If he needs saving then you're the one to do it.
Tell A Lie
I don’t know how long I stand there for, staring at empty space, the sudden elation dissipating as quickly as it had come. Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, once again Frank Iero has indeed missed his window.
“Hey, you see where Gerard went?” I ask one of the models reaching over to get a beer.
“Uh...yeah,” she replies, gesturing with the bottle to the back door. “Out.”
I thank her and practically sprint out the door and into the back yard, ignoring the protests of the people I send flying back behind me.
“Hey dude!” some guy called Joe waves his fist as I collide into him and keep on running. “So uncool! I mean, like, whoa. Where’s the courtesan?”
“Dude, I think you mean courtesy,” says his friend, almost equally stoned.
“Nah, dude. Courtesan. Like, politeness and that shit.”
I sprint past them, stopping various people to ask if they saw a skinny dude with black hair and too tight jeans. They all point me in the same direction, past the hedges, straight on through the vineyard and into the field models sometimes use to shoot photos and farmers sometimes use to shoot homosexuals.
There are figures in the dark, six from what I can count. Yellow light dances against inky black so I assume they’re all holding candles. I squat behind a couple of shrubs on the edge of the vineyard as two more dark shapes approach, one leading the other. I can just make out Cynthia’s painstakingly styled bouffant and behind her an ass I would recognise anywhere.
My gaze drifts upwards to the other silhouettes who appear to be wearing long, hooded robes. What the hell? I swear robes haven’t been worn in public since, like, the 1970s. And I’m pretty sure whoever did was stoned by mormons or something. I swear I’ve read that somewhere. Or maybe I dreamed it. Or maybe I was high.
A soft voice sounds through the silence. A horribly familiar voice, issuing from one of the cloaked figures, sending something cold and squirming down the back of my spine. Vega’s voice.
“Welcome Sister Cynthia,” he greets. “Have you the offering?”
“I have, Brother Vega,” Cynthia nods, gesturing towards Gerard. “As you can fucking see, moron.”
“Hey!” one of the other emos interjects. “No swearing! You’ll produce negative energy.”
“Correct,” says another one of the cloaked but with a voice I don’t recognise. “And negative energy is the main product of fear.”
“Right,” Vega nods. “Anyways, there’s no need to be rude.”
“The important thing is you have the offering,” says a grave, enigmatic voice. “Let me see him.”
Vega bows. “As you wish, Lord Vilda.”
Cynthia nudges Gerard forward and he is examined briefly by the three robed guys. Apparently satisfied they then direct him to a nearby tree with a very thick trunk and gesture for the emos to step forward. There is little sound as Gerard is bound and gagged.
“How tight do we do them?” asks Brent Morris, the emo from my Calculus class.
“Oh, at least so he can slip free,” replies blue-haired emo sarcastically. “Christ Brent, you’re such a fuck-ass.”
“‘Christ, Brent’ is a product of fear,” says robed guy no.1.
“For Godsake Xerxes, will you please let the fear and love bullshit go?” Cynthia snaps. “How in what way has it to do with our initiation into the Volturi?”
“That’s Lord Xerxes to you, puny mortal! And FYI it is everything relevant to do with your initiation into the Volturi!”
“Really?” Cynthia presses. “Are you sure? Because to be honest it kinda just sounds like you watched your favourite movie a few too many times.”
“It’s a great movie!”
“It’s a shit movie,” Cynthia snarls. “Time travel? Parallel universes? If I wanted to waste my time with a nerd fest I would have watched Star Wars.”
Oh no she didn’t.
“This conversation is irrelevant,” says Lord Vilda with the scary voice. “The full moon rises as we waste away the night with this idle chatter. Lady Bellinore, will you read the mantra?”
Robed guy number 3, who turns out to be robed girl, reaches into her pockets and withdraws what appears to be some kind of scroll and reads prophetically, “On this night, the 4th moon of the 5th month, we are joined in number by five Children of the Sun. Trapped they are in their mortal state but we shall set them free. Although their bodies and blood shall belong to the Volturi forever more, their minds shall become one with the Children of the Night. Vega Siniste, do you pledge to honour and obey the Volturi, to abide by our laws and swear allegiance to all vampire kind?”
“And you, Seth Coldstone,” Lady Bellinore turns to Brent Morris. “Do you swear to follow the same oath?”
“Good. And Labia Darkos, do you also swear?”
