Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > First of the Gang to Die
Hey guys, just a quick shout out to KilljoyLiv who made the most fucking awesome art for the wedding chapter. Well done, girl, you absolutely fucking rock. You should put that on your profile or something, Jesus, girl, that’s amazing.
I can’t send the link because she sent it via email so it’s up to her to post it if she wants. But that was fucking awesome. I sent it to Jen and Kath and they both fangirled over it as well. Props to you.
Will try to update on Saturday night.
-Jane
Hoping the last chapter was okay, so here’s the guy’s version. You will need to have a bit of a musical education here, I’m afraid, or else you’ll just think I’m weird.
I’m sorry but I made Marilyn Manson act like a complete dick here. If you are a fan of him, please don’t be like “oh my god you horrible person i hope you burn in HELL”
Okay that’s a bit strong but if you are a huge fan of his, I’m sorry. This is all fiction, and of course it never happened, but this is my fiction. I shall do what I like with it.
So this chapter is very very very very random and I apologize if you don’t like it. It won’t make a lot of sense right now, but in the future it will tie together.Hopefully you will see the title name-which I got from Lady Gaga-is not to do with the actual game per se, I kinda meant it to be metaphorical...
You are making absolutely no damn sense, Lornaigh.
Next chapter will be very heartfelt/touchy feely. Yeah, I know, I will definitely suck at writing that.
Love you guys-
L.N.I.
First of the Gang to Die
Trentotto
Poker Face
“So...these people are other Don’s?”Frank asked nervously after Gerard had returned from his debriefing with Kat. “They’re in other gangs?”
“Yes and no,” the man with the glass of whiskey replied. “They are leaders of other gangs of criminals involved in violence and vendetta. Not necessarily the Mafia.”
“Is there a difference?”
“Of course. You could be partaking in the participation in a street gang or a drugs syndicate, but not in the Mafia, or the Cosa Nostra.”
“What’s that?”He was surprised there were so many ins and outs of the party, how complicated, complex, formal it was. It seemed almost legal. “The cosa something?”
“Just another word for the Mafia,” Gerard shrugged. “The men here tonight are not involved in any Italian-American warfare, like I am. They are just heads of their own particular ruling organization.”
“Do they talk like you?”
“What do you mean? My vocabulary?”
“No...the way you talk. You speak differently to everyone else. All slowly and deep. Your accent or something.”
“Oh.” He smiled. “You don’t know?”
“What?”
“I’m not from California, sweetheart. I’m from New Jersey.”
in case ya don't know I am making Frank come from CA in this story
Frank was momentarily puzzled. You think you would have mentioned not being from the state.
“So are you are English.”
Gerard started laughing and nearly toppled Frank off of him as he chortled. Then he regained composure and returned to Frank.
“New Jersey is a state on the east coast of the United States. It was named after a small British colonial island off the coast of France like all thirteen states were when America was colonized by Britain. Y’know, New York, New Hampshire, et cetera et cetera.” He smiled grimly. “Most Italian-American gangs are in either New York or New Jersey.”
“Where are you from there?”
“A place called Newark.”
FYI,I have nothing against NJ.I have been there several times and it's great,such a laugh.But it's just that a lot of people whom I know from New Jersey really think it's so dirty and stuff.But I guess it's like that with people who come from your own area.
“Is it nice?” Frank regarded Gerard with an odd fascination. He was an outsider; foreign to Los Angeles. Iero had never left the state.
“Nice?” Another chuckle. “No.”
“Is it like, fancy? Posh?It must be if you’re from there.”
Gerard nearly bust his rib on that one. Newark? And fancy? In the same sentence?
“It is certainly not upper class, no.” Way was very amused from his lover’s ignorance on the subject. “I moved to California when I was six.”
“Do you go back there?”
“Yes, every summer.” He seemed to be a little ashamed of his hometown, too quiet for him generally. “Would you like to come?”
“Yes!” Frank said excitedly. “I can’t wait.”
“You’ve never been there before, have you?”
“No.”
“Yeah.” The grin. “Figures.”
Frank frowned. “Don’t you like it?”
The older man shrugged and let his hands fall into the boy’s lap, which distracted him momentarily. Gerard knew this, and smiled vindictively.
“You won’t like it,” Gerard warned. “It’s grimey and dangerous and not nearly as sunny as here. And everyone talks weirdly.”
“I love the way you talk,” the boy said quickly, “it sounds so cool.”
