Frank meets Don Way.
Frank could only stare at the man before him.
Don Way must have been six five at least, towering and muscular. Black, shining hair hung like curtains down his cheeks, sweeping in a short cut by his chin. His eyes were startlingly beautiful; bright, sparkling, glittering jade green. Iero found himself suddenly looking at this man in such a different light to how he looked at others usually - his hazel eyes tripped down the criminal's soft, thin lips, his tanned skin tone that looked relished and worked, the dip available to see by the open button in the black shirt he was wearing.The Don regarded the boy as he got to his feet and walked toward him. He didn't walk solidly like most humans did; his hips revolved as he shrugged effortlessly toward Frank, a cigarette between his fingers. He wore neither a smile nor a scowl as he approached the younger one.
"I will repeat my question," he said again, softly, deadly. The mobster watched as the hazel eyes widened and dilated. "Who are you?" Oh God, he was near now. Very, very near. His hand, sparkling with golden rings, reached out and brushed past the teenager's hip as he shook violently - the Don cocked his head in fair empathy; the poor boy was afraid. He made his voice silkier. "What is your name?"
"Fr - Frank," he breathed, and now, due to the gangster's oncoming touch, he was backed up against the door. Don Way bit his lip at how fucking beautiful the boy was...the enormous eyes and the pale skin, the slender, effeminate frame, the tiny hips. None of the other men he fucked were this pretty. Or this young, this inexperienced - the boss was only guessing, but the boy moved like a virgin. Like someone who had never been touched that way, who had never been kissed passionately, never flushed from dirty talk. "Frank Iero," he managed to push past his lips. "I...my daddy sent me here," he whispered. The Don didn't comment on the childish name. "He's the priest. Father Iero, he comes here sometimes. I didn't kill someone, I've never stolen, I never tell lies," he said desperately. "Please don't hurt me. They were saying mean things when I came in and please, please, don't hurt me."
Don Way paused and leaned closer to the shrinking boy. Frank could see how plush his lips looked; the streaming of different rays of green in his iris.
"Why did your father send you here?" He murmured, slipping his hand to rest lightly on the boy's waist. Frank said nothing at the warm contact. "What did you do?"
Frank paused and sucked his lower lip. He was vaguely aware the boss's fingers were tugging lightly at the waist of his trousers.
"He thought I was...doing sins with another boy," he whispered. He didn't know why he was telling this strange man his details all of a sudden...he didn't even know his name. 'Don Way'. Was Don a first name, a title, a nickname? He faced into the green irises again. "That...a man was doing things to me. And my daddy didn't like it so he sent me here. And that's it." He began to shake again. "Please don't hurt me...Mister...Way." He used the name the warden had fleetingly mentioned. "Please."
"I am not going to hurt you," the black haired man spoke again. "So you needn't bother begging me." Frank nodded and bowed his head. "I was simply asking your name and the crime you apparently committed which hardly seems unlawful." He leaned in until their faces were bare inches away from each other. "You look so young. May I ask your age?"
"Nearly sixteen," the boy answered. He was pulled closer until he was pressed against the inmate's warm chest. Frank felt a weird little flip in his stomach and suddenly his upper thighs flushed with warm blood. "I turn sixteen in October."
"So you're fifteen, then," the criminal said with a small smile, and Frank nodded, flushing pink at the gangster's wry, clever humor. The taller one looked a little tranfixed and dreamy as he gazed at the kid; Iero didn't mind in the slightest, meaning he could just gaze at the beautiful creature for longer. Way began to trace Frank's lower lip - the Catholic nearly jolted from the feeling of someone doing something remotely sexual with him. "Your accent. It's different to most." He smiled genuinely now, showing his teeth. Frank didn't give a shit about being sick or unholy or not being normaly now - the man was gorgeous. He wanted to hold his hand, hug him, maybe even kiss him...but he was in the Cosa. Frank was an uneducated teenager; this person was head of a svelte crime syndicate. "You're from NJ."
The other managed a nod.
"I was born in Newark," he said quietly, looking at the Don's shoes. "I was born in Newark and then we moved when I was ten to New York after Daddy got the job at Sing Sing." He paused and took an inhale of breath. "I think it was five years ago, I'm not sure."
"Four and a half," the other corrected. "He came here at the start of fifty three. I remember clearly."
"Have you..." the boy licked his lips to refurbish them with hydration and tried to look the Don in the eye. His hands were still to Frank's waist, but the fifteen year old found them soft and comfortable, not invading or hurtful. "Have you been in jail that long?"
