FicWad

I have been fangirl-squealing all day about writing this chapter because

1. It is named after oneof my favourite songs ever, written by one of my favourite bands ever. (Queen, le duh.)

2. I have been writing nothing but heartbreak and rape for the last few chapters so finally a bit of slight happiness in the story appears.

3. EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE THEY ARE JUST SO CUTE TOGETHER AND I WANT TO HUG THEM BOTH AND MAKE GERARD GO BACK IN TIME TO BE IN THE MAFIA IN THE THIRTIES AND FOR FRANK TO BE HIS HUSBAND...

...and now I’m fangirling. Ah, the life of a fan fic author.

Gay gangster fluff FTWWW!!!!

-L.N.I.

And the title is meant to be taking the piss in that a lot of people see gay men as being effeminate. While some are, we can all see from this story that some certainly are not. *coughGerardcough* But I still think this is just so sweet. Because I mean getting your eye cut out and your leg cut off and being the Don of the Mafia in the 1930’s and sweet mother of Greased Up Deaf Guy I am rambling

And btw if you aren’t smiling at all during this chapter you are a cold hearted individual and are no friend of mine

First of the Gang to Die
Sessantadue
Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy


For the first time that week, Frank woke up to silence.

That’s right. No laughing or chatting, no swapping of stories and comparisons of guns, no cooking; just pure, ultimate silence. The sound of nothing reverberated around his brain and made his ears throb with straining to hear. He’d actually thought for some moments he was deaf or something.

He figured maybe the guys-and girl; let’s not forget our beloved Dolores, yanno-were just being quieter this morning, after such a hectic week. Apart from Iero’s downbeat mood, Bob had been called to in fill for Gerard in raids six times in two nights. He had been shot in the stomach, the back, the legs, and the neck. Dolores and the mysterious British man, Matthew, had inspected his injuries when he returned from his substitution as Don. Frank had lurked in the background, watching nervously as they poked and prodded him. Brian had also refrained from engaging in medical assistance, and had fearfully asked once or twice if they needed anything.

“Yes,” Dolores had nearly wept. “A fuckin miracle.”

Bob was left paralyzed from the waist down. Apparently some lead had festered its way into his spinal chord and the brain had haemorrhaged. Bryar had been left to sob and weep hopelessly for the next day and a half, refusing to accept aid or comfort. Katlyn had called round to the house but had no success in cheering up her husband.

Frank was then explained to that after nearly eleven years of serving faithfully in the Italian Mafia (Bob was, at this time, twenty five and eleven months), the sandy blond man with the casual friendliness and humour would have to be shot.

“What?!” The boy had gasped, as Kat began to cry again. “Why?!”

In the Mafia, a man who cannot serve is off no use to the system. Sure, Bryar is one of Gerard’s best friends and most trusted companions, but that is no excuse to pass on sacred traditions. Paralysis disables your ability to be ruthless and quick; the only reason Gerard survived is that it was only one leg, thank the good Lord.

And who is in charge of shooting someone when they’re down?

That’s right. The Don.

The week was epitomized by Bob’s horrible injuries, sustained on the Wednesday. But now, on the Friday, the boy was not particularly bothered by the sound of silence as he stretched and yawned in the bed, black sheets covering him. He was more concerned about the return of his lover the next day.

He pushed himself off the bed-when he was sitting on it, and his legs hanging over the edge, his feet still hovered above the ground-swept back the curtains of the four-poster, and felt wooden floor, pulling on another one of Gerard’s black silk shirts and a pair of ripped jeans. He knew his fashion sense was scorned by the community, as whenever he would go to town the eyes would glare at the boy in the casual, almost rebellious clothes. At that time, gentlemen wore shirts and waistcoats, and ladies wore skirts-no if’s or but’s about it. Tight, black t-shirts and jeans were certainly verboten.

He buttoned up the shirt and looked in the mirror, noticing he was a little paler today. He hoped that, upon his husband’s return, said gangster would be darker. Frank, of course, thought Gerard was absolutely stunning no matter what skin tone, but craved the warmth of the tan that would linger beneath his fingers.

He began to squeeze liquid foundation into his palm when he noticed with surprise that it was pitch black outside. He hadn’t seen that one coming. He glanced to the clock hovering above him, with large, ominous Roman numerals, and saw that it was just after seven. Christ-he’d slept about twenty hours straight.

The boy gazed in the mirror, dotting his nose and cheeks and forehead and smoothing it out with the brush. Eyeliner would wait until tomorrow-it was then that he would dress up for the occasion, darkening his eyes and putting on something a little more tight, a little more flattering than just jeans and a shirt. He knew that sounded slutty to the average, but Gerard was his husband, and his beloved one, at that. He wanted to give him something a little to look at after nearly a week away.

