FicWad

Found extra chapters of the story today! Up to eighty full chapters in this! Yay!

Xo Jane

Wrote this on my iPod, very sorry if it’s shitty. It’s meant to be funny but I doubt it came out that way.

Title applies to the hyperness and the general condition of myself and perhaps some of you

Title from Faithless
Enjoy-

L.N.I.

First of the Gang to Die
Quarantanove
Insomnia

“Il mio bel ragazzo...Franco, il mio coniglio...oh...ti amo, il mio amore, ti amo...ti adoro...il mio amore, il mio vita...”

Frank watched as his husband continued to sleep, head in his arms as his shoulders rose and fell with his breathing, resting on his desk, soft little pants of inhalation emitting from his mouth. He was in his study, and had been for the last few hours with Frank, chatting to him while he painted and sketched, until the other had gone to bed. Iero had woken up in the night, a little scared that no one was resting next to him, and had returned to the red room to find his husband sitting at his desk, a charcoal crayon in his hand, arms dipped in paint and dust, facing down into his table. The shorter had been sitting here in his boxers for nearly an hour, smiling as the gangster mumbled coherent Italian to himself as he was barely conscious. His name was one of the main things being recanted, he noticed with smug satisfaction. He had written some of them down so he could put them to Gerard when he woke.

Frank had looked at what had been cascaded across the artist’s desk when he had fallen victim to sleep; wine, pens, a notebook, a diary, a photo frame and a telephone. Gerard also had his current work beneath him, but Iero figured it would be pretty stupid to try and grab it now; Way would be pissed off not only because he had woken up, but because he didn’t like it when people saw his work before it was finished.

The photo frame had made him smile-it was a picture of them on their wedding day, but neither of them were facing the camera; the taller man had gotten him in a grasp, planting kisses all over Frank’s neck and face, and he had been laughing, clutching Way for stability. The memory of the day had brought back so much happiness for the younger, currently gazing at it with wide eyes and an even wider grin, and he thought he would never be so ecstatic ever again, the fifteenth of January, nineteen thirty four was constantly imprinted in his mind, one of those dates he could never forget, no matter how shitty his mind would develop.

He placed the frame back on the desk and looked at the notes scribbled in the big, thick, black book that must be his schedule. He wasn’t being rude, it was written in his towering writing first of all, and secondly that it was completely in Italian, fluent and unbroken, but he liked seeing that he wrote several pages for each day, long and intricate script, with commas and semi-colons, spanning four A4 pages for the previous day. Frank was delighted to also see that a lot of the words were preceded by ‘Franco’-a word he had grown to love hearing in Gerard’s speech.

Then his natural clumsiness had kicked in and he had let the book thump on the table, and Way had stirred in his seat, rubbing his eyes.

“Cio che ora?” He muttered, before seeing the other looking down at him, a little rueful and sheepish. He smiled, yawned and leaned across to kiss him gently. “Hey baby.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” the boy apologized quickly, placing himself lightly on Gerard’s hips. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s alright,” he said, rubbing their noses together and closing his eyes again, “it’s probably like, what, three in the morning? I shouldn’t have fallen asleep anyway here; it’s shitty for my back or whatever.” He smiled. “And it’s not so bad waking up to you in barely any clothes.”

“You were drawing,” Frank explained simply, pointing to the piece on the table, a girl in a black dress in a coffin marked with a cross. “That’s really, really good, Gee!”

“Thank you,” he purred back, flicking his tongue along the cartilage of his ear, relishing the shiver. “How long have you been here?”

“Just a little bit,” he answered, biting his lip. “I got scared when I woke up because you weren’t there.”

“You don’t like it when I’m not there?”

“I hate it when you’re gone,” he mumbled into his shoulder. “Even in the next room or something. It’s not to do with the gangs or anything;” he lowered his voice and turned a little pink. “I just want to be with you all the time.” He grimaced. “I probably sound like a freak or something.”

“Same here, honey, I hate being away from you,” he responded, picking up his glass of wine and holding it in his right hand, pressing it into the small of Frank’s back. “Were you writing something?”

He beamed.

“When you were sleeping you started talking,” he giggled, loving it. “It was in Italian and I wrote it down. Will you tell me what you said?”

Gerard smiled and picked up the piece of paper, eyes scanning through it, and a small, barely visible rose blossomed in his cheeks. When he was done reading what he had said, written in Frank’s interpretation of the language, he lifted his head up to look him in the eye.

