see all your muscles, Gee. It’ll look so good, I promise.”
Way turned and stepped into the jeans one leg at a time. They were surprisingly more accommodating than Gerard had thought. He pulled them up his thighs, the denim hugging his calves (one wooden and one skin) and his hamstrings. The twenty four year old’s mouth fell open a little, gasping at the wonderful sight before him. Gerard tugged the clinging, white sleeveless shirt over his head and looked in the mirror; Gerard Way in navy skinny jeans and a wifebeater.
“Take this, Gee,” Frank said softly, giving him a green and black checked shirt, which the gangster shrugged over his shoulders. “And these.”
Gerard accepted the black Converse high top’s being offered to him and laced them up. He looked in the towering mirror that stood seven foot tall-and smiled. He didn’t look that terrible.
“Well.” He turned to the other, holding up his hands. “Do I look like a douchebag?”
“No,” he replied, standing up and beckoning Gerard to bend down and peck his lips. “And you should wear this boa.” He threw it around the unimpressed gangster’s neck. “Oh yeah. I like the boa.”
“This is for women, Frank.”
“It’s to complement your sassiness, Gee.” He giggled and Gerard rolled his eyes. “You look so amazing, Gerard, so...oh my God, I’m so lucky to be married to you. Not just now, but...” He smiled widely and his eyes glittered. “You’re so good to me, Gerard. I love you so much.”
“You deserve the best,” the Italian-American murmured. “You deserve nothing but the best.”
They both blushed slightly as they were standing in the Selfridges dressing rooms, wrapped up in each others’ arms, busy shoppers toing and froing around the store. Way smiled into the brown tufts as they separated from one another, pressing his ringed hands into the spots of the younger’s bare back, slipping them underneath the waistband of Frank’s trousers.
“You never wear normal clothes,” Frank supplied him with the information. “Don’t you get tired of suits?”
“Sometimes I wear trousers and a shirt,” the gangster shrugged, and Iero giggled. “And if I’m feeling totally fucking crazy I mightn’t wear braces.”
“Holy shit, Gerard.”
“Mmm.” He nodded at the other pile of clothes. “C’mon, sugar, now I get to do you.”
“What makes you think I was talking about clothes?” Frank slapped him on the shoulder as he cackled. “Turn around and face the mirror.”
Gerard grabbed creased trousers and crouched down, pulling them up Frank’s legs as the younger peered at him curiously. The sleeves of a silk, soft black shirt danced up his thin arms, followed by the garment itself. Gerard buttoned up the shirt and then took a leather belt. He slapped it against his palm and then whipped it out, grabbing in mid-air and fastening it around his boy’s tiny waist. The rabbit gasped a little when he was suddenly pressed up against his husband, back-to-chest, as the belt was locked around his hips.
Gerard pulled off a satin black tie and wound around his neck, knotting it around his collarbone and letting it lie comfortably along his chest. He made sure the silk was straight and impeccable-it was; he learned this shit at school.
“I must say, Frank, your taste in waistcoats is as good as mine,” he commented as he pulled it up his arms it met in the centre of Frank’s midriff. “Felt satin-very nice.”
“I got it off this guy who was gonna wear it to his wedding,” Frank said as the nimble nine fingers worked and teased his stomach.
“Felt? To a wedding?” He scoffed, and his lover wore a knowing smile. “I thought London was meant to be stylish. What are you laughing at?”
“Nothing,” Frank replied, braces now being clipped to his belt, silver studs hitching up his trousers. I feel, at this point, it is needless to say that everything he was wearing was the darkest shade of black, which they were. “This is so awesome, Gee. It’s like dressing up for Halloween.”
“Going as Gerard Way for Halloween, how very comical,” the gangster said, bemused.
As weird as that is I actually went as Revenge Gerard a few years ago the majority of people thought I was a lesbian vampire
I wish I was kidding
Way pulled two pistols from his holster, twirled them in his fingers before sticking them in Frank’s belt. Another hiccup giggle.
“Like a cowboy,” he cooed, feeling the bone rind of the gun grip underneath his fingers as he let his tips slide up the barrels.
