Be into the same things as he is. Lie if you have to.
If you like Avenged Sevenfold, check it out. If you hate Avenged Sevenfold and think they are ungodly and in serious need of a Christian education DEFINITELY check it out. ;)
“Is it hot in here?” I scream over the throbbing bassline.
“ARE YOU HOT?”
“YEAH,” he nods. “A BIT.”
So I can see. Sweat clings to his skin, glistening against the muscles in his neck and shoulders where his shirt has slipped down with the motion of the thrashing crowd, his hair ruffled and messy with the heat, normally pale skin and lips rosy. He grins at me, tossing his head in time with the guitar as a surge of movement from the crowd behind us presses our bodies together. I can feel his chest against mine. He laughs, eyes sparkling with reckless freedom.
“YOU WANNA GET OUT OF HERE?” I ask. “GET SOME AIR?”
“SURE,” he answers, taking my hand.
We weave our way through the swarm, a surprisingly easy feat considering how packed the club is, and finally reach the doors to the real world. A draft of cool air hits our burning skin like rain after drought as we step outside. He arches his back and sighs with contentment.
“Some place, huh?” I say, grinning.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “Some place.”
His dishevelled hair sticks about his face and the gleam in his eyes is still there, making him seem all the more attractive. His lips are pink and swollen from singing and from the heat and I can guess that mine are too. And without thinking about it I press our lips together, adrenaline and want taking hold of my senses.
He groans into my mouth, the stimulus for a sudden surge of response from below and suddenly I can feel his tongue with mine. We wrestle there for a few moments, relishing the joy of one another’s taste until the fact that we’re standing in full view of the homophobes and rednecks that like to hang around this place starts kicking in. But there’s an alley behind us, dark and welcoming. I push him that way gently and, seemingly reading my thoughts, he moves accordingly until my back is against the alley wall. He pushes me up, so hard my head slams against the brick but I don’t feel the pain as his lips move from mine to my neck, leaving feather-light, almost tickling kisses on my skin, abandoning that to suck, lick and bite, so hard that I can feel the blood trickling down my chest. The sting causes me to gasp and then groan loudly as his lips cover the cut made by my teeth. I can’t help but thrust my hips forward, our crotches grazing and dig my nails deeper into the smooth skin of his back.
A sudden piercing screech slices through the night. He pulls away first and the excitement in his eyes is gone, replaced by a look of...fear? Darkness closes in, the screech too loud to hear his footsteps slapping the sidewalk as he runs away.
I open my eyes a crack. Light floods in and I open them a little more. That’s when I become aware of three things.
I am in my bedroom. There is no alley. There is no club.
The piercing screech belongs to my mother who is now yelling at me to get up for school.
I have a raging boner so huge it’s poking through the mattress.
Which brings me on to my second realisation, that I very nearly had a sex dream involving Gerard Way, a guy I met exactly twenty-two hours ago.
There’s something wrong with me.
I groan in frustration and pummel the mattress a little bit. I hate life. Or rather, life hates me. Why does everything go wrong? Why does my stomach do a back flip every time I think about a certain heart attack in black hair dye? A certain heart attack in black hair dye who, I feel it necessary to add, thinks of me as a 5-star retard.
I lie there a little longer, my face in the pillow, considering how easy it would be to smother myself right now. It would take care of one half of my problems, except then Gerard would think of me as a 5-star suicidal retard and I’d be in Hell alone with no one to help me take down the Devil and create a utopia of democracy and freedom of speech. In the end the idea of being on my own in a place of never-ending boredom depresses me so much I have to get up and get ready for school.
I jack off in the shower, trying really hard not to picture Gerard’s face. You can’t control what you dream but the sexual fantasies stop there so that at least I have some degree of self-respect left. Dressing quickly in whatever I can grab off the floor, (skinny jeans and a Sex Pistols t-shirt) I then shove a safety-pin through my ear and smudge on some eyeliner before deeming myself appropriately freakish and making my way downstairs.
Mom sits at the kitchen table nursing a cup of coffee and a cigarette. It’s easy to see where I get my vices from. She looks me over once, sighs and returns to staring back into the swirling liquid without as much as a good morning.
