FicWad

Haven't proof read properly yet, so I apologise ^^

“Gerard baby?” a voice called playfully through the house to where Gerard was sprawled lazily in front of the TV, watching some useless, low-budget movie from the 90's.
“What?” he called back, sipping at his lukewarm coffee.
“I uh, think you should come upstairs. Now.”
Rolling his eyes, Gerard dragged himself up reluctantly, blinking heavily in an effort to try and make it look like he was more awake than he truly was. As he reached the top of the stairs he saw the door to his room slightly ajar and a small flickering light coming from it, and that was when it hit him.
“Aw shit.” he murmured, his face forming a noticeable grimace. Trying to pull himself together he managed to push it back into an inquisitive half-smile, and, opening the door gently, he saw exactly what he'd expected.
Sprawled out carefully on the perfectly made bed was his fiancée, sporting over-secure underwear and a smirk filled with authority. Even when she was being playful, she was in charge. Even in situations like this. Sighing internally, Gerard decided to act oblivious to her lack of clothing and the 'non-scented safety candles' they'd bought from the local hardware store on the bedside table.
“Oh hey honey, I'm just gonna go get my pyjamas on. It's pretty late.” avoiding her cutting gaze, he opened his wardrobe and searched for something; anything that would cover him up. He saw the old skeleton pyjamas he'd worn so long ago and the numerous band t-shirts he'd treasured so much, and shoved them aside along with the memories embedded in their stitches.
“Hurry Gee, I can't wait all night!”
Grabbing a plain grey top and some checked pyjama trousers and heading into the bathroom, Gerard ran his options hurriedly through his mind. He didn't want to have sex with her right now. She wasn't even that great. The words sounded so harsh, but...so true. He looked at himself in the mirror – hair flat, stuck awkwardly to his face, roots showing because he hadn't dyed it in so long. Eyes pained, yet empty. That was what he saw, and that was all he saw when he was around her.
Bracing himself and trying to forget about his appearance, he marched back into the bedroom, eyes still averted from the sight before him, and crawled awkwardly under the covers.
“Oh, so you'd rather be under? I can work with that.” she clambered beneath the duvet too and looked at Gerard, who had his eyes closed with his mind elsewhere. He couldn't help himself from thinking about Frank. He just couldn't. Yet here he was with a woman he'd been engaged to for three entire years, and she was lying next to him in bed pretty much desperate for sex. Even as he thought this he felt her smooth feel of her leg against his, wrapping itself around him possessively like tentacles or the web of a spider.
He didn't know what to do and he didn't react, but the discomfort in the situation was so obvious it was almost visible in the heavy air.
Suddenly she began to breathe much more heavily and her hands were all over him, touching and gliding and tugging on his shirt. Still he lay stony faced and silent, opening his eyes only when he knew she wasn't looking. He didn't find her attractive at all, nor her attempts or little moans and whispers. One thing was certain: it really really didn't turn him on.
As her hand started to slide down, edging beneath his trousers, he shrunk back a little and took her hand carefully, pulling it away.
“Not now, I'm sorry.” he grimaced, waiting for the onslaught of questions.
“Why not? You always want to do this. Why not now? What's wrong? Is there someone else?”
“God, don't overreact, I'm just...I'm just tired.” looking her in the eye and trying to be honest, he found himself lying almost immediately.
“No, there's nobody else. And it's probably just...I don't know, I took these pills earlier because I had a killer headache, maybe they have side effects of...you know, maybe they made me less reactive.” he gestured down to his flat crotch awkwardly. He'd never had a headache. It was a lie. Was the first part a lie too? There's nobody else...
Nodding briskly, his girlfriend moved away and lay her head gently on the pillow as Gerard watched her, contemplating. She...she wasn't pretty, he couldn't see it in her anymore. Well, she was beautiful, but she was harsh and cold and tense and frustrating. They hardly had anything in common with eachother – well, they did now, but only because Gerard had trimmed and picked at himself until all the differences and aspects of his individuality were gone. She'd told him that the horror movie t-shirts and band tops were too grimy and gave off the wrong image, so he'd stopped wearing them. She'd said that his drawings were ridiculous and just figments of his twisted imagination, so he'd stopped drawing them. She'd said that his voice and his longing to do something for the world was silly, stupid, impossible...so he'd given up. He'd even stopped listening to as much music because she didn't like his taste.