Gerard laughed and pulled off a sheer jacket, slipping it over the shoulders of the shorter man and buttoning it up, tight and flattering to Frank. A fedora fell over his brown tufts and he gazed in the mirror, grinning.
“Oh my God,” he breathed, impressed. “Gerard, I look like you!”
“Uh uh, not done,” the older man chided, pulling off several rings and twisting them onto his husband’s. He ripped cuff links-sterling silver, hells yeah-from his own shirt and clipped them onto the cuffs of the shirts. When he was done, a wicked, evil grin stretched his lips and he tipped his forhead against Frank’s, pressing their lips together. His pink tongue leaked a streak across the lower lip rubbing against his.
“If I was tall and had black hair and had a stick and spoke Italian,” he breathed shakily into the hot mouth latched onto his own. “I’d look like you.”
“You have no art in being stereotypically Italian,” Gerard replied, looking at his lover, looking so gorgeous he was struggling not to jump him. “Gotta talk with your hands.” He raised his own and stretched his fingers, wearing a distressed look across his visage. “And speak broken, bad English.” He put on a shitty European, throaty accent and began expressing with his hands. “Mamma Mia, I come-a from-a Italia!”
Frank shook with laughter as he nearly collapsed, being grabbed by the older and steadied upright.
“I was gonna make a little plan with you,” the gangster said as Frank played with his new jewellery. “That...it is now precisely eleven o’ clock in the morning. How would you feel if we agreed to meet up at for lunch and coffee at...say, two o’clock? We can therefore go shopping on our own for a little while and then rejoin later to have discussions.” Another grin. “Is this suitable?”
“Okay!” He couldn’t wait-the makeup counter was right downstairs, and goddamn he was gonna beat those bitches to the front of the Chanel stand if it was the last thing he ever did. “Where?”
“There is a coffee store and book shop right across the street, there; we’re on Oxford Street, babe. It’s the main shopping street. It’s called Foyles, baby.” He glanced at his watch. “Three hours should be sufficient, yes?”
“Yeah,” the boy answered, stripping again-he wanted to buy everything in this fucking city. “I wanna buy like everything in this fucking city.”
“I’m sure you do.” He grinned, planting a kiss on his cheek. “Top floor of that big building over there, sugar.”
Frank found a table in the crowded, bustling coffee shop, after stumbling around the main street of the capital for three hours. He had bought four thousand dollars worth of makeup, attire, shoes, books, guitar accessories, more makeup, jewellery, stuff for Luciana-
He threw a total of twelve shopping bags into the corner of the booth and flopped down, exhausted and delighted from his day at the shops. Frank ran a hand through his soaked hair-it was pissing rain and the dampness had settled in his tufts and soaked him through and through. He shivered, taking off his coat as he relished in the warmth of the cafe, soothing cool jazz floating through the over-head intercoms. He ruffled his hair, and queued up in the line-it was five minutes to two now, and Gerard was not normally one to be late. However, the boy shook it off and rubbed his elbows, smiling happily as he heard the roaring winds outside, the glass doors crashing from force. It felt wonderful to be in the heat, the music flooding the cafe with a deep atmosphere. The lights were dim and romantic-it was like being in their basement back home all over again.
Iero ordered the most ridiculously wintery drink he could find-a hot chocolate with marshmallows and cream, drizzled in chocolate and caramel. He also requested his husband’s daily sustenance-a black coffee with Jack. He figured Gerard would be arriving some time soon, and sauntered back to his table, swaying his hips and humming under his breath. He noticed with disdain the man behind his table was puffing on a pipe, which was undoubtedly bad for the boy’s health. However, he shook it off, too blissful for interruptions.
He noticed with surprise that someone had already taken Gerard’s place-someone who wasn’t Gerard. No problem to Frank, however; he’d politely ask for the gentleman to move. Simple.
“Excuse me,” he said formally-the man didn’t turn around. “Um, I’m actually waiting for someone and they’re gonna sit there, so I’d really appreciate it if you could move, please.”
The man with short platinum blond hair snorted.
“Really? Who’re you waiting for?”
