Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > First Of The Gang To Die

Sing Your Life

by unitedsuck007 7 reviews

Sing your life; any fool can think of words that rhyme.

Category: My Chemical Romance - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Romance - Characters: Frank Iero,Gerard Way - Warnings: [X] - Published: 2011-06-28 - Updated: 2012-08-09 - 2668 words - Complete

Hey guys, Lorna here. No violence in this chapter, just a whole fuckload of fluff, which is unusual for me, but I got some hardcore stuff planned in the future. Oh yeah,and if you guys haven't figured,this story isn't going to be funny. It's meant to be all fucked up and disturbing.

Much love,

xo lorna

Oh yeah and the thing with the sexiness? Yeah that was very last-minute

First Of The Gang To Die
Sing Your Life

Frank cracked an eye open. He was grasping his fist into the other side of the bed, feeling nothing but bare sheet and lack of skin. His nerves immediately started to buzz, and half-formed,sneering thoughts began racing around his barely conscious head.

"Gerard?" He called nervously, mentally begging for an answer, pulling the black sheets around his waist and sitting up. He cleared his throat of sleep and called: "Gerard?"

He strained his ear to hear any oncoming replies, but the effort was futile. The entire mansion, from dark basement to the private attic, was utterly silent.

He's left you, a voice that sounded remarkably like James' jeered in his head. Of course.

"No," Frank whispered to himself. He couldn't accept that; not when the crime boss had been so loving and kind-hearted this past week. "Oh, please, no."

He fell from the bed, pulling a white t-shirt and trousers folded neatly on a nearby chair. His sneakers had been cleaned and placed fastidiously at the foot of the four-poster bed. He gussed from Gerard's excessive wealth that he employed chambermaids and servers to take care of his exquisite and enormous home, but they obviously came early in the mornings and made themselves scarce by the time of the boy's awakening. Frank made his way to the door, pushing his hair behidn his ears. This house was alien to him, after they had made a getaway last night. This new house was just as monochrome and large and looming as the last.

Last night. Last night. Last night.

Frank shuddered and switched off his stream of neurotic, somewhat over-bearing thoughts. He didn't want to think about last night, or indeed the events that had come to pass on that fateful October night in nineteen thirty three.

He was now walking down a long corridor and as he drew closer to a mahogany door, he heard the fluctuating muffle of jazz music from inside the room. He pressed the cup of his ear to the wood and heard the unmistakable sizzle of a frying pan; someone, by the sounds of it at least, was having breakfast.

He knocked on the door gingerly and entered. Gerard was sitting at a rectangular table, a cigarette between his fingers, reading a newspaper. A large mug of smoking liquid sat next to a plate of toast, eggs and bacon. He appeared to be in mid-conversation with a large man behind the brick stove donning a large white toque. A black steel gramophone, guilty of the emitting Ella Fitzgerald, stood in the corner of the large room.

Gerard looked up and smiled. "Frank. Good morning."

He looked the cook and nodded; without a word, the chef removed his hat, pressed it against his chest, and bowed himself out of the kitchen.

Frank had not taken any of that in; he had been too focused on letting his eyes flicker over the made man's facial injuries. One of Gerard's beautiful jade eyes was discolored; not just discolored but damaged. A deep, wirey red haze now shielded half of Way's right eye, shining grotesquely in the light, reflecting the light bulb hanging above him.

"Good morning," the younger returned,choosing to sit down across from Gerard, also noticing that today his lover was wearing black dress pants and a plain black shirt, with sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Lack of flower and tie and jacket made Frank's stomach flip with excited relief. He was well-equipped enough with gangsters to know this meant little adversity would be occuring today.

"Want some coffee?" He asked,offering him a glass cafetiere. "It's really freaking hot. Fernando just made it, it's fresh."

Frank smiled slightly at the slang swear and murmured, "thank you."

"No problem," the made man replied blithely, bestowing his husband with a good morning kiss. "How did you sleep? Robustly, I hope?"

"Really good." He stretched, arching his back and moaning deep from his chest. As he did so, a portion of his midriff was exposed thanks to his shirt riding up. His cheeks flushed with blood and he yanked the hem back down. "What time is it?"

"Nearly eleven in the morning."

That was one of the biggest shocks of the morning, along with Gerard's apparent impairment and the dress-down; tardiness. Frank, for the last week,had been awoken every morning at eight in the morning. Sleeping in never seemed to be an option; Gerard's job seemed to require him to work at an almost indissoluable rate. He went to bed after Frank and rose at five or six; he probably got half of the recommended amount of sleep.

"What time did you wake up?"

"Six," Gerard replied, pouring the drink into a mug. "I wanted you to sleep late. Last night you were practically dead off your feet."