"I've been in jail a long time, sweetheart," he said right into the boy's eardrum. Frank could hear his soft breathing, the slight tinkle of his jewellery. His pulse rate jumped at the pet name. "A long, long time. Since before your daddy came at all." His finger stroked the pale skin that lay under Frank's shirt. Iero didn't push him away. "But what I was getting to was that you're from my hometown." His lips curled at the sides. "You don't meet a lot of people from Jersey in here."
"How long...how long have you been here?" Frank jumped out of his skin when a finger slipped underneath the waist of his boxers. He paused and looked the older one in the eye. "In jail?" Another stop. "Are you old?"
A smile. The Don liked this kid. "Why? Do I look old?"
He chuckled. "Still got it, then," he said softly. "I turned twenty three in April. I've been in Sing Sing for eight years, came in at your age. And before you ask, I shot ten men dead on my birthday. Got ninety nine years each on them, and an extra life sentence for being in a criminal organization. Before that I'd been in juvie in Rikers for robbing people and holding some against their will. I broke out when I was fourteen, managed to go unnoticed for a year, and then was stupid enough to shoot the fuckers dead a year later." A polite smile. "You look terrified, Frankie, but it's not so bad in here at all. How long are you staying for?"
"Just..." he could barely face him. "Just for summer vacation."
"Exactly, time'll fly, I promise you." A pause. "I know your daddy, Frank." He surveyed the boy and noticed the flinch when he mentioned the name. "Big guy, black hair, priest, thinks he's better than everyone else?" A nod. The Don brushed a stand of hair from Frank's face. "He's not the fondest of me, I have to say. On account of...well." Sympathy invaded his seductive tone. "You know."
Way shook his head. "No, honey. I do what he accused you of."
Frank blinked. "Did your girlfriend get angry with you for it?"
"No, honey." He leaned forward and pressed his hand to the boy's cheek. "I don't have a girlfriend. I sleep with men, Frank." He closed his eyes and seemed slightly weary. "I'm homosexual. If I was anyone else I'd get an extra ninety nine for that, but since I run this place..." he shrugged and seemed to be accepting of his fate. "Besides, how would it make any difference? I've served eight years of a one thousand and fifteen year sentence."
"So...you're never getting out?"
"No, baby. Unless I break out...but I don't think I'll bother. Nothing to live for, really." His voice lowered still. "Nothing to die for."
"Do you have a husband?" The boy asked quietly. "Are you married?"
"No." His hand was still stroking Frank, gently and carefully so the virgin wouldn't be frightened. "I just have boyfriends in here, but, alas...they do not please me." His smile wiped off his face. "The problem with people being gorgeous, Frank, is that they share themselves around. They know they're aesthetically pleasing and use it to their advantage. Beautiful people tend to be cunts," he finished.
"But you're beautiful," Frank blurted out before clapping his hand over his mouth. He'd just called a man beautiful. More over, he had called the Don of the Italian Mafia beautiful. Way to fucking pick them, Frank. In the prison for five goddamn minutes and now you're calling the boss beautiful. Good one. "I mean oh my God I'm so sorry I didn't mean to be rude or something please please don't get the scary men in suits to hurt me one of them has an afro and he could hide guns in there-"
"You're so cute," the criminal mused in Frank's ear. "And you...for the record, Frank...you're the most beautiful person I've ever met." His eyes were half-lidded and they swirled with admiration. "And I've met a lot of men. None as...captivating as you."
Frank didn't know what to say. His mind was in a whirwind of emotions. Fear for staying in this hell hole of a prison, that men could easily take him to one side and yank down his trousers, pound into him and claim him as their bitch, their slut; he wasn't very savvy when it came to the idealogy of sexual harassment but he knew from movies and his mother discussing the act with her girlfriends; jail was number one for male rape. Frank didn't know much about the science of assault - proof physiques but he knew that five foot three, one hundred and thirty pound teenage boys didn't have a breath of a chance when it came to beating.
And yet...he didn't know. He had never felt this way about anyone, either man or woman, and now his mind was playing tricks on him. Had the man called him those soft, affectionate pet names just minutes into their introduction? Were his ringed fingers really resting on his hips in such a loving manner? Frank was frustrated at the feelings swarming uncomfortably in his stomach?. He felt rather hot and breathless. He had seen his fair share of rather attractive boys and men in New York - everyone from punks to businessmen to doctors. He had to go for the Mafia boss he's just met in prison?
