Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance
Piercing(ly Beautiful)
6 reviewsNeedles and swollen lips; a deffinite way to get into Gerard's heart. Short FRERARD one-shot. Read, review, rate and feel my love! :P
4Ambiance
Piercing(ly Beautiful)
I told Frankie no. Made it perfectly clear that he was not doing that in my bedroom, no matter how much he wanted to. No fucking way was it going to happen. I told him that just because my parents and little brother are out doesn’t make it alright to do something like that in my basement bedroom. I couldn’t have stressed the point enough, told him exactly the opposite of consent. Told him that hell could freeze over and I still wouldn’t change my mind. It just wasn’t going to happen. Nope. Not in my bedroom and certainly not without his mom knowing.
Yet here he is, standing in front of me in his torn-up jeans and Misfits t-shirt, beaming at me with the pride of a five-year-old showing off his first loose tooth.
“You did what?” I gawp, staring at him in disbelieving shock at his admittedly admirable determination, my voice more incredulous than angry. “You do know that your mom’s gonna kill you, right?”
“At least I’ll die looking cool, Geetard.” He smirks, refusing to let my statement of fact mar his proud glee.
His smirk, no matter how cute it maybe, is part of the problem though. Or rather, the lips forming it are. You see, Frankie’s had his heart set on getting his lip pierced for months now, but his mom said that there was no way she was going to let her son run around like some ‘good for nothing punk’. The only problem with that argument being that looking like some ‘good for nothing punk’ is exactly what Frankie wants and so, in a moment of complete Iero-insanity, he somehow managed to talk himself into thinking that it would be a good idea to do it himself. In my bedroom. With needles. So I, obviously, told him to fuck off. So he did.
And did it in the upstairs bathroom instead.
“She is going to kill us both, Frankie! I don’t wanna die young!” I cry overdramatically, waving my arms wildly in the air to illustrate my want to still be able to breathe this time tomorrow.
Although I’m only joking around in an attempt to hear his sweet little falsely-innocent giggle, I can’t help but feel genuinely scared. Mrs Iero seems to have it in her head that I’ve led her son astray, that Frankie was the perfect little saint that he never was to begin with before we started hanging out, and will use any excuse she can to bite my head off. Quite literally.
I swear to God that that woman has more than a few screws loose.
Frank flops restlessly onto my bed next to me, pulling out his cell so that he can take a photo of his swelling lower lip. It really does look quite painful, like it needs someone to kiss it better…
No. I can’t start thinking like that, not after last time. Last time we were walking down the street and I just couldn’t for the life of me tear my eyes from his lopsided little smirk, the kind of smirk that could easily make devils rise just to see it and angels run in fear of the mischief it conveys, I just couldn’t stop staring at it. And so, like the socially inept kid that I am, I walked straight into a lamppost. Yeah, way to win a guy over, right? By gushing blood from my nose, all over his one white t-shirt.
“You think? I think she’ll like it.” He sounds like he actually believes that, like he’s almost as deranged as his mom is. As I am when I think about the lip that he’s just driven a needle through. “What? Why’re looking at me like I’m crazy?”
“Dude. Have you met your mom? She’s gonna end up sending you to a monastery or something if you’re not careful.”
“You really think they’d let me into a monastery?” He raises his eyebrows at me, knowing full well that he’s got a point; even if they did let him in, he’d most likely burst into flames upon arrival. “Besides, I really think it looks cool.”
He runs his fingers over his lightly bleeding lower lip, feeling for the hole that he’s just stabbed into it with nothing but teenage rebellion for a painkiller. His long, music-making fingers glide over the swollen curve of his, even redder than normal, lips; fingers that are smothered in biro doodles. I swear to God that he’s like some sort of walking canvass, or at least, that’s how he sees himself. Something to be made bright and colourful in this dull, greying world. Like he’s constantly trying to prove something to someone, show people that he can be as amazing on the outside as he is on the inside. By drawing on his arms; drawing the most intricate patterns trailing up his forearms, his favourite band logos all over the place like a rash of inspiration, his own little random scribbles and sayings wherever there’s room on any of his visible skin. And now, by poking needles through parts of his body. I know that this sounds soppy, but I wish that I could show him that he doesn’t need to draw on himself to make himself stand out, although it is an undeniably captivating little quirk, that his eyes do that for him enough; eyes that are just like that of the puppies that he has an adorable soft spot for.