Frank looked out to the driveway and was a little shocked again when he saw that there were no cars there. Every defender who had stayed with him for the last four days had had a car parked out there, and now there seemed to be none. As the hazel orbs adjusted to the dark, he could clearly make out that yes; there were no motor-vehicles there.

He sighed with relief when he saw a black Buick just on the peripheral edge of the window, just able to see it. Satisfied enough (but still a little spooked from the ghostly silence of the huge manor) with the realities, he returned to dabbing the thick liquid over his visage, when he came to the conclusion of something very obvious. He was amazed by his stupidity of not noticing it earlier.

“Oh my God,” he whispered to himself, eyes darting again to the window, not even being aware of when the makeup brush slipped from his weak grip and rolled on the floor. “Holy fuck, that’s GERARD’S CAR!”

His thoughts were confirmed when he heard the clap of a car door closing and the familiar drawl carried out beautifully in the sharp November air.

“Yes, thank you, Ricardo, I think that should be all.”

Frank squealed and jumped so excitedly he smacked his head off the wall. He shook off the pain caused by the injury and watched as the cloaked figure with the glorious, angelic, deep and throaty voice of his husband, floated swiftly to the front door of the mansion, withdrawing a key from a pocket. The limp was there, and although he was semi-handicapped, Way still managed to move gracefully, gliding effortlessly through the air. Frank had always wondered how he did that-but now bigger things were on his mind.

He took one quick look in the glass and judged that his makeup was satisfactory. He quickly ran his hands through his hair and bit his lip-his locks were touselled and thick after sleeping so long and his attire was casual. He pouted a little. He had planned to get up ridiculously early on the morning of Saturday and make sure his appearance was absolutely flawless.

His sense of irritance was soon replaced by sheer, utter glee. Gerard was home. Gerard was here, in the house, waiting for Frank to come downstairs, so they could be together again, so that the boy could snuggle up to the killer like he had longed to do for so long-

What the hell are you waiting for? Get down there and lay some loving on his gangster ass!

I don’t mean to be conceited but sometimes I am so proud of lines I come up with

Iero heeded the voice within his head without a second’s thought and nearly fell down the stairs in anticipation and want. He budged the door leading to the kitchen from the hall open an inch, and peered through the crack. Gerard was standing with his back to him, shrugging off his coat. His sleeves were rolled around his elbows and his waistcoat was tight and taut, his midriff so wonderfully shown off the boy had to bite his hand not to moan. Then the gangster started to do something unusual-he started undressing.

Frank raised his eyebrows. That is not to say he was not enjoying this; he was just surprised.

He watched-a little pervertedly, I must admit-as his lover started unbuttoning his shirt in their front room, taking a painful amount of time before he finally shrugged the material from his shoulders. He then pulled his belt from his trousers and let them fall to his ankles, so that he was now in his boxer shorts.

By now, the boy was in tears from how beautiful this whole thing was. He didn’t know exactly why he wasn’t going out there and just strangling him to death with hugs, not to mention sucking the breath out of him with kisses, but for some reason he was just standing there, gazing at the model who stood before him.

The killer had revived the golden, rustic look in his skin tone, which travelled all the way to the back of his thighs and his lower back, radiating a tanned glow from Way as he threw his clothes into a heap in the corner of the kitchen and turned around to get something from the fridge (probably.) The twenty four year old let his hazel eyes trip over the man in his kitchen, drinking every bit of him in. He knew all the jokes about Gerard’s weight but he had never fully thought them through-his husband was the furthest thing away from fat. He remembered the day of the Oreo teaching when he had been informed of his lover’s weight. He didn’t realize all that weight was muscle.

He couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed it before-it was so fucking obvious. Gerard’s arms were taut and veined, and very bumpy from biceps and triceps that looked like they were practiced on every day. When the boss turned he gave the younger a mouth-watering look at his abs, toned and tanned and oh God just fucking perfect-

Holy mother of Jesus the man has a six-pack! Have you not fricking noticed this before, Frank? Some shitty husband you are.

Hey! It’s not like he fucking whips his shirt off all the damn time, and I’m not really looking at his stomach when we’re...y’know...

He’s whipping his shirt off now, you tard!

I know that-

What the fuck are you doing here, arguing with your damn mind, boy? Get over there and rape the man.