“Gerard!” He shrieked, cackling. “You’re blushing! I’ve never seen you blush before!” He was nearly falling off his knees, crying with laughter. “It’s so cute!”

“Was I saying this?” He asked, a little incredulous, as Frank hugged him around the neck. “Did I say this?”

“Mmmhmm,” Iero hummed happily, before bursting out laughing again, struggling to speak. “You weren’t talking in English at all; I just wrote what I heard.”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “How long was I talking for?”

“You started five minutes after I came in, and I’ve been in here for about an hour or something.” He tucked black locks behind Way’s ear and smiled again, his flashing of his teeth so warm and melting, making Gerard feel weak. “Will you tell me what you said?” His face fell and he closed his eyes. “Is it bad?”

“No,” he breathed. “No, it’s...it’s not bad at all. It’s about you.”

“Yeah, I know,” he whispered. “You said Franco-that’s me.”

“I said you are the most amazing person I had ever met and that you make my life so much brighter and better,” he read, translating quickly in his mind. “That you are the air in my lungs and the blood in my veins, that you are the only person I have ever truly loved, that you are undeniably perfect and unspeakably beautiful inside and outside, and that I would find it impossible to live without you, and that no one else could ever even come close to compete with you, both looks and personality and general atmosphere of you being around me.” He flushed a little more and coughed. “I called you my rabbit and my beautiful boy, I said I love and adore you, you are my love and my life and then I just went on to say I love, adore and worship you.” He placed the paper back on the desk and looked into his lap. “That’s, uh...that’s what I said.”

Frank was brimming with tears, with happiness, with flattery.

“That was lovely,” he murmured, hugging him and pressing his lips to his ear. “I love you so much, Gerard.”

“Thanks,” he said, and his voice was a little thick. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

“Why are you crying?” He lisped, facing him, nose-to-nose. “Please don’t cry, Gee.”

He chuckled despite tears running down his cheeks, his eyes red and bloodshot.

“I don’t know why I’m crying,” he said softly, laughing quietly. “I have absolutely no fucking idea why I’m crying.” He sighed and growled. “This whole thing is really not good for my badass reputation, the crying and the romanticism.”

“Don’t cry,” Frank pleaded weakly, now weeping himself. “Don’t cry, Gee, you’re making me cry.”

“Oh my God,” he chortled, embracing him warmly. “Babe, what the fuck are we doing? I don’t know why I’m crying and now you’re crying too,” he was smiling, and wiping away Iero’s tears with his forefinger, cooing words of comfort and humour. “You don’t have to cry, bunny rabbit, I was just being a wimp because you’re so perfect and I’m so glad you’re married to me, you’re so utterly gorgeous and wonderful and breathtaking, and you need to stop crying,” he assured, and the younger giggled a little shakily, kissing his cheek clumsily and calming down a little. Gerard sipped from his glass and offered it to the boy. “Here, have some; we’re drunk already, what more can hurt?”

Frank smiled and took the glass from him cautiously, sniffing the maroon liquid within it, wrinkling his nose and swilling it.

“Maybe before I turn thirty, sugar?”

Frank lapped a little from the glass and handed it back to Gerard. Then, Gerard took the glass of wine back and dunked the entire thing on the boy, pouring a glorious red shower upon him, leaving him frozen in shock. Way grinned devilishly and started to laugh at his lover, now dripping in expensive, rare red wine, maroon soaked in his hair and running down his chest.

Frank looked at him like he was insane-indeed he had has his doubts about Gerard-and raised an eyebrow.

“Way, I’m going to kill you-“

The gangster said nothing, but simply licked a patch of the red from his cheek and felt it melt in his tongue. “Very strong texture; woody and full, by my standard, a great sauvignon blanc of the early twenties. Of course, that’s what you get from southern French wines, especially from Bordeaux-“

Iero tackled him to the ground and wrestled with him-when this writer says ‘wrestling’, I really mean that Gerard lay down on the floor and giggled for an extended period of time and Frank tried to grab and pull at him, his arms completely drenched in the liquid, smelling strongly of a bottle.

“How much was even in there?!” He asked desperately, picking at his boxer shorts gingerly. “I look like I had a bath in it!”

“Well, you should take off your clothes then,” the other suggested cheekily, yanking his only source of modesty down. “Wine never comes out, you know.”

“Oh, fuck you, Gerard.”

“You’d love to.”

Frank frowned and muttered, “The sad part is I actually would.”

“What was that, my love?”

