FicWad

“Get out! Get out, now!” the shrill voice of his fiancée and the wrapping of her knuckles on the thin wooden door were driving Gerard insane.
“No, fuck off.” he muttered. He considered keeping his swearing to a minimum, trying to offend her as little as possible, but there was no chance of rescuing the situation. None at all. He was curled up as far away from the door as possible, glaring at it through his streaming tears and staying slumped against the wall. He hardly even knew why he was crying anymore; his senses were numbed beyond belief, but he just couldn't stop.
“I will not 'fuck off.'” her breathing was sharp, and she sounded like she was almost hyperventilating. “Just get out, I need to make sure that you're...”
“That I'm what?” he spat. “Okay? Alive? Well I'm fine, just fuck off!” he raised his voice, wiping his eyes and going over to the mirror. He looked angry, eyes swelled up and face wet with tears...disgusting. “Y-you don't want to see me anyway. I look stupid.” he muttered.
“What? I don't care if you look stupid, I don't care...let me in!”
Sinking to the floor again, Gerard's tears began to pour freshly. She hadn't denied that he'd look stupid, hadn't claimed he always looked good...just said that she didn't care. Nobody cared.
“I'm not coming out. Just go away. You'll be late for work.” he choked on his words, desperate sniffs punctuating the end of each word. He practically heard her eyeballs rolling in their sockets as her frustration at him greatened.
“I know I will. I'll be late if I leave now, but..” she trailed off.
“Just leave me alone!” he yelled suddenly, and heard her sharp intake of breath. “I'm not coming out, you're wasting your fucking time, just leave me!”
“You won't do anything stupid?”
“No.” he lied. “I won't.”
Uncertain but content, she sighed and he listened carefully, trying to control his breathing as she grabbed her coat and bag and trotted downstairs. He opened the door slightly and heard her slide into her shoes, clip-clop along the hall...scrape back her thick hair once more in the mirror, and step outside. He heard the door slam, the crunch of gravel, and then ran to the window to watch the car slink out of view. He was definitely alone. At last.
His breathing was still uneven but it began to steady as he peeled off his jeans, exchanging them for a pair of baggy, shapeless pyjama trousers. He yanked off his Iron Maiden shirt, not bothering to pull another one on, and stumbled downstairs rubbing his swollen eyes. Doing his best to ignore the worries and horrors pushing down on his brain, he collapsed on to the sofa with a sigh. He wasn't hungry, couldn't eat, wouldn't eat. There would probably be nothing edible in the house anyway, just fucking rye bread and bits of leaf.
Gerard watched film after film, eyes flickering closed occasionally as he drifted into uncomfortable slumber and then shook himself awake. Eventually he heard his girlfriend drive up, and tiptoe cautiously upstairs. He hid himself pathetically under cushions and blanket piles by way of defence, and when she came into the kitchen she saw him lying there across the room; she edged over quietly, assuming that he was asleep. He wasn't, and he shuddered slightly as she ran her hardened fingers, sharp, polished nails across his cheek. So she'd forgiven him. Gerard could practically feel her pity and sorrow for him pouring out of her; I don't want your pity, you fucking witch. Get away from me. But he said nothing, just lay there, breathing in and out slowly so as to not give himself away. Minutes later she made herself a coffee and some salad based dinner, and took it upstairs with her. She didn't come back down and it'd been dark outside for a while, and eventually Gerard fell into a deep sleep; images of the nightmare that was Frank and the darkness that was his girlfriend swimming in his brain. Even in his sleep, they tortured him. He felt like he would never get away.

-

The cold touch of skin on skin woke Gerard from his restless sleep; as his eyes blinked he saw the chiselled face of his girlfriend and the sun high in the sky through the open windows. Ew, fresh air. He almost made himself giggle slightly, until everything that had happened came back to him...he stretched out, yawning, and his girlfriend smiled tentatively.
“Gerard? I made you breakfast.” she signalled to the kitchen table across the open-plan room, where a plate was placed with beans, bacon, sausage, tomato, fried bread...wow.
“I...oh, um, thanks.” he smiled back slightly, sitting up and trying to flatten his hair. His thoughts were full of confusion; why was she being so nice? Where did she even get all this food?
“I went shopping this morning, it's like, eleven o'clock. You've been asleep for ages.”
“Yeah, I guess I was...pretty, um, you know.”
He didn't know, she didn't know. He hadn't been tired, he'd just felt flattened from the weight of everything. Drifting into an unconscious state was his only escape.
“Yeah. Well, I'm working earlier today, Laura's shift ends early so I'll be in by half past...call me later, okay? I want to make sure that you're alright.”
She stood up, straightening her skirt and pristine hair. She looked perfect, too perfect.