But another part of Frank, a more rebellious, apatheic state of mind, shooed these worried thoughts away with a flap of the hand. Sure, he didn't know this man's name, and yeah, he was a Don resigned to Sing Sing Correctional Facility (hardly a romantic meeting; 'your father and I met in a jail cell, it was love at first interrogation') and he'd be here for the rest of his life, but there was another side to the story; he had called Frank beautiful. He had touched the boy ever so gently, had called him nice names. This was the first person to ever do this in his life. To add to that, the criminal was homosexual. And insanely...captivating.
He barely reached out and put his small hand on the gangster's midriff, below his ribs (over his shirt, of course; Frank had never dreamed of touching someone 'like that', no matter if the other had already untucked his shirt) and expected it to be shoved away. He expected pistols to be drawn and insults snarled. Don Way would scream at him and throw him into the corner of the room, asking how dare he touch the Dominus and say horrible, horrible things like his father did so many times. Frank would have no protection, no human shield, no care for the next three and a half months and he'd lose his virginity to someone in the rape brigade. The little touch would outrage the boss and Frank would be dead meat.
But he wasn't. He wasn't pushed away, he wasn't snarled at, he wasn't insulted. He gazed at his hand, his small fingers resting along the soft shirt of the Don. It felt abnormal and alien, feeling someone else's warmth. He bore the sentence the Don had said minutes ago - 'I sleep with men'. Frank found that interesting; he imagined the criminal curled up next to someone in his pyjamas. He was unaware of the meaning of sleeping with someone.
"My daddy says I'm a waste of skin," Frank murmured, barely glancing up at the other. His hair was directly under the gangster's chin. "He calls me bad names and hurts me sometimes. He says I embarrass him and sometimes he hides my rabbit and says it's stupid." He sucked his lip. "That I'm too old for it."
"Rabbit?" The Don sounded surprised. "May I see it, please?"
Frank felt in his pocket. He had never showed anyone the stuffed toy before; it was babyish, even a young child would say that. It was a little lop-sided and there was a thread loose near the rabbit's ear. Nonetheless, Frank was extremely protective of it and it resided in his pocket all day every day. Granted, it wasn't the most roomy or comfy of spots, but it made Frank feel better. He took it from his pocket and handed it to the gangster. Way smiled.
"Oh, forgive me," he said, lips curling. He held the bunny in his calloused hands, regarding it with a loving look. "'Rabbit' is an informal term for a pistol. Prison slang. I was under the impression you meant you were storing a weapon on your form." Frank flushed hot pink and tried to apologize; his throat was dry, parched, closed up. The Don didn't hand it right back. "Was this made for you?"
The boy nodded shakily. "My momma made it for me." He bit his tongue; he told himself not to use such stupid, childish words in front of the convict. "I - I know it's babyish and stupid -"
"It's not in any way juvenile or inane," the other muttered. "I think it's adorable. So lovely that you have a stuffed rabbit to keep you safe." He handed it back to Frank, who thanked him silently and put the bunny back in his pocket. The mobster's brow creased. "You should not listen to your father when he insults you. There's nothing embarrassing or disgraceful about you. You seem very appealing to me." He waited a moment and quirked an eyebrow. "The things he accused you of...having sexual relations with another man...did you commit them?" He looked closer at Frank, still up against the door. His hands had not moved from their position on his waist. "Or was it apocryphal?" The boy looked blank. "False, Frankie. Lies. Made up."
"Oh - I never did any of that," he lisped, eyes large and docile. "I...I've never had a girlfriend...or a boyfriend." The Don felt his stomach twist with want. He craved the teenager so desperately, not in the usual sense. He could have any man he wanted, but this fifteen year old seemed so goddamn tempting. Usually, all he used men for was sex, and their personalities did not interest him in the slightest. He wanted to talk to and hold the kid forever more. The fact that his fingers had not been pushed from his hips had been positive. "I...I'm still a virgin." Way's tongue knocked back into his throat as he heard the statement. He had never taken a virgin before...the boy was bound to be so tight, so delicious, so ignorant of physical activity. He willed the sexual thoughts to cease, for fear of blood to flush down south. He briefly wondered if Frank knew what sex was at all. "I've never kissed anyone. No one's ever touched me...in my special place." Another pause. The Don looked into his hair and inhaled briefly; gorgeous. Like chocolate. "Daddy says I have to wait until I'm married."
"And give your virginity to that person?" He avoided to set the barricades of either husband or wife. "Let them make love to you for the first time?"
