FicWad

Knock knock knock. The sound of knuckles wrapping impatiently against the bathroom door awoke Gerard from his deep, quizzical thoughts and he leapt up almost too fast, having to sit back down on the edge of the bath to stop himself from falling over.
“Fuc- uh, yeah, one second!” he called out.
“Hurry!” a shrill voice called back. Unknown to his girlfriend, Gerard rolled his eyes and shut the cupboard door loudly on the tub of hair wax she'd bought for him only yesterday: his hair was messy, flyaway, careless. Sticking up in all the wrong places and with roots more visible than ever, Gerard hadn't left the house with hair like this for a very, very long time. He ruffled it even more with his cold hands and then shuffled over to the door reluctantly, and scuttled past his fiancée to avoid her penetrating glare.
“Thankyou.” she muttered, partially sarcastically, and rushed in.
Checking the time, Gerard pulled open his wardrobe and remembered the promise he'd made to himself the previous night, when Frank had called, to wear skin tight jeans...
When Frank had called...
He shook the thought from his mind, determined not to give anything away in the few minutes remaining before he escaped the confinements of his girlfriend's eyes and the bare, pale walls of the house. Digging out the smallest, tightest pair of jeans he could find, Gerard slumped onto the bed and pulled them on awkwardly, just about managing to do them up. He giggled half-heartedly at his reflection, but liked what he saw a lot more than the usual reflection that scarred his eyes, with the stupid grey slacks and an oversized raincoat. He also grabbed an old Iron Maiden shirt and yanked it on, causing the state of his hair to deteriorate into literally a tangled mess – a hot tangled mess - and pulled on a black jacket before his girlfriend had the chance to see it. Hopefully, he would leave the house before her, and she'd be none the wiser about anything at all.
“Leaving now honey, bye!” he quickly snuck out of the room and downstairs, pulling out his old weathered Converse from the cupboard under the stairs and shoving them on.
Footsteps.
Fucking hell. Not fast enough.
She rounded the corner as he stood up, ignoring his untied shoelaces. He smiled awkwardly and brushed past her, as she cocked her head to one side.
“Why so casual, Gerard?” she sounded calm, but she was excellent at portraying the feelings beneath her vocal pitch. It was a manic, tense 'calm.'
“Uhh,” he stopped and twisted around slowly, anticipating his answer. “Everyone else dresses down, and I'm just in the mood for a...change.” he kept the smile plastered to his face, and didn't break eye contact with her.
“W-well,” she stuttered, unable to gather words with eyes full of disapproval, “I don't really like it, as a matter of fact. And you should brush your hair.”
“I don't want to. And I'll dress how I like, thankyou very much.” as soon as the words left Gerard's lips, he regretted them – they sounded harsher than they had in his head, and the anger that had filled him for a split second had left. Alarm bells rang in his already panicking mind.
But she just snorted, snorted at him - “You sounded really gay then. Camp.” she looked up, half-joking.
“Fuck, what? No I didn't, I'm not fucking gay! I'm not! I just don't wanna look like a stupid business man working at a fucking tattoo parlour!” he raised his voice and the anger was back, stronger this time, and much more desperate.
“Okay, okay, calm down Gee, I'm sorry!” her voice wavered, innocent sounding, and he slung his bag over his shoulder, made a frustrated grunt and walked out of the front door, feet crunching on the wet gravel. With each step he lost anger, with each step he became more afraid. He'd just stood up to his fiancée – stood up to her - was that their first proper argument? Where he hadn't backed down the second he'd seen it coming? Probably. How was she going to be that evening? Silent? Awkward? Persistent? She'd definitely be there, no work for her today – slamming the car door shut behind him to give the false impression that he was still fuming with anger, he reversed recklessly fast and drove away, his mind a rollercoaster of worry, zooming back and forth over and over again. Trapped.

