Frank's convinced that his iPod can read his mind. Can Gerard's? FRERARD one-shot. Read, review, rate and feel my love :P
“I’m telling you, Gee, it really works! It’s fucking freaky!” Frank’s eyes animate his enthusiastic, overdramatic words by exploding inwardly with each, over-emphasised syllable that leaves his pierced and grinning lips. Lips that are always turned upwards in a hyperactive smirk; lips that never have a bad thing to say about anyone; lips that would look more at home adorning the blessed face of an angel; lips that should be mine. I smile softly to myself at just the thought of his twin pleasures joining up with my own cracked and dry lips in some sort of passionate love dance.
Wow, way to sound like some soppy schoolgirl daydreaming about the movie star she’ll never get to screw. Ha. But that’s all I really am deep down isn’t it? Some pathetic loser in love with his best friend and too damn cowardly to say anything because just the mere thought of rejection breaks my heart. And that’s why he can’t ever know, because I will die inside upon receiving his inevitable rejection.
I’m yanked out of my thoughts by Frank’s caring and strong arm yanking me away from the lamppost I very nearly walked into. I know it was only a friendly gesture intended to save me from yet another nosebleed, but I can’t ground my heart before it soars upwards at the contact and paints a stupid blush onto my pale cheeks. I smile sheepishly at his soul-squeezingly adorable giggles and cheeky smirk.
“Thanks.” I mumble, my embarrassment staining my words like the crimson ink of my blush stains my reddened face.
“No need to thank me, Gee. Just admit that iPods are psychic!” He smugly insists, crossing his arms in satisfaction as we continue the walk home from school.
I sigh exasperatedly; he has been going on about the clairvoyance of iPods all day. That’s the only thing that can get annoying about Frankie, he can go on about the same subject for an eternity of drawn out seconds. Not that I really mind; any second that is filled with his voice is like music to my ears. Seriously, though; psychic iPods? He has somehow managed to get it stuck in his gorgeous head that his iPod, as well as everyone else’s, can sense what you are thinking and how you feel, thus play the appropriate song. I guess it’s crazy little ideas like this that make me realise how wonderfully unique Frank is, how no one could ever replace him and how lucky I am to know him.
“Frankie, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but; iPods are inanimate objects and therefor can’t have mindreading powers!” I yell in mock annoyance, feeling the heat drain from my cheeks at returning to our normal friendly banter. He scowls up at me and then pulls his iPod from his pocket, caressing and kissing it ferociously. God, I wish that I were his iPod, especially if it can read his mind.
Fan-fucking-tasting! That thought has turned my ivory skin a rose red once more. God, why do you hate me?
“Don’t listen to mean ol’ Gerard, Poddy. I still love you.” He hushes to it as though it is his downtrodden lover, a role that should belong to me and not some scratched up piece of metal nor anyone else for that matter.
“Poddy?” I laugh in disbelief. “You named your iPod?”
“You haven’t?” I shrug in response to his horrified face, tears of laughter welling up in my eyes. “Name it. Now. I demand it.”
“Okay,” I pause in mild contemplation, thinking about which answer will make Frankie smile the most. “How about Mystic Meg?”
“Ah! You admit it!” He cries triumphantly, dancing around me like a little kid receiving the games console it asked for at Christmas.
“I won’t believe it ‘til I see it, Frankie.”
“Okay then. Get out Mystic Meg and I’ll prove it!” His eyes are full of gleaming determination that spark a fire in his pools of perfect hazel, burning my heart with how sensually soul claiming his portals of vision are; how amazing they would look if they were full of passion and placed above a nose that was rubbing against my own as we fight for dominance in a kiss that I am forced to tell myself will never happen. Because it never will; because I’m his best friend and not his boyfriend.