“G-Gerard?” The sunny laugh told all. “Oh my God, your hair is so fucking cool, where did you do it oh my God it’s just so pretty and wonderful and oh my God-“
“Thanks baby,” Way replied. Frank could only gape-he looked so different compared to the man he had seen little over three hours ago. “Glad you like it.”
“I love it,” the boy breathed, sitting opposite his lover and placing both mugs of hot boiling liquid on the table. “You look so different.”
I’m doing this because he dyed his hair bright white in 2006, when he was 29
“You got me coffee?” The gangster questioned quickly. “God, you are just the best husband on the face of the planet.”
Frank blushed and licked a twist of cream from his finger tentatively, killer watching with smug, inventive satisfaction.
“You must be the most perverted person in the entire world.”
“Only because my bunny’s so goddamn attractive I can’t help it,” he shrugged. Then he sighed and jabbed his thumb behind him. “Bathrooms are over there, ya know.”
“Gee!” He giggled shrilly. “No!”
“Really?” He clicked his tongue. “Damn.”
Frank chuckled again and sipped at his drink, whilst the other downed it like vodka, savouring the boiling flavour sizzle in his mouth. The two sat in silence, their legs twisted together under the table, the leather brogues entwined with the scuffed Nike’s. It wasn’t until Frank began to cough a little that the gangster looked up.
“Bunny?” He reached across and grasped his hand lightly. “Baby, is your chest sore?”
Frank said nothing but the slide of his eyes over Gerard’s head to the neighbouring man behind them. The gangster frowned, cleared his throat and turned around.
“Excuse me,” Gerard sniffed as he faced the man smoking the cigarette. “I’d be extremely grateful if you might not smoke here.”
The man turned to face Way, coughing in the gangster’s face. Gerard smiled ever so sweetly. The man simply barked:
“Free fuckin country, mate.”
Gerard scowled. He lifted the hem of his jacket to display the butt of the impressive Colt. The smoker nearly choked on the stick.
“O-okay, no-no worries...” he rammed the cigarette into the table. He was sweating when he turned back, visibly anxious.
“Maybe you should leave.”
“I was just gonna-so sorry sir-“
The man grabbed his bowler hat and trench coat and scurried out from the shop, his espresso still steaming at his table. Gerard smirked that smirk and returned to Frank, rubbing his hand soothingly in circles.
“That better, sugar pop?”
He nodded, not very surprised for Gerard’s over-compensating for protectionism. That’s what you get when you marry the Don of the Mafia, he supposed-it wasn’t too bad really.
“Thanks, Gee.” Said boss smiled warmly, still grasping his hand, and returned to his paper. “Gerard?”
“You know the way...” he sighed and glanced around the noisy, yet comfortable cafe. He knew their conversation was fairly safe-no one could hear them properly. He settled back to looking into the celery green light flashing at him. “You know the way when we got married I had to say I’d obey and serve you?” He inhaled. “I wanted to ask you something.”
“Okay, babe.” He nodded and leaned in to listen. “I’m listening.”
“Well...when I was talking to your dad a while ago, y’know, at the dinner, he was talking about respect and honour and stuff.” He bit his lip. “Y’know, how important you are and stuff, how lucky I am to be married to you.” Another little breath. Gerard’s left, fingerless hand rested delicately on his knee. “Submissiveness and stuff like that.”
“Sugar pop, if this is about calling me sir...” his green eye searched the nervous disposition of the other. “You don’t have to do that. Or fucking salute me or something. I want our marriage separate from the Famiglia.” Frank had to bite back further complements about the peroxide job. “You call me whatever you want.”
“It’s...it’s different from that,” the boy went on, lover listening intently. “It’s not as big as that. I just...I wanna be, like, a really good husband to you to do with the gang.” He flicked his eyes up-Gerard looked a little perplexed. “Not be your bitch or something, not being submissive...” his wide eyes and following statement defied the latter. “Unless...unless you want me to.”
“Of course not, baby,” the boss purred softly. “Of course not.”
“Well, I just wanted to know if you think I’m good enough.” The worries that had been eating away at him for weeks were being lifted slowly from his shoulders. “If I treat you good and stuff. If I’m too...” his vision caught his tight pants, his thin shirt that clung to him. The lip stud jutted from his mouth. “Slutty or something.”
