Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > First of the Gang to Die
Hello my sisters.
(And brothers? Eh whatever.)
Anonymous email I got rather angry at:
"Does Ireland have schools? Did you drop out of it or something?”
*Author sighs and puts down pen, rubs temples and reaches into drawer, pulling out Beretta and cocking in mouth*
Let’s straighten something out here, ‘kay?
Of course there are schools in the country. If you must know, I have attended school since I was five and got into Berkeley, in the US. I nearly got the highest possible in my Leaving Cert(equivalent to SATS or finals) I got 595 when the best is 600. With all due respect, I realize I come from a working class area and I cuss a lot, but I took and continue to take education quite seriously. I took my finals when I was sixteen, three years less than normal.
I found it a little offensive. It’s like the leprechaun thing, or the drinking thing, or the hating the English thing.
1. There are no leprachauns here. Sorry for the let-down, but it’s true. However there are quite a lot of short people over here who barely push 5’4’’.(I.e. myself.)
2. I hate Guinness. It tastes like cat snot.
3. I would never hate someone because of their race/colour unless they were bitches to me. Shrugs I find the whole idea of extreme nationalism quite...irritating.
There you are. FYI, the chapter after this will be about fascism and stuff about Mussolini in Italy around the current era (1930’s) and will be featuring the League of Nations, Nazi’s, politics-because I am a HUGE history nerd and I want to nerd out in my story, annoy you all with my references and whatnot.
Title from Misfits. This is a very strange chapter,btw.
Democracy FTW!!!!
-L.N.I.
First of the Gang to Die
Cinquantadeu
Halloween
It was Wednesday the thirty first of October, still remaining on the ghostly feast day, the night of the living dead, dia de los muertos, Samhain, whichever name is to your liking. It was a particularly cold, stormy, unsettled night-stereotypical thunder and lightning had raged since midday, and rain had been on and off progressively throughout the evening hours. Members of the Way family gang had resided within the mansion for the day, excluding the morning walk and the drive around downtown LA. This was both good and bad to Frank; he loved being indoors at such a time, every shadow and thump suddenly coming alive to vicious gangsters, and someone had even screamed at dinnertime when something nudged his leg. (Gerard had slapped him across the face and instructed to ‘get a hold of yourself, Dusso, it’s Robert’s fucking cat!’) But he also found the arrangement slightly ominous-the paintings seemed to monitor his every move, there were demons in closets and behind doors, and he didn’t even think about what was under the four-poster he and Way shared at night.
He was currently in what was referred to as the common room-it was usually filled with people, drinking and cavorting and chatting, and there was even a piano and Iero’s own Gibson L-5 in the corner of the room, looking rustic and used next to the fireplace. The said fire was blazing wonderfully, and an Italian soprano was crooning on the gramophone; Abbadia, his name was. But tonight he was the only one occupying the room, reading a book that had been left, turned over on the nearby table. It was hard to understand, and he didn’t comprehend some of the words, but he could tell the author who had written the piece was very good at doing so. Besides, Gerard had read it, and liked it; and if he liked it it must be good.
So while he was concentrating, brow furrowed and muttering the words to himself, perched on one of the near-thrones, feet hovering over the floor, massive script in his lap, he didn’t hear the door breathe open, and the lithe man step through, smiling at the sight of the boy in such an intellectual state. He was a little nervous (Him? Gerard Way? Nervous?) about what was to come in their conversation, but he tried to brush his anxiety aside and smile in his charming manner.
He didn’t say anything but clinked his cane against the marble strip on the wall, so that a hollow and refined clack resonated within the room. The younger squeaked and looked up, dropping the book from his weak hold.
“Just me,” Gerard purred, sitting in a chair opposite him, but not before picking up the piece of magnificent literature his lover had been indulging in. He was impressed, and a little bit shocked to see the tragically coincidental title. “’The Masque of the Red Death?’” He flicked through the familiar, thumbed pages. “You were reading this?”
“Trying to,” the other admitted. “She talks so fancily.”
“He,” Way replied automatically. “A man wrote the book. Edgar Allan Poe.”
“Oh. Is he good?”
“I think so,” the gangster answered quietly, liking that the boy was semi-interested in something he also enjoyed, apart from killing. “But some people think his writing is very morbid and morose.”
“What does that mean?”
“Dark, depressing, macabre, not happy.” He looked up and had to wonder if Frank knew the inner meaning of the title.
“It’s about tuberculosis,” he informed Gerard in a chirpy, naive manner, even though the older man had read it hundreds of times before. “It says everything I have.”
