[Frerard] Gerard stumbles across a Frerard website. How will this affect how he feels about Frank? Fluff!
It was inevitable.
Of course it was. When you put something on the internet, someone's going to find it. And that someone isn't always going to like it.
Now imagine that you've just clicked onto the internet. You're suddenly overcome with that childish, giddy urge to type your name into the Google search engine. Of course you are. Anyone who claims they haven't done that is either lying or too damn amish to have internet. Now imagine that after you've type in your name (first and last- there can't be confusions) you come across a website with your name in it. Well, it's a big world, isn't it? There's probably someone else who shares your name. Only on this page it isn't just someone who shares your name. There's also someone who shares your best friend's name. It also contains a very long, detailed story in which your best friend (who is of the same gender) strips you naked, gives you oral sex, and has sex with you in positions you didn't even know existed. Do you feel that tightening in your stomach? That sickness welling up in your throat as you hold back the vomit that rose there when you imagined you and your best friend screwing your brains out?
Now you know how Gerard Way feels. Except he's slightly turned on by it. And he's not sure why.
"What are you giggling at?"
Gerard bit down on his index finger to surpress the smile that had worked its way into the muscles of his mouth. His body trembled with silent laughter. He had the slim, black laptop sitting on his lap as he sat cross-legged on his bunk. Frank, his cup of coffee in his hand, strolled up beside his friend and peered in the bunk to get a look at the screen since it was obviously the source of Gerard's laughter.
"I'm gonna type my name in Google and see what I get," the vocalist giggled to himself. The laugh was high and dry and strangely femenine. Frank ducked down and scooted himself in the bunk beside Gerard, pressing the singer against the wall of the bus.
"Of course you're gonna get something," the guitarist replied as though it was obvious. "You're like...semi-famous or something. You've got whole websites about you."
"Shut /up/," Gerard said in a giddy voice. Why he thought it was so funny was a complete mystery. Simple minds are amused by simple things. "I just wanna see what there is." He clicked on the internet icon and typed in the url for Google. Inside the narrow search box he typed in his name and pressed enter on the keyboard. There were several million results, including an entire Wikipedia article, several fansites created by people who obviously had too much time on their hands, and several myspace links which, after he clicked them, lead him to the pages of a hundred or so girls under the age of fifteen.
"Damn," Frank teased. "You've got the ladies all over you..."
"Dude!" he exclaimed. "They're all like.../ fourteen ." He cringed, a wrinkle appearing on the bridge of his nose. "Maybe if I was a pedophile / or something."
"I think you are," replied Frank in a quick voice. He giggled (a sound similar to Gerard's) and took a sip from his coffee. "Now do me."
"Gee, Frank, I didn't realize you were ready to take our relationship to the next level."
"Oh, hardy har," Frank retorted, nudging Gerard with his elbow. "Type my name in."
Gerard pressed back on the webpage until he was back at Google. His name was still in the box. He highlighted the two words and began to type over them. The computer only let him go about two letters in before it gave some sort of technological twitch and began to search. What he ended up with in the search box was the word /Frerard/.
"Damn," the vocalist cursed. "Stupid computer..."
He expected it not to work. He expected to either get the Did you mean...? message from Google in which he was offered several grammatically correct options to choose from or some sort of weird foriegn website. Instead, he got something else. Under the search box, was a long list of websites, all of them with the word Frerard in the title. The first match was a website entitled, FRERARD!! A FANFICTION SITE!
"What the hell?" Frank asked rhetorically. He smooshed himself closer to Gerard in an attempt to get a better view of the screen.
"What the fuck is Frerard? " The vocalist brought the mouse over the link and clicked. He was brought to a website with one hell of a lot of links on it, each one with the word he'd accidentally typed in. In addition to this confusing menagerie of words, there were also pictures. Lots of them. And of people he knew.
Such as himself. And Frank.
Neither of them said anything, because both knew what the other was thinking. But Gerard wasn't a quitter. No, he was going to keep on clicking until he was 100% sure he knew what this was about. Even though he was almost certain he already did. He clicked the first link he saw and started to read.
DON'T STOP, BURY ME!! [[A FRERARD STORY]]
Gerard put his hands on Frank's chest.
"I love you," he said, looking into the dark eyes of his lover.
"I love you, too," replied the other man.