The gangster cracked a larger, lop-sided beam and squeezed his lover’s leg.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, pulling him forward so that their mouths met. “You’re very kind.”
“Like when you say my name,” the kid continued, nearly bouncing with excitement, “you say it like Fraaaaaaank. Like there’s nine a’s or something.”
That is true about Americans.You do elongate vowels.
(Oh,really,now the Irish chick is giving us vocabulary lessons?Great.)
“I’m glad you find it so amusing, Frank,” he replied, enjoying the situation immensely. “I wasn’t aware it was so comical.”
“Or once you said your own name,” Iero continued, giggling insanely, falling against the larger’s chest. “And it was awesome.”
“Way?”
“Nooooo,” Frank whined, facing him again. “Your first name.”
He pretended to not know.
“Uh...Mister Way?”
“I’ll punch you.”
“Oh, that name. Gerard.”
Frank cackled to himself and buried his head in the gangster’s shirt, who was also laughing at him.
“Are you drunk?”
“No,” he answered automatically, “I’m just happy I get to go with you to New Jersey.”
“It’s not that great.”
Frank continued to giggle as Gerard poured another drink for himself. They were in the basement-still an unbelievably fancy and morbid affair, because, of course, this is Gerard Way we’re talking about. One long table ran through the room, flanked on each side by four chairs, thus making up eight seats. There was a bar, full of drinks and clinking glasses that the gangster filled up on regularly. A pack of playing cards and poker chips lay on the table.
“Would you like something?” He shook the whiskey bottle.
“No,” Frank answered, “it makes my head hurt.”
The older laughed and set the glass down. “So cute.”
“I’m cute...because I don’t drink?”
“Amongst other reasons, of course.”
The boy was about to ask what was the expected time of arrival of the guests, but just as he opened his mouth a small man as walking down the stairs into the basement, followed by what looked to be a transvestite.
You are about to read about a few of my favourite men in the music industry. Apart from one whom I do not like, but you are perfectly entitled to. I don’t hate him because of the shit that went down between him and MCR, but because I don’t like his music and I think he kinda degrades women and such. Whatever, Lornaigh, no one cares about your petty problems-L.N.I.
He was short, anyway, for a starter, only a few inches taller than the boy himself, and he indulged in this greatly. At least he wouldn’t be the smallest one here, thank God. He had messy, matted black hair and tattoos running up his arms-still dressed so absurdly formally. Black shirt, tie; but he did wear black, tight denim that clung and squeezed his legs so badly that Frank didn’t know where to look.
I’m sorry if you like Marilyn Manson, but I don’t and this is my story, so I’m going to be as mean as I like. Like, descriptively.
The taller, even taller than Gerard, followed, a surly, wide smirk on his lips. The boy let out a small squeak of terror when he got the full view of him; the mis-matched eyes, which, unlike Gerard’s, were neither beautiful nor even natural. His black hair was slicked back in a do that spoke of sleaze and vulgarity, and he was more dressed up than anyone else-he wore a full tuxedo, complete with a cigar in his clutch and paler make up than a ghost.
Frank heard a disapproving growl erupt deep from Gerard’s chest. The bearer of the noise quickly grabbed his hand so tightly circulation was cut off.
“Gee-that hurts-“
“Oh, baby, I’m sorry, “he muttered back, releasing it and instead swathing his hand around Frank’s waist. He painted on a smile as the short man came forward.
“S’up my man!” He greeted warmly, tugging Gerard into a hug. Iero’s jaw nearly touched the floor. He never saw anyone act like this around his husband. They simply weren’t allowed. “Haven’t seen you in fuck ever, Way,y’know. Fuckin married and everything now, Jesus.”
“So eloquently put, Billie, “Gerard replied quietly, patting him on the back before withdrawing. “This is my husband, Frank. Frank; this is Billie Joe Armstong-“
Yes I am actually doing this.So far it's only BJA,Manson and Molko,but I hope to involve a few more people as the story goes on.
-“he is leader of a Berkeley branch of drug traffickers. He is as nice as he sounds.”
“Really, Gerard fucking Way is gonna call me a bad person now? That’s harsh, y’know.” He put his hand forward and Fran shook it, smiling. “Nice to meet ya, Frankie.I’m in charge of this group called Sweet Children.”
If you are a Green Day fan I expect you to know the relevancy of that
“You mighta heard of it.”
“Yeah, I have, “Frank answered. “There’s spray painting all over the city about them.”