“You’re not anything like that, honey,” the gangster reassured. “I know my family has a fixation with dignity but you are not at all disappointing or disrespectful to me or the company I run. You’re polite and friendly, you’re always with me, you’re so nice to me.” He glanced at the clothing. “And you wear black, you hang out with my associates. You are as faithful to my family as I am. Of course you’re respectful.”
“But I’m meant to give you whatever you want,” he squeaked, downcast. “To please you and make you happy, whether I like it or not.” He paused for a moment to hinder the tears. “And I didn’t.”
“Baby,” he leaned in to let his forehead rest against Frank’s. “I don’t want you blaming yourself for that. You are technically meant to serve me, yes, but it’s my decision whether you submit to me or not. I don’t want you scared and nervous around me, pet, and I don’t want you beating yourself up for getting brutalized. It’s fine now, isn’t it?” He tipped Frank’s chin up. “Bunny’s not upset anymore, are you?”
“Not really,” he lisped. “Just...sometimes it’s better than other times. I just...” he squeezed his eyes shut, cheeks slightly pink. “Gee, am I...am I good?”
Gerard shrugged and smiled. “Of course you are, babe, you’re practically sinless.”
“No, no...not like that, Gerard.” He laughed nervously, afraid of the oncoming answer. He pulled Gerard’s hand up to his thigh, and applied slight pressure to his fingers. “Like that, Gee.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “Sexual relations.”
Frank groaned. “No offence, you speak like my eighth grade teacher.” Gerard cackled. “She was like eighty.”
“But that’s what you meant?” Frank nodded. “You were asking if you are satisfactory when it comes to...”
“Frankie...let’s put it this way.” He sighed and rubbed his temples. “I actually get angry when other people touch you, or even smile at you. I give em my best glare that could kill a guy if it’s hard enough. Just cause...” he closed his eyes. “When I hold your hand or kiss you or, fuck, when I’m fucking y-er, in sexual relations with you,” he rephrased, lips curling a little. “You’re so good, bunny. So fucking good.”
“Really?” He giggled. “Am I better than other men you’ve slept with?”
“Compared to you they were a bunch of virgins,” he said, ordering another coffee by mocking a drinking action at a nearby waiter. “A buncha virgins who couldn’t get undressed and kiss at the same time.” He rocked in his chair. “And fuck...I never heard someone so skilled at dirty talk, Frankie.” The boy squealed with laughter. “God...you learn from somewhere or something?”
“I just...I know what you like,” he said quietly. He shut up the minute a waitress topped up the steaming liquid in Gerard’s mug. “I like knowing that I can turn you on.” A pause. “Really? Virgins?”
“Swear to God. And some of em were older than you are.”
“Really? Who was the oldest?”
“The oldest person I slept with was thirty five when I was twenty seven,” he muttered. “I went through a rather...painful time when I divorced Evan.” His eye darkened as Frank played with his hand. He had never been filled in on the time between Gerard’s separation and their rendezvous. “I was addicted to various narcotics and sleeping with previous boyfriends I had when I was a teenager...” He ran fingers through his hair. “I became everything I strived not to be. Some depressed drug addict.”
“You were a drug addict?” Gerard nodded, hands curled around the cup. He had slipped on dark sunglasses as to conceal his identity. “You did drugs?”
“Coke, blow, smack, meth, E and LSD,” he listed off sullenly. “My veins are prominent for two reasons, Frankie.”
“You have...have DVT?”
Deep vein thrombosis, lads
He nodded and sighed gravely. “You ever wonder why I have a fear of needles?”
“You used them too much,” Frank breathed, and his husband nodded sadly. “I never knew that, Gee.”
“Uh huh,” he replied, breath hitching a little. “I hope you do not look down upon me for that.”
“Oh, no.” He raised his eyes slowly to the other.“You’re better now, though, right?” Frank whispered, and the cafe had quietened now-it was peaceful. “You-you’re not...you’re not addicted to anything anymore, right?”
“Only coffee.” The smirk. “And you.”
“Gerard, do you mind telling me why you’ve locked me in here?”
“Not locked you in there,” Gerard called in a giddy, girly, unusual tone. “You’re just behind a screen, sugar pop.”
