Making mince pies isn’t as easy as it looks. Especially when you can’t bake to save your life and you’re trying not to accidentally hump your fellow cook. FRERARD.
Rating: PG 13
Summary: Making mince pies isn’t as easy as it looks. Especially when you can’t bake to save your life and you’re trying not to accidentally hump your fellow cook.
Warnings: Mutilation and general abuse of mince pies/mince pie mixture. Silly, silly teenage boys, horrendous lack of Christmas spirit, Jamie Oliver bashing.
A/N: So, um, this was supposed to be a Christmas oneshot. I wrote it on Christmas eve, but like the utter idiot I am, I got so excited with the festive spirit, I forgot all about posting it. I discovered it last week when I was looking through my laptop…I don’t know if you guys will still appreciate a Christmas story now that it’s March, but I thought I’d post it anyway. Hope you all like, and Merry Belated Christmas to you all!
“Fucking motherfucking piece of festive bullshit!” Sixteen year old Frank Iero cried, hurling a lump of dough across the kitchen in fury. It hit the side of the oven with a loud splat, and slid slowly towards the floor. With a groan of frustration, Frank raked a floury hand through his dark hair and resisted the strong urge to throw the mixing bowl, spatula and baking tin in the same direction.
Whatever Jamie fucking Oliver or any other stupid TV chef said, baking was not a piece of cake. In fact, it was more like a soufflé of shit; Frank had been in the kitchen for the past two hours trying- and magnificently failing- to bake thirty mince pies for his Mum’s Christmas Eve fete. The first batch he’d attempted had been burnt to cinders after he misread ‘bake for 20 minutes’ for ‘bake for an hour’. The second attempt had been more like badly mixed milkshake, as Frank had discovered that one cup of milk was not the entire carton. And the latest batch…Well, it was sliding down the side of the oven.
Having never been the most patient person, and with other non-mince-pie related disasters also playing heavily on his mind, Frank was rapidly losing the plot.
Luckily, however, before he could pelt the chaos of the kitchen in utensils, his phone buzzed on the table beside him, and with gritted teeth, Frank wiped a splatter of egg yolk off the screen and answered the call.
“Fuck off unless you can bake thirty mince pies for me,” he snapped as a way of greeting, wiping mixture furiously off his cheek and trying to clean the mixing bowl.
“Hey, Elfie!” Ray Toro’s voice crackled far too cheerfully over the line. “How’s the Christmas baking going?”
Frank let out a loud, strangled yell of frustration and hurled the mixing bowl he was holding at the floor.
“…I’ll take that not too well,” Ray said calmly. He paused. “What happened? I thought you figured out if you and Lisa started at eleven you’d have finished by the afternoon.”
“Yeah, well Lisa isn’t here,” Frank spat.
“Why not?” Ray asked, not sounding entirely surprised.
“Flu. How fucking brilliant is that?”
“Well, I’m guessing she’s not too thrilled about it,” Ray pointed out fairly.
“Don’t act clever with me, Toro, just get over here and help me bake thirty mince pies before five!” Frank snarled menacingly, glaring at the sticky stain of dough on the side of the oven. “If I haven’t got them done, Mom will kill me!”
“Can’t,” Ray said, not sounding as apologetic as Frank would have liked.
“Why the hell not?” Frank growled threateningly.
“Busy. I’m at my aunt’s house.”
“Thanks so much, asshole,” Frank spat. “I’ll call Bob and Mikey, then. Merry fucking Christmas, you dickhead.”
“I’d retaliate, but I’m in a room with my entire family, and I don’t think they’d appreciate me calling you a ruder version an utter bum-crumb. And for your information, Bob and Mikey are busy.”
“Doing what?” Frank demanded sceptically.
“Bob’s doing his last shift at the kitten shelter before Christmas, and Mikey’s probably having very illegal sex with our PE teacher. Um…Why don’t you ask Gerard?”