“We’re pretty widespread, y’know. Unlike Gerard here, I want my gang to be fuckin known, y’know?”
The tall man made his way to the three others, still grinning.
Now, having been married to him for little over three months and involved for over six, Frank had spotted something rather peculiar about his husband when he got especially angry-he stopped speaking like an upper class politician and spoke like the rest of them, spitting and swearing. He figured that he had been brought up like that, in the rough, since Mancini had pointed out that his father had spoken ‘normally’. Gerard must have taught himself how to speak so in such sophistication.
“I’ll have a martini, Way. Shaken, not stirred.”
“I ain’t no fucking waiter. Get your goddamn drink yourself.”
This was one of those times. He must really hate this guy, Frank thought.
“Not very welcoming, are we? I was under the impression you had an air of class about you.” He spoke with more arrogance than Way did; like he knew he was irritating people. “Obviously I was wrong.”
Gerard said nothing, but simply rolled his eyes.
“This is your husband, I presume?” Gerard’s skin literally crawled as the man with the crazy eyes licked his lips. “My, my, he is gorgeous.”
“He is,” Gerard confirmed sharply. “I’m extremely lucky.”
“I’ll drink to that,” he said, swiping a glass-Way’s glass-off of the table and downing it. Armstrong looked very awkward. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”
“Frank; Brian Warner. Notorious pimp and murderer in Ohio. Warner.” He shrugged. “This is my husband, Frank.”
“Hello,” Frank said politely, extending his hand, only to receive that smirk in return, Warner’s eyes hazy and unfocused. Then the tall man stepped forward and clasped the boy’s hand in both of his, grinning widely.
“Such soft skin,” he remarked, deaf to the audible clicking of Way’s jaw. “How old are you, my pet?”
Gerard took no hesitation in smacking him sharply across the face, so forceful that he was thrown away from Iero’s grasp. Way grabbed the small man’s hand again and tugged him closer.
“He is not anything of yours,” the Italian snarled, “you do not call him that. Ever.”
“A bit overly protective, aren’t we?” His eyes shot back to Frank again. Well, one of them did. The other simply lazed about in his eye socket. He smirked at the boy with all of his teeth, which were, to the horror of Frank, coated in metal dentistry work. It looked painful, awkward, and mostly, ridiculous. “Surely you must find that irritating?”
“No,” he replied, trying to make his voice sound husky and low. It didn’t work, and his nervous squeak as prominent as ever. “I don’t mind at all.”
Luckily, Bob and Ray descended the stairs at the moment and made their way over to the four.
“Hullo,” Ray greeted, obviously trying to lighten the mood. “Nice to see you again, sirs.”
Armstrong began to chatter excitedly to the two henchmen, but Warner simply swayed on his feet and pointed a finger at Robert.
“You there, Blondie, get me a drink will you?” The blue eye flickered. “Some people seem to think they are too good to serve their guests.”
Gerard scoffed and rolled his eyes, still holding Frank’s hand like there was no freaking tomorrow. Eventually, when his liquid refreshment had been brought to him, he swaggered away and began to chat to some other Way gang members at the poker table. The main man, meanwhile, was clutching a bottle of Jack Daniels so hard it looked like it would give any minute now.
“Gerard?” Frank asked meekly, stretching up on his toes to whisper in his ear. “Are you mad at me?”
“Of course I’m not mad at you,” the taller man soothed, but his voice was still harsh. “I’m just mad that cunt is gonna be here for the five hours, mocking me and coming onto you.”
Frank positioned himself so that while Way was leaning against the bar counter, he was in betwixt his spread legs, hands placed on the gangster’s chest, a small, reassuring ,fucking adorable as hell smile on his face. The older man found it hard to be so badass and hateful when a ball of cuteness was beaming up at him.
“Sweetie, why do you do this to me?” He sighed, chuckling in spite of himself, so that the boy knew it was working. “How did you end up being this lovable?”
“Dunno,” he replied cheerfully, leaning up to kiss him on the mouth, pouting and parting his lips against the other’s. “I just don’t like seeing you angry.”
“Baby, I’m kinda angry all of the time.”
“Not around me. And I know what makes you happy again.”
“You?”
He nodded and kissed him again, with a little more passion and force than he had last time around. Gerard laughed into his mouth as Frank felt his hands knit together on the small of his back.