How do I know that his, perfectly endless and soulful, hazel eyes are enough to make him stand out? Because I’ve found myself getting lost in them more and more often lately, just drowning in the melted chocolate of those eyes that seem to always find something special in everything. You might be thinking that I’m just some lovesick teenager who needs to get over himself. And you’d be absolutely right.
I can’t deny it, so why try to?
“Earth to Gee, come in Gee. Do you read or are you lost in spaced-outness?” He snaps his fingers, those intricately doodled-on digits, and snaps me out of my thoughts. “I was saying, don’t you think it looks cool?”
“Honestly, Frankie? It looks like you’ve stabbed yourself through the lip with a needle. Oh, wait; you have!” He feigns a look of shock, kind of akin to a stereotypical cheerleader’s reaction to having a spider run up her arm, and sticks out his lower lip in the most adorably childish way imaginable. “Aw, chin up, Frankie. Or should I say stiff upper lip?”
He sticks out his tongue at me in mock annoyance, the lips holding the tongue stretched into that cheeky beam of his that lights up my day, could light up a vampire’s lair should he so wish it.
“Whatever, Geetard. Just because you’re jealous.” He states self-righteously, head held high in the air and eyes alit with the dazzling diamonds of laughter. “Jealous of me because this bad-boy, when I get hold of a ring, will get me numerous lovers.”
I choke on my laughter, in a mixture of disgust at the idea of Frankie with anyone other than me and genuine incredulousness.
“Oh really? Sorry, Frankie, but surely having some piece of metal sticking out of your lips is going to put people off of kissing you.”
His laughter dies away and a pained silence infiltrates the, once jovial, atmosphere.
“Do you really not like it?” He turns to me with a genuine look of almost-hurt, before trying to cover it up with that trademark smirk of his.
There’s no more laughter, just a sincere longing for my approval over something that he did through want of looking cool. Like he actually cares about what I think, like he did this to get me to like him like I do like him rather than to just piss off his mom. I can’t help but feel guilty as I lock eyes with the swollen-lipped boy, the one whose smile has suddenly dropped to reveal a look on his face that I’ve never really seen before on his impish features; he almost looks sullen. Like I’ve really hurt him with my teasing. I wish I could take it back, if only I knew where I went wrong; he was giggling only a minute or so ago. But no, I bought him down, didn’t I?
He’ll never like me like I like him now. Not that he would’ve anyway; I’m just some sulky goth-kid, what could someone as vibrant as Frankie see in someone as ordinary as me?
“I thought you’d like it, Gee. I wanted you to like it.” He actually sounds to be on the brink of tears, like my opinion suddenly means something to him. “I thought that rockers like piercings…”
What’s that supposed to mean? ‘Like’ as in think they’re cool or ‘like’ as in find them sexy? What is he yammering on about now?
“I only did it because I wanted you to like it.” His eyes bore deep into mine, all lost longing and searching for some form of approval, the intensity of his red-hot pupils sending shivers down my spine. “Wanted you to like me…”
The last part is but a whispered mumble, dampened by the very real threat of tears. Tears that I’d rather die preventing than see him shed purely because I really do care about him.
“Frankie, I do like you! Of course I do, you’re my best friend.” I reassure him with all of the forcefulness that he must have used to force a needle through his lower lip and wrap an arm around his shoulders, not caring that the close contact makes me blush like mad; I just want him to feel better.
“Not that kind of like…”
Wow. Holy shit. Motherfucking Jesus fucking H. Christ. He really likes me in the way that I like him; really loves me.
There’s only one response that I can give him that is guaranteed to make him feel better about this, isn’t there? And we both know that I’m not about to not do it. I’d be even madder than I admittedly am to pass up on this opportunity. The only way I can make this better is to kiss him like I’ve often dreamed about kissing him; in the same way that I would kiss him if he was my boyfriend.
Perhaps after this he will be.
So I gently catch his chin with my left fingertips, using it to pull his awed face closer to my own, burning crimson, one. This is it, it’s really happening; all that I’ve wanted for an excruciatingly long amount of time. He places a hand on my shoulder to draw my body closer to his, eyes suddenly alight once more. Our lips are millimetres from first contact, I close my eyes and get ready for fireworks.
“And who said that having a pierced lip would put people off of kissing me?”
And that is exactly why I love him.