Frank choked, laughed derisively, and hung up before whacking his head several times against the fridge. Ray was crazy. Ask Gerard? It was more likely Frank would actually get Jamie bullshitting Oliver to come and help him. Once he was done whacking his head against the fridge, he plucked a magnet out of his hair, composed himself a little and dialled Bob’s number, the feel of dread increasing at the thought of what he’d have to do if Ray was telling the truth and Mikey and Bob really were otherwise occupied. He was guessing Jamie Oliver might not actually be as easy to get hold of as Gerard if it came to the crunch.
“Hello? –No, Lexie, don’t eat the yarn!” Bob’s voice was almost drowned out by feline mewling. Frank didn’t even waste a swear word on Bob- he just stabbed furiously at the ‘end call’ button, and dialled Mikey’s number frantically.
This time, the noises that reached his ears were decidedly less pleasant than mewling kittens. Frank hung up hurriedly, not wanting to hear what a PE teacher’s orgasm sounded like.
For several moments, he stared around the chaos of the kitchen in despair, before slowly dialling Ray’s number once more, and resisting the urge to plunge his head into the mixing bowl beside him.
“Told you they were busy,” Ray sounded smug when he answered after two rings.
“Please, for the love of god, just come and help me, Ray,” Frank pleaded, raking a floury hand through his tangled hair and sinking down on one of the kitchen chairs in defeat. “I’ll buy you anything you for Christmas. Please, Ray, just come and help. I’m begging you, seriously.”
“I can’t, Frankie. Look, really…why don’t you just ask Gerard to help you?”
“Oh, ha ha, very funny,” Frank snarled, pacing the kitchen angrily. “You know I can’t be around him right now, Ray.”
“Yeah, but who else will help you? And Frank, you really need to face him sometime. If you just ignore him like this, it’ll ruin your friendship.”
“Yeah, well so did realising I want to snog his face off,” Frank mumbled bitterly, closing his eyes as he muttered the painfully true words.
“Frank. Don’t be such a pathetic, overly-hormonal turkey,” Ray said gently.
“I have to go, someone’s on the other line,” Frank said suddenly, thanking whatever god had made his phone buzz with an incoming call at that particular moment in time.
“Fine, but think about it, Frankie- just ask Gee to help you. You need to either get over your ridiculously large crush on him, or tell him. It’s killing us all, dude- and its hurting Gerard like hell. He thinks you hate him because you always avoid hanging out with him now.”
“Would he prefer me to hump his leg every time he hugs me?” Frank demanded.
“Probably. Gerard’s a weird dude.”
Frank groaned and slapped his hand to his forehead. “Ray. This is serious. And I really have to go. It’s probably my Mom on the other line.”
“Yikes. Now go and phone Gerard, you huge turkey.” And with that, the line went dead. Frank momentarily contemplated shutting himself in the oven and turning it on full before realising that although he was a midget, he wasn’t that small. Upon that realisation, he sighed heavily, closed his eyes and answered the other call.
“Hi, honey,” his mother’s voice crackled across the line. “Have you got almost enough mince pies for the Christmas fete yet?”
Frank bit down on his lip hard in order to prevent himself from screaming. “Nearly,” he managed to say tightly, and vented his feelings on a nearby baking tray by thwacking it with a spatula.
“Great. Well, I’ll be round at five to pick them up, okay?”
“Mhmm,” Frank muttered through gritted teeth, glaring at the spatula.
There was a small pause. Frank could hear the hustle and bustle of the shopping centre in the background, and the unattractive sound of the dough he’d just hurled across the room seconds later slowly sliding towards the floor.
“…Are you alright, Frankie, love?” his mother asked eventually, voice slightly muffled from the background noise. “You…You don’t seem to be looking forward to Christmas much this year.”
Frank closed his eyes. “I’m fine, Mom,” he mumbled through the lump rising in his throat. “Look, I’ve got to go. Bye.” Frank garbled the last bit, and without waiting for her to respond, ended the call and dropped his phone down on the floury surface of the kitchen table. The kitchen suddenly seemed very silent as he stared desolately at the snow falling softly outside the steamed-up window.