“Yes, his wife and mother had it,” Way said, then regretting his input, afraid the younger might question their lives. They had both died. “Do you like it?”
“It’s hard to read,” Frank shrugged, a little put out by his lacklustre education. “And it’s scary.”
“It’s just a story, darling,” Gerard said softly. “Fact is scarier than fiction.”
Frank bit his lip and pushed himself off the chair, walking over to his husband a little hopefully. Said husband smiled and opened his knees (despite the screaming voice in the back of his head), where Iero settled happily, wrapping his arms around his neck and resting against him, cheek-to-cheek with the boss. He was getting freaked out by the entire house, the scratching at the windows, the deathly quiet hallways, the drip of the sink.
“I hate Halloween,” he whispered miserably, being rocked by the bigger.
“You hate it?” Gerard sounded a little amused. “But it’s your birthday, sweetheart.”
“All the scary shit,” he confirmed eloquently. “Ghosts and monsters and spiders.”
“Do you believe in ghosts?” He asked in a low voice, wondering furiously what the answer would be, getting more nervous as time ticked on. “Or monsters?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know. Maybe?”
“It’s okay, babe, I won’t hold you to it. You can change your mind.”
The boy squirmed a little and pressed himself to the gangster, head nudged under his chin, hair being stroked by the other’s mangled fingers, feeling warm and safe and content.
“Kinda. I’ve seen all the movies and books and it’s sort of like...they can’t all be wrong, can they? Frankenstein and vampires and werewolves and even fairies or something-somewhere, something weird has to be going on.” He shrugged when he though he sounded ridiculous. “I sound stupid, but...y’know...”
“You don’t sound stupid,” the other replied, and he was forcing himself to do it now, tell him now, when the lights went out with a sizzle, the gramophone stooping suddenly. Frank let out a sharp cry, buried his head in Gerard’s shoulder and whimpered. Way simply closed his own eyes, preparing for the forthcoming, and kissed the top of the boy’s head, hoping he would be allowed to do so in moment’s time.
“Shh, honey, it’s okay,” he cooed, hugging him tightly. “It’s okay, sugar pop, I’m here.” He looked out the window and saw the source. “The electricity just went out, sweetie, see? The pole got struck by lightning and the power’s dead.”
Thunder boomed within the distance and Iero squeaked, clinging to his husband with all of his might. The taller, meanwhile, dug in his pocket and fished out a match, striking it on his arm and coming back with a relish, a tall, jumping ginger flame in front of him. The younger looked up at the light source with wet, large hazel eyes with a sort of wary relief. Gerard realized this was the time to tell him.
“We have been together for little over a year now,” he said to the boy, sticking the match in an empty glass nearby, touching the edge to a candle and being thrown in a little pool of weak light. “Do you remember I said something to you the night of my twenty ninth birthday? About lying?”
Frank sniffed and thought for a minute. His memory seemed to be up to scratch to forge the scene.
“We were talking about me and you said you don’t lie.”
“Exactly.” He sighed and wondered how he should go about this. “That wasn’t true. I’m very sorry, Frankie.”
“What do you mean?” He squeaked, terrified. “Don’t you love me?”
“Of course I do, of course, it’s nothing to do with that.” Iero relaxed into him. “It’s not that I lied, I just...omitted the truth. Not to do with our marriage or our relationship, but what I have to tell you may and probably will affect it. Tonight is probably the best to do it.”
“What is it, Gee?”
“First of all, I think you should know that it’s terribly hard to hide it, and it has been extremely painful over the last year, shielding this from you. Lately the urge had become so unbearable that I have to tell you. I thought you would have said something or noticed it by now.” He cleared his throat and pushed some black locks falling from his dyed hair behind Frank’s ear, who was listening intently. “But that this certainly was nothing at all to do with you, and it shouldn’t hinder our love for one another.”
Frank sucked on his lip, looking broken and upset, snuffling quietly and dabbing at his eyes.
“Did you cheat on me?”
“I’d never do that, pet, you know that,” he whispered into the pink shell of his ear. “You’re the only hope for me, the only person I’ll ever be with forever more. You have to understand that you are just my favourite thing in the whole world, okay? You have to remember that I love you so much and I couldn’t live without you, baby, sugar, honey, okay?” He was trying desperately not to cry-he couldn’t hold out much longer. “But I need to tell you something really important, babe, and you need to appreciate that I’m still the same person after this, and that I’d never, ever hurt you or do anything you wouldn’t want me to. When I tell you this I’m still Gerard, we’re still married and you’re still my little rabbit that I treasure so much, I just adore you.” The tears were here; they were here, goddammit. “So, please, just work with me, okay?”
