[Frerard] Frank searches for Gerard, before finding him in the local park, getting drunk, as usual. Frank hates the fact that Gerard gets drunk, but he hates the things Gerard says while drunk even...
As the last two of my Frerard's, this is dedicated to my friend mistressxwinter. God, she's an amazing friend, and it's her fault I'm obsessed with slash. XD So, go check her out, please! She's so sweet and she recently wrote me a Frerard. :D
The bottle clutched tightly in his hand, pale skin clashed morbidly with the green tint that the container held. Eyes glazed over, he sat on the edge of the wall of the park. Stars glistened overhead; twinkling brightly, slightly drowned by the artificial lights the lamps gave off. They were scattered all around the park, but they were so dim and unkempt it looked almost trashy. Gerard let out a drunken laugh; New Jersey, the state that tried to make themselves look pretty but always wound up being too lazy to actually keep up the maintenance.
Lifting the bottle to his lips and closing his eyes against the sweet burn at the back of his throat, he drank the alcohol: Vodka. Pulling it away from his lips he grimaced at it, swishing it around slightly. "Only half a bottle," he slurred to himself, but grinned in an almost frightening manner. "Least I brought another one." He reached out blindly for the second bottle, which sat next to him. He was careful not to break it; breaking the bottle was like breaking a cross or burning the flag to him. Blasphemy.
Lazy eyes wandered around the park, the world tipping slightly around him, his mind so fuzzy it was all he could do to keep his eyes open. He let out a sad little giggle, gulping down the blessed alcohol once again. His fingers fumbled slightly against the bottle, but he held on.
He had always had a habit of talking to himself out loud when he was seriously wasted. "Wonder if mom and dad have found out yet," he asked himself, head lolling on his neck slightly. Black hair tickled his cheeks as an angry hand rose to swat it away. Damn the alcohol, making him not care about his hair. It always seemed to annoy him when he was drunk, but when he was sober or had a hang over, he just didn't care. Nothing mattered, except finding the next source of booze.
He had been stealing from his parent's liquor stash, of course: they had so much, he doubted they would find out for quite a long time. He had started drinking about a year or so prior, and every now and then he'd snatch a few bottles of Vodka or Chardonnay. Sometimes he'd take mead, rum, beer, wine, brandy, whiskey, gin, tequila, cider, or Scotch whisky. He didn't necessarily care; as long as it had alcohol in it, and it would eventually get him drunk, he'd take it.
Mostly, he got the alcohol from friends; he had a few connections who, as long as he forked over the money, would buy him however much they could get with the money. But sometimes when his parents were short of money and couldn't give him a decent allowance, and during those lulls when his paycheck wasn't enough, he'd steal from his parent's stash. As he had done that night.
While at home, he had drunk a few gulps of the Vodka. Vodka seemed to be his favorite, but he wasn't sure why. He normally tried to keep himself from stealing his parent's Vodka too often, for he was afraid that if he stole too much of it, they'd get nervous. Steal a bottle here and there, two if he was feeling daring; it was okay. He could get away with it once every two months, maybe. But do it even once a month? They'd catch on.
Tipping the bottle into his mouth completely, he let the burning liquid roll down his throat completely. The bottle was empty, now; he threw it, giggling slightly as it smashed and the glass shards flew everywhere. Maybe a little kid would hurt himself on it, who knew?
He popped open the bottle of Vodka and pressed it to his lips, slurring incoherent words, when he heard the small voice.
"Gerard, please stop," he heard someone whimper. Dazed, and as interested as he could be, he looked around.
"Huh?" he asked, tongue feeling thick and swollen.
From the shadows emerged Frank Iero; one of his very close friends. Gerard had met him when he had been a mere eighth grader. The two were juniors by then, and Gerard had known since eighth grade that he had feelings for Frank beyond friendship. He hated it; not only was he a drunk, but he was a gay drunk at that. Frank looked small and weak, standing in the shadows like that; it hurt Gerard's heart, even through the alcohol, sobering him up noticeably. He hated seeing Frank upset...
