FicWad

Kicking his shoes off lazily, Gerard slammed the front door shut before remembering he should probably be a bit more cautious. He balanced his shoes precariously in the shoe box his fiancée had bought last week, and called out 'sorry' in case she'd heard the violence with which he'd shut the door. He hadn't meant to. It just happened, so he'd done nothing wrong...
But there was no call, no 'what have I told you about the door!', no hurried kiss on the cheek as he entered. Shrugging to himself, Gerard stopped in front of the hallway mirror and flattened his hair slightly, leaning in and pulling at it to try and see his brown roots. “Ugh,” he murmured, and ambled into the kitchen, pulling his shirt down in order to look presentable, to look acceptable.
But instead of his fiancée he found a delicately torn piece of paper with flowers printed in the corner, looking as though it had been pulled out of some old lady's notebook. He couldn't be bothered to smell it but he was pretty sure it would have some sickly perfumed scent to it if he had tried.
His eyes glazed over the neat, square writing that was perfectly on the lines and it took a few attempts before he actually managed to read it.
Gerard darling, I've gone out to Monica's for dinner, for a girly night out! There's a wonderful ceasar salad I made earlier that you can fill yourself up with. I won't be back until midnight at the earliest, we're watching Sex and the City on repeat! Lots of love xxxxxx
Gerard sucked his breath in, contemplating what he'd just read – hmm, that meant pretty much six solid hours of freedom, maybe more. He smiled to himself and then checked his reflection in the microwave, this time ruffling his hair instead of flattening it. It wasn't a very detailed image, so his hair looked pretty dark like it always used to, back when he was...he lost his train of thought and he grinned properly at himself before walking through to the living room and collapsing onto the cold leather sofa. Flicking on the TV, he scrolled listlessly through the channels, eventually settling on a repeat of one of the Harry Potter films, which he'd missed last time it was on...and he really kind of had a secret liking for Harry Potter.
A few hours passed as he skipped emptily through the channels before deciding that he should actually make use of this evening he had to himself. Wandering through to the kitchen he opened the fridge to find it empty apart from some skimmed milk, a block of mature cheese and the 'oh-so-wonderful' ceasar salad. He didn't want salad, he wanted fat and grease and stuff that he knew was bad for him and yet tasted so good and that was the appeal: it was slightly more dangerous than this tame, leafy salad drooping away in a white china bowl. It had edge, it had risk, it had flavour.
Picking the thing up, he emptied it guiltlessly into the bin and covered it up with a cereal box from a few days ago. Then, grabbing his phone from his back pocket, he dialled the number of the nearest pizza house and ordered an extra large meat feast pizza with stuffed crust from the man with an odd accent at the other end, and sat back down to wait for it to arrive. Which would apparently be in about half an hour. Enough time for...
Gerard went back to the sofa and shifted around, unable to think properly once the thought had entered his head. It would be so rebellious, doing that on the fucking leather sofa they'd – well, she'd paid so much for – the kind of thing Frank would do. No, Frank would do it in a stranger's house in the dead of night when there was a family of four happily tucked into bed upstairs, and he'd do it with another guy. He'd do more, he'd do worse. So this, in comparison, really wasn't a big deal, even though every time he sat on this sofa with her he'd be nervously checking for stains or whatever. Fucking hell Gerard, you're allowed to jerk off once in a while, he told himself furiously. Doing so, he switched the TV onto some crap about cars so that it didn't seem as though he was getting off to the Harry Potter kids when they were twelve, and muted it so that it didn't seem as though he was getting off to the ridiculously high pitched voice of the presenter, and quickly unzipped his jeans.
The curtains were conveniently drawn and it was pretty dark outside anyway – the only light was coming from the TV. If his girlfriend got back, he'd hear her arrive, and would have plenty of time to – well, do whatever he had to do. That is if she didn't pull up mid-orgasm...oh well, that was pretty unlikely. Although it would fit well with Gerard's shitty luck so far in life.
Shoving his hand down his jeans hurriedly, he lay back on the sofa and began to palm himself aggressively through his boxers. His perfectly white boxers his fiancée had insisted he wore. He wanted black or Batman style or something awesome, but she didn't, and that was that.
Don't think about her now, he told himself. Anyone but her.
Immediately, the smirking face of Frank Iero popped into his mind, lip ring glistening, and he felt himself twitch a little down below. Shit. I'm straight. I am.
He pushed his boxers down slightly, freeing himself, becoming slightly hard simply with lust. He ran his finger lightly over his tip, teasing himself, and kept his eyes tight shut. Spitting on his fingers half-heartedly he tried to remember the last time he'd done this – it had been so fucking long. Why hadn't he been as horny as fuck lately? Well, whatever the reason, even the off-putting attempts of seduction from his fiancée, he sure as hell was now.