Frank nodded and pressed their lips together-Way had to push him lightly away, the touch of his mouth against Gerard’s was overwhelming and maddening. The boy just looked hurt.
“Why won’t you kiss me?”
“You’ll see in a minute, sweetheart, I promise you will.”
He pulled him up by the hand so that they both stood in the room, facing one another, Frank looking up and Gerard down, six inches separating them. Way picked up the candle stick and held it in front of his chest.
“Do you notice anything about me?” He asked, scanning his face for a reaction. “In the light?”
Iero stared at him intently, determined to find the fault. After a minute or two of inspecting his husband he gave up.
“No.”
“Fine.” Way handed him the candle. “Hold that up to yourself. Do you notice anything you possess but I do not?”
The answer came to the younger within seconds and terrified him, shocked him through his very core. He paled and nearly dropped the candle.
“Y-y-yes.”
“And what is that?” He said quietly, stepping closer toward him.
“You don’t have a shadow,” he whispered, and he was crying now, this was some horrible, strange nightmare that he’d soon wake from. This was so confusing-didn’t everyone have a shadow? It was scientific fact, or just common knowledge? Everyone has one, even bloodthirsty, homosexual gangsters.
“And do you know why?”
The boy shook his head, gasping a little from crying. This was scaring him.
“Perhaps I should help you.”
Gerard opened his mouth and reached into it, two loud cracks sounding from within his jaw. It appeared as if he were breaking his own teeth. Then he withdrew his fingers and squeezed his eyes shut tightly, like his life depended on it, like a kid at a rated R movie. When he opened them, they were white. His pupil was black, but the iris was bright, pure white. When Gerard let his mouth fall open a little, huge, elongated fangs dropped from the back of his throat, where molars are.
Frank nearly jumped out of his skin, rooted to the spot. This was-no. Just...no. He couldn’t be one. Never.
But then...yes. Some of it did add up. The way pain was only partially felt, how daytime was an enemy to him, the time he licked some of Frank’s blood.
“Do you know what I am now?”
No no no no-
“A vuh-vampire?”
Gerard nodded reasonably.
“A vampire, yes, correct. I feed on the life essence of living creatures, namely the vital fluid that is at this moment pumping through all of your veins and arteries, sugar. I’m the guy from the horror movies, the guy from the books, the guy with the shitty eastern European accent who comes to suck your blood.” He shrugged. “It’s all relative.”
He had his arms around Frank, who had tears running down his cheeks, shitified out of his mind.
“But you bleed-no sleeping in coffins-in daylight-tanned-reflection-“ He rasped, not touching the thing currently encasing him. “You can’t be-“
“Frankie,” he breathed softly, pressing their noses together. “You don’t honestly think I wear capes and sleep in a box and sparkle in the sunlight, do you?” He chuckled in his ear and the boy whimpered, backing up against the wall. “And that blood is as fake as those movies. I’m cut up and bruised and bleeding because if I wasn’t I’d look like a freak of nature.”
“But you feel pain, don’t you?” He was trying to remain calm-as calm as you can when your gangster husband is now a vampire gangster husband. “Your leg and stuff-“
“I feel pain depending on how hungry I am.” He sighed. “And I’m so hungry right now, babe.”
“You drink people’s blood?”
“Not Romano blood, but yes, blood in general.” He shrugged. “Of course, I eat as well, as you can see, but I can only survive with blood. Over the past year I have had to train myself to drink over longer periods of time, to survive for weeks at a time so you wouldn’t get suspicious. I thought I could become more human-eat normal food, but it doesn’t even come close to satisfying me.” His tone was heavy.
“I have drunk from the bodies of about fifty men in the last year, give or take a few. Their blood filled me, Frankie, but not in the way I’m meant to be fed.” He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Frank’s. “Blood is like food, sweetheart; it smells good or bad depending on your taste. And I have had so many feedings, baby, where blood is sweet and gorgeous but-well.” He chuckled. “You can guess what I’m going to say next.”
“You’re going to kill me?”
“Not kill; of course not. It’s just-“he was nearly gasping-“your blood smells so-amazing. So sweet and sugary and delicious-and when you’re close to me-it’s so hard to-fuck,” he groaned, cutting mid-sentence, so inhumanely gorgeous it was insane. “It’s so hard to resist, Frankie, you smell so wonderful.”
“You’d bite me?”
Gerard nodded, hunger in his eyes taking over.
Frank had always wanted to have rough sex-not necessarily careless, just a bit outside the box. He was sure that if he was bitten by him he’d go fucking crazy, attacking a monstrous gangster with more sexual desire than the twenty nine year old could muster.