He brandished with his arm, in which he had drawn designs all over. He was always saying that he wanted to get his arms tattooed, but was too afraid to ask his parents if it was okay with them. "That," he said with a note of finality in his voice. A pale finger trembled at the bottle. "Drinking. Stop drinking, please, Gee."
Gerard stared at Frank momentarily, before letting out a slow, dry laugh. "Couldn't even if I wanted to," he said, his voice garbled slightly. Frank's hands balled into fists tightly, his eyes narrowing, looking fearsome even for someone his height.
"But you're not even /trying/," Frank said with an exasperated sigh, running his fingers through his hair irritably. "You're Gerard-fucking-Way; you can do what ever you set your mind to. You could totally quit drinking if you wanted to. Come on, it must feel horrible, waking up with a hang over and having to go to school like that!"
Obviously, what Frank had just said flew over Gerard's head. He stared at Frank for a moment before slapping his knee and laughing quite hysterically. "What?" he laughed, placing the bottle away from himself as he jumped off the brick wall he had been sitting on. "Hang over, morning? I've got a fucking hang over all the time unless I'm drunk."
Rolling his eyes, Frank's jaw tightened as Gerard leaned his back against the brick wall and slouched across it. He was on the brink of being seriously wasted, Frank knew. He had made certain levels of Gerard's drinking, unconsciously, in his mind. Level one, Gerard had only had a few sips and was just starting to get a little loopy. Level two, Gerard was starting to get a little incoherent, almost on the brink of being wasted, the stage he was at currently. Level three, Gerard was getting wasted, way past the point where a serious situation could sober him up. And level four, the stage where he passed out and Frank had to carry him home. Which he had done on more than one occasion.
Relieved in the fact that there was a chance he could sober Gerard up to the point where he was at least able to talk right and walk in a straight line, Frank came closer to him. "Gerard," he sighed. "Mikey and I...we hate seeing you like this..."
His head snapped up at the mention of his brother; he sobered up a notch. He was aiming towards level one of drunkenness...Frank tried to suppress his smile of calmness and pressed on.
"It break's Mikey's heart. He's only fourteen, Gerard, for chris'sake! He already has a big brother who's getting drunk like hell. I remember...when you first started, he came to me literally crying with a bottle in his hand, telling me he found it in your room. Gerard, he's worried about you."
He raised a hand and rubbed at his eyes, shaking his head slightly. "He doesn't care," Gerard muttered, his voice clearer than before. "No one cares. They just don't like it when teenagers get drunk."
"That's not true," Frank snorted. "I care, Gerard. I care a lot."
Gerard raised his head slightly, looking at Frank. By the look in his eyes, it almost looked as if he could actually see Frank clearly. Then Gerard let out a chuckle, folding his arms across his chest. Frank was startled by the mirth; but dismissed it, seeing as he was still drunk and he had experienced some weird situations in the past with him.
Once, Gerard had kissed him, saying that he loved him, had loved him since the two met. It had really hurt Frank; Frank had always harbored a crush on Gerard, but he knew Gerard didn't feel the same about him. So, having Gerard so blatantly ignore his emotions and toy with him like that...it made him sick to his stomach.
"I love you," Gerard giggled nervously, eyes fixated on Frank's face. "I really do."
"You don't mean that. It's the alcohol talking." And here he was, doing it /again/. God, did this boy just love to torture him or something!? Frank pressed his back against the brick wall as well and rolled his eyes at his drunk friend.
Gerard shook his head fervently. "Nooo-ooohh," he moaned. "I really do love you. Always have."
Then, before Frank could even react, Gerard spun around and placed his hands on either side of Frank's face. Frank was pinned to the wall, Gerard's body pressed against his own, his face barely inches away. Vodka was stark on his breath; it suffocated Frank. And then, once again, Gerard pressed his lips firmly against Frank's.
Frank flailed against Gerard's body; but it was no use. Gerard had rendered Frank helpless, his lips working fully against Frank's, the reek of Vodka slinking its way into Frank's mouth. Gerard was really out doing himself this time; hips grinded against his own, his one hand slowly but surely fell down to grip Frank's waist in a tight embrace.