A/N: Thank you very much for reading; I hope that it was alright! It felt kinda rushed and dull, so I hope that it was alright. I really wanted to write something a little lighter than what I normally do and I haven’t written a huge amount of Frerard so I really wanted to write this. I hope that it wasn’t too crappy! Please let me know how to improve. Thanks for reading and please review! :)
I told Frankie no. Made it perfectly clear that he was not doing that in my bedroom, no matter how much he wanted to. No fucking way was it going to happen. I told him that just because my parents and little brother are out doesn’t make it alright to do something like that in my basement bedroom. I couldn’t have stressed the point enough, told him exactly the opposite of consent. Told him that hell could freeze over and I still wouldn’t change my mind. It just wasn’t going to happen. Nope. Not in my bedroom and certainly not without his mom knowing.
Yet here he is, standing in front of me in his torn-up jeans and Misfits t-shirt, beaming at me with the pride of a five-year-old showing off his first loose tooth.
“You did what?” I gawp, staring at him in disbelieving shock at his admittedly admirable determination, my voice more incredulous than angry. “You do know that your mom’s gonna kill you, right?”
“At least I’ll die looking cool, Geetard.” He smirks, refusing to let my statement of fact mar his proud glee.
His smirk, no matter how cute it maybe, is part of the problem though. Or rather, the lips forming it are. You see, Frankie’s had his heart set on getting his lip pierced for months now, but his mom said that there was no way she was going to let her son run around like some ‘good for nothing punk’. The only problem with that argument being that looking like some ‘good for nothing punk’ is exactly what Frankie wants and so, in a moment of complete Iero-insanity, he somehow managed to talk himself into thinking that it would be a good idea to do it himself. In my bedroom. With needles. So I, obviously, told him to fuck off. So he did.
And did it in the upstairs bathroom instead.
“She is going to kill us both, Frankie! I don’t wanna die young!” I cry overdramatically, waving my arms wildly in the air to illustrate my want to still be able to breathe this time tomorrow.
Although I’m only joking around in an attempt to hear his sweet little falsely-innocent giggle, I can’t help but feel genuinely scared. Mrs Iero seems to have it in her head that I’ve led her son astray, that Frankie was the perfect little saint that he never was to begin with before we started hanging out, and will use any excuse she can to bite my head off. Quite literally.
I swear to God that that woman has more than a few screws loose.
Frank flops restlessly onto my bed next to me, pulling out his cell so that he can take a photo of his swelling lower lip. It really does look quite painful, like it needs someone to kiss it better…
No. I can’t start thinking like that, not after last time. Last time we were walking down the street and I just couldn’t for the life of me tear my eyes from his lopsided little smirk, the kind of smirk that could easily make devils rise just to see it and angels run in fear of the mischief it conveys, I just couldn’t stop staring at it. And so, like the socially inept kid that I am, I walked straight into a lamppost. Yeah, way to win a guy over, right? By gushing blood from my nose, all over his one white t-shirt.
“You think? I think she’ll like it.” He sounds like he actually believes that, like he’s almost as deranged as his mom is. As I am when I think about the lip that he’s just driven a needle through. “What? Why’re looking at me like I’m crazy?”
“Dude. Have you met your mom? She’s gonna end up sending you to a monastery or something if you’re not careful.”
“You really think they’d let me into a monastery?” He raises his eyebrows at me, knowing full well that he’s got a point; even if they did let him in, he’d most likely burst into flames upon arrival. “Besides, I really think it looks cool.”
He runs his fingers over his lightly bleeding lower lip, feeling for the hole that he’s just stabbed into it with nothing but teenage rebellion for a painkiller. His long, music-making fingers glide over the swollen curve of his, even redder than normal, lips; fingers that are smothered in biro doodles. I swear to God that he’s like some sort of walking canvass, or at least, that’s how he sees himself. Something to be made bright and colourful in this dull, greying world. Like he’s constantly trying to prove something to someone, show people that he can be as amazing on the outside as he is on the inside. By drawing on his arms; drawing the most intricate patterns trailing up his forearms, his favourite band logos all over the place like a rash of inspiration, his own little random scribbles and sayings wherever there’s room on any of his visible skin. And now, by poking needles through parts of his body. I know that this sounds soppy, but I wish that I could show him that he doesn’t need to draw on himself to make himself stand out, although it is an undeniably captivating little quirk, that his eyes do that for him enough; eyes that are just like that of the puppies that he has an adorable soft spot for.
How do I know that his, perfectly endless and soulful, hazel eyes are enough to make him stand out? Because I’ve found myself getting lost in them more and more often lately, just drowning in the melted chocolate of those eyes that seem to always find something special in everything. You might be thinking that I’m just some lovesick teenager who needs to get over himself. And you’d be absolutely right.