It was so weird being inside when it was snowing. Every year since he’d been at the high school, he’d gone out sledging or skating with Gerard. Last year they’d made a snow-snail in the Local Park and drunk hot chocolate from a flask in the dark, watching the dusk fall. Then, Frank couldn’t have imagined the Christmas holidays without his quirky, earnest best friend- yet here he was, Christmas Eve, and he hadn’t seen Gerard for a whole week. It had been a horrible week of ignoring calls and pretending he wasn’t in when the doorbell rang, avoiding MSN, changing his chat options to ‘offline’ when he was actually online on Facebook, replacing the friendship with silence and depression.
With a loaded sigh, Frank dusted some flour off his apron and rested his head against the frosted glass of the windowpane. He hadn’t imagined you could miss someone so much, but then again, he hadn’t imagined he would ever have found someone like Gerard.
But he couldn’t think about Gerard right now. He didn’t need that. In fact, that was the whole reason he’d agreed to make the mince pies for his Mom’s Christmas Fete- so as he’d have a distraction.
Shoulders drooping, Frank forced himself away from watching the lonely snowflakes outside the window and returned to frustration and mince-pie making.
Frank had planned to tragically make the pies all on his lonesome with no help, but after the fifth batch exploded in the oven, and the clock (now slightly difficult to read with a large splatter of mixture over the ‘twelve’) was ticking ominously closer to five, he was forced to admit defeat and do the thing he’d been trying not to all week.
He had no other option but to call Gerard and listen to his best friend’s smoky Jersey accent and all the quirky things he came out with, the way he spoke out of the side of his mouth when he was telling Frank something serious, the way he gazed at Frank as though he was the only person in the world.
Frank yelled in frustration and threw the wooden spoon at the fridge. Then he pelted the cooker with mincemeat for good measure, took a large gulp of brandy, and punched in Gerard’s number with floury fingers, trying not to notice how he knew it off by heart. His heart was thumping wildly behind his ribs and his palms were clammy and damp against their grip on the phone as he waited for Gerard to pick up.
Frank felt his stomach flip at the familiar, quiet voice he hadn’t heard since the end of the school term. He swallowed, throat suddenly dry.
“Uh. Hi…” he managed, heart pounding so hard it was all he could hear.
“Frankie?” Gerard’s voice dipped down, rough around the edges with hope and disbelief.
“Yeah, it’s me,” Frank mumbled. “Um. I was wondering if you’d be interested in coming over and baking thirty mince pies?”
There was a long pause.
“You’ve been dodging my calls all week. You haven’t replied to any of my emails and I know you’ve been online because you replied to all of Mikey’s. And you hid behind the sofa when I tried calling round,” Gerard said, his voice shaking slightly. “Four times.”
Frank swallowed, feeling utterly awful.
“And now you suddenly want me to come and bake thirty mince pies with you?” Gerard continued slowly.
“If you could,” Frank stammered. “That would be really great.”
“Oh my god, are you actually serious, Frankie?” Gerard yelled, making Frank flinch and hold the phone further away from his ear. “You ignore me for days with no explanation, no nothing to even let me know you’re okay, and then you expect me to drop everything to come and help you? What the fuck?”
Admittedly, Frank would probably have still just cowered at the other end of the phone, trembling, but he didn’t have that option as there was an odd thumping noise, and then the line went dead.
Frank stared at the phone morosely for several moments, and then sunk his head into his sixth attempt at mince pie dough.
Considering Gerard had slammed the phone down on him about ten minutes before, the last thing Frank expected was for the doorbell to ring and for his best friend to be standing there in the snow, all in black, on the doorstep, glowering. Frank felt his belly do a huge flip as Gerard’s moody green eyes met his, hurt behind the ringlets of black hair.
“Hey,” Gerard said quietly after a couple of moments. His voice was distinctly mutinous in the uncomfortable silence the snow provided, but Frank could hear the wounded quality behind it.
“Ger- I- what are you doing here?” Frank blurted in surprise, hastily dusting flour off his t-shirt and hurriedly smoothing his hair self-consciously, while staring uncomprehendingly at Gerard. He could feel his heart racing, because after not laying eyes on his best friend for a week, he’d forgotten how ridiculously attractive Gerard was, even when he was glaring so furiously it practically burnt a hole through the front door. Actually, that somehow seemed to make him even more attractive. Either that or Frank’s hormones were fucking him up more than he’d previously given them credit for.