“He’s looking, he’s looking, do something quick,” Gerard instructed in a frenzied, amused manner. Frank twisted his fingers in the raven hair and let out an audible shaky moan that suggested he was in the middle of eating an Oreo.
Yeah. You thought I was gonna be like “like he was having the biggest orgasm known to man” and then BAM. Lornaigh keeps you readers on yo goddamn toes.
Okay seriously I am so fucked in the head like
Billie turned around, like the other ten people in the room, and smiled.
“You alright there?”
“Yeah, course,” Gerard shrugged, slipping his hand into Frank’s back pocket. “What would give you the impression we’re not alright?”
“Well...you’re kinda...y’know...eating his face off there....”
“No I’m not,” he replied, pushing the boy gently away, wiping his mouth on his shirt. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“But I-“
if you thought I couldn't do the stereotypical gay guy,prepare to be blown
“HELLO!” A man about as short as Frank came into the surroundings. “Where are all my fabulous people at tonight?!”
“Oh Christ,” Gerard muttered, grabbing a bottle of vodka, “I need to get drunk.”
The man sauntered up to both of them, and eagerly hugged Gerard around the middle. He coughed and smiled.
“Brian. How nice-“
“Oh my God!” He shrieked, nearly deafening everyone in the room. “This must be your husband! It’s so nice to meet you! Gerard gossips about you like a teenage girl!Oh my God, what’s your name? Frank, isn’t it? Can I call you Frankie? Yeah, I like that better, bit more personal, y’know, so-oh my God, is that your engagement ring? It’s so cute, I wish-“
oh yeah
“Frank,” Gerard said pointedly. “This is Brian Molko. He is-“
“Gorgeous? I know, right?” He cackled. “Oh,I am just so bad. No, but seriously though, Chris sent me photos of the wedding and you both looked so handsome! I notice you’ve put on a little bit of weight, eh, Gerard?” He elbowed him and continued to giggle to himself. “Looks like I’ll have to pass on my dieting secrets, y’know, how to keep my feminine figure.”
“Hi,” the boy said, offering his hand, which Molko tugged on and hugged him so tightly that his rib cage felt like it was collapsing.
“Oh, they grow up so fast!” Brian declared a tear in his eyes. “I remember just yesterday Gerard was some new rookie who could barely hold a gun and now-married and a Don of LA’s most dangerous group of criminals.” He paused and reflected like a proud mother,and released Frank, who was coughing and spluttering.
Everyone had remained silent during Brian’s little introduction. It was hard to believe someone could actually be so stereotypically homosexual.
“Anyway, as Gerard told you, I’m Brian. I run this little shindig back in London.”
“Is is the Mafia?” Frank asked, glad he was able to make some sort of conversation.
“Mafia?!Hell to the no, boy. I don’t have the stomach your man does.” Gerard buried his face in his hands.
“Ooooh, that must mean you have like the best sex life ever, right? I mean-“
“THANK YOU, BRIAN, “Gerard nearly screamed, “that will be enough for one evening.”
“Let’s start this, shall we?” Ray offered. “Brian? You wanna drink?”
“Oh, no thank you, Ray, you know how much fat is in booze? I’m trying to slim down, y’see, but I-“
“Okay then,” Gerard interrupted, hitching up his trousers and sitting down at the head of the table. Frank started to fret as he noticed that the only chair available was the one on the right side of Warner-the man smirked and simpered.
“You can sit next to me if you want,” he purred. “You don’t have to let him control your every move.”
Gerard had always prided himself on his maturity, his fairness-he hardly ever got jealous or some other lowly, childish feeling. But now what he was feeling was deep, dark envy-he realized how naturally polite and naive Frank was, and how he was apt to accepting requests just to be kind. He wanted Frank to sit with him, and he mentally begged the boy to choose him.
That’s why his heart started to split the minute Frank walked past him and down to the direction of the empty seat. He felt utterly betrayed. Hurt. Distraught. He never felt this way about Evan, whom had admittedly been an attention seeker, loud and irritating. But with Frank; it was different. He felt like he needed him. He also felt stupid and girly-emotions are for the weak. But now he could feel his throat closing up. From his previous relationship he had been left scarred and paranoid, and now his mind was going crazy.
But the boy walked straight past the seat and carried on walking around the table and stopped at Gerard’s seat, lightly pushing the gangster’s chest back so that he could make himself comfortable in his lap.
He grinned. He was surprised he wasn’t emitting a glow of radiance from his glee.