Iero nodded a little uncertainly. "Mmm...yes. My...husband." Inside the criminal's coverted mind, he let out a silent cheer. The boy was gay. That's it; he would be Way's before the day was out. Once Don Way wanted someone, they were his. Of course, he had never wanted someone as badly as this. In fact, he had never waited this long with a man before ripping his clothes off. His 'relationships' normally didn't last fifteen minutes...the same number as the boy's age. "I have to serve him...make him happy...let him do what he wants." The mobster felt weak with desire. "I didn't go to high school because Daddy says they teach wrong things and so I can't get a job. I just have his babies and let him..." his hazel eyes filled with boiling tears - "...do things to me." The Don felt like crying out; he wondered if he should hug the boy or if it would seem too touchy. "Let him be...in control."
"Beating someone isn't a sign of love, Frankie," the criminal said quietly. He stepped away the teenager and beckoned him. "Here, come sit with me, honey, don't cry." He plucked up some cognac by the bottle neck. "Do you drink?"
Frank shook his head, snuffling. "No," he answered. "Alcohol is the drink of Satan. It's evil."
Don Way smiled softly and nodded, pouring a glass for himself and throwing it back. Frank looked oddly engrossed, impressed even. The boy slowly made his way to the boss and stood a little awkwardly before him. The prisoner handed him a handkerchief and the boy took it graciously.
"Do you always do what your daddy tells you, Frankie?" He purred. "Do you intend on marrying before having sex for the first time?"
"Mmm...I try," he whispered. The Don's hand reached out and placed in the small of the boy's back. "I...I get told I can't drink or...do things with people until I'm married." He paused and looked to the boss again. "And I can't think...things about...that."
"Sex?" Way questioned quietly. The smallest of nods. "Frankie, do you mind if I ask you a question?" The boy shook his head. "Do you...do you know what sex is?" He was so close to Frank right now that he was barely murmuring. Whispering even. "Properly?" He bit down on the teenger's ear and he let out a small noise. Like a mixture of a mewl and a gasp. "Do you know what happens?"
"It's...it's..." he bit his lip as the convict retracted from him. Frank knew it now. He wanted this man. He wanted him as his boyfriend, his lover, the person who did soft, private things to him and made him feel good. "It's what you do with someone you love." A pause. The tall man said nothing. "To...make babies. It's...kissing...but...lying down. And under bed covers." He took in a shaky breath. "Is that...is that right?"
"No, baby, it's not," Way murmured, slipping his hand down Frank's leg. A little motion picture ran in the back of his head, of undressing the boy, kissing him all over and squeezing him tightly, assuring him of his adoration and then slipping inside the virgin, taking him. All of a sudden he pictured proposing to Frank, marrying him, imagining how beautiful his kids would be...he startled himself. He drew himself to his full height and talked quietly into brown tufts. "It's so much closer than kissing, Frankie, so much closer. When you...take off all your clothes." Frank looked at him with huge eyes, his mouth slightly open. "And get into bed with someone, and you kiss them, and hug them, and then you...you get inside them." The boy gasped. The Don closed his eyes. "Right...here..." he dressed his finger along the boy's entrance. "And sometimes you do it with people you don't love. People who don't love you." By now, Frank was crying again. "But you...you deserve much better than that, Frankie. Someone who adores you will make love to you, and..." he trailed away and suddenly pulled the boy right to his chest, so that Iero tucked under his chin. He inhaled deeply.
"I want you, Frankie. I want you. I want to protect you from the cunts in here, I want to be the only man who can see your skin, the first man who can see your skin. I wanna be your first kiss, I wanna be your first everything, Frankie." The teenager looked at him, startled, still wiping his eyes. "I control this place, Frankie. I control when we sleep, when we eat - I get the shit shipped in from the outside. I want you," he repeated. "I need you, I want something more than just fucking. More than fighting and bitching and all that shit. I want someone like you." Don Way leaned into him. "You would have pushed me away if you didn't like my attention. Would have told me to keep my hands to myself, would have told me to shut up when I called you those names. I've made you blush." The boy looked into his eyes. "I've made you laugh, made you smile - in the space of five minutes, babe." He pressed their noses together and searched Frank's soul. "I'm Don of the Cosa Nostra, Frankie. I got the molfucking world in the molfucking palm of my hand. I've killled more people than you've ever met. I just got caught for the ten." He closed his eyes. "I'm Don Way, baby, and I want you." They flew open; electric green penetrated hazel. "And when I want something, I get it."
Frank blinked. Then:
"I want you," he returned quietly, slipping his hand up to the criminal's shoulder. "I want you, Don Way."
There was a short silence. That was a lot of stuff to process in ten minutes.
"If I give you my virginity," Frank said right in his ear, "will you tell me your first name?"
"Yes," the boss agreed. "Until that day, you can refer to me as Don Way. You will reside in my cell, and sleep with me." A pause. His voice was silky, soft, seductive. "You are now mine."