“Helping you, you asshole,” Gerard said gruffly, ducking his head and shuffling past Frank into the hallway. Frank caught a whiff of Gerard’s apple shampoo and the scent of charcoal that always lingered around him, and his chest ached for one of Gerard’s bone-crushing, suffocating hugs.
“But, I thought…” Frank frowned, yanking his thoughts angrily away from his best friend and staring determinedly at the Sid Vicious badge on Gerard’s battered leather jacket so he didn’t have to look him in the eye. “I thought you were mad at me.”
“Yeah, I am,” Gerard glared at Frank as he unwound his scarf, and Frank couldn’t stop his heart melting a little at the way the tips of Gerard’s elfin ears and button nose were tinted pink from the cold. It was ridiculous, seriously.
“Then why…?” Frank trailed off as Gerard pulled off his jacket, slung it on the coat-rack and marched into the kitchen. Sighing, he followed, trying hastily to dust the remainder of the flour from his t-shirt, ignoring the little butterflies batting their wings nervously against his gut.
“I’m your best friend, Frank,” Gerard said flatly, turning round to face Frank where he was hovering uncomfortably in the doorway. “That’s what I do. Even if I’m mad so mad at you right now I’d rather stuff you in the oven than a batch of pies.”
Frank swallowed as he looked at his best friend, standing there so simply, glowering at Frank, in an ancient Iron Maiden t-shirt and slightly stained black skinny jeans, and suddenly, Frank realised he couldn’t stand to be around Gerard like this. It hurt too much, ridiculously much- he’d clearly forgotten just how powerful hormones were.
“Look, I can manage on my own fine,” he blurted out, looking awkwardly at his feet.
“Then why did you just call me and beg me to come and help you?” Gerard asked quizzically. When all Frank did was respond by means of opening and closing his mouth wordlessly like a kind of answerless goldfish, Gerard rolled his eyes and pulled on the spare apron, knotting the ties easily and rolling up his sleeves. Frank looked at the soft, chalk-white skin of his best friend’s forearms and winced.
“Gee-” Frank started, but then stopped and swallowed. He didn’t have the heart to tell Gerard to fuck off. Maybe he could deal with his crazily beautiful best friend for an hour or so, anyway. It wouldn’t necessarily result in uncontrolled humping.
“What?” Gerard was looking at Frank questioningly, his almond-shaped eyes so fucking pretty behind his inky black hair- all green and smouldering.
Frank sighed. Who was he kidding? Of course it would result in uncontrolled humping. And then Gerard would never want to speak to him again and Frank would lose the most important person in his life just because he couldn’t exercise any fucking self control over his fucking hormones, how pathetic was that?
“Is this the recipe?” Gerard’s small sigh broke through Frank’s saddened thoughts, and Frank looked up to see him gesturing to a rather stained sheet of paper on the messy kitchen table. Wordlessly, Frank nodded.
“Okay, well it looks pretty simple,” Gerard said listlessly. “I’ll get the dry ingredients together; that’s flour, salt, baking powder and sugar- and you measure and stir in the butter and milk, okay?” He glanced up at Frank for a second, worry heavily lacing his almond-shaped green eyes.
“It’s fine!” Frank stammered in reply, his heart aching. He really couldn’t bear to be faced with the incredible care and concern weighing down Gerard’s gaze- forget uncontrolled humping; it hurt Frank so much he could feel stupid fucking tears rising in his throat. “Look, really, I can manage on my own. I shouldn’t have called you, I’m sorry. I can cope just fine.”
“Really?” Gerard raised his eyebrows sceptically as they reached the chaos of the kitchen. His eyes lingered on the mincemeat coating the fridge, the spatula on the floor, and the dough all down the side of the cooker.
“Yes,” Frank insisted without looking at him.
“Don’t be silly, Frankie,” Gerard sighed, opening a rather battered bag of flour.
Frank closed his eyes in horror and tried to think of some way to escape. Why the hell had he called Gerard? He seriously couldn’t deal with this; working with Gerard in such close proximity in the steamy, warm kitchen, especially as Gerard’s smouldering scowl was somehow making him even more irresistible than usual.