“Where?” He whispered.
“Normally from your arm,” Way replied, tracing a cool finger along the soft inside of his elbow. “That’s where I do it normally. But when you drink from your lover...” he smiled a little. “When you drink with the person you sleep with you drink from the neck. The most sexualised way.”
“Wouldn’t that hurt a lot?”
“Certainly not. It’s actually great-it’s as good as sex for both parties, especially me. Anyway, you have eight pints of blood and I would only take about a half a pint. Afterwards you can eat again and your cells will duplicate faster.”
“So it wouldn’t hurt?”
“No.” He cupped his cheek. “I promise.”
“Alright,” Frank said, pulling down his collar. “You can do it now.”
“It would be a lot better if you were lying down, pet. I think we should go upstairs.”
The gangster took him by the hand and led him upstairs, the younger terrified out of his skull but a little excited. That part of him made him sick.
When they reached the bedroom, Gerard sat in the middle of the bed, beckoning Frank toward him. The boy was pulled into his lap, shaking a little.
“Shh, honey,” he whispered. “It won’t hurt at all, I swear.”
“Please be gentle,” he begged meekly. “I’m your rabbit, Gee, don’t hurt me.”
“I know, pet, I know,” he said softly as he laid him on the bed, nearly moaning in agony as Iero tilted his hips up out of defence. “It’ll be fine, I promise you.”
He straddled the younger, careful not to squish him, and began to press light kisses all over him as the sickly sweet scent wafted through his nostrils, passed through his sinuses, and fizzed in his mind. It made him grow weaker and hungrier-the boy was so delicious, so utterly inviting that it was giving him a headache.
“Just lie down, sweetheart,” he whispered, stroking his cheek and murmuring comfort to him. “Are you okay? I promise you’ll feel good, baby.”
Gerard unbuttoned the top three of his husband’s shirt and flicked his vision over his pale, soft, mouth-watering flesh that called the gangster to him. He saw a small cut, barely healed, on his chest. He brushed his lips against and came away with blood on his mouth, his chin. He hadn’t drunk; just teased himself.
He returned to the shrinking other, scared to the bone, clinging to Way’s shirt. The older man pressed his mouth, covered in blood to his. When he dragged himself away, Frank’s mouth was also splashed in a thin sheer cover of red. Gerard suckled on his bottom lip slowly, taking his time in his effort. He was going fucking insane.
Their lips parted with a small pop and Gerard slid his nose down his neck and arrived at the crook between his shoulder and his neck, lightly tracing his soft skin with his lip, his mouth opening wide and inhaling his scent, pulling back his teeth and sinking into his shoulder, sucking, draining him of all the beautiful liquid-
Frank woke up in a sweat, smirking for some reason. Mostly whenever he woke he never remembered his dreams, but not this time. It rekindled in his mind instantly and he yanked on the bedside lamp, sitting bolt up.
“Ung,” Gerard groaned from the other side of the bed, arm thrown over his face. “Che cazzo...”
Frank leaped on top of him and and pulled his jaw down. The other, understandably, cracked the able eye open and spluttered, pushing his hands away.
“What the hell are you-“
“Will you open your mouth?”
“The fuck, Frankie-“
“Open your mouth, please.”
“Babe-“ he was panting a little from the strange waking. “If this is your way of initiating sexual activity, then of course I will oblige, but Jesus-“
“I just want to see your teeth. Please.”
Gerard let his head fall back on his pillow, and pulled his bottom lip down, exposing his gums and rows of bright teeth. The boy could not contain his happiness and relief when he saw them small and blunt.
“There, see?” He raised his shoulders. “My teeth are as midget-y and strange as ever. Satisfied?”
“Yes.” He was about to rollback on his side when another thing lingered in his mind. “Will you open your eyes?”
The bulbs flickered and then stretched wide. Sure enough, the blood cherry and lime green, the defunct pupil smaller and strained-Frank had never seen something so beautiful in his life.
“Thank you.” He fell back on his side and pulled the light off. “Night, Gee.”
“May I ask what that was concerning? It is three in the morning and you just woke me up to look at my teeth and my eyes, without even a kiss? Is there foreplay nowadays?” He scoffed. “Romance is dead.”
Iero turned over and snuggled into his chest, smiling into his warmth, the older wrapping his arms around him.
“So I’m not allowed know?”
“No, you’re not.”
“Alright then.”
“Gerard?”
“Yes?”
“Happy Halloween.”
“Happy Halloween, you weirdo.”
Should I even bother pointing out that I am fucked in the head
and can I just say that I am so fucking excited for the next chapter (nerd much? um yes) that I am going to start writing it right away
(And brothers? Eh whatever.)