“Have a nice day to you too,” I chirp happily.
“Fuck off Frank, I’m not in the mood.”
“That’s what he said!” Hehehe. Never let it be said that Frank Iero could not make a joke.
Mom either doesn’t get it or is too deep into the world of barely-coping-motherdom to laugh so I swing my leather jacket onto my shoulders and sprint up the road, putting as much distance between myself and the house as possible. I arrive at school exactly seven minutes later and am greeted by the ever spectacular sight of Ray’s ass beaming at me from inside his locker.
NAME: Ray Toro
OCCUPATION: Writes the sports page for The Source and is thus the football team's most accessable punchbag, Guitar God, metal-headed freak.
STATUS: Singly straight.
“Morning Ray-ban,” I greet him happily. “What’s occurin’?”
“Frank? Frank is that you?”
“No, it’s William Shakespeare,” I reply, voice heavy with sarcasm. “Admiring the pure godliness of thy very fine buttocks, sir.”
“Shut up!” Ray’s voice comes muffled and desperate. “Can you help me, please?”
Unable to stop myself from laughing, I grasp Ray’s sides and pull. He slides out of the locker cringing and rubbing his ribs. “It’s those damn jocks,” he explains with a pained expression. “They haven’t left me alone since I published that article.”
“The one about the quarterback’s secret Care Bear obsession,” he replies.
I screw my face up trying to remember my favourite line of that particular story. “Some might see it as unhealthy. Me, I see a lonely little boy searching for consolation in the unlikeliest of places. If you had written that about me I think I probably would have smothered you in your sleep.”
“But you don’t need Care Bears!” Ray accuses suddenly. “Word on the street is you’re doing Gerard Way now!”
“And which street was this?”
“A metaphorical street.”
“Cam told me.”
“Right,” I roll my eyes. Of course Cam told him. And trust Ray to get the facts missed up. “Well, you are incorrect. Gerard is the new kid and we are his guardian angels.”
“But you want his cock, right?”
“I wouldn’t put it as callously as that but-”
“-Yes you would.”
“Alright, yes, fine, I want his cock, cock looks good, let’s move on to a less uncomfortable subject,” I answer irritably. I don’t like talking about guys with Ray. He was so awkward with the whole gay thing; cool about it and all but y’know. Awkward. For Godsake, he still covers his ears and sings the Tellietubbies theme tune loudly if I ever announce a guy as fit!
Speaking of... “Hey guys,” greets Gerard, approaching us. “Who’s talking about cock?”
“I like pie,” says a voice which I hope isn’t mine but is. “Some class is doing a pie sale in the gym. We should totally go get some. Pie.”
“Seriously?!” cries Ray. “Why was I not told about this?! Frank, this is from Cam.” He quickly takes a folded piece of paper from his pocket and presses it into my hand before dashing off in the direction of the gym unceremoniously.
Gerard raises an eyebrow. “Okay. That was surreal.”
“Get used to it sunshine,” I yawn, stretching. “You ‘aint in Kansas anymore.”
Gerard sighs. “Hell, do I know that.”
I watch at him out of the corner of my eye as he runs a hand through his hair, making it appear messier than it had been a few moments ago. I try very, very hard not to think of my dream and instead turn my gaze to the list in front of me. For that is what it is, a list of the 20 Ways girls use to make guys fall for them. “Similar Interests” is written under “eye contact” along with the caption “be into the same things as he is. Lie if you have to”. A great way to start a healthy relationship.
“Hey, where were you at before?” I ask. “High school wise, I mean?”
“Brixton High,” he answers, pulling a face.
“That good, huh?”
“I broke my foot from jumping out the second floor,” he says conversationally. “Look at it. It’s slightly at an angle.”
“Omigod, it is!” I squeal. “That is sooo punk rock.”
He giggles. Like, actually giggles. High pitched and so insanely cute I have a sudden urge to wrap him up and take him home to live with me FOREVA. But I’m not gonna do that. Because that would be, like, not cool.