“Where are the scales?” Gerard asked tonelessly, as Frank resignedly fetched the milk and butter from the fridge, trying not to look at Gerard.
“On the bench,” Frank mumbled, setting the milk down on the table.
For several minutes, they worked in uncomfortable silence, Frank feeling far too aware of Gerard’s long, pale fingers beside his in the mixing bowl and the little shocks of electricity they sent shooting through him when they accidentally touched. After a few moments, Frank could feel every nerve in his body going crazy at the contact, and his mind was ready to explode. He could feel the warmth of Gerard’s slim body behind him, smell the faint spiciness of his apple shampoo and the familiar smell of charcoal dust on his chalk-white skin. It was all overwhelming him, making his thoughts dizzy with what he couldn’t have but wanted so desperately.
Gerard’s fingers brushed against his again, long and lingering and making Frank’s heart turn over. Each time it happened, Frank felt his breath hitch, his stomach lurch, his heart beat faster and faster and faster with want, until he suddenly couldn’t take it anymore. He stumbled back abruptly, covering his face with his hands.
“Gerard, just leave. Please,” he mumbled through his hands, heart thumping.
“Frankie? What’s wrong?” Gerard sounded appalled, his voice filled with concern and it made Frank’s heart ache even more.
“I can’t tell you,” Frank shook his head, swallowing fiercely.
“You can tell me anything,” Gerard said, sounding hurt.
“Not this!” Frank protested wildly.
“What’s so terrible you can’t tell me?” Gerard persisted. There was a small silence. “Frankie?” his voice trembled, and suddenly Frank felt his best friend’s arms snaking round his waist, pulling him close so as his face was buried in his soft hair and electricity was shooting up Frank’s spine…
“No!” Frank shoved Gerard back fiercely.
“What is it?” Gerard blinked, hurt.
“Nothing!” Frank yelled defensively. “You think you need to know everything, Gerard, but you don’t, okay? Maybe I don’t want you to know everything. Maybe I don’t want you to know anything about me at all. Maybe you should just fuck off and leave me alone.”
There was a horrible, long pause. And then suddenly something cold and sticky slapped Frank’s face, and he yelped, looking up to see Gerard looking absolutely beside himself with rage. His eyes were dark with fury, his expression murderous, and he was holding a large clump of mince pie mixture, part of which was currently sliding down Frank’s forehead.
“You asshole!” Gerard shouted, flinging the mixture at Frank’s face, where it landed with a loud splat just above Frank’s left eyebrow.
Frank let out an indignant squeal. “If you really think that, then you won’t mind fucking the hell off like I want you too!” he growled, clenching his fists and resisting the urge to throw some of the mixture straight back at Gerard’s stupidly fucking beautiful face.
“Well tough, Frank, I’m not doing that until I find out what the hell is going on and why you’re really ignoring me,” Gerard snapped as though he wasn’t hurt, but Frank could see his long fingers trembling as he sifted the flour and sugar together in the bowl. “Why am I here doing this, anyway, couldn’t your girlfriend have done this domestic shit with you?” he spat out, mixing too violently.
“Are you talking about Lisa?” Frank cried in disbelief.
“Who else?” Gerard exclaimed incredulously.
“Lisa’s not my girlfriend!” Frank almost laughed, it was such a ridiculous thought. Aside from the fact he preferred cocks, which was a pretty big factor, Lisa was totally in love with Ray.
“Oh, please,” Gerard snorted, mixing the contents of the bowl so vigorously that flour slopped over the sides and onto the table. “I’ve seen how you guys look at each other.”
“Oh, how is that?” Frank sneered derisively. “Do little love hearts and rainbows and unicorns blossom in the air between us?”
“Oh my god, stop being such a fucking asshole,” Gerard snapped, tipping mixed spices into the bowl. “And for fuck’s sake, calm down help me here, I’m not going to do all the work. I just want to get this done and get out of here, okay?”
Furiously, Frank grabbed a baking tray and slammed it down on the table.
“Pass me the milk,” Gerard said tightly, determinedly not looking at Frank, who slid the milk mutinously across the table. “And can you grease the trays?”