“Cool. That's nice.” Gerard didn't know what to say; he was hardly listening, but last night he'd been silly, biased, ridiculous. Thinking that he didn't want anything to do with her had been a crazy thought; he needed her, he relied on her, how would he possibly survive in this city without her? But he didn't love her anymore...that's how it seemed, anyway. He decided to keep her sweet this morning; there was no point in starting another argument where there didn't need to be one. Besides, she'd probably corner him later in the evening, and he wanted to avoid that for as long as possible...
“Mhmm, yep, well, enjoy your lunch. I've gotta set off.” She leant forward once more and kissed him, on the lips, unexpectedly...he kissed back at the last second. She was dry, empty, passionless. Conventional.
She stalked across the room, a perfectionist at walking in heels, and he heard her leave the house again. Just like yesterday. With her, everything was the same...
Hours passed slowly as Gerard flicked through his neglected comic collection that he'd pulled out from the back of his wardrobe; he showered but didn't feel at all motivated to get dressed, so he simply pulled back on his baggy pyjama trousers, ignoring the need for a shirt, and wandered around the house listlessly. A typical Sunday...like when he was a teenager, maybe.
At about two o'clock he was hungry again, and he wanted something just as substantial. He hadn't cleared away the remnants of his breakfast; the negative feelings toward his girlfriend were creeping back, slowly but surely. So what if he 'needed' her? I can get along without her...I have to prove that to myself. I'm my own person.
He picked up the phone again, this time calling the Indian a few minutes away. Mmm, fatty rubbish. He wanted something that would make him bloated, incapable of activity, so that he could drown in his own sorrows in front of the TV as the enormity of his situation dropped itself on him. She was acting like everything was fine again, but...he knew otherwise.
Slamming the phone down again once he'd ordered, he ambled to the fridge and swung it open, searching it for something worth eating. There was nothing, as usual, despite the shop she'd supposedly been on earlier that day...he shut it, sighing, breath catching, and decided he'd check again in a few minutes. You know, just in case.
He slopped down on the sofa and buried his face in the cushions, tears of frustration forcing themselves out of him unexpectedly. He pushed them back, engulfed by the hatred for himself and the love of self-destruction that he'd felt so strongly only hours ago...
The doorbell rang, clear and loud, piercing his dark thoughts. That couldn't be the delivery already, could it?
He rolled his eyes at having to get up again and dragged himself to the door. Stupid fucking early delivery man could deal with his sweaty shirtless being. He deserved as much.
He swung it open and kept his eyes to the floor, expecting to hear 'Indian takeaway, did you order...”
It didn't come, so he forced his eyes upwards to the messy hair and the big innocent eyes and carved features. It was Frank.
He suddenly felt incredibly self conscious and hugged himself instinctively, as if shielding from the cold. In his mind he looked at himself from Frank's point of view...he looked disgusting, messed up, troubled, someone you'd cross over the street to avoid. At least he'd washed his hair, but he hadn't exactly done anything to keep it in check...
“Can I come in?” Frank asked finally, raising his eyebrows and stepping into the threshold anyway. “Y-yeah,” Gerard said, unsure of what he was doing. He backed up and headed into the kitchen, almost tripping on his own feet. His socks were still odd.
“Nice socks.” Frank commented, looking as though he was about to break out into a little grin, but Gerard didn't reply.
“I thought you were the takeaway man.” he said sheepishly, as if that was an explanation to his shirtlessness and messy appearance.
“And you decided to gift him with the appearance of your nipples?”
Gerard giggled properly, for the first time since he was drunk. “Yeah, I mean, they're just so great.” he paused. “I'll go put a shirt on so you don't have to torture yourself looking at me.”
“No, it's fine,” Frank smirked, “it's not torture.” Gerard felt himself going red, his cheeks burning. “I mean, it's torture in the sense that I'll probably have to look, and not touch...” Frank trailed off, hungry eyes lingering at the base of Gerard's stomach. He stepped forwards tentatively and ran a hand fleetingly across his chest, tracing up to his neck and finally relaxing on his cheek...Gerard hoped with everything he had that Frank hadn't felt his heart beating so fast it could've been trying to escape. They stood silently, each pair of eyes fluttering over each nervous face, Gerard's mind racing with terrified thoughts, horrified at himself, disgusted that he hadn't stepped back...
“What are you doing?” he whispered. It was all he could force out of himself, the only response he could muster.
“Shut up.” Frank whispered back. It wasn't exactly rude, but it was an order, so Gerard silenced and tried to control his suddenly uneven breathing.
“Calm down, it's okay.” Frank smiled. A kind smile, portraying honest concern, something Gerard thought would never be present in someone like fucking Frank Iero. Was this actually happening? Or was it just Gerard's tendency to over-analyse, to let his imagination run wild...he hadn't done that in a while. It was likely that he was just making this up in his head...