-

“Love the t-shirt,” Frank grinned as Gerard slunk reluctantly into the shop, looking him up and down. “And the jeans. And the sex hair.”
Snorting, Gerard dumped his bag on the desk and sat down behind it. “It's not sex hair. I just didn't brush it.” he leant forward, resting his head in his arms, and closed his eyes.
“Don't tell me that, you've totally ruined the appeal.” Frank looked distraught and Gerard giggled again, rolling his eyes and then yawning and leaning back down on the counter again.
“Aw, little Gee's tired.” Frank smirked, and then grabbed Gerard's arm and pulled him up, almost catastrophically. “No sleeping on the job, I'm afraid. All work and no play round here.”
“I don't wanna sleep.” Gerard blinked, glad there were no customers in yet. “I'm just...in shock.”
“Shock that somehow causes you to yawn?” Frank grinned. “Or are you tired from the little fun you had last night, when I so rudely interrupted you?”
Okay, now Gerard was really, sincerely glad that there was nobody else in the shop. If there had been, he was pretty sure Frank wouldn't have refrained from saying what he'd just said, which would've been horrifically embarrassing.
“Oh yeah, cause the second I get off to something, I'm drained of energy for weeks.” rolling his eyes he sat back down behind the counter and picked up a pen, as though to busy himself.
“Really? How interesting. And un-fucking-true.” Frank stroked his chin, imitating wisdom – wisdom that he probably didn't have. “I mean, I bet once you orgasm, you could go again and again and again without fault. You seem like that sort of guy.” he smirked and flounced off to hold the door open for a weedy looking teenage boy, with a little shrimp clinging on to his arm and giggling.
Sitting there and watching them interact, Gerard went over the conversation that had just occurred in his head. That sort of guy? What does that idiot even mean? His initial thoughts were 'dirty motherfucker.' 'Does he like me?' 'Well I don't like him.' But every time Frank turned his head, whether to ask for something or simply to throw Gerard a lust-filled yet slightly patronizing glance, Gerard felt his stomach flip and his heart miss a beat. He hadn't felt that feeling for so long, so many years...maybe not even since he was a teenager. He figured that as he'd grown up, his senses had dulled, maybe due to the alcohol and the cigarettes, maybe just due to him losing himself. But there it was, the adrenaline, the fear, that usually comes with not being able to form your words, and to completely losing your cool and doing something highly idiotic.
But with Frank, so far, it wasn't.
Did that mean he was much more comfortable around Frank than he'd ever been with anyone else?No, it couldn't. Frank jeered and laughed and trod on his pride, jumped up and down on his self confidence and forced it down to the ground. So did it mean that he just didn't care enough to be nervous about his sentence structure and all that shit?
Then Frank called him over to observe the tattooing, and he let all his confusion go, and focused on the task before him: the usually overwhelming yet suddenly insignificant fear of needles. Frank's closeness when he leant over him to reach something. Frank's heavy, concentrated breathing. Frank in general. Frank.