Anonymous email I got rather angry at:
"Does Ireland have schools? Did you drop out of it or something?”
*Author sighs and puts down pen, rubs temples and reaches into drawer, pulling out Beretta and cocking in mouth*
Let’s straighten something out here, ‘kay?
Of course there are schools in the country. If you must know, I have attended school since I was five and got into Berkeley, in the US. I nearly got the highest possible in my Leaving Cert(equivalent to SATS or finals) I got 595 when the best is 600. With all due respect, I realize I come from a working class area and I cuss a lot, but I took and continue to take education quite seriously. I took my finals when I was sixteen, three years less than normal.
I found it a little offensive. It’s like the leprechaun thing, or the drinking thing, or the hating the English thing.
1. There are no leprachauns here. Sorry for the let-down, but it’s true. However there are quite a lot of short people over here who barely push 5’4’’.(I.e. myself.)
2. I hate Guinness. It tastes like cat snot.
3. I would never hate someone because of their race/colour unless they were bitches to me. Shrugs I find the whole idea of extreme nationalism quite...irritating.
There you are. FYI, the chapter after this will be about fascism and stuff about Mussolini in Italy around the current era (1930’s) and will be featuring the League of Nations, Nazi’s, politics-because I am a HUGE history nerd and I want to nerd out in my story, annoy you all with my references and whatnot.
Title from Misfits. This is a very strange chapter,btw.
Democracy FTW!!!!
-L.N.I.
First of the Gang to Die
Cinquantadeu
Halloween
It was Wednesday the thirty first of October, still remaining on the ghostly feast day, the night of the living dead, dia de los muertos, Samhain, whichever name is to your liking. It was a particularly cold, stormy, unsettled night-stereotypical thunder and lightning had raged since midday, and rain had been on and off progressively throughout the evening hours. Members of the Way family gang had resided within the mansion for the day, excluding the morning walk and the drive around downtown LA. This was both good and bad to Frank; he loved being indoors at such a time, every shadow and thump suddenly coming alive to vicious gangsters, and someone had even screamed at dinnertime when something nudged his leg. (Gerard had slapped him across the face and instructed to ‘get a hold of yourself, Dusso, it’s Robert’s fucking cat!’) But he also found the arrangement slightly ominous-the paintings seemed to monitor his every move, there were demons in closets and behind doors, and he didn’t even think about what was under the four-poster he and Way shared at night.
He was currently in what was referred to as the common room-it was usually filled with people, drinking and cavorting and chatting, and there was even a piano and Iero’s own Gibson L-5 in the corner of the room, looking rustic and used next to the fireplace. The said fire was blazing wonderfully, and an Italian soprano was crooning on the gramophone; Abbadia, his name was. But tonight he was the only one occupying the room, reading a book that had been left, turned over on the nearby table. It was hard to understand, and he didn’t comprehend some of the words, but he could tell the author who had written the piece was very good at doing so. Besides, Gerard had read it, and liked it; and if he liked it it must be good.
So while he was concentrating, brow furrowed and muttering the words to himself, perched on one of the near-thrones, feet hovering over the floor, massive script in his lap, he didn’t hear the door breathe open, and the lithe man step through, smiling at the sight of the boy in such an intellectual state. He was a little nervous (Him? Gerard Way? Nervous?) about what was to come in their conversation, but he tried to brush his anxiety aside and smile in his charming manner.
He didn’t say anything but clinked his cane against the marble strip on the wall, so that a hollow and refined clack resonated within the room. The younger squeaked and looked up, dropping the book from his weak hold.
“Just me,” Gerard purred, sitting in a chair opposite him, but not before picking up the piece of magnificent literature his lover had been indulging in. He was impressed, and a little bit shocked to see the tragically coincidental title. “’The Masque of the Red Death?’” He flicked through the familiar, thumbed pages. “You were reading this?”
“Trying to,” the other admitted. “She talks so fancily.”
“He,” Way replied automatically. “A man wrote the book. Edgar Allan Poe.”
“Oh. Is he good?”
“I think so,” the gangster answered quietly, liking that the boy was semi-interested in something he also enjoyed, apart from killing. “But some people think his writing is very morbid and morose.”
“What does that mean?”
“Dark, depressing, macabre, not happy.” He looked up and had to wonder if Frank knew the inner meaning of the title.
“It’s about tuberculosis,” he informed Gerard in a chirpy, naive manner, even though the older man had read it hundreds of times before. “It says everything I have.”
“Yes, his wife and mother had it,” Way said, then regretting his input, afraid the younger might question their lives. They had both died. “Do you like it?”