Then Frank kissed him, and he knew it was real. How could the warm crush of his lips, the soft feeling of his tongue possibly be imaginary? One cool rub of his lip ring and Gerard's fantasies were filled...that wet tongue was pushing into his mouth, and it was urgent, almost desperate. Frank's hand moved down to Gerard's neck and pulled him closer; he moaned involuntarily and moved forward instinctively, placing his hands on the small of Frank's back and pulling him forward too. Shuddering slightly at the contact, Gerard suddenly began to panic and he pushed Frank away, disentangling himself reluctantly, leaving his flushed lips til last.
“I can't, I...” the doorbell rang again, interrupting the lust-filled moment like a gunshot.
“I'll answer it.” Frank said, rolling his eyes and pretending that nothing had just happened. He sauntered to the door, Gerard watching him, mesmerised.
Snap. Pull yourself together, Gerard.
“I'll...I'll pay for it...” he followed him into the corridor hurriedly, but Frank stood there with the warm plastic bag that was dripping with appetizing smells as the crunch of the delivery man's feet grew more distant. Frank stood as though he'd just been caught doing something he wasn't supposed to. Not exactly guilty, but...as if he'd been caught in the act of doing something good, that was unexpected of him.
Unlikely, Gerard thought automatically.
“I already paid.” he said, stationary. His fingers uncurled around the straining plastic and he let it fall, staring at Gerard again. He stared back, about to tell Frank that he'd dropped it, and then...
He took a step forward confidently, and Frank greeted him with open arms. Arms that wrapped themselves around him, encasing him, protecting him from the darkness and the world outside, from all the worries and the fears and problems that he felt tearing away at him constantly. Every hour. Every minute, every second. Every single moment of his life was punctuating with thoughts that nagged away at him relentlessly.
Until now.
They tugged eachother closer, Frank's now slightly sweaty hands rubbing up Gerard's sides and searching his chest desperately. Gerard reacted faster this time, pulling at the base of Frank's shirt and then running his hands up over the thin cloth, feeling Frank's muscular body beneath it and craving it.
The fact that he'd sworn that he wasn't gay, that he wasn't attracted to men, was irrelevant. Well Frank was pretty feminine, right? He was the only exception to the 'I'm straight' rule that Gerard lived by.
As his hands reached Frank's neck he started tugging on his shirt again, muttering distractedly into the kiss.
“I want...” he said, taking a breath each time, “this off.”
Frank grinned and pulled away for a split second, sliding out of his shirt with expert speed. Gerard stared, amazed. “Tattoos...” he whispered.
“You like them? I know you said they were disgusting, but I obviously didn't believe you, so.”
Still staring, Gerard lifted a hand and touched Frank's decorated chest, as if it were incredibly fragile. “They're amazing.” he said, forgetting himself. He'd regret it later, but...
“Really?” Frank said softly.
“Really, like...I'd so get them, if I could.” he said, still hypnotized by the dark ink.
“Why can't you?” Frank cocked his head to the side, brow furrowing.
“Well I just...I'm fucking terrified of needles...” Gerard looked away, embarrassed again. Fuck, he's so easily ashamed, Frank thought.
He giggled slightly, just because he had to. He had a reputation to uphold, okay? Frank Iero is hardcore. That's that.
But then he softened up again, letting his genuine concern shine through.
“D-don't be embarrassed.” he smiled. “Like, it's a bit fucking silly that you're working at a tattoo parlor and you're scared of needles but dude, I ain't gonna make you leave.” he smiled, and Gerard smiled back and pulled him closer again, pressing his body against Frank's.
“Mmm,” he closed his eyes and inhaled the scent...cigarettes, the sweetness of his shampoo.
“I like your shampoo.” he mused, half-giggling. It was like they were already in love, the way they were talking...
“Shh.” Frank said, pushing a finger to Gerard's lips. It was less commanding this time, but Gerard hadn't really minded that, in all honesty...it had kind of turned him on.
“Come on.” Gerard pushed him away again reluctantly. “We're still in the hallway.”
“No,” Frank shook his head, smiling, “not wasting valuable kissing time.” he latched himself on to Gerard again, feeling his eyelashes flutter on Gerard's, and stumbled forwards to give Gerard the idea. The pace sped up as their lips massaged eachothers, warm and wet and perfect, and their hands roamed everywhere, even occasionally to the waistband of eachother's trousers. Frank pushed Gerard against the wall and they stumbled out of the dimly lit hallway into the brighter kitchen, still kissing intensely all the way to the cold sofa. Frank was in control suddenly – he kissed more aggressively and pushed Gerard down, his instinct taking over as well as his harsh, patronizing, fake personality traits.