"Thank you," Frank muttered. His curiosity soon took advantage of him, and he blurted out: "What happened?"

"To what?"

"Your eye." He flinched, anticipating indignant rage. "It's all...sore-looking."

"Sore looking"? Really, Frank? Four years of medical experience and that's the best you come out with?

"It is quite painful, to be fair," shrugged the raven-haired, "but I think Ray got most of it out last night. I'm only a quarter-blind, so good news there."

Quarter blind?

"Quarter bl-blind?" Frank whimpered. "You-you can't see?"

"I can still see out of half of my eye," reassured Gerard, caressing Frank's hand across the table. "It's not that big of a deal. It looks worse than it feels, is't only unpleasing to the eye."

"It doesn't," Frank answered quickly, "your eyes are still so pretty."

Gerard smiled and lifted the cigarette to his mouth, sucking in the smoke and puffing it back out. It floated to Frank and he waved it away quickly.

"If I was blind I wouldn't be able to see you blush," Gerard chuckled, "and that would be like an early grave."

Scarlet flushed Frank's face, proving Gerard's point further. It creeped all the way up to his hairline and the gangster held a laugh. The younger one began to nimbly pick at the eggs splayed on his plate.

"Where are the bodyguards?" He wondered aloud. "Why aren't you wearing your suit?"

Gerard laughed, utterly delighted. His tinkling laughter rang through the room and reverberated against the appliances in the kitchen.

"Don't you know what date it is?"

Frank suddenly remembered so rapidly he thought a lightblub had erected above his head. He had turned twenty three last night. He had spent the night being pushed into a car after a mafia ambush, necking afterwards with his housemate, and sleeping comfortably in a four-poster bed for twelve hours straight. Standard birthday practice.

"Oh," he mumbled, biting his lip when Gerard rolled his thumb into his palm. He wondered how Gerard had known his birth date. It wasn't like Gerard was his husband, after all. In fact, he didn't know really to address him. Boyfriend seemed much too informal for the made man, and partner sounded too business-esque.

"Happy birthday, baby," Gerard purred, bringing the boy's knuckles up to roll them against his lips. "Feel any different?"

"Not really," Frank replied truthfully, as nothing could really change as drastically as it had in the past week. He simply looked at Gerard to manifest all the thoughts that flowed through his head; his fiance had been shot, he had been kidnapped by this murderer and now lived with him comfortably. "What are we gonna do today?"

"I don't know," was the vague answer as Gerard walked over and pulled Frank to a stance by his hand. He pressed his chest against Frank, his muscular, bulky frame dwarfing the thin, dainty one of the boy. Gerard looked him up and down; he was so delicate the boy was nearly silken. His face inches away, Gerard purred: "what do you want to do?"

The question had its immediate and desired effect.

"Stay at home, "he said, "relax. Not do anything. I just wanna be with you." Suddenly he stopped. He had not asked, he had ordered. "If that's okay," was added at lightning speed.

"Of course that's okay, honey. I'd love to just stay at home and spend the day with you. It is, after all, your special day, and I have been dragging you to random killings recently." Gerard whispered into Frank's ear in a subdued tone, making the shorter shiver and jump. The mobster raised an eyebrow. "Are you cold?"

He placed a hand into the small of Frank's back, forcing Frank to snuggle closer to him, flattening against his chest.

"No," he answered. He was engrossed in the spellbinding gree eyes. "Why?"

"Because you do that a lot. The jumping thing." He didn't sound angry ,just confused; hurt even. "You flinch away from me, Frank. Your eyes get larger. "His lips brushed against Frank's forehead. "Are you afraid of me?"

"No," Frank answered in a weak voice, tugging at Gerard's collar slightly. "I love you."

"As do I," he muttered, "but I don't tense up every time you touch me."

Frank's eyes scorched, his chest suddenly becoming tight. He looked up again and the made man looked slightly repentant.

"I'm sorry, baby, that was very harsh," Gerard apologized in that low tone of his. "But I'd like it if you told me. I noticed it a little while ago, but I didn't say anything." He kissed Frank's cheek and grasped his shoulders lightly. "I promise I won't get mad." A pause. "Did James verbally abuse you?"

The boy looked at him blankly.

"Did he say mean things to you, precious?"

Frank didn't answer,but the quiet wrack of a sob that erupted from his throat spoke for itself.

"I'm so sorry about James," Gerard mouthed into his neck. "I didn't realize he was such a bastard to you."

More hot splashes made their way down Frank's cheek, burning into Gerard's collarbone and down his chest. Way wiped the tears away with his thumbs and made a strategic switch of the subject.

"I must be the shittiest guy alive, making you fucking cry on your birthday," he hummed now, working his mouth against Frank's neck.