“But I can’t get out. You’ve barricaded me in here with cases and suits and stuff.”
“All part of my divine plan, sweetheart.” He grinned as he filed through the bags he had delivered to the suit. “Now give me all your clothes, baby.”
“You mean...get naked?” He sounded unsure but enthusiastic nonetheless.
“Getting naked and ridding of clothes are the same thing, baby doll.” He picked out his chosen items and the simper grew. “Throw them over the screen.”
Frank began to strip of his clothing as his husband smiled and glanced at his watch. After chatting in the cafe for over four hours, the pair had then processed on to go to dinner in an upmarket restaurant-Frank had ratatouille and Gerard had bacon. The talk had been light and loving-they had now decided the date of their vow renewal-January fifteenth, the one year anniversary of their marriage. Now, at nine, they were back in their hotel room, and Frank had been shoved behind a screen by the killer. He was not told where they were going-just that Gerard would give him clothes to dress up in and that they must be out and ready by ten thirty.
“Umm, even my boxers?”
“Leave them until tonight, babe. Imma plan on ripping them off with my teeth.”
“Thanks, Gerard.” His shirt and jeans were thrown over the screen and Gerard took them. “Am I being a stripper for you tonight?”
“Oh, baby, I wish,” he joked as he handed him tartan tight pants, a black skin-tight t-shirt, a studded belt and a stick of eyeliner. “Put them on.”
“What-oh,” he replied breathily, taking them. “Where-“
“No questions. Get that pretty ass in them and come out to me. Then I’ll answer everything.”
There was some minor grunting as Frank hitched the pants, clicking the belt into place and tugging the shirt into place. He deemed himself satisfactory, and stepped out.
The minute he did, he gasped upon seeing his husband.
Gerard Way, Don of the Mafia, and infamous fan of suits, was in black skinny jeans, a ripped t-shirt (showing slits of his glorious chest) and a black, worn leather jacket. He had ran over his eyes with black and red, and they glittered in the dark. His new white hair shone in the light and made his face look younger and less scarred-the red eye was softened in its foreground. He looked semi-normal; he looked like Frank, almost.
“We’re going to a club. There’s this awesome little movement over here that’s not yet in the States-it’s this thing called punk. Some sort of heavy rock'n'roll.” He smiled lazily and pulled the boy to his hips. “I thought it’d be nice if we went to it together-be a little adventurous.”
“You don’t like rock music,” the boy piped up, smoothing his hands all over the chest above him, slipping his palms into the rips.
“Of course I do,” he shrugged. “Everyone likes rock music.”
or at least everyone should
“I like the clothes,” Frank marvelled. “So we’re gonna see a band?”
“Mmm,” the gangster replied, then tapping his leg. “Got another one fitted.” He grinned. “No more stick.”
“Oh Gee, this is awesome,” he gushed, hugging him, burying his head in the leather. “I can’t freaking wait, we’re gonna be dancing and this is gonna be so cool I’m going to make out with you in front of everyone-“
“Nancy boy, yeah?”
“Of course,” the rabbit replied sassily, his small hand grasped by Gerard’s left-which was weird, as he had never held hands with the gangster on this side before. You couldn’t even notice he had a fake leg. They walked down to the lobby, where hoteliers stared and gaped at the two men in leather and tight pants, with heavy make-up of a minimalistic regime. “This is so awesome,” he repeated.
“Excuse me,” Gerard said politely, tone not matching the dress sense. The concierge expected the man to spit swear words and give him his middle finger. “We are in the penthouse suite and shall return here at approximately twelve.”
“Of course, Mister-“
“Iero,” the twenty nine year old answered as the front door was opened for him and his boy. “Mister Iero.”
They exited the Ritz and walked down the main street, black cabs whizzing by and red buses coming to a smoky halt outside of stops. The pair trotted and chatted happily together, and Frank noticed other men and women dressed similarly to themselves, in chains and check and Converse, were strolling down the street, some couples, some teenagers. Gerard steered them down a dark alley, towards a thumping, pumping black and pink room down a side street. Posters screaming of ANARCHY and FREEDOM and STICK IT TO THE MAN dressed the walls as Gerard and Frank queued up.