Using his weakness-the fact that he had lowered his hand-to his advantage, Frank shoved Gerard off. "You drunk bastard," he hissed, eyes alight with fury. It wasn't just that Gerard had kissed Frank while drunk, but it was the fact that Frank wanted it so /badly/, he would have killed to have had that moment while Gerard was sober, and here was Gerard, toying with him so cruelly.
Gerard recoiled, eyes no longer flat but swimming in sadness and rejection. "You...," he whispered. "I'm...sorry."
Frank glared. "Don't ever do that again." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand angrily, spitting the taste of Vodka out of his mouth. Gerard's face was ashen, and Frank realized with a pang that he was hardly drunk anymore. He had sobered up immensely from Frank pulling away...
"Look. I like you, Gerard. I like you. But I want you to kiss me when you're not drunk, dammit!" Frank whisked around quickly, only to smash his fist into the brick wall. Not even feeling the blood course down his knuckles, Gerard gave out a cry of alarm and ran over to Frank. He stumbled slightly over a rock, and Frank sneered angrily. "Drunken motherfucker," he muttered under his breath as Gerard wrapped his arms around his neck.
"Don't hurt yourself over me, Frankie," Gerard said in an alarmed voice. Frank let out a bitter laugh, pointing up to the abandoned Vodka bottle.
"It's just the alcohol talking. You don't care." Wrenching Gerard's hands away from his shoulders, prying his cool, comforting, (delicious) hands away from his chest, Frank stomped off.
Gerard called out to the angry Frank. "Frank," he shouted.
Frank stopped, turned around, and stared Gerard directly in the eye. "If you're really sober enough to remember this-which I doubt-and you really do mean it when you say you love me-which I doubt even more-catch me when you're completely sober and tell me again. Then, maybe, I'll believe you."
That night, Gerard stared at the almost-full bottle of Vodka that he had never finished. After the episode with Frank, he couldn't bring himself to; Frank was so worked up about it, it would have broken his heart to even more shreds if he had even dared to pour the vile poison down his throat once again.
He had said that he liked him. He had said that he didn't want to believe it, because it was the alcohol talking. He hadn't been expecting him to be sober enough to remember, but he was wrong. Frank pushing him away was enough to wipe any traces of alcohol from his mind, his feelings overruling the harmful substance by a long shot. He had been crushed...like the one time he had kissed Frank and Frank had kissed back, but had made no moves to deepen the relationship after. And it wasn't as if Gerard was going to do that, so he hid in the bottle, like he always did when stressed.
Eyelids slowly drooping, Gerard fell asleep thinking of ways to make it up to Frankie.
The next day, at school, he decided what he had to do. He had a slight headache, but he had taken Excedrin before school started, so he was okay.
He gripped the straps of his backpack, biting his lip nervously. What he was going to do...he gulped darkly, looking around the cafeteria. Like always, people turned to look at him and they all snickered. Someone threw a sandwich at him; he ignored it, as he always did, and marched directly to Frank's table.
"Hi," he said softly. Frank looked up, eyes angry, red, and swollen. A dagger went through Gerard's heart at that moment. He had been crying.
"What do you want?" Frank asked stiffly. Gerard sat down, directly across from Frank, and stared intently into the deep hazel eyes.
His voice was quiet and soft. "I wanted...to make up for last night." Then, leaning forward, he pressed his lips against Frank's.
Immediately, he heard the catcalls. One of the jocks screamed. A girl, probably a cheerleader, squealed in disgust at the kissing couple and was obviously the one who tripped over their chair, knocking it to the ground.
But as he worked his lips against Frank's, Frank worked his own against Gerard's. Gerard was sober, and he was kissing Frank...he was actually kissing him...
After someone threw a full, opened soda can at Gerard's head, the two broke apart. Drenched in soda, Gerard grimaced and shook his head slightly. Soda dripped from his hair.
Frank smiled, blinking at Gerard as the two ignored all the "get a room," "we don't like gays here," and "fags should die" comments. "So...you do...?"
Gerard reached out to the table and gripped Frank's hands tightly. "I love you," he said solemnly.
And he leaned forward to steal another kiss.