A few hours later, shop empty and customers satisfied, Frank emerged smelling strongly of cigarette smoke from the back of the shop and sauntered over to Gerard. “So we get off early today. Thank god it's Friday.” he smiled, collapsing into the desk chair and spinning around absent mindedly.
“Why? I...I can't go early,” Gerard voiced, biting his fingernails and going over to the counter and looking at Frank over it.
“And why's that?” he replied coolly, in contrast with the childish spinning and gleeful grin. Gerard watched him, silent, observational, and finally decided to tell him. Well, it wasn't that much of a decision – it just spilled out of him, a thick, dark pool of truth that he couldn't force back down his dry throat. “Cause my girlfriend's still there, and I don't wanna face her from this morning.” he muttered, keeping his eyes low and his feet shuffling.
“Aaaand...” Frank paused, eyes indecisive, and slid off the chair, sidling over to Gerard and standing before him. “Why's that?” he repeated, smirking still.
“Cause she accused me of being gay when I said I cared about my appearance.” daring to look up, he locked his dark, insecure eyes with Frank's hazel ones, who stepped a little closer. They too shone with surprising amounts of self-consciousness and fear.
“And are you?” there was a silence that was a second too long, a noticeable pause...
“Fucking no!” Gerard grimaced, screwing up his eyes. Frank giggled.
“That's not what your dick thinks.”
Gasping, Gerard looked down in shock expecting to see something he really didn't want to, and Frank immediately burst into laughter, stepping back slightly to allow himself space to properly embrace the humour. Arms askew, he continued to giggle at Gerard's rapidly reddening face and then back down at his crotch. “Seriously, with jeans as tight as those it looks like you're constantly hard anyway, so I wouldn't worry.”
Gerard turned away and picked up his bag, thoroughly embarrassed and unnecessarily ashamed. “Idiot.” he muttered, slinging it carelessly over his shoulder.
“No, but, on a lighter note,” Frank continued, still giggling slightly, “I'm finding it kind of difficult to keep my eyes off of you today.” he finished, straight faced and folding his arms expectantly. Gerard's heart jumped again and – no matter how cliché it sounded – he wouldn't have been surprised if Frank could hear it beating, it was so fucking loud. Stop it, stupid heart.
Gerard just giggled in response, having the perfect flirty comeback formed on his tongue, but not quite willing to say it. 'Mission accomplished, in that case.'
He didn't have to, though, because Frank interrupted the perfect silence. “Where do you think you're going, anyway? I'm coming with you, because neither of us have anywhere to go so we might as well be alone together.” he didn't seem to realise the significance of the last statement, because he skipped out to grab his hoodie and rucksack and dashed back in, grinning at nothing inparticular.. Grinning that big, endearing grin that showed all of his teeth and sometimes even the little tattoo on his inner lip. NJ...New Jersey. That was where Gerard was from, and he fucking missed it so much that it hurt.
“New Jersey?” he asked, as they stepped outside and pulled up their hoods from the heavy rain tipping down on them.
“Um, what about it?” Frank raised his eyebrows and shoved the key in the lock, pausing to light a cigarette and to shove it in his mouth before twisting the key until it clicked. He looked...sexy, with the rain trickling down him and the cigarette dangling tauntingly out of his half open mouth. Gerard opened his mouth to inform him of this delightful fact – and snapped it shut immediately upon realising what he was about to do. Although, Frank had just said that thing about not being able to keep his eyes off of him...
“I lived there. Guessing you did?”
Frank nodded, slightly in awe that Gerard had noticed the tattoo.
“I miss it.” Gerard paused. “Y-you...” Frank looked up, eyeliner smudged and scruffy around his big eyes, fringe plastered to his face.
“I what?”
“You're...looking good,” Gerard smiled hopelessly, long eyelashes flickering unintentionally. Frank snorted.
“Yeah, well, everyone finds me attractive. They just deny it, mostly. I'm glad you're seeing sense.” It was dismissive, disappointing, withdrawn...overly defensive, hiding something. That much was clear. But Frank patted Gerard on the back and trudged out into the puddles on the sidewalk, so he figured everything was fine.
“Now, I'm going to have a drink because I want one and I think that's a pretty damn valid reason. Are you coming with, or are you gonna chicken out and go drink a decaf coffee with Catcher In The Rye on your lap or something?” Frank smirked.
“W-well I do actually really like that book, but I should probably go home...” it was evident in his voice how little he actually wanted to do that, and Frank noticed.
“No, you should stay with me.” he confirmed, tugging absent-mindedly at the black stretcher in his ear. “I can't drink alone. It'll be a fucking social scandal.” he informed Gerard knowledgeably, tapping his nose.
“Yeah, whatever, but I can't have much, I have....places to be.” he huddled along in the rain, worries tugging at his brain and nibbling away at his conscience. I shouldn't be doing this. I have to call my mum tonight, and if I'm drunk, or my fiancée's upset...I haven't drunk in years, I can't do this. She'll go crazy. I'll have to explain where I was, with Frank Motherfucking Iero...she won't be happy that I'm with him...bad influence, responsi-fucking-bilities.
“Fuck that shit.” he murmured, aloud.
“That's the spirit!” Frank grinned, having no clue what Gerard was talking about, but egging him along anyway. Meanwhile, Gerard tried valiantly to console himself:
“I'm thirsty, I have nothing else to do, and-”
“-and I'm hot.” Frank finished, blowing air into the rain slowly, deliberately, daring Gerard to disagree. He simply bit his lip, shook his head pityingly, but not denyingly, and headed into the dark bar with the amazingly attractive idiot by his side.

~possible lack of proofreading D:
I love you all for R&Ring. So much. ~grins~ I'm sorry I can't update sooner, it's nearly the end of school though, so in 6 weeks holiday I should be able to do quite a bit :) (unless I don't have internet for, which may be a small problem) :(