“NOTHING.”

Iero got off of him and made his way to his liquor cabinet, taking out a bottle of vodka and pouring it into a glass. Not a shot glass-a wine glass. To the brim.

“Babe, you trying to commit suicide?” Way asked, still laughing from what he looked like. “Because vodka isn’t like wine-“

Frank threw the clear, thick liquid into his face, sending a gushing river of spirits straight towards the leader, who gasped and shuddered when it was done. He lifted his head up, hair slicked, shirt stuck to his skin, eyes flirting with a nasty gleam.

“You did not just throw three-fifths of vodka in my face,” he growled, but he was smiling slightly, so Frank knew he was kidding.

“I did,” Frank replied, just as deadly, balling his hands into fists and bracing himself, setting his feet firmly on the floor. He too was trying to stifle his laughter, fighting his muscles into not smiling.

“Oh, you’re dead meat now, sugar pop,” he whispered back, his tone low and dangerous. The boy could clearly see why this man was head of the gang.

“I’m a vegetarian; I ain’t fucking scared of you!” He retorted sassily, sticking up his index finger and revolving it in a circle so that Gerard was silently shaking with laughter. “Bring it on, old man.”

“Old man?!” Way spluttered. “I’m five fuckin years older than you, princess; learn to respect your elders.”

“Exactly, five years! You’re like a paedophile, stealing my innocence!” He pretended to faint, placing the back of his hand on his forehead, closing his eyes and sighing. “Such a horrible man.”

“Oh please, innocence my ass, you moan and pant just as bad as I do, you’re more sex-crazed than I am, you can barely keep your hands off me.” He was grinning as he slowly made his way to Frank, hands behind his back. “Look at you, so precious, my little rabbit, drenched in wine.”

“You can’t see me now, can ya?” Iero chirped, steeping to the left side, even though Way was right in front of him.

“Honey, I’m half-blind, not stupid,” he sighed, grinning down at the younger, both poised and ready, staring at each other intently, anticipating every move.

“You’re fat,” Frank tried to insult, but his naturally nice composition couldn’t take it, and he failed. “Oh I’m so sorry Gee I didn’t-“

“You’re scared of spiders.”

“Scared of needles.”

“You sleep in your underwear.”

“You drink a bottle of wine a day.”

“You’re pale as sin.”

“You’re Italian.”

“Wooaaaaah,” Gerard said, holding his hands up, palms to Frank,” bringin out the racist card, are we?”

“Just saying that you are more likely to be involved in the Mafia.”

“Well now, there’s a shocker. Go on Frankie, tell me something like I’m likely to speak Italian or something. Something completely outta the blue like that.”

“You’re a killer.”

“You’re short.”

“Ohhh no you did not-“

“Oh, I did,” Gerard cut in, snapping his fingers. “I just said you’re short.”

“I AM NOT SHORT-“

“Really? Last time I checked, even I’m under the average for my age,” he teased, grinning wickedly like a cat. “And what height are you, baby? Probably taller than me, I mean, you’re definitely taller than I am, it’s not like I’m five ten and you’re five three over here, ya know-“

“Just because I’m shorter than you-“

“And it’s not like I pass you out by over six inches and that you can’t even reach the top shelf of our cupboard, or that teenage girls pass you out, or that if I kneel down I barely have to stretch to kiss you-“

“Shut up!” He ordered, slapping his arm. “I am not short! You’re just way taller than I am!”

“Oh yeah? Stand on your toes for me, babe, try and kiss me without me bending down.”

Iero tried desperately to reach him, so much that a muscle in his foot strained and he swayed on the spot, but to no avail. Gerard smirked but bent his head so that their lips met, the kiss being battled out by the two contenders, like their tongues playing tug of war.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Way hummed into the lock. “I love your shortness, I think it’s so cute. Your height-or lack thereof-doesn’t bother me at all.”

“I’m sorry I called you Italian.”

“Yeah, honey, it’s such a horrible term,” he rolled his eyes.

“Yeah but-“

“It’s fine,” the gangster said to him, caressing his cheek. “Don’t worry about it.”

“So why did you throw wine at me?”

The other shrugged. “Dunno. Seemed like the thing to do at the time.”

“You’re strange.”

“I’ve heard.”

“But I like it,” he responded into his shoulder. “And I’m sorry for calling you old too. I didn’t mean that.”

“That reminds me of your birthday coming up.”

“Gerard, it’s like two months away.”