His heart rate increased along with the pressure he applied as his hand slid rhythmically along his wet dick, slow at first, but enough to make him fully hard as his head fell back into the now slightly sticky leather. He sped up slightly, surrendering to his imagination as his head was filled with images of Frank's o-shaped mouth, his warm, wet tongue and what was locked away in those skin tight jeans he constantly wore. Gerard would wear skin tight jeans tomorrow. Even if they hurt.
He felt himself twitching slightly again and although his muscles began to ache, he did not stop. He bit his lip and ran his other hand all over his chest, pretending it was somebody else's. The familiar sound of skin on skin was symbolic to his ears and suddenly it wasn't enough – he needed more – a lot more -­ Frank in him, on him, part of him, fucking and riding him until the cows came home. He needed the heightened breathing of two people, smacking against each other desperately, murmuring each other's names, not knowing who's sweat belonged to who. Fuck, Frankie...oh shit, Gee...that was it, that was all he needed. His hips rose and his body began to shudder violently -
Ring, ring.
The phone.
Shit, fuck, shitty fuck shit fuck bollocks was Gerard's train of thought as that happened. He didn't want to pick up, he was about to explode - his arm hadn't stopped moving, no sort of instinct stopped him, and so he came awkwardly into his hand, wiping it messily on his shirt and thinking about how he'd wash it without being found out.
He grabbed the phone up reluctantly, trying to calm down his deep, desperate breathing, because if it was his fiancée and he didn't pick up, she'd get really paranoid and probably call the police saying he'd been kidnapped or murdered or whatever, whereas in reality he'd just been wanking in the living room and had been mid-orgasm when his girlfriend had interrupted, as predicted. Fucking life, he murmured, and brought the receiver to his ear.
“Hey baby.” the voice said, and Gerard could hear himself awkwardly panting still. It wasn't his fiancée – it was low and much more manly, with a hint of irony, and the 'baby' was much more sexual than it should've been. If Gerard hadn't released just a few seconds ago, he sure as hell would've at that sound.
“Um...hey?” he replied nervously, his breath short.
“It's Frank.” the voice said, a lot more matter-of-factly this time.
“Fuck, what? What?” Gerard shook his head, confused. “How did you get my number?”
“I checked your files in the office at the shop.” Frank giggled. “Shit, does this officially classify me as a stalker?” Gerard could almost hear his little smirk at the other end of the phone.
“But,” he heaved, “this is my home number. You can't call on this. You can't!” he sounded exasperated, desperate, breaths heavy.
“Then give me your mobile number honey.”
Gerard rolled his eyes and nodded before realising Frank couldn't actually see him, and was about to reel off his number when -
“Gerard, why are you breathing so hard?” Frank giggled, his voice higher and more inquisitive. Gerard was silent.
“I uh...was running.” he lied, pathetically.
“Really? Running where?”
“Uh...I...down the stairs.” he was clutching at straws, hearing the knowledge in Frank's voice.
“So running downstairs makes you this out of breath?” clicking his tongue, considering, Frank giggled. “Liar, you're not that unfit. You were jacking off, weren't you? Home alone, right? My my my, what a great imagine!”
Gerard clenched his fists, frustrated that he'd been found out so easily.
“No, shut up, I wasn't, I was just, I went upstairs a few times...” he sighed hopelessly, hearing Frank snorting on the other end.
“Jesus Gerard, I'm not gonna believe you even if you're telling the truth. I know what you were doing.” he paused. “I bet it was hot.” Gerard closed his eyes, not responding, zipping his trousers back up as a restriction. The vague idea of phone sex was drifting into his mind. NO. Not gonna happen. He sat up and thought about the pizza man arriving soon and where his money was and how to pay him, to distract himself.
It didn't work.
“Admit it, come on.” Frank said, voice cutting into the silence.
“Fine.” Gerard spluttered. “Fine. I was. Who doesn't? Don't tell me you don't?”
“Why, would you be disappointed?”
Almost choking on not much at all, Gerard heard somebody knock on the door impatiently. He stood up and kept the phone to his ear.
“Shut the fuck up, pizza's here.” he said into the phone, before opening the door awkwardly and balancing the pizza box and the phone in one hand, digging out his money from his jeans in the other. “Keep the change,” he muttered to the guy, who nodded gratefully and turned away.
Shutting the door, Gerard dumped the pizza on the kitchen table and held the phone to his ear again, to hear Frank's breath speeding up on the other end.