“Down.” he breathed, and Gerard collapsed into the piles of cushions and the sticky leather, eyes wide and full of lust, devouring the body before him. Without thinking he grabbed Frank by the shoulders and pulled him down again; Frank shifted so that he was lying on top of Gerard and he kept his eyes wide too. “Fuck,” he muttered, pushing down into Gerard's lap and letting his eyes slip shut and his tongue slide out.
“Come here.” Gerard stammered, words almost incomprehensible, but Frank understood. His leant down and his lips touched Gerard's again; the touch was intense, hungry, almost electrifying. Gerard was really, really turned on; he felt himself hard and as Frank brushed against him, he realised with a jolt that he was too.
Impulsively Gerard bucked up his hips and when Frank didn't move, their throbbing crotches rubbed through Frank's tight jeans and Gerard's loose trackies. They gave him a lot of freedom, it was almost as if he wasn't wearing them at all...
He'd forgotten about the discarded Indian meal in the hallway, about the fact that he was engaged to his girlfriend and what time she was getting home, about how he wasn't gonna fuck this guy and he hadn't even wanted to kiss him again in the first place. As his body ground up to Frank's of it's own accord and he found himself getting ridiculously close with barely any contact, he really didn't care...the heavy breathing and the warmth and the stickiness of eachother's bodies and how much of his skin was pressing on to Frank's...fuck, he opened his eyes, Frank's face when he was horny. Shit, the sexiest thing in the world...he slammed them shut again, breathing even more heavily in desperation and he felt Frank's fingers crawl down and touch his hard, desperate cock through his thin trousers...
Then, the phone rang again.
“Fuck, no, no no no no no.” Gerard moaned, and Frank smirked.
“You're fucking sexy when you're complaining.” he pulled away and lifted himself off, and Gerard let his arms drop, one dangling alone off of the sofa.
“You should probably get the phone, then?” Frank sat up, ignoring the passion that had filled the air seconds ago. Gerard kicked himself mentally for letting the phone ring...it was so his fault. Frank passed the phone to him, still smirking slightly, jeans still nearly bursting from desire and not bothering to conceal it. Sighing, Gerard pulled the phone to his ear.
“Darling?” it was his fiancée, panicky, high-pitched. Had she told him to call? Oops...
“H-hey?” he coughed, not knowing what to say. Frank had heard the panicked element of her voice and had clocked the situation immediately.
“So you're still there? That's good.” she breathed. Brushing himself off and straightening his clothes, Frank stood up and looked down and the shirtless Gerard.
“Yeah, I'm here, I'm fine...” he muttered, not really paying attention. Watching Frank. Don't leave, he mouthed...Frank pulled his shirt on, smirking constantly.
“Well what have you been doing? You're alright? You're not being silly?” she almost shrieked down the phone and Frank stumbled out of the room, pulling his jeans up on the way. No...
“N-nothing, watching TV, no, I'm fine!” Gerard insisted, sounding slightly desperate. He stood up and walked quickly out to Frank, who was kicking his shoes on in the doorway. He looked up at Gerard and winked, as he did the last shoe up...
“Well, just make sure it stays that way, okay? I don't want you to get caught up in that Iero man's silly plans...you're alone, right?” the door swung open and Frank put one foot outside, grinning mischievously.
“No, I won't, I swear, I'm gonna go though, I need to...” he was completely outside and he started walking towards his car, gravel crunching, not looking back...
“Okay then, just, just look after yourself, alright? I haven't forgiven you yet, but...” Frank had unlocked his car and was climbing in, as Gerard watched his ass distractedly.
“Yeah, I will, just go, work, it's fine!” he almost shouted. He just wanted to hang up, put the phone down, call after Frank...but he couldn't let her know someone else was there...
He ran out onto the gravel, not caring if she heard and wondered why he was outside...waving his arms at Frank, he couldn't just leave like this...idiot.
“Um, okay honey.” she sounded concerned again. Frank was backing up, reversing, leaving the drive, that annoying little smirk still playing on his face.
“Bye!” he shouted desperately and pressed the little red button that had been tempting him, taunting him the whole time. Dropping the phone carelessly he half-ran, half-stumbled to the end of the drive and watched Frank speed away, laughing to himself.
Then it hit him what he'd done. He'd just spend about half an hour making out with, kissing, turning on another man. When he was engaged. Oh, the fucking guilt...he wasn't even gay...
He trudged back inside and picked up his now lukewarm Indian, setting it down on the table and collapsing against the wall with a pained expression on his empty face. But despite the feelings and the horror pressing down on him, he couldn't help remembering the problem in his trousers that he really needed to fix...

-

Woah woah woah you guys, sorry it's been so long. I'm on holiday now and will be for the next week, so hopefully I'll get a lot done then, but the internet connection is risky and my aunty keeps making me get off the laptop and go outside. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the chapter...next one should be much sooner!

Thanks for all the reviews. I LOVE YOU! xoxo