Way wrapped one arm around the smaller’s waist and picked up the pack of cards with the free hand.
“My deal?”
I can’t send the link because she sent it via email so it’s up to her to post it if she wants. But that was fucking awesome. I sent it to Jen and Kath and they both fangirled over it as well. Props to you.
Will try to update on Saturday night.
-Jane
Hoping the last chapter was okay, so here’s the guy’s version. You will need to have a bit of a musical education here, I’m afraid, or else you’ll just think I’m weird.
I’m sorry but I made Marilyn Manson act like a complete dick here. If you are a fan of him, please don’t be like “oh my god you horrible person i hope you burn in HELL”
Okay that’s a bit strong but if you are a huge fan of his, I’m sorry. This is all fiction, and of course it never happened, but this is my fiction. I shall do what I like with it.
So this chapter is very very very very random and I apologize if you don’t like it. It won’t make a lot of sense right now, but in the future it will tie together.Hopefully you will see the title name-which I got from Lady Gaga-is not to do with the actual game per se, I kinda meant it to be metaphorical...
You are making absolutely no damn sense, Lornaigh.
Next chapter will be very heartfelt/touchy feely. Yeah, I know, I will definitely suck at writing that.
Love you guys-
L.N.I.
First of the Gang to Die
Trentotto
Poker Face
“So...these people are other Don’s?”Frank asked nervously after Gerard had returned from his debriefing with Kat. “They’re in other gangs?”
“Yes and no,” the man with the glass of whiskey replied. “They are leaders of other gangs of criminals involved in violence and vendetta. Not necessarily the Mafia.”
“Is there a difference?”
“Of course. You could be partaking in the participation in a street gang or a drugs syndicate, but not in the Mafia, or the Cosa Nostra.”
“What’s that?”He was surprised there were so many ins and outs of the party, how complicated, complex, formal it was. It seemed almost legal. “The cosa something?”
“Just another word for the Mafia,” Gerard shrugged. “The men here tonight are not involved in any Italian-American warfare, like I am. They are just heads of their own particular ruling organization.”
“Do they talk like you?”
“What do you mean? My vocabulary?”
“No...the way you talk. You speak differently to everyone else. All slowly and deep. Your accent or something.”
“Oh.” He smiled. “You don’t know?”
“What?”
“I’m not from California, sweetheart. I’m from New Jersey.”
in case ya don't know I am making Frank come from CA in this story
Frank was momentarily puzzled. You think you would have mentioned not being from the state.
“So are you are English.”
Gerard started laughing and nearly toppled Frank off of him as he chortled. Then he regained composure and returned to Frank.
“New Jersey is a state on the east coast of the United States. It was named after a small British colonial island off the coast of France like all thirteen states were when America was colonized by Britain. Y’know, New York, New Hampshire, et cetera et cetera.” He smiled grimly. “Most Italian-American gangs are in either New York or New Jersey.”
“Where are you from there?”
“A place called Newark.”
FYI,I have nothing against NJ.I have been there several times and it's great,such a laugh.But it's just that a lot of people whom I know from New Jersey really think it's so dirty and stuff.But I guess it's like that with people who come from your own area.
“Is it nice?” Frank regarded Gerard with an odd fascination. He was an outsider; foreign to Los Angeles. Iero had never left the state.
“Nice?” Another chuckle. “No.”
“Is it like, fancy? Posh?It must be if you’re from there.”
Gerard nearly bust his rib on that one. Newark? And fancy? In the same sentence?
“It is certainly not upper class, no.” Way was very amused from his lover’s ignorance on the subject. “I moved to California when I was six.”
“Do you go back there?”
“Yes, every summer.” He seemed to be a little ashamed of his hometown, too quiet for him generally. “Would you like to come?”
“Yes!” Frank said excitedly. “I can’t wait.”
“You’ve never been there before, have you?”
“No.”
“Yeah.” The grin. “Figures.”
Frank frowned. “Don’t you like it?”
The older man shrugged and let his hands fall into the boy’s lap, which distracted him momentarily. Gerard knew this, and smiled vindictively.
“You won’t like it,” Gerard warned. “It’s grimey and dangerous and not nearly as sunny as here. And everyone talks weirdly.”
“I love the way you talk,” the boy said quickly, “it sounds so cool.”
The gangster cracked a larger, lop-sided beam and squeezed his lover’s leg.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, pulling him forward so that their mouths met. “You’re very kind.”