“What, you want me to turn up on the day with soap on a rope or something, or you want something good?”

“Something good.” He thought about his answer-that sounded so rude. “But not expensive.”

“Afraid I’ll go bankrupt, that it, sugar?”

“Well-just-“

“C’mon,” the other said lightly, sitting down on the floor, legs crossed, Frank in the middle, both still dripping with alcohol. “Is there anything you want? And if you want soap then I’m going to say no, sweetheart.”

“I don’t mind,” he shrugged, smiling, feeling like a kid in Santa’s lap. Except, in this case, Santa was a killer, gay, loaded, and fucking hot as hell.

Best line I’ve ever written, hands down

“Do you know what you’re getting me?”

“I got something last week, yes,” he replied vaguely.

“Oooooh!” Frank squealed. “Is it in the house?”

“No.”

“So...where is it?”

“I can’t really tell you that.”

“Why? You think I’m going to look for it?”

“Well, yes. Aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“No, I’m saying it because I honestly do not know of its whereabouts.”

“You don’t know...where it is?”

“Well...” he thought for a moment, wracking his brains. “I would say at this point it is in the region of Switzerland, maybe Austria.”

“What?” He gaped at his husband-he didn’t have a fucking clue where these places were, but they weren’t in America. “Other countries?”

“Oh yeah, I’m having it shipped from Italy.” He shrugged. “It should be here in mid-October, which is earlier than your birthday, but this cannot be helped...”

“Gerard, you can’t ship things from Italy! Not for me! That’s so...so long away! It’s in Europe...right?”

“The Mediterranean, yes, in Southern Europe. It’s near Greece.” He grinned again. “And evidently I can ship things from Italy because I already did. Especially for you.”

“Is it Italian?”

“Yes.”

“Hmmm.” He looked at Gerard in case he was a clue. “Is it clothes or shoes or something?”

“No. You cannot wear it.”

“Do you have one?”

“No, actually. Never really thought about it. You’d know about it if I did.”

Frank forgot about everything he had just been told and nearly melted for a second.

“Are we renewing our vows?” He swooned and snaked his arms around his neck. “Oh, Gee, that’s so sweet-“

“Babe. One-no, we are not renewing our vows. Two-we haven’t even been married for a year. If at the time, you want to renew our vows, then of course we will. Three-how in the Lord’s name would I ever ship vows from Italy?”

“They could be in Italian.”

“There is one downfall there, pet.”

“What?”

“You don’t speak Italian.” He shook his head. “No, not marriage. It is a lot manlier than vows.”

“Man-ly?” Frank sounded out, like he’d never heard the word before. “Gee, me and manly don’t really...y’know...go together...”

“I bore that in mind, darling. I’m not getting you a stripper or a pump iron or something.”

“You could strip for me if you like,” he said eagerly, to which Gerard smiled. “That’d be awesome.”

“Well, if you think my present is inadequate, we’ll see-“

“OH YAY OH MY GOD YOU’RE GONNA BE A STRIPPER FOR ME-“

Second best

“Hold on, sugar pop. I haven’t quite put the thong on yet.”

“Yet.”

“Alright, honey. If you really want me to take off my clothes while humming some jazz song under my breath and shoving my ass in your face then of course I will,” he said in a soothing voice. “But I hope you do like what I get you. If you don’t, I’ll take it.”

“Are you sure it’s not shoes? Or a gun?”

“Shoes and guns. You must think Italy is just the nicest place.”

“And pizza.”

“Pizza, of course,” he said softly, chuckling.

“Is it awesome?”

“Pizza?”

“My present.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, thinking about it and being extremely envious. “It’s very awesome.”

“Was it expensive?”

“Yes, it was, but I do not want the poverty-stricken speech now, baby, I think you forget you’re talking to a millionaire most of the time.”

“Is it Italian?”

“You asked that already, darling.”

“I’m excited,” he squealed, bouncing on Gerard’s knees. “Can I have it the day it comes?”

“Sure.”

“Is it-“

“No more guessing,” Gerard said, kissing him on the mouth before he could protest. “We’re both tired and drunk and happy and covered in alcohol, we need to-“

“I don’t wanna go to sleep, it’s boring-“

“No way, babe, I was gonna say go to our bedroom, not necessarily sleep.”

Frank smiled.

“Oh, good. I hate going to sleep.”

“Pfffffft,” Gerard made the noise with a wave of his hand. “Sleeping’s for losers.”




I have insomnia as you may have guessed