“It’s hard to read,” Frank shrugged, a little put out by his lacklustre education. “And it’s scary.”
“It’s just a story, darling,” Gerard said softly. “Fact is scarier than fiction.”
Frank bit his lip and pushed himself off the chair, walking over to his husband a little hopefully. Said husband smiled and opened his knees (despite the screaming voice in the back of his head), where Iero settled happily, wrapping his arms around his neck and resting against him, cheek-to-cheek with the boss. He was getting freaked out by the entire house, the scratching at the windows, the deathly quiet hallways, the drip of the sink.
“I hate Halloween,” he whispered miserably, being rocked by the bigger.
“You hate it?” Gerard sounded a little amused. “But it’s your birthday, sweetheart.”
“All the scary shit,” he confirmed eloquently. “Ghosts and monsters and spiders.”
“Do you believe in ghosts?” He asked in a low voice, wondering furiously what the answer would be, getting more nervous as time ticked on. “Or monsters?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know. Maybe?”
“It’s okay, babe, I won’t hold you to it. You can change your mind.”
The boy squirmed a little and pressed himself to the gangster, head nudged under his chin, hair being stroked by the other’s mangled fingers, feeling warm and safe and content.
“Kinda. I’ve seen all the movies and books and it’s sort of like...they can’t all be wrong, can they? Frankenstein and vampires and werewolves and even fairies or something-somewhere, something weird has to be going on.” He shrugged when he though he sounded ridiculous. “I sound stupid, but...y’know...”
“You don’t sound stupid,” the other replied, and he was forcing himself to do it now, tell him now, when the lights went out with a sizzle, the gramophone stooping suddenly. Frank let out a sharp cry, buried his head in Gerard’s shoulder and whimpered. Way simply closed his own eyes, preparing for the forthcoming, and kissed the top of the boy’s head, hoping he would be allowed to do so in moment’s time.
“Shh, honey, it’s okay,” he cooed, hugging him tightly. “It’s okay, sugar pop, I’m here.” He looked out the window and saw the source. “The electricity just went out, sweetie, see? The pole got struck by lightning and the power’s dead.”
Thunder boomed within the distance and Iero squeaked, clinging to his husband with all of his might. The taller, meanwhile, dug in his pocket and fished out a match, striking it on his arm and coming back with a relish, a tall, jumping ginger flame in front of him. The younger looked up at the light source with wet, large hazel eyes with a sort of wary relief. Gerard realized this was the time to tell him.
“We have been together for little over a year now,” he said to the boy, sticking the match in an empty glass nearby, touching the edge to a candle and being thrown in a little pool of weak light. “Do you remember I said something to you the night of my twenty ninth birthday? About lying?”
Frank sniffed and thought for a minute. His memory seemed to be up to scratch to forge the scene.
“We were talking about me and you said you don’t lie.”
“Exactly.” He sighed and wondered how he should go about this. “That wasn’t true. I’m very sorry, Frankie.”
“What do you mean?” He squeaked, terrified. “Don’t you love me?”
“Of course I do, of course, it’s nothing to do with that.” Iero relaxed into him. “It’s not that I lied, I just...omitted the truth. Not to do with our marriage or our relationship, but what I have to tell you may and probably will affect it. Tonight is probably the best to do it.”
“What is it, Gee?”
“First of all, I think you should know that it’s terribly hard to hide it, and it has been extremely painful over the last year, shielding this from you. Lately the urge had become so unbearable that I have to tell you. I thought you would have said something or noticed it by now.” He cleared his throat and pushed some black locks falling from his dyed hair behind Frank’s ear, who was listening intently. “But that this certainly was nothing at all to do with you, and it shouldn’t hinder our love for one another.”
Frank sucked on his lip, looking broken and upset, snuffling quietly and dabbing at his eyes.
“Did you cheat on me?”
“I’d never do that, pet, you know that,” he whispered into the pink shell of his ear. “You’re the only hope for me, the only person I’ll ever be with forever more. You have to understand that you are just my favourite thing in the whole world, okay? You have to remember that I love you so much and I couldn’t live without you, baby, sugar, honey, okay?” He was trying desperately not to cry-he couldn’t hold out much longer. “But I need to tell you something really important, babe, and you need to appreciate that I’m still the same person after this, and that I’d never, ever hurt you or do anything you wouldn’t want me to. When I tell you this I’m still Gerard, we’re still married and you’re still my little rabbit that I treasure so much, I just adore you.” The tears were here; they were here, goddammit. “So, please, just work with me, okay?”