He listened intently to the man's breath rise and fall, rise and fall...there was no doubt about what he was doing. Shit. What was Gerard supposed to say? Supposed to do? He sat there, phone against his ear, mesmerised.
He sniffed involuntarily, and Frank broke into laughter.
“Gotcha!” he practically yelled. “You were listening! I knew it, I knew you would, fucking listening to me breathe like that, you creep!” Gerard clenched his fists again, hating himself for being caught out.
“No, I'm just eating, fucking hell, you always take things the wrong way!” he denied, feeling himself flushing red.
“What're you eating?” Frank said, inadvertently changing the subject slightly.
“Meat feast pizza. Stuffed crust.” Gerard said, eating with his mouth full. He didn't really care if that disgusted Frank.
“Ew. You're gross. I'm a vegetarian, animal rights and everything.” he suddenly sounded slightly more mature, slightly more caring. Weeeeeeeeei-rd.
“You what? You're the last person I'd expect to be all vegetarian and stuff.” mumbling on his words, Gerard tried to figure out Frank's personality in his head, cogs twisting and turning experimentally. “I mean,” he mused, “you're covered in dark, romantic, slightly idiotic tattoos. You're an asshole. You're a raging homosexual.” he didn't know where all the newfangled confidence was coming from; the words were just pouring out of his mouth. He was finding himself quite amusing, something that he didn't know he could be – but he definitely recognized it. A lost part of his personality. A missing piece. “You also seem to be doing everything you can to slot yourself awkwardly into my life, and I don't even know if it's a joke or not.” Gerard just kept chewing away, ignoring the embarrassment burning away within him. Ignoring the unanticipated silence from Frank's end of the phone.
“Number, or I call your house again.” Frank said. That was all. No witty comebacks. No harsh - “motherfucker.” okay, only one harsh word.
Gerard spewed out his number instantly, “0792...” and managed to only choke once on a stray piece of pepperoni.
“Thanks bitch.” he replied. His words weren't scathing or malicious. They were just...Frank. “I'm coming over now.” he said, voice devious again.
“No you're fucking not.” Gerard stood up, picking up his unwanted pizza and hiding it at the bottom of the bin. “No way. Don't even think about it. Just, go, I'll see you tomorrow anyway. You don't even know where I live.”
“No, but your office files do.” Frank muttered.
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing. I'm not coming. Ickle Gerard's safe at home from naughty Frankie tonight.” his voice was almost monotonous. Gerard sighed a sigh of relief.
“Until tomorrow, that is. I'll see you then.” Gerard did his best to sound reluctant.
“It's a date.” Frank snorted, before hanging up on the speechless Gerard.
He tried furiously to call Frank back, but the number was withheld. It wasn't a date. It was work. It was Gerard's job. Worries clouded his vision; he ran back over to the sofa, wiped it with tissues, sprayed it with some eau de toilette he found in the downstairs bathroom. Considered burning the evidence of the pizza and the unwanted salad. Turned off the television, went upstairs, clambered into his pyjamas. Climbed into bed. Uneventful, boring evening alone without his other half. That's all it was, that's what brought him to getting off to thoughts of another man – a tattooed, pierced, jackass of a man...Gerard shook his head, trying to discard his thoughts, to misplace them. Loneliness drives one crazy. Right?
He ran these things over and over in his mind no matter how hard he tried not too, wrapping them tightly around the freedom he had felt earlier like a straight jacket around his sanity. He had to keep himself down to earth, keep the Gerard his fiancée wanted secured and hiding the true yet misunderstood man within. The old tight jeans hanging in his wardrobe were heavy on his conscience, the messy black hair he'd planned. The desire to explore and probe every single one of Frank's tattoos...including the one he'd noticed on the inside of his bottom lip. That would be fun to explore...
Gerard's dreams, or nightmares, were filled with spilt black blood; his own, that was taken from him by force from the darkness and forced to partake in things it had no desire to partake in. Layers of his blood were moulding, rotting, falling apart; those that weren't were glistening and gleaming but hidden, undiscovered, forgotten. He awoke, knowing exactly what that dream meant – but then his fiancée arrived, and the dream slipped from him beneath all his worries. He was under her control once again.
However, as he lay falling asleep, he thought to himself,
She can control my presence, how I spend my day, as much as she likes. But she can't control what goes on in my head. He fell asleep with the distant sound of Frank's heavy, deliberate breathing echoing around his mind.


~So yeah sorry it took a while to update, I'm doing work experience and I get quite busy :/ Also I've kind of proof read this chapter, I get the feeling it's not as good as the others but don't give up on me! >< R&R and I will love you. Thanks for doing it last time! xo