Oh yeah, me taking on Gerard fricking six-pack-six-foot Way, good luck there-

I’m just saying-

This is why people think I’m weird, y’see, because I sit here and think to my own mind-

FOR FUCK’S SAKE, BOY, AT LEAST GO FUCKING SAY HELLO OR SOMETHING-

“Frank?”

Spoken giggled nervously as his husband stood over him in the hall of the home, a little grin spread across the killer’s face. The boy cleared his throat and stood to his feet.

“Hi.”

“Hel-“

Iero catapulted himself into the other, attacking his face with kisses, hooking his arms around his neck, gazing into his wonderful, odd eyes. Gerard hitched him up by linking his hands beneath him and returning each and every kiss and bite he received, in the boy’s hair, his cheeks, his nose, even licking the dip in his collarbone. He recognized his own shirt-how precious, he thought, in his lust-and ripped it open, sucking at the soft, smooth, snowy skin that covered his lover’s chest, and he could hear breathy moans escaping the little mouth above him. He was hard already, just sucking and slurping at the boy he was married to, and he was only in the door five minutes. He pushed Frank up against a wall and began suckling onto a soft spot on his neck, Gerard’s pet writhing and moaning in his arms, tugging at the boxers of the older man.

They suddenly both came to their senses and stopped, pants reducing to relatively normal breathing, a dull pink glow appearing on the younger’s cheeks. His shirt had been ripped down the middle and his hair ruffled even more. The short man smiled shyly and leaned up to plant a soft kiss on his lover’s cheek. He then wrapped his arms around his neck and buried his head in his chest, snuggling into the crook of his jaw.

“Gee,” he breathed, the golden skin beneath him giving off a brilliant heat source. “Oh Gerard, I missed you so so much, I’m so happy you’re back!” The end of the sentence was a small squeak in the gangster’s ear. “Did you miss me?”

“Mmm, so much,” Way purred, pressing into sensitive spots of his thigh, relishing the tender gasps and mewls coming from his pet. “I missed my bunny rabbit so much.” He nuzzled into the brown tufts ticking his nose. “I found it so hard being away from you, darling, I just wanted to be back with you here and make all the bad memories go away.” Iero nodded. “That’s why all the protectors are gone, sweetie, ‘cause I wanted it to just be the two of us.”

“Really?” He asked; it was so rare they were ever alone, even for a few hours in one room. “Just us? Really?”

“Uh huh,” he answered, rubbing the side of the kid he cherished so much. “Do you like that?”

“Mmmhmm,” he responded quickly, still being cradled by the Don. “How was Italy?”

“It was average,” he replied, sounding unimpressed. “I did not particularly enjoy the company of Mister Mussolini. He was a stupid man.” He scoffed. “The first time we met he asked me to call him sir, and then he tried to get me to sleep with one of his prostitutes. The fucking disrespect...”

“Um,” Frank said quietly, looking into the glassy green eye,"what did you say?”

“What did I say for what, pet?” He asked, stroking his hair.

“When he wanted you to sleep with...”his lip trembled and quivered. “When he wanted you to sleep with another person.”

“I told him that I was unbelievably happy with my marital status and that no one could ever come close to my husband, the only person I ever want to engage in sexual activity with.” Frank smiled into his chest. “I told him that I hated him for making me leave you when you were so sick and that you’d miss me terribly, poor baby.”

Iero kissed him again, knowing his sincerity from the eye constantly focusing on him. The dead orb, however, rolled in the socket as Gerard talked. The boy didn’t mind though; he was used to it now.

“Gee?”

“Sweetie?”

“Why did you...uh...” he giggled, that bubbly laugh that was music to the other’s ears. “Why did you come in and just start taking your clothes off?”

Gerard laughed quietly and pressed their lips together again.

“Why?” He questioned, smirking. “You mind?”

“Oh-no,” the boy lisped, tracing circles on his bare, warm skin. “I like your muscles,” he said softly, trailing his finger along the bumps of the gangster’s arms. “And your tan.” He flicked up to see the older man smiling at him. “You’re so handsome, Gee.”

Gerard grinned at the flattery.

“You’re just the cutest little thing, Frankie.”

“Thanks,” he muttered, and the murderer laughed loudly. “So...what's with the stripping?”

“Well, y’know, I’m just so goddamn tired after the whole trip, I had to wear suits the entire week, with braces and cummerbunds and shit.”

“What’s a cummer-thing?”

“Ah, just this thing that basically makes you look skinnier or something, I dunno,” he shrugged, obviously considering the effort futile.

“You said you’re really tired,” Frank tried to put on a sexy voice, and it didn’t work. “I could...y’know...make you feel better if you want.”