Frank nodded and pressed their lips together-Way had to push him lightly away, the touch of his mouth against Gerard’s was overwhelming and maddening. The boy just looked hurt.
“Why won’t you kiss me?”
“You’ll see in a minute, sweetheart, I promise you will.”
He pulled him up by the hand so that they both stood in the room, facing one another, Frank looking up and Gerard down, six inches separating them. Way picked up the candle stick and held it in front of his chest.
“Do you notice anything about me?” He asked, scanning his face for a reaction. “In the light?”
Iero stared at him intently, determined to find the fault. After a minute or two of inspecting his husband he gave up.
“No.”
“Fine.” Way handed him the candle. “Hold that up to yourself. Do you notice anything you possess but I do not?”
The answer came to the younger within seconds and terrified him, shocked him through his very core. He paled and nearly dropped the candle.
“Y-y-yes.”
“And what is that?” He said quietly, stepping closer toward him.
“You don’t have a shadow,” he whispered, and he was crying now, this was some horrible, strange nightmare that he’d soon wake from. This was so confusing-didn’t everyone have a shadow? It was scientific fact, or just common knowledge? Everyone has one, even bloodthirsty, homosexual gangsters.
“And do you know why?”
The boy shook his head, gasping a little from crying. This was scaring him.
“Perhaps I should help you.”
Gerard opened his mouth and reached into it, two loud cracks sounding from within his jaw. It appeared as if he were breaking his own teeth. Then he withdrew his fingers and squeezed his eyes shut tightly, like his life depended on it, like a kid at a rated R movie. When he opened them, they were white. His pupil was black, but the iris was bright, pure white. When Gerard let his mouth fall open a little, huge, elongated fangs dropped from the back of his throat, where molars are.
Frank nearly jumped out of his skin, rooted to the spot. This was-no. Just...no. He couldn’t be one. Never.
But then...yes. Some of it did add up. The way pain was only partially felt, how daytime was an enemy to him, the time he licked some of Frank’s blood.
“Do you know what I am now?”
No no no no-
“A vuh-vampire?”
Gerard nodded reasonably.
“A vampire, yes, correct. I feed on the life essence of living creatures, namely the vital fluid that is at this moment pumping through all of your veins and arteries, sugar. I’m the guy from the horror movies, the guy from the books, the guy with the shitty eastern European accent who comes to suck your blood.” He shrugged. “It’s all relative.”
He had his arms around Frank, who had tears running down his cheeks, shitified out of his mind.
“But you bleed-no sleeping in coffins-in daylight-tanned-reflection-“ He rasped, not touching the thing currently encasing him. “You can’t be-“
“Frankie,” he breathed softly, pressing their noses together. “You don’t honestly think I wear capes and sleep in a box and sparkle in the sunlight, do you?” He chuckled in his ear and the boy whimpered, backing up against the wall. “And that blood is as fake as those movies. I’m cut up and bruised and bleeding because if I wasn’t I’d look like a freak of nature.”
“But you feel pain, don’t you?” He was trying to remain calm-as calm as you can when your gangster husband is now a vampire gangster husband. “Your leg and stuff-“
“I feel pain depending on how hungry I am.” He sighed. “And I’m so hungry right now, babe.”
“You drink people’s blood?”
“Not Romano blood, but yes, blood in general.” He shrugged. “Of course, I eat as well, as you can see, but I can only survive with blood. Over the past year I have had to train myself to drink over longer periods of time, to survive for weeks at a time so you wouldn’t get suspicious. I thought I could become more human-eat normal food, but it doesn’t even come close to satisfying me.” His tone was heavy.
“I have drunk from the bodies of about fifty men in the last year, give or take a few. Their blood filled me, Frankie, but not in the way I’m meant to be fed.” He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Frank’s. “Blood is like food, sweetheart; it smells good or bad depending on your taste. And I have had so many feedings, baby, where blood is sweet and gorgeous but-well.” He chuckled. “You can guess what I’m going to say next.”
“You’re going to kill me?”
“Not kill; of course not. It’s just-“he was nearly gasping-“your blood smells so-amazing. So sweet and sugary and delicious-and when you’re close to me-it’s so hard to-fuck,” he groaned, cutting mid-sentence, so inhumanely gorgeous it was insane. “It’s so hard to resist, Frankie, you smell so wonderful.”
“You’d bite me?”
Gerard nodded, hunger in his eyes taking over.
Frank had always wanted to have rough sex-not necessarily careless, just a bit outside the box. He was sure that if he was bitten by him he’d go fucking crazy, attacking a monstrous gangster with more sexual desire than the twenty nine year old could muster.
“Where?” He whispered.
