FicWad

Five years ago. Newark, New Jersey:

The night courses with smells illuminated by an appropriate and unusually bright full moon; alcohol, body odor, cigarettes, diesel, electricity, sweat and testosterone. Bred by twenty souls in a basement club and over three hours of hard sonic gestation you had one hell of a punk rock show. Five bands came out, each one playing a heart attack paced set of spit fire songs and ending with a punch.

Frank's band, Youths Sonic Outcry, went last and before the set he and the bass player, Gerard's kid brother, Mikey, got pumped backstage by doing shots of jager and doing series of jumping jacks.

“ I can't do anymore, I'm gon’na hurl!" Mikey cried. An awkward kid three years Gerard's junior, he was much lankier than his brother but always aiming to please just like him. Even though his face was a garish tint of green, he took another shot from Frank and swallowed it sloppily.

“Good motherfucker, it'll make you play faster, no throwing up on stage." Frank set up another, blew out his cheeks and downed it with a yelp.

“What if I do?" He cried, again.

“That’s fucking punk rock!" Another boy, a toe headed brute who was their drummer, Bob Bryar. He doubled fisted the shots to the other young men's dismay.

“Fuck, Bryar! Punk rock!"

“ Fucking. Punk. Rock!" They all screamed, "Now ten more! One, two, three..." They began to jump and scissor their hands above their heads amongst the bustling chaos of bodies and instruments backstage. Even their own thoughts were barely audible over the raucous roar on stage. The band before them, Devil's Plaything, sported a female vocalist who reached an ungodly pitch right as Gerard stumbled through the curtained divide.

“What kind of fucking torture is this?" He belted, pulling his damp brother in for a hug. "You don't look well, kid."

“ It's preshow warm-up." Mikey slurped, clearly intoxicated. He stumbled in Gerard's arms and then pathetically attempted to swivel around and search for his bass guitar. Bob, a thick necked all American who obviously held his liquor better than Mikey, took him by the shoulders and guided him over to the nearby sound booth where his bass waited in a stand.

"Frankie, what did you do to my brother?" Mikey's long legs criss-crossed beneath him and he and Bob tumbled over the instruments. Frank cackled infectiously, reaching out for Gerard’s shoulder to steady himself.

“I made him a hell of a lot funnier."

“ Shit Mikes," Bob, cursed an octave higher. "My- nads-" They all, including Bob, doubled over.

“YSO last call!" A technician, the only thirty something present in the venue shouted on a small handheld mic slung across his shoulder. Frank began to bounce eagerly on the balls of his chucks using Gerard’s shoulders as a post.

“Fuck I need a cigarette!" He demanded energetically.

“Never said I never did anything for you." From inside the lapel of his jacket he pulled out a soft pack of camel cigarettes and with a flick of his wrist offered the remaining stick. Frank grabbed the filter with his lips and leaned into Gerard's cupped hands to reach the flame. As he did, Gerard's fingertips lightly swept his bangs back touching his forehead imperceptibly.

“Frankie! It's time, it's time. Are you pumped?" Mikey rocketed over and collided into the two men.

“Yeah, are you?"

He double fisted the air. "I'm drunk!" He proclaimed. Gerard straightened the glasses on his brother's nose, laughing at him affectionately.

“He’s as ready as he'll ever be."

“ Gee-gee, I love you." With inebriated affection, Mikey wrapped his arms around Frank and Gerard, bringing their foreheads together painfully, and shook them jovially. "I love the both of you, so much. I'm glad you could be here. I mean Frankie, you kinda have to be, but really I'm just really happy." He kissed the both of them on the cheek and then released them from his clutches. "I'll see you in the front row, sweet cheeks." And with that he slapped Gerard's butt and ran back on stage.

Laughing uncontrollably, Gerard massaged his backside thoroughly amused.

"He's the happiest drunk I've ever seen." Watching from behind the stage tables and amplifiers, Devil's Plaything was walking off stage. The bass guitarist handed his instrument to Mikey who, normally the petrified one on stage ran on first and even shouted at the crowd.
It was invigorating watching his scrawny and shy little brother perform for a crowd of chanting roughhousers. Gerard thought of the Grinch as his heart swelled three times with excitement, pride, and love. His eyes even began to mist over. Then as if his ears were burning, Mikey looked in Gerard’s direction and motioned to him. He didn't understand.
Suddenly a warm plume of smoke sensuously caressed his ear, sending a shiver down his spine as well as surrounding him in a cloud. The tingling continued into his fingers when Frank whispered into his ear.

“They’re chanting your name. Come sing with us." For a moment Gerard appeared to short-circuit out of pleasure and fear. Although already abnormally pale, all the color drained from his face.