Blue haired emo nods. “I do.”
“And finally, Cynthia Simes. Do you also hereby swear?”
Even in the dark, Cynthia looks uncomfortable. She shuffles her feet, glances to her left and right, bites her nails. Vega nudges her impatiently. “Come on, Cyn! Just say ‘yes’ already!”
“Hey, hey, hey, don’t pressure me,” Cynthia snaps. “I’m about to make a pretty damn important decision here! Locking away ones soul forever isn’t something you do every day, y’know!”
“Sarcasm is a product of fear,” quips Lord Xerxes.
“I know, I know,” says Cynthia. “Okay. Fine. Whatever. I do.”
“Excellent,” Lord Vilda smiles, voice smooth as raw silk. “And now we seal the deal. With blood.”
Lady Bellinore slips the scroll back inside her robe and withdraws a deadly sharp-looking knife which reflects the pure whiteness of the full moon. She turns it over in her hands, head bent in Gerard’s direction.
“Hey, wait a second!” Cynthia interjects. “What the hell’s the machete for, huh? I thought we were just gonna cut on him a little bit!”
“A tiny bit, a little bit, a lot a bit,” Lord Vilda shrugs. “Quantities are a lot less clear when you aren’t alive anymore.”
“But that wasn’t the deal!”
“Look, it’s no biggie. We take some blood, inject him with vampire venom and he becomes one of us. Simples.”
“And if it doesn’t work?”
“Then he bleeds to death. Pass the salt, Xerxes. I like my sacrificial victims well seasoned.”
The knife is sharpened on a rock, screeching through the quiet as I think desperately. Come on Frank, come on! There’s gotta be some way to get Gerard out of this. I crouch lower behind the grape vines, slamming my palm into my sweaty forehead in a vague hope that it could maybe knock some sort of plan into my head. If it’s working it’s not working fast enough because Lady Bellinore continues to take mini steps towards him, knife raised, eyes twitching evilly.
“Gerard, son of Donald, do you have any last words?”
Gerard giggles. “You have a FUNNY voice. It’s all...like...Hulk. You like the Hulk. Hahahahaha...”
Lord Vilda raises an eyebrow. “What the hell?”
“He’s drunk, your Excellency,” Vega explains. “Maybe a little stoned.”
“I’ll be druuuuuunk again. I’ll be druuuuuuuuuunk again, to feel a little luuuuuuuurve...”
“Make that very stoned.”
“Whatever. Lady Bellinore, if you would please make the first cut.”
Omigod omigod omigod. Think Frank, think! Think Twilight! The only thing the vampires are afraid of...
The knife is drawn downwards. It catches the light of the moon perfectly and as soon as I see it a plan starts to form. “STOP!”
My voice echoes around the field. Lady Bellinore stops the knife millimetres away from Gerard’s skin. The “vampires” look around in bewilderment. “Who’s there?” Lord Vilda calls into the silence. “Show yourself!”
“I am...Chewbacca...Moonisround,” I state wildly, trying to sound as doggish as I can. “A werewolf. Lycan. Person. And I command you to let that there sacrifice go!”
“Who are you to command us, dog?” asks Lord Xerxes scathingly.
“Someone who has something you haven’t,” I continue, crossing my fingers so hard it hurts. “Something that shall end this feud between our people.”
Lord Xerxes turns to Lord Vilda and whispers loudly “Is he talking about The Weapon?”
“Yes,” I nod immediately. “You know of what I speak. We have The Weapon. We have The Weapon and we’re not afraid to use it! So why don’t you just hand that boy on over, we’ll leave and you can pretend this never happened.”
“Say,” Lord Vilda says suddenly. “How many of you actually are there?”
Ah. Shit. “Um,” fuckfuckfuckedyfuck. “A few. Quite a few. More than enough to take on your impotent selves!”
“Oh, a ‘vampires-can’t-get-it-up-joke’. Real fuckin mature,” Xerxes snaps. “Not that I would expect anything else from someone who goes around sniffing other people’s butts. Anyways, sex is a manufactured result of fear.”
“Well, it’s easy to see who’s not getting any,” I reply. “But it’s your choice. Hand me the prisoner or I unleash The Weapon on your coven!”
The vampires turn to talk amongst themselves. They speak in hushed whispers but I still catch the words “phony”, “disguise” and “probably that Iero kid” from, predictably, none other than the stupid hoe. Finally they turn back round and when they speak next it isn’t without a suspicious ring. “How do we know that you are who you say you are?”
Dammit. I was kind of relying on them being too stupid to actually realise I could be lying. Think fast, think fast. “I’ll show you how you know!” I say, hastily pulling off my pants with a lot more confidence then I’m actually feeling. “Look over here!”
The vampires turn around. A rather skinny, pale, boy in Sonic the Hedgehog boxers stands in the middle of the field, hands clamped over his groin. I stand there shivering, hoping against hope that it’s too dark for Cynthia to recognise my face.
“Well, that settles it,” Lord Vilda nods. “He’s a werewolf, alright. Only they would be so self-centred as to run wearing only hot pants at this time of night. Release the prisoner.”
“You’re letting him go?!” Vega protests. “After all the trouble we went through to get him here?”
“I can hardly think he put up much of a fight,” says Lady Bellinore doubtfully as Gerard promptly falls over as soon as he is released. “You did drug him, after all.”
“What?” Gerard drawls. “Wassappening? Where am I?”
His words are coming out clearer now and I’m guessing whatever Cynthia gave him is wearing off. The vampires send him off in my direction and luckily manages to reach me without falling over too many times.
“You have the boy,” Lord Vilda speaks. “Now leave us in peace. You have no need of The Weapon on us.”
“Very well,” I growl. “Thank you very kindly. We’ll just be off now.”
I grab Gerard’s hand and lead him back across the field, conscious of their eyes following me. Wow. I can’t believe it worked! I really should be a spy or something. Or a superhero. Or a superspy.
“Wait a second,” Cynthia’s voice stops me in my tracks. “Do you even know what The Weapon is?”
Shit. “Sure I do,” I say, voice shaking. “It’s the...the thing. That kills...vampires?”
“He doesn’t know!” Cynthia cackles. “Frank Iero, you fuck-ass!”
“Why don’t you go suck a fuck?” I reply wittily. “And FYI, I freaking LOVE that movie!”
“Get him!” screams Bellinore.
The vampires start to sprint. Time for a Plan B. “Okay,” I say, thinking hard. “Um...run?”
We run. It is safe to say that vampires do not have super-speed. Then again I highly doubt that these guys are real vampires. They’re just a bunch of bored teens with a really weird fetish. They do, however, have the advantage of not having to half-carry a drugged up drunk with a stitch and low blood sugar. Time to put my superspy moves back into action.
“On the count of three we start crawling, okay?” I pant. Gerard nods. “One...two...three!”
And we fall to the ground, shielded by the sprawling grape vines around us and continue crawling into the wood at the edge of the field. Behind us the vampires halt.
“Where did they go?”
“I dunno, I can’t see them.”
“They just disappeared! Maybe they do have The Weapon!”
“We just established that they don’t, Brent!”
“Don’t call me Brent!”
“Keep moving,” I whisper as we reach the very edge of the wood, reminding myself of that bit from Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers. You know, when Merry and Pippin are escaping the Orcs into Fangorn Forest and Aragorn’s all like “Ooh, I’m tracking cos I’m sooo freaking cool!”
I really am a nerd.
Upon reaching the safety of the trees we stand and keep running until we’re as far in as we can go without getting lost and then we halt, panting, clutching each other for support as the emos wonder off further into the distance. As soon as I’m sure we safe I whirl around to face Gerard, hands clenched into fists, practically shaking with fury.
“You wanna explain what the fuck that was all about?” I spit out heatedly. “You wanna be a vampire? Is that it?”
“No,” Gerard mumbles, rubbing at glazed over eyes. “Vampires aren’t real.”
“So why did you follow them?” I persist. “Why did you let her take you to them? Christ Gerard, you could have died! You could have died at the hands of some desperately deluded wannabes! And that is NO way for a man to go!”
I stand there, waiting for my words to have some kind of affect but Gerard just stares at me, the glazed over look disappearing but being replaced with something...else.
The sudden snapping of a twig causes us both to jump in fright. Instinctively I reach for Gerard’s hand and make to start running only to trip over a tree root and land on my ass, pulling him down with me, landing us once again in the rather awkward situation of two panting, sweaty boys in a rather compromising position.
He looks down at me and his lips are parted very slightly. My heart starts playing a drum inside my chest and I remember that time after the pillow fight when he told me he wanted to draw my face. When I stood up and turned on the TV.
A hedgehog scuffles out from beneath a thicket of thorns.
“A hedgehog,” says Gerard.
“Yeah,” I nod. “Fucking big hedgehog.”
As if I care what snapped the goddamn twig. As if I care that we’re being chased by a bunch of sociopathic teens with knives and tattoos. As if I care about anything other than the fact that the last time this happened I wanted to kiss Gerard so badly and I didn’t.
He’s drunk. He’s drugged up. He barely knows where he is. And if I don’t take this chance now I might never get it again.
“Screw it,” I whisper, seizing the back of his head and bringing it downwards so that once again our lips collide. He responds immediately and eagerly, wrapping his arms around my waist, bringing our bodies desperately closer until I can feel every muscle beneath his shirt.
I kiss him recklessly, every touch of my mouth on his sending waves of shock energy down my spine. It’s totally anarchic, weeks of suppressed feeling mounting up to this one spectacular moment in the mud, on the ground of a forest floor. I bite down on his bottom lip and he moans, bending down to attack my throat, spontaneously stimulating my hips to buck against his groin.
“You’re...so...hot...” he pants, breath quickening as he gasps against my throat. “So fucking....hot...”
I barely get the sentence out as a hand trails up the inside of my thigh causing my whole bottom half to quiver and I very nearly let out a yelp. “God,” I groan headily. “Right backatcha.”
His fringe brushes against my skin as I attack his mouth once again, one hand seizing his shoulders and the other sliding under his shirt, revelling in the softness of his skin and every sharp angle of bone and muscle. My fist closes around the hem of the material. “Take it off,” I mutter.
He does and so do I until both our torsos are shining white in the dark. I trail my hands across his chest, lingering just below his navel and following gently with my lips, encouraging a low groan and a frenzied quivering of hips that only makes me want him more. My hands move round to his back, scraping desperately at his spine, searching frantically for some measure of control as his lips move again against my throat, the slight contact causing waves of pleasure to cruise through me.
His tongue flickers against my adam’s apple and I feel a sudden urge to scream, to empty myself to the whole of Italy. My hips thrust uncontrollably, urgently as I scrabble for Gerard’s zip. The moment his jeans come off I flip us round so that his head slams against the back of the tree root and I plant kisses on every patch of smooth skin I can reach winding slowly downwards. His lips quiver, his hands fly out against the roots, desperate for some form of support.
“Oh my-” he gasps and his whole lower body darts upwards as I suck at the bare skin. “Please Frank-”
Seeing him like this, almost naked and writhing, sweat dripping off finely toned muscles, hair messy and sticking up in every direction, that pretty mouth swollen with kisses sends any intelligence that was left in my brain flying downwards to my already rock-hard cock. Pressing my self against his chest I grind our hips together and each time we both let out funny squeaky sounds at the contact, both of us holding on to the trunk of the tree for fear that we might explode off the surface of the planet whist my other hand continues to make it’s journey up the inside of Gerard’s thigh, settling on his erection.
“Fuck,” Gerard almost screams as I start stroking through the thin material of his boxers. “Frank, I-”
Before he has time to finish the boxers are off and Gerard is in my mouth. He flails madly and I almost laugh at the impossible perfectness, every one of my school boy fantasies coming true at the same time. I start sucking and he moans again, loudly, hands grasping at my hair, hips bucking, eyes wide with shock and pleasure. I go harder and faster, tongue slapping wildly and messily, the sight of Gerard like this enough for me to spontaneously combust.
And in a way, he does, coming all over my face with a sudden, shaky intake of breath, crotch pointing as far upwards as he can go. I smirk in satisfaction and then suddenly he’s touching me, slipping his hand down the waistband of my jeans, handling my throbbing cock with surprising swiftness sending waves of ecstasy curdling in my stomach. He grasps faster, I’m breathing heavier with every breath and within moments my jeans are damp and I have collapsed, resting my head against Gerard’s chest, totally and utterly spent.
Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeell that was the most difficult thing I’ve ever written EVER.
I hope it was okay. Please tell me if it wasn’t. Tell me if it was as well because I have a feeling it sucked. And not in the good way. In a bad way.
The movie I keep referencing is indeed the incredible Donnie Darko, by the way. Kudos to you if you picked that up. If haven’t seen it...go watch it. Jake Gyllenhaal and time travel. What more could you possibly want in an hour and forty minutes?
Ahem. Excuse me, I have to go pray now.