Teeth gritted, Frank poured olive oil onto the tray before Gerard grabbed his hand and pulled the bottle away, seething.
“Not oil, you idiot!” he snapped. “Butter! Who greases baking with oil?”
“Oh, I’m so sorry I’m not up to your masterchef standards,” Frank spat bitterly, yanking open the fridge door and grabbing the butter.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Gerard growled.
“Oh, so I’m ridiculous?” Frank demanded.
“Well, yes, you are a bit,” Gerard cried, throwing his arms up in exclamation. “I have no idea what the hell is going on in your head these days! Don’t you trust me or something?”
“Of course I do,” Frank snapped, slamming the fridge door shut.
“Then why the hell have you been avoiding me all week?” Gerard shouted, making Frank jump guiltily and drop the butter on the floor.
Frank gulped and hid from Gerard’s accusing glare behind his floury hair. “I…I haven’t been avoiding you,” he blustered, shuffling awkwardly towards the kitchen table.
“Frank, stop insulting me by lying,” Gerard exclaimed hotly, waving his hands about in one of those extravagant gestures of his. “First you deny your feelings about Lisa and now you’re denying you didn’t hide behind the sofa every time I called round!”
“Lisa isn’t my girlfriend!” Frank shouted, slamming the baking tray down.
“Stop insulting me by lying!” Gerard yelled back.
“I’m not lying!” Frank protested angrily. “I don’t feel like that towards Lisa at all!”
“Oh really?” Gerard snorted.
“Yes!” Frank shouted, biting his lip to stop himself saying that for him to be attracted to her, she was missing one vital organ. “Ugh, you can be so thick sometimes, Gerard!”
“Don’t call me thick! I’ve seen you guys together, you’re the perfect couple,” Gerard said the words ‘perfect couple’ sneeringly, now stirring the mixture so vigorously there was more of it on the table than in the bowl. “Just because everything works out just right for you, Frank, doesn’t mean it does for everyone else, so maybe think about someone else besides yourself for a change!” Gerard spat venomously, eyes glinting darkly behind his hair.
“Everything works out just right for me?!” Frank shrieked incredulously, suddenly feeling utterly beside himself with fury. He slammed his hand into the mixing bowl and slopped a whole load of the mince pie mixture at Gerard’s favourite Iron Maiden t-shirt. “Oh, if you knew, Gerard, you would not say that!” he spat, trembling with anger.
Gerard gaped at him for a moment before grabbing the bowl and retaliating by chucking a large handful at Frank’s crotch.
“If you liked her, you could have just told me!”
“For the last fucking time, I don’t like her!” Frank yelled back, fuming as he scrubbed the mixture off his jeans.
“Then why have you been ignoring me?!” Gerard demanded, throwing another handful at Frank.
“Just- just because, okay?!” Frank blustered.
“Oh, so you admit it now?” Gerard looked livid, crazed. His eyes were flickering furiously behind his dark hair and there were two pink spots on his cheekbones that made him look slightly fevered.
“Oh Jesus, stop being such a drama queen, Gerard!” Frank snapped, flicking more mixture at Gerard, who flinched angrily and grabbed the whole mixing bowl.
“Me, a drama queen?” He exclaimed furiously, and spattered Frank’s t-shirt with the mixture. “You’re so touchy you’re ignoring me for apparently no reason at all!”
“Don’t be stupid, of course it’s for a reason!” Frank yelled, beside himself.
“Then tell me!” Gerard shouted. “Fucking tell me, Frank! It’s not a joke!”
“Oh, but it’s so much more amusing to see you get your stupid pink knickers in a twist,” Frank retorted infuriatingly, hating himself even as he said it.
That was when Gerard lost it. His eyes darkened with utter fury, and he lurched forwards, grabbing the bag of flour- but Frank, seeing what he was about to do, launched himself across the table and grabbed it too.
“Don’t you dare, Gerard,” he spat through gritted teeth, trying to tug the bag from Gerard’s hands.
“Get off,” Gerard snarled, eyes smouldering with hatred as he yanked it back.
“No,” Frank gasped, struggling to keep hold on the bag.