“Normally from your arm,” Way replied, tracing a cool finger along the soft inside of his elbow. “That’s where I do it normally. But when you drink from your lover...” he smiled a little. “When you drink with the person you sleep with you drink from the neck. The most sexualised way.”
“Wouldn’t that hurt a lot?”
“Certainly not. It’s actually great-it’s as good as sex for both parties, especially me. Anyway, you have eight pints of blood and I would only take about a half a pint. Afterwards you can eat again and your cells will duplicate faster.”
“So it wouldn’t hurt?”
“No.” He cupped his cheek. “I promise.”
“Alright,” Frank said, pulling down his collar. “You can do it now.”
“It would be a lot better if you were lying down, pet. I think we should go upstairs.”
The gangster took him by the hand and led him upstairs, the younger terrified out of his skull but a little excited. That part of him made him sick.
When they reached the bedroom, Gerard sat in the middle of the bed, beckoning Frank toward him. The boy was pulled into his lap, shaking a little.
“Shh, honey,” he whispered. “It won’t hurt at all, I swear.”
“Please be gentle,” he begged meekly. “I’m your rabbit, Gee, don’t hurt me.”
“I know, pet, I know,” he said softly as he laid him on the bed, nearly moaning in agony as Iero tilted his hips up out of defence. “It’ll be fine, I promise you.”
He straddled the younger, careful not to squish him, and began to press light kisses all over him as the sickly sweet scent wafted through his nostrils, passed through his sinuses, and fizzed in his mind. It made him grow weaker and hungrier-the boy was so delicious, so utterly inviting that it was giving him a headache.
“Just lie down, sweetheart,” he whispered, stroking his cheek and murmuring comfort to him. “Are you okay? I promise you’ll feel good, baby.”
Gerard unbuttoned the top three of his husband’s shirt and flicked his vision over his pale, soft, mouth-watering flesh that called the gangster to him. He saw a small cut, barely healed, on his chest. He brushed his lips against and came away with blood on his mouth, his chin. He hadn’t drunk; just teased himself.
He returned to the shrinking other, scared to the bone, clinging to Way’s shirt. The older man pressed his mouth, covered in blood to his. When he dragged himself away, Frank’s mouth was also splashed in a thin sheer cover of red. Gerard suckled on his bottom lip slowly, taking his time in his effort. He was going fucking insane.
Their lips parted with a small pop and Gerard slid his nose down his neck and arrived at the crook between his shoulder and his neck, lightly tracing his soft skin with his lip, his mouth opening wide and inhaling his scent, pulling back his teeth and sinking into his shoulder, sucking, draining him of all the beautiful liquid-
Frank woke up in a sweat, smirking for some reason. Mostly whenever he woke he never remembered his dreams, but not this time. It rekindled in his mind instantly and he yanked on the bedside lamp, sitting bolt up.
“Ung,” Gerard groaned from the other side of the bed, arm thrown over his face. “Che cazzo...”
Frank leaped on top of him and and pulled his jaw down. The other, understandably, cracked the able eye open and spluttered, pushing his hands away.
“What the hell are you-“
“Will you open your mouth?”
“The fuck, Frankie-“
“Open your mouth, please.”
“Babe-“ he was panting a little from the strange waking. “If this is your way of initiating sexual activity, then of course I will oblige, but Jesus-“
“I just want to see your teeth. Please.”
Gerard let his head fall back on his pillow, and pulled his bottom lip down, exposing his gums and rows of bright teeth. The boy could not contain his happiness and relief when he saw them small and blunt.
“There, see?” He raised his shoulders. “My teeth are as midget-y and strange as ever. Satisfied?”
“Yes.” He was about to rollback on his side when another thing lingered in his mind. “Will you open your eyes?”
The bulbs flickered and then stretched wide. Sure enough, the blood cherry and lime green, the defunct pupil smaller and strained-Frank had never seen something so beautiful in his life.
“Thank you.” He fell back on his side and pulled the light off. “Night, Gee.”
“May I ask what that was concerning? It is three in the morning and you just woke me up to look at my teeth and my eyes, without even a kiss? Is there foreplay nowadays?” He scoffed. “Romance is dead.”
Iero turned over and snuggled into his chest, smiling into his warmth, the older wrapping his arms around him.
“So I’m not allowed know?”
“No, you’re not.”
“Alright then.”
“Gerard?”
“Yes?”
“Happy Halloween.”
“Happy Halloween, you weirdo.”
Should I even bother pointing out that I am fucked in the head
and can I just say that I am so fucking excited for the next chapter (nerd much? um yes) that I am going to start writing it right away
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