The only reason they were together was because he didn't know how to break it up.
As this thought struck him he sighed heavily, hating himself for the situation he was in, hating his girlfriend for being part of it, and hating Frank for bringing him to the truth. He was right – once the seed of doubt was planted, there's no turning back, that's all you can think about.
Gerard rolled over, facing the wall, and felt his fiancée moving closer and wrapping her arms around him. It didn't feel affectionate, it felt irritating and uncomfortable, but he knew that if she wanted to sleep like this it was how they were going to sleep so he didn't bother moving. She'd only been okay with the no-sex situation because if Gerard couldn't...well, if he couldn't get it up...she didn't want to suffer the humiliation. Keeping his eyes closed and his mouth clamped shut, he tried to ignore her suffocating breath on his neck, her heavy hands burdening his body, and ended up imagining that they were the hands and breath of someone else. Someone he really hated. It was at night when he gave up the morality of any of his thoughts, gave up his principles and main beliefs and just let his imagination sink in. Just like that it was Frank's warm breath gracing the skin of his neck, Frank's delicate and decorated fingers trailing his suddenly alive body. He let his thoughts carry him away and he squirmed gently in his fiancée's arms, returning to reality when he felt the press of her womanly body and remembered who it really was. His head really did begin to hurt, maybe from the lie he'd told, and he fell asleep with a heart full of hatred.

The next morning Gerard had the car to himself, so he drove into work slowly, anticipating the day ahead. It was only as he parked the car neatly behind a back alley supermarket that he remembered Frank was coming in late, as an aftermath from the night before. Shit, his day was going to be dull, spending his time with one of the other tattoo artists there who never usually turned up either, and lying blatantly to the manager if he came and asked where Frank was. He shouldn't really lie, to be honest, but it was just doing a favour...maybe Frank could cover for him some day, in return.
His mind was torn: lie to the manager and impress Frank, or tell the truth and get him into trouble, resulting in him getting what he deserved. Ugh, decisions are impossible to make, he thought.
Strolling in to the shop Gerard was greeted by Kathy, who apparently only worked part time but dealt with all of the customers that day and left Gerard sitting alone behind the desk. He sorted through the till, doodled on the sticky notes, cashed in the money from clients and then sat there with his head in his hands for the majority of the time. At about two he was driving himself insane with boredom, and so picked up a pen and began to draw absently on the back of a piece of junk mail about free dog kennels, addressed to Frank.
“Hey, Gerard.” Startled, the pen clattered to the floor and Gerard ducked down to get it, looking up to see the disgruntled face of his manager. “Oh, hey, what's up?”
Heart racing faster with the knowledge that he was about to either lie really badly or tell the truth and probably cause Frank to hate him forever, there was a brief conversation about how busy the shop had been, until he asked,
“So, where's Frank?” he looked around the corner and saw Kathy tattooing a middle aged woman, and the rest of the shop obviously empty.
“Um.” Gerard swallowed, trying to look into his eyes inconspicuously. “He just went o-out to get some more...coffee.”
There was a silence and then the manager nodded and laughed. “Yeah, I know how much he likes his coffee!” Gerard grinned awkwardly in agreement, thinking about that fact. He personally fucking loved coffee. In fact that was probably the one thing he had in common with his fiancée – the ability to down cup after cup and still want more. It made them both horribly irritable and jumpy, of course, but they were horribly irritable and jumpy at the same time, so they kind of just about got along and cancelled eachother out.
“Yeah, anyway, I'm gonna go pick up the girlfriend from uh, work.” he rubbed his forehead thoughtfully and lumbered out of the door, Gerard constantly praying that he didn't run in to a coffee-less Frank on the way. Once he'd gone he continued his drawing, sketching and scribbling and frowning away at the image that was developing on the paper. He hadn't done this for a while, and he wasn't really sure how it was turning out.