“I will if you tell me what the fuck I did wrong,” Gerard growled, tugging at the bag.
“Yeah yeah, that’s getting a bit old now,” Frank snapped, trying to divert the conversation and hanging onto the bag grimly. He searched his brain wildly for something to throw Gerard off course. “I mean, Gee, what’s this even really about?”
“What’s this really about?!” Gerard shrieked so loudly Frank jumped. “It’s about you not trusting me! You used to tell me everything, Frank! Why couldn’t you tell me about you and Lisa?” his voice broke on the last word, but he kept his grip on the bag of flour. It teetered ominously above them, sprinkling a small amount of powder over Frank’s head.
“There is no me and Lisa!” Frank roared, tugging harder.
“Why don’t you tell me anything anymore? Is it because I’m too weird?” Gerard shouted over him. “Why don’t you want to hang out with me and come over for movie nights? Why do you avoid being alone with me? Why do you never look me in the eye anymore? Is it because I’m just a huge fucking freak that no one gives a shit about and you’ve finally realised that and you don’t give a shit about me either? ‘Cause if it is, then you might as well just tell me!” Gerard’s eyes were bright with moisture, and he looked angrier than ever.
“No, it’s because I like you, okay?! I really, really like you, you idiot!” Frank yelled, and then stopped instantly, horrified at the words that had tumbled out of his mouth. Gerard jerked back, eyes wide, and the bag of flour suddenly burst between them, white powder raining down on the kitchen. There was silence for a long time as Gerard blinked at Frank, looking oddly ghostly from the flour that had dusted his already pale skin and settled in his ebony hair, but his eyes remained startling, beautiful green, unblinking.
“I like you,” Frank murmured again, unable to take his eyes away from his best friend. His heart was pounding so fast in his chest he felt faint.
Gerard’s eyes flickered in shock, and Frank felt as though his face was actually burning as he squirmed under his best friend’s suddenly unreadable expression. The silence stretched on and on until Frank felt sure he was going to explode with sheer humiliation.
“You…what?” Gerard whispered eventually.
“You heard,” Frank mumbled, ducking his head in utter humiliation as he braced himself for Gerard’s disgust, heart breaking a little as he swallowed down the lump suddenly rising in his throat at the thought of really losing Gerard now. “I like you. In a freaky, homosexual way. And I’m really sorry.”
Frank wasn’t sure what he expected- maybe for Gerard to yell at him some more and storm out, maybe for him to say nothing at all, maybe for him to stuff Frank into the oven and cook him alive for being such a freak. But what Frank definitely wasn’t expecting was for Gerard’s warm hands to suddenly cup his jaw fiercely, tilting his face upwards, and for Gerard’s lips to dip down to meet his, soft and sweet and vaguely floury.
He squeaked in surprise, but after a second wove his fingers into Gerard’s flour dusted hair and pulled him closer to deepen the kiss. Really, Frank could hardly believe it was really Gerard kissing him in the midst of the mince-pie spattered kitchen- really his crazy, morbid, weird, beautiful best friend kissing him like it was the best thing in the world. But it was. It was hard to kiss back properly when he was smiling so widely, but Frank tried his best, and it was okay, because Gerard was grinning like an idiot against his lips too. After a few moments, though, Frank let himself get lost in the warm, wet bliss of Gerard’s lips and wound his arms round Gerard’s waist, pulling their bodies close as they kissed. He couldn’t get enough of the warm, urgent pressure of Gerard’s lips against his, the slight dustiness of the flour on Gerard’s back, every bone and curve of Gerard’s body pressed flush against his.
It must have been a considerable amount of time later when the distinct sound of cheering made Frank break away in befuddled confusion, because Gerard’s leg was up round his hip in a rather erotic position and there were a couple of impressive purple bruises round Frank’s collar bone, not to mention one motherfucker of a hickey on Gerard’s jugular.
Distinctly disgruntled at having to tear himself away from Gerard’s mouth, Frank turned around and felt his mouth fall open in surprise. Standing in the doorway were Ray, Bob, Mikey, Lisa, and his Mother, all beaming and cheering.