“Like when you say my name,” the kid continued, nearly bouncing with excitement, “you say it like Fraaaaaaank. Like there’s nine a’s or something.”
That is true about Americans.You do elongate vowels.
(Oh,really,now the Irish chick is giving us vocabulary lessons?Great.)
“I’m glad you find it so amusing, Frank,” he replied, enjoying the situation immensely. “I wasn’t aware it was so comical.”
“Or once you said your own name,” Iero continued, giggling insanely, falling against the larger’s chest. “And it was awesome.”
“Way?”
“Nooooo,” Frank whined, facing him again. “Your first name.”
He pretended to not know.
“Uh...Mister Way?”
“I’ll punch you.”
“Oh, that name. Gerard.”
Frank cackled to himself and buried his head in the gangster’s shirt, who was also laughing at him.
“Are you drunk?”
“No,” he answered automatically, “I’m just happy I get to go with you to New Jersey.”
“It’s not that great.”
Frank continued to giggle as Gerard poured another drink for himself. They were in the basement-still an unbelievably fancy and morbid affair, because, of course, this is Gerard Way we’re talking about. One long table ran through the room, flanked on each side by four chairs, thus making up eight seats. There was a bar, full of drinks and clinking glasses that the gangster filled up on regularly. A pack of playing cards and poker chips lay on the table.
“Would you like something?” He shook the whiskey bottle.
“No,” Frank answered, “it makes my head hurt.”
The older laughed and set the glass down. “So cute.”
“I’m cute...because I don’t drink?”
“Amongst other reasons, of course.”
The boy was about to ask what was the expected time of arrival of the guests, but just as he opened his mouth a small man as walking down the stairs into the basement, followed by what looked to be a transvestite.
You are about to read about a few of my favourite men in the music industry. Apart from one whom I do not like, but you are perfectly entitled to. I don’t hate him because of the shit that went down between him and MCR, but because I don’t like his music and I think he kinda degrades women and such. Whatever, Lornaigh, no one cares about your petty problems-L.N.I.
He was short, anyway, for a starter, only a few inches taller than the boy himself, and he indulged in this greatly. At least he wouldn’t be the smallest one here, thank God. He had messy, matted black hair and tattoos running up his arms-still dressed so absurdly formally. Black shirt, tie; but he did wear black, tight denim that clung and squeezed his legs so badly that Frank didn’t know where to look.
I’m sorry if you like Marilyn Manson, but I don’t and this is my story, so I’m going to be as mean as I like. Like, descriptively.
The taller, even taller than Gerard, followed, a surly, wide smirk on his lips. The boy let out a small squeak of terror when he got the full view of him; the mis-matched eyes, which, unlike Gerard’s, were neither beautiful nor even natural. His black hair was slicked back in a do that spoke of sleaze and vulgarity, and he was more dressed up than anyone else-he wore a full tuxedo, complete with a cigar in his clutch and paler make up than a ghost.
Frank heard a disapproving growl erupt deep from Gerard’s chest. The bearer of the noise quickly grabbed his hand so tightly circulation was cut off.
“Gee-that hurts-“
“Oh, baby, I’m sorry, “he muttered back, releasing it and instead swathing his hand around Frank’s waist. He painted on a smile as the short man came forward.
“S’up my man!” He greeted warmly, tugging Gerard into a hug. Iero’s jaw nearly touched the floor. He never saw anyone act like this around his husband. They simply weren’t allowed. “Haven’t seen you in fuck ever, Way,y’know. Fuckin married and everything now, Jesus.”
“So eloquently put, Billie, “Gerard replied quietly, patting him on the back before withdrawing. “This is my husband, Frank. Frank; this is Billie Joe Armstong-“
Yes I am actually doing this.So far it's only BJA,Manson and Molko,but I hope to involve a few more people as the story goes on.
-“he is leader of a Berkeley branch of drug traffickers. He is as nice as he sounds.”
“Really, Gerard fucking Way is gonna call me a bad person now? That’s harsh, y’know.” He put his hand forward and Fran shook it, smiling. “Nice to meet ya, Frankie.I’m in charge of this group called Sweet Children.”
If you are a Green Day fan I expect you to know the relevancy of that
“You mighta heard of it.”
“Yeah, I have, “Frank answered. “There’s spray painting all over the city about them.”
“We’re pretty widespread, y’know. Unlike Gerard here, I want my gang to be fuckin known, y’know?”