“Lotta people here,” the five four remarked, chilled in the winter nip but warm with excitement. “Music sounds fucking awesome.”
“It does,” Gerard confirmed, and then turned to the bouncer, who asked if they were both over eighteen. “Of course, I’m twenty nine.”
“Sure,” he snorted, turning to Frank. “You can’t be anything over fifteen, I swear.”
“Twenty four,” Frank replied dully, being pulled in by his husband. “God, what a dick.”
“I dunno, babe, it’s quite a complement really. I just got asked if I’m eleven years younger than I am and you nine.”
But Frank didn’t hear that; his ear drums were being sexually assaulted by the sound of screeching guitars, rapid, unsteady drumming and a thick, high London accent. He was being bumped into and knocked by bodies everywhere, not so much dancing but banging their heads to the music, mohawks and side-fringes whipping around them. Frank loved the rawness, the life within the sound-it beat any other type of noise he’d ever heard. When he and Gerard made it to the centre of the room, he was a little worried his lack of dancing skills would bring him shame-but his body seemed to move with the music, hips grinding the air, arms pumping above him.
“ALRIGHT, CUNTS!” The singer screamed into the microphone, the feedback only making the statement more deliciously DIY. “THIS NEXT ONE IS CALLED ‘I HATE THE GOVERNMENT’ CAUSE I FUCKING HATE THE GOVERNMENT!”
The crowd screamed in reply, and the guitarist kicked in again, hitting the strings with such force the boy was surprised they were torn right off. Frank looked up at Gerard, whose hands had a tight seize of his hips and was screaming right in his ear. The music was brazen and careless; if you don’t like it, fuck off, the guitars seemed to say.
“HI,” Frank yelled in his husband’s ear drum, pushing the white behind his cartridge. It felt strange, being so openly affectionate in front of all these people, grinding their lips and indeed their waists against each other. He looked around to see that everyone was doing it; tongues stuck down throats, hips bucking into one another. It was a little bit humorous, all of the sexualized actions. Between the head-banging, the screaming and the public sexual explicitly, Frank was having the time of his life. “HI GERARD!”
“HEY BABY,” was thrown back, as Gerard pulled him closer, licking a stripe down his neck. The ground was thumping, almost humming with life. The air was thick with atmosphere and despite the fact that no one knew the band playing, everyone was screeching and whooping like they were the bext act of all time. The band started up a new jam and the house began to rock again, electricity blasting through the molecules.
God save the Queen
The fascist regime
She made you a moron
God save the Queen
She ain’t no human being
There is no future
Is England’s dreaming
“NO FUTURE!” The crowd screamed the response to the tune, and the lead singer guffawed drunkenly, crooning again into the microphone.
Frank knew he was fully hard now, but he didn’t give a shit-he doubted anyone but him knew of the obstruction. Gerard was just screaming to the music-not any particular lyrics but simply ‘FUCK’ or ‘SHIT’ or perhaps even ‘FUCK YEAH’. Frank continued to shimmy and dance around him, both lovers rocking against each other. They built into a steady rhythm of stamping and jumping and shouting cusses-the boy was exhilarated and shocked beyond belief, red in the face whilst going fucking insane amongst the audience. He expected it to be more rowdy-but the people were too engrossed in the music and the groping to focus on beating people up.
Don’t be told what you want
Don’t be told what you need
There’s no future, no future
No future for you
God save the Queen
We mean it man
We love our Queen
That God saves
Frank reached up and suddenly caught hold of Gerard’s neck, burying his cheek in the gangster’s warm, smooth neck, both men panting and sweaty, nonetheless deeply entertained. You didn’t have this shit in America.
“I LOVE YOU GERARD,” he reminded him, and he could hear the sunny chuckle above the roar of the broken amplifiers.
“I LOVE YOU TOO, BABY,” was the apt reply.
Now the singer was spitting into the crowd. His saliva landed in the scalp of the twenty four year old American and he grimaced.
“Euuugh,” he shuddered, being petted by the other fondly. “That’s not punk rock, that’s just gross.”