They pressed their lips together, their tongues sliding into each other's mouths. Frank started to undo Gerard's pants since he could see they were becoming uncomfortably tight.
"I want you to fuck me," said the guitar player, his voice full of lust. Gerard nodded and got to his knees where he started to...
"...suck on his- WHAT THE HELL?! "
Gerard, in a sense, threw the laptop off the bunk. His body went through a series of twitches until he inevitably was squished into the corner of the bunk as though trying to hide from the disturbing writing. Frank, on the other hand, was laughing, his coffee sloshing over the side of the cup and onto his hand. He was really laughing at Gerard's reaction. The writing made him almost puke.
"That is FUCKED UP! " Gerard cried. He pointed at the laptop, which was now on the floor. "I don't know who the hell decided they were going to make that, but I hope they fucking rot!"
"Calm down, man," laughed Frank as he retrived the laptop off the floor and positioned it on his lap. "Yeah, it was pretty fucked up and I'll probably never eat again, but seriously. It's just some teenage girl who was tired of writing in her diary so she put it online."
"Yeah, but like..." The vocalist couldn't seem to comprehend how anyone could create something so disturbing. "I mean...people like.../fantasize/ about us. I mean, do they like,.../get off/ on it?" Frank shrugged.
"I don't know," he replied. "But hey, I gotta go take a shower. So you just sit here and conquer your fear of.../Frerard-ness/ or whatever it was called and I'll be back in a few." Frank wriggled out of the bunk and made for the door. But before he opened it to make way to the bathroom, he smirked to himself. He turned around.
Gerard threw a pillow at his head.
Who the hell makes up stuff like that?
He couldn't get the thought out of his brain. It was wriggling there like a maggot, possessing his thoughts, his emotions. He had told people (and by "people" he meant "his family" and "their agent") that the whole kissing, touching thing was an act. It added stage presence. It really had never occured to him that some people might actually like that. It was...two guys. Most people got off on chicks but this...this was completely different. This was someone he knew, someone he cared for like a brother.
But why did he care what other people thought?
Maybe because he cared. Not about what they thought or what they were writing but what they were implying/. They thought he and Frank were a couple. Some people actually wanted them to be /together. The thought made him shudder.
Really, why? What would be wrong with being with Frank? He was relatively good looking, after all. Actually...he was hella good looking. But that was just an opinion. That was just the fact that Gerard knew a good looking guy when he saw one and that didn't mean he had feelings for him. At all. Ever.
Well, not ever. There had been a time when he'd felt something between them. But he was sure that the tension and attraction was onesided. It was, wasn't it? Of course it was.
But what if...?
He opened up the laptop and inspected the room. Nobody was there. He clicked into the internet and went onto Google. Before he knew it, he was back on that site he had been on before. This time, he looked for something more substantial. Something with some good thick paragraphs and better dialgue. The person who wrote this was probably like, sixteen or something. Almost legal. His eyes scanned the page, skimming passed the brief plotline until he got to the actual sex.
This one was hot. Really hot. And it was well-written, too. He could almost feel the touch of skin, the aroma of sex was almost real...
"Are you reading that again?"
The series of twitches reoccured. Frank was standing in the doorway to the bunkroom, leaning against the doorframe. Gerard quickly clicked out of the internet box, feeling like a child caught on an adult site by his parents.
"No," he replied, the word a little too quick. "I was just...checking mail."
Aha! Mail! Yes!
"Sure you were."
"No. You weren't. Just admit it."
"I'm /serious/, man. I was-"
"Really?" Frank said, his voice laced with mischief, a smirk playing his lips. He could read Gerard like an open book and whenever he was lying or uncomfortable, that little laughter played in his voice. Just as it was doing now. "If you were "checking your mail"-" He bent his fingers to indicate quotes. "-Then why...?" He pointed down in the direction of the laptop. Only it was the laptop he was pointing at. It was that area between Gerard's legs.
There was no point in trying to make an excuse. It might only make things worse. And like Frank was going to believe anything he said at this point. The guitarist strolled over to the bunk and bent over, leaning his elbows on the bed and his chin on his hands. He raised one eyebrow and gave a sideways smile. In one quick move he planted a kiss on Gerard's cheek. The vocalist giggled.
"Way better than a fanfiction."