I pull out my trusty iPod Touch with it’s chipped body and cracked screen, realising for the first time that there may actually be some logic to Frankie’s, seemingly insane, theory. All of the times when no one else has been around to listen or to tell me that everything will work out, my iPod’s always been there to drown out the troubles of the outside world with the strumming of guitars, the pounding of the bass, the heartbeat of drums and the tortured lyrics of my heroes. Like when my parents got mad because I was out all night without my cell, my iPod drowned out their angry shouts and told me that I am amazing when my parents were telling me how much of a disappointment I am. Like when Mikes was in hospital after falling out of a tree, my iPod told me that he would be alright and blew my worries away with golden guitar solos. Like when I came home all beaten up, my iPod washed the insults out of my ears and empathetic lyrics healed my wounds. Like every night when I cry myself to sleep because of all the bottled up feelings that being in love with my best friend causes; apart from my iPod doesn’t make that better, just sings me into the respite of sleep.
“Now what?” I find my voice coming out slightly hoarser than normal, my hopeless thoughts seemingly invading my vocal chords.
“Ask it a question and then press shuffle!” He instructs as though it’s obvious, leaning over my shoulder to see what happens. Leaning over my shoulder with his warm breath on my unworthy cheeks and his angelic face practically resting against my own. I nod, causing our cheeks to briefly rub against each other and I feel myself flush once more. I glance at him, desperately hoping that he isn’t looking at me, to see something that surprises me; his own cheeks have been caressed with embarrassments burning hand. Surely I didn’t cause that? Did I?
“Um, okay. Tell me, oh wise Mystic Meg, what do I like the most?” My voice is slurred with melodrama, my finger pressing down in an over-the-top manner on the “shuffle” button. My headphones are unplugged so when it’s answer drifts out self-assuredly, we both gasp in shock.
Oasis’ classic 'Cigarettes and Alcohol' fills the blush-generated awkward silence.
“See, Gee. I told you so! Creepy, right?” He sounds so unbearable smug that I can’t help but refuse the possibility that my iPod just read my mind.
“Fluke, Frankie. My iPod can’t read my mind.” When he looks as though he’s about to protest I decide to try again. “Look, we’ll do best out of three. What am I thinking about right now?” I shake my iPod viciously, willing it to guess incorrectly. I smirk cockily as 'First Date' by Blink-182 kicks out the nervous silence. “See, Frankie. My iPod’s not psychic.”
But deep down I can’t help but think of how much of a lie my statement may have been. How much I wish for our first date, of how nervous he makes me feel, of how unworthy of his time I am. Holy fuck! My iPod mind-raped me!
“Hey! You said best out of three and besides, it’s readings don't have to be literal.” Shit. “Can I ask the next question?” He sounds thoughtful, reluctant even, as though he is contemplating something hugely important.
“Knock yourself out.”
“How do Gee and I feel about each other?”
He shakes it.
I pray for a miracle…
And I receive Nirvana’s 'Rape Me' in response.
Before I can even process this, I feel something warm and soft on my lips. No, not something; someone. Not just anyone; Franklin Anthony Iero. His lips are on my own, like an angel’s sacred wings enveloping the body of a lowly, unworthy human. He tastes delectable; of Coca-Cola, skittles and cigarettes. Of hope, love and bliss. His arms wrap securely around my neck and mine cling to his waste, as though we’re both scared of the other pulling away in revulsion. With a symphony of happy moans our tongues embrace each other in a passionate Tango of lust.
We only pull apart when the song ends, both of us smiling like we’ve never seen each other smile before. My heart is still beating as though it’s about to explode into a cloud of sickly sweet smoke and rose petals; my lips are rubbing together in an attempt to collect the taste I have dreamt about for so long; Mystic Meg slips from my stunned hands and smashes onto the pavement, but I don’t care. I don’t need my iPod anymore; I’ve got Frank to drown out all of the bad things.
Our hands intertwine as though they were made to piece together and we walk on. I turn to my Frankie to see him smirking proudly.
“I told you that iPod’s are psychic.”
A/N: Sorry if that sucked, it’s my first Frerard so please tell me how I did. Thanks for reading, please review! :)