Suddenly, in the middle of nowhere, around ten men in hard hats and bulletproof vests bust in, shouting and pulling out guns. The crowd let out a unanimous gasp and scattered all over the building. An unlucky couple were seized by the cops and thrown against the hard cement floor, skulls cracking against the pavement.
“IT’S THA FUCKIN PIGS!” The bassist of the band yelped.
Gerard, no stranger to the wrath of the authorities, snatched his boy’s hand with a cobra-like grip and dodged both the guards and the concert-goers, ducking and dipping between arms holding up pints of beer like a true limbo expert. He dragged Frank around the back of the club, kicking open the fire door and escaping, a grin on his face all the time. It was hard to see-Gerard reached for Frank and found solace in the little hand seeking him.
“You okay, bunny?” He asked casually as they dusted themselves off, shouting and cussing draining from the club they had just emerged from. “No one hurt you?”
“No,” the boy answered, running fingers through his hair and beaming. “Oh my God, Gee, that was so cool and just so oh my God I wanna go back-“
“I wanted you to experience that,” Gerard said with a smile, taking his hand once more. They climbed over a brick wall and continued until they reached the rubbish bins of the towering Ritz, underneath the bubbling outdoor jacuzzi. “I thought you might like it.”
“I did, it was so fun and so...wow,” he breathed again, skipping in front of Gerard and taking both his hand, swinging them. “Like freedom or something. Kinda gross and kinda amazing at the same time.” He licked Gerard’s jaw. “Thanks for taking me, Gerard, I didn’t know you liked rock and stuff.”
“I am secretly awesome,” the boss said slyly, the other giggling giddily. “I only wish the act was not in violation of the law.”
“Oh yeah,” Frank murmured. “God, the law sucks, doesn’t it?”
Gerard grinned as he pushed open the front doors to the Ritz-the doormen had retired for the night.
“It does.” He stretched. “Twenty of twelve. I think I’ll have a bath, I reek.” He looked to the smaller. “Is that alright with you?”
“I was actually gonna have a bath,” he whispered as they ascended the dark stairs, the snores of other guests audible in the deep of the night. “But I can just share with you.”
“Somone’s a little frisky tonight, ain’t they?” Gerard murmured as he inserted the key and pulled his boy into the penthouse. He began tearing at his own clothes, throwing his jacket onto the floor and kicking off his shoes. “I bet I can get in there before you.”
“Uh, yeah!” It was no use-the killer was already in his boxers-Frank could barely shrug off his shirt, with the mixture of sweat and drink that had been doused on him during the concert. A low whistle emerged from the bathroom as Frank unbuttoned his shirt-Gerard had already started the water. “God, they musta known about the whole ‘nancy boy’ thing.”
“Why?” C’mon, c’mon socks, get the fuck off!
“Well...” a laugh. “Just come in.”
Frank padded into the absolutely massive bathroom, large eyes drinking in the entire chamber. The bath must have been at least seven foot long, with room across wide enough for above three people. It was encrusted in gold-but that wasn’t all. About thirty candles had magically been lit around the water closet, so there was no need for switching on the light on. The shadows of the flames danced and licked the walls, throwing figures onto the white plaster.
“So pretty,” he remarked girlishly. Gerard was lying against the edge of the tub, shoulders slumped. Frank neatly placed himself in the middle, only to be caught around the waist by the killer and pulled onto his thighs, so that their legs became entwined. Iero relaxed totally, closing his eyes as he relaxed into the chest of the other. Gerard beagn serving his neck with a massage. “Ohhh...this is nice.”
“Maybe I should make you feel better,” Gerard said, mocking Frank’s sexy voice, who scowled and flicked him with water. “I could do that, ya know...with my sexy voice and all.”
“Gerard, I’ll kill you.”
“No, you can’t, since we’re just the perfect couple right now, having a bath and going shopping and going to an illegal rock concert and everything.” He smirked. “You fucking love me.”
“I adore you,” Frank muttered gruffly. He thought he heard something for a second-must just be the wind howling.
They sat in blissful silence for a moment, the brown tufts in the nose of the platinum white. Then Gerard began to move, pushing his rabbit off of him and sitting up again. The boy assumed he was getting the shampoo.