“Speaking of, I saw your Misfits bag yesterday,” I say, racking my brains for a topic to latch on to. “Ya like ‘em?”
“Are you kidding?” squeals Gerard with excitement. “They’re only, like, one of my favourite bands of all time!”
I lift up my Bio folder. It is absolutely covered with Misfits lyrics. “Let us walk.”
“Okay, okay, okay. Glenn Danzig or Jerry Only?”
“What? No! Danzig!”
“The songs with Jerry are better.”
“But Danzig has the better voice.”
“True but with Misfits the vocals aren’t that important.”
“But his voice is so sexy and deep and erotic!”
Gerard raises an eyebrow. “I...don’t...get...erotic.”
“I came into the conversation at the wrong time,” says Cam, taking the chair next to mine.
“Relax Kosravi,” I reassure her. “We’re talking about Misfits.”
“The axe murderers in skinny jeans you obsessively fangasm over, right?” says Cam distractedly. “You actually found another human being on the planet who likes that band?”
“Gerard is no human being,” I correct her. “He is a God of awesome music. Watch this. Iron Maiden or Black Sabbath?”
“The Clash or the Ramones?”
“Green Day or Morissey?”
“...I’m sorry, I love Morissey.”
“Well, glad to see you two have some similar interests you can bond over,” God, could she be anymore obvious? “But you don’t mind if I don’t care?”
“Never mind her,” I tell Gerard dismissively. “She’s just a philistine. I tried to convert her to the rock world but she’s still in the clutches of dub step and Joni Mitchell.”
Gerard laughs which turns into a swear midway. “Shit. Left my textbook in the classroom. I’ll be back in a second.”
He leaves quickly, still trapped in the newby habit of caring about things like lost textbooks and being late for class. I turn to Cam with an extremely satisfied smile on my face.
“Well don’t you look pleased as punch,” Cam raises an eyebrow,
I withdraw the list and cross off number three ceremoniously in bright red pen. “I didn’t even have to lie,” I grin. “We’re practically soul mates!”
“God, how lucky the new kid would be a fit gay guy-freak who’s into the exact same music as you are?” Cam shakes her head in wonder.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I say haltingly. “How do you know he’s gay? Did he say anything? Why did he tell you and not me? Does he not trust me? Do I smell of cupcakes?”
“You do actually, what the hell have you been doing?”
“I found a first year’s lunch,” I shrug. “No biggie. She could afford to lose a pound. Or two. Or a tonne.”
“Moving past the moral questions orbiting that statement, you’re right. I can’t actually tell if Gerard’s straight or not. My gaydar seems to be undergoing interference.”
“He’s totally unfathomable,” I agree. “A mystery packaged with the outer shell of a shy transfer student, awaiting for someone to release him...”
“Okay, that is enough with the Dark Lord crap,” Cam interrupts. “Here he comes.”
I shut up immediately as he sits down and spreads the textbook across the table. Cam is right. I need to discover Gerard’s sexuality before I go any further with my project, there’s no point in spending so much time and effort on someone who can never like me.
“Hey,” I say casually. “What’s your new house like?”
Gerard shrugs, a little taken aback by the question. “It’s okay, I guess. Looks exactly the same as every other one on the street.”
“You still got loads to unpack?”
“Nope. Finished last night,” he chews his lip, looking at me hesitantly. “You could come over after school and see it or whatever. I just got a Smashing Pumpkins video diary cheap and I haven’t watched it yet.”
“Sweeeeeet!” I squeal with delight. “I am so there.”
“And you could come to Cam? If you want.”
Cam looks just on the verge of saying yes but stops at the look I give her. “No can do today. I’ve got three Source papers I need to finish for tomorrow. You guys go without me.”
Gerard nods and returns to the textbook. I look at Cam, mouthing a grateful “Thank you.” She nods and goes back to the assignment, wearing a little secret smile on her face.
Again, so sorry it’s late. But it was a huge effort to get myself downstairs to write this thing. FUNNY STORY, I tripped over my cat, fell down the stairs and almost broke my coccyx (ass bone.) Fan-fucking-tastic.
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