The gangster was doubling over with silent laughter.

“What?” He asked, a little frustrated at the childish reaction. He was trying to get into the seductive atmosphere but the twenty nine year old could hardly stand.

“What the fuck-are you having digestion problems?”

“No-I-how dare you! That’s my sexy voice!”

“Your sexy voice?” He was gonna piss himself, swear to God. “Baby, you’re sexy enough, no need for the voice that sounds like you’re nauseous.” He regained his composure as Iero pouted, one plump lip pushed out. Gerard lowered his tone. “Anyway-“

“You put on a sexy voice!” He exclaimed, jabbing a finger to his lover’s chest. “You just put on one right there!”

“Yeah, but my sexy voice is actually sexy, ain’t it?” The boy muttered to himself. “Yeah, it is. I know, I know, I got skills when it comes to the sexy voice.”

“Can you be skilled at ‘the sexy voice’?”

“Evidently.” He laughed again at the sour expression on that beautiful face. “I would actually love for you to make me feel better later, sugar pop, but I actually got a lil thing planned, ya know?”

“Oh.” He wanted to be alone with Gerard ,and thought the evening was theirs-he was wrong. “Where are you going?”

“It’s us, bunny,” he soothed, and Frank got excited once more. “Just us in the house, no going out and being social. I am not quite the socialite of the family, really.”

“Mmm, good,” his rabbit smiled, dragging him into another kiss, “’cause I want you all to myself.”

“Well, you’re gonna get me.” He paused and withdrew slightly from the embrace. “You like chocolate, right?”

“Of course,” Iero answered, a little offended that someone would even ask him such a thing. He as also a tad confused. “I love chocolate. There’s only two things I love more than chocolate.”

“What are those?”

“Oreo’s,” he replied happily, and Gerard was not surprised. “And you. You’re my favourite in the whole world.”

“I beat Oreo’s?”

“Of course you beat them. They’re just biscuits.” The little beam. “You’re my gangster.”

“Do I need to repeat you are just the most adorable thing in this world?”

“Nope,” he said, giggling. “What are we doing, Gee?”

Gerard moved closer to the boy and placed his hands at his hips once more. His lips brushed against his lover’s forehead, the amber lamps following his every move.

“Remember...a few months ago? We played poker down in the basement.”

“Uh huh.” Fuck, those eyes, those eyes are just so delicious. “Why?”

“Mmm, well,” he hummed into the brown locks, honey and milk assaulting his nostrils, “go down there and have a lil look for me, mmkay? I’ll be upstairs getting dressed and I’ll join you in a few moments.” The gangster turned to go up the stairs.

“Gee?” The boy asked fearfully.

“Yeah, bunny?”

“I don’t wanna go down there on my own,” he whimpered, feeling stupid but knowing he didn’t have the courage to descend alone. “The basement is scary. There are spiders. And maybe ghosts.”

“I assure you nothing is down there tonight,” he replied on his way up the steps, and then he winked down at the boy. “You’ll enjoy it, darling.”

Frank nodded, a little frightened, and sucked on his lip as he grasped the railing and flicked the switch to go down the narrow staircase to the cellar. There were two doors as a partition in the hall of the cellar-one marked ‘W’ and the other a simple plain oak. The one with the initial-‘Way’, what else-was the torture chambers, and the other was just the basement were things like the boiler and the central heater were stored. They had played poker here with Warner, Armstrong and Molko here over nearly six months ago.

But the room in which cards had been traded and bet in May was redecorated magically now. One half of the room was still a very typical cellar, just dark and barren-but the other side was one plush couch, covered with blankets and pillows and throws. It was soft and relaxing to the touch as the boy rubbed it, enthralled. The next thing he saw was one of the most gorgeous things on the planet; and the love Frank had for his husband grew; something he didn’t think even possible.

On the table, heaving, bowling over, covered, were sweets and candy and chips and cookies and a whole fucking sweet shop worth of sugar on a table. There were Oreo’s, and jawbreakers, and popcorn, and nachos, and lollipops and jelly snakes and sugar mice and toffee and fudge and Hershey bars and Smarties and Mars Bars and Snickers and Coke and Sprite and every sweet under the sun that you could think of, and more and more. Cupcakes and poprocks and chocolate eggs and caramel...

I actually have to stop describing now because I’ve started drooling

Frank’s mouth hung open as he inspected the bowls of food laid on the massive, bulging table, and he could hear his stomach whining already to get that shit inside of him, and fast. There was no doubt in his mind now; Gerard Arthur Way, Don Way of the Famiglia, is the best husband ever.