“Geee! Baby!” there was a slam and Frank stumbled in, blinking in the gloom, grinning. “I had such a great night.” he collapsed on a spindly chair that looked as though it would splinter under the pressure, and Gerard winced.
“Great. Covering for you was so much fun too.” the sarcasm stung audibly in his voice, and Frank giggled.
“You actually did it? What did you tell him?” he looked up inquisitively, eyes wide and endearing.
“I uh...” it suddenly sounded ridiculous, a useless excuse. “Told him you'd gone out to get more coffee.”
Frank chuckled more, smiling at Gerard constantly and looking incredibly contemplative. “Pretty smooth, also kind of pathetic. What if he'd checked to see how much we had left? What if I'd bumped into him on the way out?” Frank was half-joking, but Gerard immediately put up his defences.
“Well I didn't care that much, so.” he looked away and carried on scribbling, the sound of the pen scraping into the still room. The insult was lost on Frank and he stood up, cheerily patting Gerard on the back.
“You're learning, this is good. You're making progress!” he said, patronizingly. Ignoring the stinging comment, Gerard kept his head down and continued with the drawing...that is, until Frank noticed it.
“Hey, what's this Gee?” snatching the paper from Gerard's hand he read, 'Dear Mr Iero, it has come to our attention that on your search for dog kennels at reduced pric-' “Fuck off,” he said, turning the paper over and rolling his eyes. The other side was home to thousands of inked lines, forming the overwhelming image of an angel: a dark angel, an industrial angel, with coffee-stained robes and tyre marked skin. There was a certain darkness around her eyes and there was pure, heavy blood pouring from her wrists, and she was floating eerily above a city, lights glowing miserably. There were trash cans and knives and graffiti all over, and the imagine was definitely something beyond the drawing ability of most people.
“Holy shit Gerard, that's...” Frank, in all honestly, thought it was amazing and beautiful and thoughtful and creative. But he would never, ever voice these thoughts. “Dude, what the fuck is it supposed to be?” he laughed coldly. “You're mental, that's so fucking dark. Is that what the world looks like to you? Man, you've got problems.” scoffing, he dropped the piece of paper back on Gerard's desk, who immediately screwed the picture up in his clenched fists and began to shrink inside. He'd thought he wouldn't be made fun of here, of all places, where dark art is basically what's done for a living...it was almost a test, to see if Frank would accept him more than his own girlfriend. And Frank had obviously failed. Gerard just wasn't compatible with anyone, he was a failure. His drawings were shit and so was his personality. He just wasn't worth being with. He felt like curling up and hiding, and never coming out...yet somewhere, somewhere within him, he managed to fight the urge to curl up and cry his heart out, and he managed to form a retort from god knows where. An anonymous strength within him emerged.
“It's none of your fucking business what I do with a pencil.” he murmured, only realising afterwards just how dirty it sounded.
Frank broke into mischievous laughter and it set him giggling for about five minutes straight. “Not yet my friend. Not yet.” he replied, twirling an imaginary beard in attempt to look wise. Right then, Gerard hated him. But he wanted to jump him at the same time, wanted to screw him and fuck him and...oh, god. Nothing fucking made sense anymore.
“I'm straight! Straight as, as this fucking pencil!” he shoved the pencil in Frank's face and jutted his lower jaw out miserably. Frank took the pencil nonchalantly and snapped it coolly in half, a smirk crawling on to his face as he gave up resisting a smile. “Oops!” he raised his eyebrows and let it drop to the floor, and then turned and stalked off importantly to the back door. “Ciggie?” he asked, turning around and placing a hand loosely on his hip. Gerard didn't want to, not again, not this soon...but the curve of Frank's hip and the tightness of his jeans and the way his lips moved when he smoked...shit...
“Fine.” Gerard followed him out, disappointed with himself, yet unable to resist the man a few steps ahead.

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