I can’t deny it, so why try to?
“Earth to Gee, come in Gee. Do you read or are you lost in spaced-outness?” He snaps his fingers, those intricately doodled-on digits, and snaps me out of my thoughts. “I was saying, don’t you think it looks cool?”
“Honestly, Frankie? It looks like you’ve stabbed yourself through the lip with a needle. Oh, wait; you have!” He feigns a look of shock, kind of akin to a stereotypical cheerleader’s reaction to having a spider run up her arm, and sticks out his lower lip in the most adorably childish way imaginable. “Aw, chin up, Frankie. Or should I say stiff upper lip?”
He sticks out his tongue at me in mock annoyance, the lips holding the tongue stretched into that cheeky beam of his that lights up my day, could light up a vampire’s lair should he so wish it.
“Whatever, Geetard. Just because you’re jealous.” He states self-righteously, head held high in the air and eyes alit with the dazzling diamonds of laughter. “Jealous of me because this bad-boy, when I get hold of a ring, will get me numerous lovers.”
I choke on my laughter, in a mixture of disgust at the idea of Frankie with anyone other than me and genuine incredulousness.
“Oh really? Sorry, Frankie, but surely having some piece of metal sticking out of your lips is going to put people off of kissing you.”
His laughter dies away and a pained silence infiltrates the, once jovial, atmosphere.
“Do you really not like it?” He turns to me with a genuine look of almost-hurt, before trying to cover it up with that trademark smirk of his.
There’s no more laughter, just a sincere longing for my approval over something that he did through want of looking cool. Like he actually cares about what I think, like he did this to get me to like him like I do like him rather than to just piss off his mom. I can’t help but feel guilty as I lock eyes with the swollen-lipped boy, the one whose smile has suddenly dropped to reveal a look on his face that I’ve never really seen before on his impish features; he almost looks sullen. Like I’ve really hurt him with my teasing. I wish I could take it back, if only I knew where I went wrong; he was giggling only a minute or so ago. But no, I bought him down, didn’t I?
He’ll never like me like I like him now. Not that he would’ve anyway; I’m just some sulky goth-kid, what could someone as vibrant as Frankie see in someone as ordinary as me?
“I thought you’d like it, Gee. I wanted you to like it.” He actually sounds to be on the brink of tears, like my opinion suddenly means something to him. “I thought that rockers like piercings…”
What’s that supposed to mean? ‘Like’ as in think they’re cool or ‘like’ as in find them sexy? What is he yammering on about now?
“I only did it because I wanted you to like it.” His eyes bore deep into mine, all lost longing and searching for some form of approval, the intensity of his red-hot pupils sending shivers down my spine. “Wanted you to like me…”
The last part is but a whispered mumble, dampened by the very real threat of tears. Tears that I’d rather die preventing than see him shed purely because I really do care about him.
“Frankie, I do like you! Of course I do, you’re my best friend.” I reassure him with all of the forcefulness that he must have used to force a needle through his lower lip and wrap an arm around his shoulders, not caring that the close contact makes me blush like mad; I just want him to feel better.
“Not that kind of like…”
Wow. Holy shit. Motherfucking Jesus fucking H. Christ. He really likes me in the way that I like him; really loves me.
There’s only one response that I can give him that is guaranteed to make him feel better about this, isn’t there? And we both know that I’m not about to not do it. I’d be even madder than I admittedly am to pass up on this opportunity. The only way I can make this better is to kiss him like I’ve often dreamed about kissing him; in the same way that I would kiss him if he was my boyfriend.
Perhaps after this he will be.
So I gently catch his chin with my left fingertips, using it to pull his awed face closer to my own, burning crimson, one. This is it, it’s really happening; all that I’ve wanted for an excruciatingly long amount of time. He places a hand on my shoulder to draw my body closer to his, eyes suddenly alight once more. Our lips are millimetres from first contact, I close my eyes and get ready for fireworks.
“And who said that having a pierced lip would put people off of kissing me?”
And that is exactly why I love him.
A/N: Thank you very much for reading; I hope that it was alright! It felt kinda rushed and dull, so I hope that it was alright. I really wanted to write something a little lighter than what I normally do and I haven’t written a huge amount of Frerard so I really wanted to write this. I hope that it wasn’t too crappy! Please let me know how to improve. Thanks for reading and please review! :)
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