“What- what the hell?” Gerard blinked, rubbing flour from his eyes. One of his hands was frozen halfway down Frank’s jeans, and his lips were red and swollen against the pallor of his face, his eyes shining.
“Yes,” Frank managed dazedly, because his thoughts were still kind of mush, probably partly because Gerard’s hand was still down his trousers. “Um.” And then he realised that his mother was watching and yelped, jumping away from Gerard and blushing furiously. Then he remembered that she’d probably come for the mince pies, and not only were they definitely not ready, but her son was getting intimate with a flour-covered male companion against the fridge. “Oh shit,” he mumbled faintly. “Um. The pies…” he bit his lip guiltily and looked up at his Mom, preparing himself for the worst, and also still a little confused as to why she was cheering like a fangirl. It was a little disturbing.
“Oh, fuck the pies!” Frank’s Mom exclaimed, beaming and wiping a tear from her eye. Ray passed her a handkerchief which she gratefully sniffled into.
Frank blinked, completely baffled. Maybe all the hot-guy tongue in his mouth had depleted his intelligence, or maybe there was just something really weird going on, because Gerard was looking equally bemused. Really, really adorably bemused, Frank would like to add- his hair was all ruffled and his eyes were big and wide in his face.
“The pies were fake,” Ray explained, as if this was meant to make things any clearer.
“Huh?” Gerard said coherently, to which Frank agreed with a funny squeaking noise.
“We set you guys up,” Lisa chipped in helpfully. “Ray, tell them.”
“Well, we were all sick of you two being such idiots. Mikey was practically getting suicidal from the amount of lovesick grumbling he was putting up with from Gerard about you, and Lisa and I were seriously contemplating flushing you down one of the school toilets. So when your Mom called round at mine the other day because she was worried about you, we all decided to get you guys together once and for all.”
“So…there was no mince pie fair?” Frank blinked.
“Nope,” Frank’s Mom beamed.
“And you aren’t going out with Frank?” Gerard added, looking at Lisa.
“No, I’m going out with Ray, you turnip. Frank’s gay, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“I had, actually,” Gerard beamed.
“And you weren’t really at your aunt’s?” Frank narrowed his eyes at Raymond.
“No, I wasn’t,” Ray grinned.
“You weren’t at the kitten shelter?” Gerard asked Bob, who shook his head solemnly.
“No. I staged the mewling with a little help from my Grandma.”
“And you weren’t really fucking that PE teacher?” Frank looked at Mikey in relief. It was all starting to make sense.
Mikey looked distinctly uncomfortable as all heads swivelled his way. There was a long silence as he looked determinedly at the floor. “Um…”
“Oh god, Mikes,” Gerard groaned, putting a hand over his eyes. “That’s gross.”
“You were practically humping Frank against the fridge when we came in, I don’t think you’re in any situation to tell me off,” Mikey said primly.
“You set that up!” Gerard protested. “And also, I’m not fourteen!”
“Anyway, who’d like a cup of tea?” Frank’s Mom cut in brightly. “This calls for a celebration.”
“Do you have camomile?” Bob asked hopefully, and beamed happily when Frank’s Mom assured him they did. While Ray and Lisa went to hang their coats in the hall and Mikey whipped out his phone and retreated to the corner (probably to send sickening sexts to a PE teacher with extremely questionable morals), Frank shuffled up to Gerard by the slightly-steamed up kitchen window and gently nudged his best friend in the chest.
“Hey,” he said softly, trying not to grin quite so much because he felt as though his cheeks were in actual danger of splitting.
“Hey yourself,” Gerard was grinning even more widely, and Frank didn’t even think that was possible- at least, not until Gerard pulled him into a warm, soft hug that made Frank’s skin tingle and his belly somersault with happiness.
“Y’know,” Gerard said softly, pulling back shyly and smiling soppily at Frank. “I’m really, really glad you can’t cook to save your life.”
Frank beamed and wiped a smear of mince-pie mixture off Gerard’s cheek. “Me too,” he whispered. “Me too.”
Just a silly little oneshot I did a couple months ago to cheer me up, but I'd very much appreciate rates and reviews- it's been so long since I've posted on here! Anyway, thanks for reading, I really hope you guys enjoyed it c: