Frank Iero and Gerard Way meet in high school, and the chemistry... Well, it's Frerard. You know.
Gerard's POV: I'll admit, the first thought that ran through my mind when I walked into my first day of senior year was "Thank God it's almost over". High school had not been a happy time for me, and it was a relief that soon it would all just be a bad memory. My little brother Mikey was going into 9th grade, and I had no worries that he'd have trouble; everybody loved him. Mikey could make friends with inbred cannibals, and leave without a scratch. I could already tell that my year was going to be completely different.
I never really fit in at school; in elementary school, I could blame being cast as Peter Pan in the school musical during my first year, (the role is almost always played by a girl) but in high school, I had no one to blame but myself. Well, and the know-it-all assholes who roamed those godforsaken halls. I didn't have a friend, other than my brother, no girl would look at me twice, and a few of the teachers really had it in for me. But I was going to make the most of this year. After all, I wanted to take at least one good thing away from my four years in this school.
Two months later...
"What's that you're working on, Gerard?" Mr. Mathers, my chemistry teacher barked, disrupting his lesson to enjoy his favorite pastime- a game of Humiliate a Student. "Something you'd like to... Share?" I covered my sketchbook with my battered red binder, but he still held out his hand expectantly. Reluctantly, I handed over the drawing I had been working on for days, usually during his class. It was of a young girl, her face half werewolf, and half mauled. Mathers looked at my art in amusement, and then turned it around to let the class see.
"What's that, your girlfriend?" some dumb ass from the front of the room yelled.
"She's too good for you!"
All of his followers and wannabes busted up, and Mathers didn't do anything. I swear that man had the most selective hearing.
"I'll be keeping this," he flicked my sketchbook, spattering the loose graphite, "And I'll be keeping you after school every day this week. Then /maybe,/" he stressed the word past its breaking point, "You'll get it back. And maybe the other ones. And don't think you'll be taking the normal bus home today. Detention. My room."
This wasn't the first time I'd gotten in trouble for drawing during class- and by drawing, I don't mean doodling in the margins. I set up a whole studio on my desk, with different pens and pencils, and, if I was feeling extremely daring, watercolors. Almost every teacher had, let's say, collected a drawing or two during every class. But the real problem was that all of the teachers gave them to Mr. Mathers, because he happened to be my homeroom teacher. So in his desk was almost half my portfolio. Mathers started up his lesson again, and I wasn't paying any more attention than before he'd taken my sketchbook away. For someone who'd been teaching for God knows how many years, he never learned.
Frank's POV: God fucking dammit, what's wrong with me? I hadn't even gone to that school and I had already killed my reputation with one teacher. I'd been invited to come after school the Friday before I started at that school. It was a typical New Jersey December, and I had the hood of my huge sweatshirt on. It had just slipped over my eyes when I walked into something. I was hoping that it was only a locker or something, not a person or a wall that I should have seen. I said a silent prayer to whoever might have been listening before I slipped my hood off. There was no God. I'd walked into a teacher- the pressed khakis, collared shirt and stern face gave that away- and I'd made him drop the huge stack of papers he'd been carrying.
"I'm so s-sorry, sir... I'll help you..." I got down on my hands and knees and starting making a pile of the papers. "Oh my god." I felt my jaw drop. Each page had an amazing drawing on it. I stopped piling them and stared at the detail and intensity that lived within the borders of the pages. The teacher coughed impatiently and I clumsily scrambled to my feet, blushing. I handed him the pages I'd collected.
"Sorry I, you know, ran into you. My name's Frank. I'm gonna start here on Monday."
"Erm.... I'm Mr. Mathers."
"Do you teach art?" I asked eagerly, "'Cause you're students are-"
"No, I do not teach /art/," he whined in a mocking voice.
"S-sorry," I mumbled, studying my old black sneakers on the scuffed tile. "Um, uh, do you know where Mrs. Snalle is? She's gonna show me around."
"She's in my classroom, supervising detention while I went out of the room. I'll get her." He looked at me, then frowned. "Wait, come with me." We walked down in the hall in the direction he'd been heading before I'd, er, interrupted him. He turned a doorknob beneath a small window with vertical lines etched into it. I was about to make a joke about teachers and jail wardens, but it occurred to me that this man probably doesn't have much of a sense of humor. There was only one kid in detention, and when he saw that Mr. Mathers was carrying the drawings, his face flashed with hope, then sank back to defeat. Mathers stood in front of the kid's desk and tossed the papers on the desk to his left.
"There's your, uh, art. Keep doing your work. You won't do it in class," he murmured, walking back to the teacher's desk in the front of the room. I stood there awkwardly for a moment, not sure if I should say something. A short brunette woman approached me.
"You must be Frank," she said, looking me up and down, carefully scrutinizing my ripped jeans, ratty sneakers and oversize hoodie. I was fixated by the guy sitting in detention. He had scruffy, dark hair and slightly pudgy cheeks. He was thick, not fat, and was wearing a Black Flag t-shirt. He looked right into my eyes while I was gazing at him, and looked into his soul for a moment before I caught the last few words of Mrs. Snalle's sentence.
"I'm sorry, what'd you say?"
She smiled patiently, used to spaced-out teens, and repeated herself.
"I said it's great to have you at our school."
"Oh, okay. I guess," I couldn't stop myself from casting quick glances to the guy in his desk, and I caught him smiling at my stupidity and shaking my head, and oh boy, he was hot.
"Well, let's show you around." I was practically dragged out of the room by Mrs. Snalle, which seemed awfully strange, since I was taller than her, even at my diminutive five feet. The tour flew by, and I didn't remember a thing; I was thinking about that beautiful boy the whole time. He was obviously older than me, an artist, and a trouble maker, but that's all I could tell. I needed to know more. We circled back to Mr. Mather's room, where the tour ended. The boy was walking out of the classroom- detention was over- and Mathers called after him. I noticed that he was at least a head taller than me.
"Gerard? Forgotten something, haven't we?"
The boy ducked back into the classroom and handed over a few papers crammed with writing.
"See you Monday," he called over his shoulder. Gerard, I thought. /What a cute name! /He walked by me, close enough to touch, then turned back, looked right at me, and smiled. Gerard kept walking, and left the school. It took all my strength not to melt right there. I probably could've fainted, but I didn't think Mrs. Snalle could've caught me, and I didn't want to find out.
Gerard's POV: That boy-the one who came into detention- he was really something. Yeah, kinda weird, but aren't we all. And really, really short. By the time Mathers released me, it had started to rain again, my head was pounding, and the last bus before dinnertime had already left. Talk about a shitty day. But that boy.... When I got home, soaking wet and hating everything, Mikey was blasting Iron Maiden from his tape deck. Any other day I would've appreciated it, but I already had a headache. I banged on the door to his room with both fists and yelled "TURN IT DOWN!" Being my newly teenaged little brother, he obliged for about fifteen minutes, then slowly cranked the volume back up. I shuffled to my room and collapsed on my bed, whispering "Frank... You must be Frank," then closed my eyes and slept 'til Saturday afternoon.
Monday morning homeroom was hell, as always. The only class I had to look forward to was study hall, which would be followed by 2-D art next semester, taught by Ms. Gilner, the only teacher at that school who wasn't a monster. She understood me in a way that no one else could, including my family, peers, and shrink. I couldn't wait for next semester. The day was completely forgettable up 'til 5th block- study hall. I arrived just before the bell, like I always do, except that sitting in the seat I usually put my backpack on was that tiny, cute kid from after school on Friday. Frank. I took my normal seat- furthest away from the teacher's desk, last seat, stage left. During roll call, Frank shyly leaned over.
"Hey. I'm Frank. Did you draw those pictures Mathers was holding yesterday?"
"Frank," the teacher cried in frustration, "I know you're new, but please pay attention!"
"Oh, here, here." He lowered his voice. "Did you do them?"
I nodded cautiously, not sure where this was going.
"They're awesome! You're like, you've got totally got, like a gift or shit like that! Do you, like, take classes, or is it like-"
"Here. Never taken a class," I smiled slyly, "I draw what I see in my head. Or horror movies. You really like 'em?"
He nodded excitedly, and I got my first good look at him. He was really cute, with pink lips, short brown hair, and pen drawings all over his arms.
"You're pretty good yourself," I chuckled, gesturing to his arms. He smiled, blushed, and whispered, "They'll be real someday," while the teacher demanded silence. Still curious about Frank, I ripped a piece of paper out of my binder, scribbled
"What grade are you in " on it, and tossed it on his desk when the teacher wasn't looking.
Frank was obviously familiar with hiding things from authority figures, and opened the note in his lap carefully. He brought it up to his desk, slipped it under some homework, and wrote something on it in blue pen, then passed it back.
Wow, a freshman... That's four years different... he's too young... But he's fucking hot!
my mom told me to stay away from seniors. not to get pressured into anything . would you do that?
I looked up at Frank and he smiled so sexily, the world seemed to fall away around me.
Of course not.
meet me after school?
Later that day: Frank walked into detention still smiling, I groaned, smiling. "What'd you do?"
He just kept smiling, and handed me his blue slip. On the line labeled 'reason for detention', the teacher had scrawled
Disrespect towards teacher and peers. Swearing.
It was from Mrs. Bonham, who had a reputation for giving freshmen a hard time for language; I got in trouble every day I had her as a teacher. That was before the other teachers figured out I shouldn't be in her class and transferred me to another English class. Thank god.
"So, what'd you say to her?"
"Eh, the usual," he said, kicking his feet up onto the desk, tipping his chair back and clasping his hands behind his head, "Just told an asshole to fuck off and might've called this school a shit hole."
"So honest. You're a good kid."
He smiled. "If you say so."
Mr. Mathers entered his classroom, and we stopped talking. He glared at Frank until he lowered his feet, hands and chair. I saw that his feet didn't even reach the floor; there was a good inch for him to swing his feet. The rest of detention was filled by Frank and I looking at each other and trying not to laugh. He didn't even pretend to do his work; he just sat there, looking at the ceiling, then the front of the room, then the floor as I moved my eyes over the same sentence in my chemistry textbook for all of detention. I just couldn't focus with Frank sitting so close.
Frank's POV: I didn't have any work to do during study hall (I never do 'cause I don't do it anyways; I gave up on schoolwork before the first day of 9th grade was over) so I figured that during study hall was the perfect time to execute my plan. After that detention yesterday, I knew there was something mutual between us, and I was praying it was more than friendship. I'd had boyfriends before, but they were all short relationships that were too complicated to enjoy. What me and Gerard had was different, and I had to find out if he was okay with it.
I get sick all the time, so it's easy for me to fake. I coughed, hacked, and put my head on the desk gingerly.
"Frank, are you okay?" The teacher- I never learned her name- looked up from her magazine.
"No, I'm fine, I just need some sleep..."
"You should go to the nurse," She quickly scanned the room, "Gerard, go with him, make sure he gets there alright."
I slowly turned my head around and winked at him, then headed towards the front of the room, where Mrs. Teacher was filling out a pass. As soon as I left the classroom and Gerard closed the door behind me, I stopped shuffling and reached out for his hand. When we reached the closest boy's bathroom, I put a finger across his lips, then ducked inside. After making sure all the stalls were empty, I beckoned him inside and locked the huge wooden door. I led him into the handicapped stall big enough to hold a rave, and turned the lock. I laid my sweatshirt down on the floor and sat down. Gerard did the same.
"Why are you cutting study hall?"
"Nuh-uh," I said, wagging my finger, "You're cutting too." I scooched closer, looking into his deep green eyes and seeing all the hate and revenge that boiled inside his feminine features.
"And," I continued, leaning forward, "We're cutting so I can do this." I leaned in close and gently, hesitating slightly, put my lips to his. He stiffened, and pulled back. Oh shit! I've ruined everything, /I thought. /Why am I so fucking stupid? I couldn't look at him; I felt my cheeks flush and my heart sink.
I muttered something like "yeah?" without looking up. Gerard reached out and lifted my chin.
"Hey. It's okay." He drew me closer and I inhaled deeply. The smells of smoke, detergent, and ink filled my lungs. Our lips touched, and Gerard's mouth moved hesitantly. I moved my body closer, running my hands through his dark hair. He wrapped his arms around my shaking torso. I flicked my tongue around the outside of his pink lips, and he parted them. I slid inside, caressing the sides of his mouth and dancing around his tongue. Slowly, his tongue joined in, cautious, as if this was its first dance. I ran my hands up and down his beautiful neck, shuddering with adrenaline. I pulled away slowly, nuzzling his cheek and ears. I straddled his lap, sitting on his legs, and brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes.
"Arms up," I whispered, and Gerard obeyed. I yanked the cloth over his head with one hand, pulling my own shirt off with the other. I didn't know what I wanted to do; I'd given and gotten blowjobs at my old school, but that felt so childish and dirty here and now. I wanted to be close to Gerard, and that's all I cared about.
Gerard's POV: As soon as I walked into that bathroom, I felt the air heat up. I knew that I wanted to do /something /with Gerard, but I wasn't sure how far I should let this go. We barely knew each other, and if things got serious and ended badly, he could get me arrested for statuary rape. Try to explain that to the 'rents. But it felt so good when he kissed me .
Frank moved his head and started kissing my neck, caressing my chest in smooth, gentle waves. His hands moved lower, and he started pressing harder, the kisses turning to bites. He started to take off my belt, and I wrapped my hands loosely around his wrists.
"Frankie... Not yet. Not... Now."
He redid my belt, stood up, handed me my shirt back, and did his best to hide the disappointment that weighed down his movement. He looked up and smiled at me sadly.
"You called me Frankie. So, should I call you something?"
I put my shirt back on; it was cold and a little damp, but I barely noticed and didn't care. While Frank was putting on his shirt, I scooched over and pulled the shirt down over his slender torso for him, stood, then wrapped my arms around his waist. His fingers laced into the hair on the back of my head. I leaned in for one last kiss- long and lingering, with more mutual force and want than before. Eventually, Frank pulled away and whispered right into my ear,
"We should go soon, Gee. They might wonder."
His lips grazed my ear, and just as he was pulling away, he bit my earlobe. I squeaked, and Frankie burst out laughing. We pulled on our sweatshirts quickly, and just as we were about to leave the stall, I stopped him. I took off my sweatshirt- a plain black hoodie- and Frankie did the same. I slid my sweatshirt over his head, and he put his arms through the sleeves. I pulled it down over his shirt, slowly, and he did the same to me with his sweatshirt. They were both simple, plain black sweatshirts, so no one would know the difference. Frank drew the hood to his face and inhaled deeply.
"Mmmm... You smell really good, Gee."
I pulled the hood away from his face and pulled him into my arms. I rested my nose on top of his head and murmured, "So do you."
We broke apart slowly and I walked out of the bathroom first. He waited for a couple minutes, then came out too. We ducked into an empty classroom to check the time- we'd been gone from study hall for almost half an hour. We left about 15 minutes into class, so we had... 10 minutes before the bell would ring.
"Oh shit," Frank whispered, eyes wide. "What do we tell them?"
I had no idea, but I said "It'll be fine, c'mon!"
We ran through the halls as if our lives depended on it. When we reached the classroom, we stopped for a moment to catch our breath and, after checking to make sure the halls were clear, shared a quick peck. We walked back into the classroom, me faking confidence, and Frank naturally glowing with it.
"Frank! Why are you back? And Gerard, where have you been?"
Frankie smiled, charming me; the teacher, not so much.
"It was just allergies, so she gave me some Sudafed and told me to rest. So, I slept, and I fel a lot better, so I came back."
"Well..." The teacher thought about his story while he gave her the most innocent look I'd ever seen, "Okay. Go sit down. Gerard, come with me."
Frankie nodded encouragingly, and I followed her to the back of the classroom. Before she could open her mouth and spout out assumptions about drugs and sneaking off to have sex wit hgirls in the bathroom, (Ha. Ha.) my mouth opened and words tried to force themselves out.
"I went down to the nurse with f-Frank, and after he got his meds, I-I," I stammered, my mind racing a mile a minute trying to form a story, "I had to get some help. One of the side effects of my, um, meds, you know, my anti-depressants? It's that, like, I get nauseous, like I want to throw up all the time, so the nurse had me lie down and gave me Tums and that pink peppermint stuff. And when I felt better, Frank had just woken up, so we came back."
We'd be completely fucked if she checked my story with the nurse, but I'd learned that mentioning my anti-depressants shut teachers up. That, along with Frankie's "little kid facade, we could get away with almost anything.
I sauntered back to my desk, where Frank and I high-fived discretely. The last few minutes of class were unbearable, and more so was the thought that there were two more classes after this one. At least I had the pleasant thoughts to get me through it. Those memories could get me through the rest of my life.
When the last period bell rang, it took every ounce of self-restraint for me not to jump up screaming "Hallelujah!" After Gerard and I, um, went to the nurse's office, I just couldn't concentrate on anything except how he nah felt underneith me, his hesitant mouth and... The way he had just straight up said no, not now, and how I just didn't want to stop. I know I'd made him feel, I don't fucking know, man, uncomfortable? I mean, how would I feel if a random-ass guy dragged me into the bathroom during class, locked me in there and kissed me? Okay, well, not the best scenario to make me think about. But still. That was kind of shitty of me. I'd been thinking, oh, better not let scary senior boy make me do anything, when I should've been thinking about what I was doing. God, I totally fucked this up! I banged my head against a random locker. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Did I really want to get a rep as the horny gay boy? Again? So fucking stupid.
"Hey. Stop that Frankie. Don't want any blood on my locker."
Frankie? It was Gee.
More later, I'm too tired to type this now. Night, geeks.