"S'okay," came the shaky answer as he was pushed up against the wall, completely defenseless as Gerard began to tug and bite at his lip, gripping his waist. His lips were being savaged, his hips being grinded by those of the gangster, and Frank couldn't help his gaps and moans as his trousers became painfully tight.

"Moan for me, Frank," came the ever-dignified whisper. "Moan right into my ear, baby."

He began to massage Frank slowly through his trousers, making the boy buck his hips, restless and consumed by lust. All previously celibate thoughts were melting into goo as he felt ringed, callous fingers climb up his bare back. He continued to rock against the mobster's front, addicted to the beautiful friction it caused.

"Good," Gerard grinned,equally breathless, and to Frank's glee, slightly...impressed? "Bedroom. Now."

Somehow, shuffling, entwined in each other, they made their way to the master bedroom. Upon collapsing onto the bed, clothed in silken sheets, Gerard leaned over Frank, knees on either side of him, and began to attack his lips with ferocious want. The larger unbuttoned Frank's trousers with ease and agility, the clasp of the boy's belt opening with an inviting click. The small noise initiated the little abstinence bell now tingling in the Don's head.

"Oh God, don't stop," panted Frank, his eyes wide and waiting.

"I'm sorry," groaned Gerard, "but I have to." His lips found the whimpering Frank, shaking and convulsing with want, and stroked him in commiseration.

"Whyyyyyyyy?" Frank whined, bucking as Gerard kissed his jawline.

"Because of what we agreed," he pushed past his lips, forcing himself back from his lover. He couldn't afford to get carried away, not after what that cunt Romano had done to him..."I don't want to do this until we're married. That way it's better. I want our first time to be on our wedding night, with candles and rose petals...not some half-assed groping session on your birthday."

"It could be my birthday present," Frank offered half-jokingly....with authentic want behind it. He was still digging his nails into Gerard's back, refusing to let go of this man until he really, really had to.

"Nice try, sugar," Gerard replied with a mysterious smile, "but I already got something planned for that. A minute, if you please." He clambered from the bed (with a surprising amount of elegance, considering his size) striding into the next room with that signature confidence and bravado. Frank lay dumbstruck, half-dressed, flushed red on the verge of sex.

Gerard returned several minutes later, his clothes neater, his hair perfected.

"Gerard? What's going on?" Worry was laced through Frank's voice. The mobster laughed lightly.

"Nothing's wrong, sugar, "he replied, securing a knot in his tie and looking at himself in the mirror. "I'm just getting re-dressed."

A few blinks. "For what?"

"For giving you your birthday present."

"You have to get dressed up for that?"

"Uh huh." He flashed another grin. One side of his mouth rose while the other side fell slack. "Adds to the aesthetics."

Gerard returned to the bed, smirking.

"Close your eyes."

"Is it big?"

"Initially, no. Now close your eyes."

"Initially?" He tripped over himself in an attempt to force the words out. "In what way? Is it heavy? Would you like it?"

"Initially in that the first impression may be small, but prove to be larger in the future; no, it is not heavy, and yes; I will most definitely like it."

"You will-"

"Frank. Shut up and close those eyes. And hold your hands out."

Frank did as he was told, excitement fluttering in his stomach.After some waiting, a small weight was placed onto his hand. One particular part of his hand.

Then he felt Gerard kiss his cheek and chuckle, "happy birthday." Then:

"Go on. Open your eyes."

Frank choked on air when he caught sight of the silver band encircling his left ring finger, swimming around in his vision like a bird. It was a classic South African cut rock that measured in at just over thirteen carats. It had two small diamonds to the sides of one truly huge one that glittered like a discotheque ball. He felt the tears start almost instantaneously.

"Oh, Gerard, " he stuttered, staring at his finger. "Oh my God-"

"Frank Anthony Iero," the Don started, looking into deep chocolate eyes. "Would you do me the wondrous honour of marrying me, and being my husband?"

Frank didn't even think, breathe, blink, hear. He couldn't. Not when this gorgeous, kind, caring, intelligent, funny - a little malevolent, of course - utter God of a human being was on one knee before him, offering him a ring the size of Anaheim.

"YES!" He screamed, throwing his arms around Gerard's neck and falling forward off the bed. He plunged his lips to the latter's and screeched: "OH MY GOD YES, GERARD!" He cupped the boss' cheeks. "I wanna marry you. I wanna be your husband. I'll be such a good one, I promise."

Gerard was laughing now. They kissed again and he continued to chortle into Frank's mouth, shoulders shaking with delight and ecstasy and bliss.

"Frank, I love you," he sighed," and I can't wait to fucking marry you."

"I love you too, Gerard," the boy murmured, nuzzling into the boss. "I love you so much."
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