The tall man made his way to the three others, still grinning.
Now, having been married to him for little over three months and involved for over six, Frank had spotted something rather peculiar about his husband when he got especially angry-he stopped speaking like an upper class politician and spoke like the rest of them, spitting and swearing. He figured that he had been brought up like that, in the rough, since Mancini had pointed out that his father had spoken ‘normally’. Gerard must have taught himself how to speak so in such sophistication.
“I’ll have a martini, Way. Shaken, not stirred.”
“I ain’t no fucking waiter. Get your goddamn drink yourself.”
This was one of those times. He must really hate this guy, Frank thought.
“Not very welcoming, are we? I was under the impression you had an air of class about you.” He spoke with more arrogance than Way did; like he knew he was irritating people. “Obviously I was wrong.”
Gerard said nothing, but simply rolled his eyes.
“This is your husband, I presume?” Gerard’s skin literally crawled as the man with the crazy eyes licked his lips. “My, my, he is gorgeous.”
“He is,” Gerard confirmed sharply. “I’m extremely lucky.”
“I’ll drink to that,” he said, swiping a glass-Way’s glass-off of the table and downing it. Armstrong looked very awkward. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”
“Frank; Brian Warner. Notorious pimp and murderer in Ohio. Warner.” He shrugged. “This is my husband, Frank.”
“Hello,” Frank said politely, extending his hand, only to receive that smirk in return, Warner’s eyes hazy and unfocused. Then the tall man stepped forward and clasped the boy’s hand in both of his, grinning widely.
“Such soft skin,” he remarked, deaf to the audible clicking of Way’s jaw. “How old are you, my pet?”
Gerard took no hesitation in smacking him sharply across the face, so forceful that he was thrown away from Iero’s grasp. Way grabbed the small man’s hand again and tugged him closer.
“He is not anything of yours,” the Italian snarled, “you do not call him that. Ever.”
“A bit overly protective, aren’t we?” His eyes shot back to Frank again. Well, one of them did. The other simply lazed about in his eye socket. He smirked at the boy with all of his teeth, which were, to the horror of Frank, coated in metal dentistry work. It looked painful, awkward, and mostly, ridiculous. “Surely you must find that irritating?”
“No,” he replied, trying to make his voice sound husky and low. It didn’t work, and his nervous squeak as prominent as ever. “I don’t mind at all.”
Luckily, Bob and Ray descended the stairs at the moment and made their way over to the four.
“Hullo,” Ray greeted, obviously trying to lighten the mood. “Nice to see you again, sirs.”
Armstrong began to chatter excitedly to the two henchmen, but Warner simply swayed on his feet and pointed a finger at Robert.
“You there, Blondie, get me a drink will you?” The blue eye flickered. “Some people seem to think they are too good to serve their guests.”
Gerard scoffed and rolled his eyes, still holding Frank’s hand like there was no freaking tomorrow. Eventually, when his liquid refreshment had been brought to him, he swaggered away and began to chat to some other Way gang members at the poker table. The main man, meanwhile, was clutching a bottle of Jack Daniels so hard it looked like it would give any minute now.
“Gerard?” Frank asked meekly, stretching up on his toes to whisper in his ear. “Are you mad at me?”
“Of course I’m not mad at you,” the taller man soothed, but his voice was still harsh. “I’m just mad that cunt is gonna be here for the five hours, mocking me and coming onto you.”
Frank positioned himself so that while Way was leaning against the bar counter, he was in betwixt his spread legs, hands placed on the gangster’s chest, a small, reassuring ,fucking adorable as hell smile on his face. The older man found it hard to be so badass and hateful when a ball of cuteness was beaming up at him.
“Sweetie, why do you do this to me?” He sighed, chuckling in spite of himself, so that the boy knew it was working. “How did you end up being this lovable?”
“Dunno,” he replied cheerfully, leaning up to kiss him on the mouth, pouting and parting his lips against the other’s. “I just don’t like seeing you angry.”
“Baby, I’m kinda angry all of the time.”
“Not around me. And I know what makes you happy again.”
“You?”
He nodded and kissed him again, with a little more passion and force than he had last time around. Gerard laughed into his mouth as Frank felt his hands knit together on the small of his back.
“He’s looking, he’s looking, do something quick,” Gerard instructed in a frenzied, amused manner. Frank twisted his fingers in the raven hair and let out an audible shaky moan that suggested he was in the middle of eating an Oreo.