He was wrong.
“Baby...if I told you how fucking good you looked right now...would you believe me?”
Gerard moaned throatily.
“God, yeah.” He then firmly squeezed his nostrils with his thumb and forefinger, dipping underwater. Again, Frank was under the assumption of noise, but was too engrossed in his husband’s actions.
“Ger-what are you-“ hands travelled up his legs, teeth nipping and teasing the delicate skin. “Oh God, Gerard, please-“
Frank suddenly felt consumed in more than wet warmth, the heat of Gerard’s breath around his cock driving his head into overload. He tipped his head back and moaned loudly-that was when a nock was heard on the door.
“Mister Iero? Mister Iero, are you in the bathroom?”
Frank was too shocked to speak. Gerard took a tiny breath and continued to envelope his dick in warmth.
The door pushed open, and the clerk saw Frank, sitting in the bath, with no one else present.
“Sir, I’m dreadfully sorry, but I’ve been calling the telephone for the past ten minutes.”
“Ooooh,” Frank moaned, trying to nod his head. The server looked disturbed. “Uh-okay-t-thank yooooou, um...what is it?”
“Just inquiring if you would be liking breakfast in the morning, sir,” the man continued, smiling politely.
“Ummm...” Gerard gave him a tiny signal-his hand with a palm held up. “High...high five? Oh no-clapping? Oh wait-“ Gerard licked his tip and he groaned-“ wait wait, what’s for breakfast?”
Frank’s thighs received a tender kiss for his interpretation skills.
“There is quite a range, Mister Iero. Continental, fry, vegetarian, vegan, celiac...”
“Vegetarian.” A sharp bite at his fingers. “I’M SORRY-one vegetarian, one...uh...fry?” Another-poor boy, being tortured. The hotel employee could only look on in...well, I don’t know what. “Ahhhh-um, um, continental? Don’t tell me you’re a fuckin celiac, Gerard, I’ll-“
“Sir?” He asked tentatively. “Are you alright?”
“One vegetarian, one continental and one fry, thank you,” Gerard said suddenly, popping up. Oh my God, he is not wiping cum off his face, that is just too embarrassing... “And black coffee, if you don’t mind, I am not a fan of the tea you serve over here, too bland, ya know?”
The server and Frank could only stare at him. Then:
“Oh...yes...sir. Right...right away, sir.”
He slammed the door and ran out. Gerard giggled like a schoolgirl and Frank attacked him, both men sloshing in the water.
“GERARD ARTHUR WAY I WILL DESTROY YOU-“
“Aww, sugar, ain’t you precious,” the gangster cooed as he got to his foot , Frank scooped up in his arms, scowling. They were both naked and driiping wet, smelling freshly of bubbles. Way carried him with ease to the bed and plopped him down. “Isn’t my little rabbit just the cutest little thing?”
Frank pouted, crossed his arms, struggling not to smile.
“This isn’t over, Way.”
“It isn’t?” He said in a high, sweet voice. He rubbed their noses together and smiled a beam that could make butter melt. Frank yawned a little. “Oh, poor kitty, so tired. You should take a nap, baby.”
“You treat me like such a child.”
“Accept it, honey,” Gerard said into his mouth. “Resistance is futile.”
“Can we go to bed?” Frank asked. “It’s so late.”
“Babe. It’s twelve. Luciana probably stays up later than this.”
“I’m fuckin serious.” He leaned across him and grabbed his shorts. “But, my princess, your wish is my command.” He waggled his eyebrows and leaned over his boy. “And Frankie...I hope ta hell you bought some sexy underwear or something because one of these days...” he licked Frank’s lips with the tip of his tongue. “One of these days Imma just bite’cha.”
“But first,” the rabbit said happily. “First you’re my nancy boy.” He giggled and slid under the covers, the light turning off as Gerard clicked his fingers-then murderer soon joined the boy in the bed, his jewelled hands clapsed around Frank’s stomach as they lay, back-to-chest, spooning. Tender kisses dressed Frank’s neck as they cuddled. As he drifted, Iero heard his husband humming the bar of one of the best songs played in the punk club.
“Don’t know what I want, but I know how to get it...”