“W-wait, what?" Frank put his hands securely on Gerard’s hips, and pushed him out towards the stage, and then he heard it. The band and fifty some-odd people chanting his name like a bar song, now he was the petrified one and barely gripped the microphone Mikey handed him. When he felt Frank let go from behind, he whirled around.

“Frankie!" He slipped his guitar strap over his head and plugged in the instrument with a POP.

“Go get 'em tiger; I’ll be backin you up." He strummed a power E and F chord and the crowd roared. Gerard turned again on Mikey who stepped up to speak into his microphone.

“My big brother, everybody!" Gerard could hardly breathe they were screaming for them. "He's our new front man! This is his final exam; let us know if he passes." The crowd roared with approval, and he winked a cocky eye as Gerard blanched. The previous acts whipped the crowd unto frenzy and now it was his turn to ignite the energy on his first try. In perfect Frank and Mikey style, one of them discovered Gerard’s wish to sing and they decided to spring it on him. No complaints just jump up and straight punk rock, that's New Jersey.

“What the fuck do I sing?" Frank swung his arm in a sweeping stroke and strummed a single chord, holding the reverberation until it faded and did it again. Bob on the drums counted in a steady rhythm on the cymbals, and the crowd began to whoop and yell.

“Fuck Bob Dylan!" Frank spat into his microphone which despite actually at his height he stood with a wide stance and leaned up to sing into it. Gerard counted in his head, and although unfamiliar with performing Desolation Row, he knew music and the boys backing him like second nature.

Anxiety and fear morphed into adrenaline and by the second verse everyone was hitting their cues, Gerard singing emphatically to the crowd and they ate it up, jostling each other and singing back what they knew. A few brave-hearted souls pulled themselves onstage and jumped back into the shallow crowd.

Gerard's presence onstage, which could only be described as a possession because he became a different man: confident, exuberant and sexual. The release of singing and the electricity of his senses was orgasmic, and he channeled it into his voice.

The beauty of a punk show is the impromptu nature and what pressure creates. Gerard's voice, having never been used in extremity sounded like a raspy growl, but after the fourth 're-punk-tuated' cover it cracked and gave out completely. Reluctantly, Gerard gave the stage to Frank to finish the song and watch from the side stage.

“You were fucking awesome! Where did you learn to sing like that?" A young girl Gerard was unfamiliar with praised enthusiastically. She gave Gerard an excited hug and continued babbling on. He half listened and half was enraptured by Frank's performance. For being so small, Frank had the stage presence of a born performer, running the length of the stage and singing until his lungs cut out. The young girl screamed for him as well.

“Frankie! Oh my god, Frank!" A jealous inkling sprouted in Gerard’s mind, a peculiar and clever thought. Suddenly he thought of all the flirtatious times Frank would be affectionate and pull pranks on all the homophobes on campus. Gerard didn't mind flashing eyes or making lewd gestures, hugging his good friend and more, but he never felt any impulse to do more.
With charisma still burning in his veins and sweat dripping off his body, his eyes tracked Frank predatorily. The house lights fell as the crowd cheered the final song. Gerard, motivated by a lust that must have been silently unrequited, found his way in the dim light.

“Gee, where are you? That was fu-" Gerard kissed him hard in the dark, wrapping his arms around Frank’s fit yet small frame and pulling him in tightly. Apparently he didn't need to question him because Frank grabbed a handful of Gerard’s damp hair and pulled himself up, wanting to press together harder. Both were swallowed by animalistic fever, aggressively devouring each other and thankfully protected by the darkness of the basement.
Bodies jostled nearby knocking them apart. It was hard to hear over the shouts and chanting; hard to sense anything through the chaos, but Frank kept a firm grip on Gerard’s hand.

"Frankie, where are you? Let's give these kids a, what's it called?" Mikey’s disembodied voice called out in the dark over the P.A. The disjointed audience, which now seemed on stage, back stage and getting vicious on the main floor chanted, "Encore!"

Frank surprisingly could feel his heart in his chest, or possibly the bass moving through his body. Electric adrenaline mutated the butterflies in his stomach. It felt like he had just mainlined euphoria. He kissed Gerard again roughly, and felt him laugh,

"Your lips are slimy." Frank rolled onto the balls of his feet, and nestled in a spot warm and sweaty beneath Gerard’s ear near the nape of his neck.

"Get up there and play." He commanded his voice horse and barely audible. Turning his face downwards, he brushed the damp tendrils of Franks bangs off of his face, and kissed his cheek affectionately. "Get 'em, tiger."

In the dark before Frank let him go, he gave Gerard's hand an affectionate squeeze.