Yeah. You thought I was gonna be like “like he was having the biggest orgasm known to man” and then BAM. Lornaigh keeps you readers on yo goddamn toes.
Okay seriously I am so fucked in the head like
Billie turned around, like the other ten people in the room, and smiled.
“You alright there?”
“Yeah, course,” Gerard shrugged, slipping his hand into Frank’s back pocket. “What would give you the impression we’re not alright?”
“Well...you’re kinda...y’know...eating his face off there....”
“No I’m not,” he replied, pushing the boy gently away, wiping his mouth on his shirt. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“But I-“
if you thought I couldn't do the stereotypical gay guy,prepare to be blown
“HELLO!” A man about as short as Frank came into the surroundings. “Where are all my fabulous people at tonight?!”
“Oh Christ,” Gerard muttered, grabbing a bottle of vodka, “I need to get drunk.”
The man sauntered up to both of them, and eagerly hugged Gerard around the middle. He coughed and smiled.
“Brian. How nice-“
“Oh my God!” He shrieked, nearly deafening everyone in the room. “This must be your husband! It’s so nice to meet you! Gerard gossips about you like a teenage girl!Oh my God, what’s your name? Frank, isn’t it? Can I call you Frankie? Yeah, I like that better, bit more personal, y’know, so-oh my God, is that your engagement ring? It’s so cute, I wish-“
oh yeah
“Frank,” Gerard said pointedly. “This is Brian Molko. He is-“
“Gorgeous? I know, right?” He cackled. “Oh,I am just so bad. No, but seriously though, Chris sent me photos of the wedding and you both looked so handsome! I notice you’ve put on a little bit of weight, eh, Gerard?” He elbowed him and continued to giggle to himself. “Looks like I’ll have to pass on my dieting secrets, y’know, how to keep my feminine figure.”
“Hi,” the boy said, offering his hand, which Molko tugged on and hugged him so tightly that his rib cage felt like it was collapsing.
“Oh, they grow up so fast!” Brian declared a tear in his eyes. “I remember just yesterday Gerard was some new rookie who could barely hold a gun and now-married and a Don of LA’s most dangerous group of criminals.” He paused and reflected like a proud mother,and released Frank, who was coughing and spluttering.
Everyone had remained silent during Brian’s little introduction. It was hard to believe someone could actually be so stereotypically homosexual.
“Anyway, as Gerard told you, I’m Brian. I run this little shindig back in London.”
“Is is the Mafia?” Frank asked, glad he was able to make some sort of conversation.
“Mafia?!Hell to the no, boy. I don’t have the stomach your man does.” Gerard buried his face in his hands.
“Ooooh, that must mean you have like the best sex life ever, right? I mean-“
“THANK YOU, BRIAN, “Gerard nearly screamed, “that will be enough for one evening.”
“Let’s start this, shall we?” Ray offered. “Brian? You wanna drink?”
“Oh, no thank you, Ray, you know how much fat is in booze? I’m trying to slim down, y’see, but I-“
“Okay then,” Gerard interrupted, hitching up his trousers and sitting down at the head of the table. Frank started to fret as he noticed that the only chair available was the one on the right side of Warner-the man smirked and simpered.
“You can sit next to me if you want,” he purred. “You don’t have to let him control your every move.”
Gerard had always prided himself on his maturity, his fairness-he hardly ever got jealous or some other lowly, childish feeling. But now what he was feeling was deep, dark envy-he realized how naturally polite and naive Frank was, and how he was apt to accepting requests just to be kind. He wanted Frank to sit with him, and he mentally begged the boy to choose him.
That’s why his heart started to split the minute Frank walked past him and down to the direction of the empty seat. He felt utterly betrayed. Hurt. Distraught. He never felt this way about Evan, whom had admittedly been an attention seeker, loud and irritating. But with Frank; it was different. He felt like he needed him. He also felt stupid and girly-emotions are for the weak. But now he could feel his throat closing up. From his previous relationship he had been left scarred and paranoid, and now his mind was going crazy.
But the boy walked straight past the seat and carried on walking around the table and stopped at Gerard’s seat, lightly pushing the gangster’s chest back so that he could make himself comfortable in his lap.
He grinned. He was surprised he wasn’t emitting a glow of radiance from his glee.
Way wrapped one arm around the smaller’s waist and picked up the pack of cards with the free hand.
“My deal?”
Sign up to rate and review this story