Period.

He spotted a small note attached to one of the bowls.

Enjoy yourselves you two!

xx Bri, Matt, Dolly and Bobby

FOR FECKS SAKE MY NAME IS NOT DOLLY

Frank smiled at the note, then nearly jumping out of his skin when the velvety smooth voice called to him.

“Well, sweetie? I did good?”

“Oh, Gerard,” he squeaked, heart swelling as he hugged his husband tightly-who was now in casual mode; well, ‘casual’ for Gerard, which is a shirt and dress trousers, both black and sophisticated-and giggled with bliss. “Gee, this is so cool! Look at all the food!”

“Mmm, you didn’t think I’d organize this lil thing without some snacks, did you?” He dimmed the lights and flicked a switch behind him; suddenly the words THE MOTION PICTURE PRODUCERS AND DISTRUBUTORS OF AMERICA were displayed on the wall.

This was the original name for the MPAA (Motion Picture Association of America) which was the name until 1945. Don’t say I haven’t researched my shit

“AAAAHHH!” Frank squealed in excitement, kissing the gangster over and over again. “We’re watching a movie?!”

“Well, yeah,” Gerard said softly, tracing the boy’s lower lip, looking a little sad. “I know it must be so hard on you, pet, because we never go out or do anything fun as a couple. We just stay inside and talk.”

“But I love talking to you,” Iero confirmed. “And we go for walks sometimes, like when you asked me to marry you again.”

“Yeah, but honey, you’re younger than I am, you’re still a kid, you’re not even twenty five,” he murmured. “You should be out having fun and dancing and going to the movie theatre, not being cooped up inside a house because you have a gangster for a husband. And I feel terrible for that.” He smiled. “So I know it’s small or whatever, but I wanted us to just stay in and watch a movie, ya know, semi-normal or whatever.” The grin widened. “And I did get you something else. Because I felt so awful on the phone when you were talking about us never being together.”

“What?” He was getting more and more excited. “What is it, Gee, what is it?”

“I said to you we could go away for a lil while, didn’t I?” He closed his eyes and smiled lazily, knowing he was keeping the boy in suspense. “So...I may or may not have booked for us to go to England for two weeks.”

The noise Frank Iero then made cannot actually be described; it was too high to be a screech, a scream or a squeal. Perhaps only dogs were only able to hear it. But then the boy hugged the boss so tightly Gerard had a little trouble breathing.

“You are the best husband in the world,” he hummed right into the shell of Way’s ear.

“Darling, I’m really not-“

“No,” the boy said sternly, peppering his neck with kisses, “you are. I don’t give a crap about all the people you killed, I don’t care that you think you’re fat or something, I don’t care that you’re the most wanted man in the States right now, because you are just the most wonderful husband in the world. You treat me so good, and you never, ever get angry with me, and you work so hard and then you come home and you do whatever I want you to.” He was nearly in tears; Gerard embraced him. “And now we get to go to England because you’re just so awesome and cool and wicked-“ he squealed-“WICKED! THAT’S AN ENGLISH WORD!” He giggled. “I am so saying that all the time now.”

“Well... thank you, sweetheart,” he breathed, caressing his cheek. “You really think that?”

Frank nodded vigorously.

“You’re wicked.”

“Thank you, darling.” He nodded to the couch, and both men could not stop smiling; Frank at the fact that he had the best husband in the world, and Gerard for the fact that he also had the most wonderful partner he could ask for. They both sat down and sank into the sofa, releasing deep breaths of ‘ahhh’s as they did.

“Wanna come snuggle with me, babe?” Gerard offered, holding a hand out to the rabbit, who looked a little unsure. “Something wrong?”

“Just...” he nibbled at his lip, and Way knew the signs all to well. Time for the best husband in the world tactic to set in.

“Memories, honey?”

“Mmmhmm,” he bleated, rubbing his eyes, his little chest beginning to rise erratically. “Just...earlier it was okay, and now it’s not.” He hiccupped as Gerard passed him a handkerchief.

“It comes and goes, bunny?”

“Mmmhmm,” he replied again, getting more and more upset. The gangster hated de Luca most of all for this-that he could suddenly upset Iero as he liked, even beyond the grave. “I’m sorry.”

“Hush, pet,” he cooed, rubbing his knee. “Don’t apologize at all, darling, it’s not your fault. I don’t mind at all, honey, I just hate seeing you so upset and hurt.”

“But...doesn’t snuggle mean have sex?” He squeaked, snuffling softly, the eyes now looking at Gerard; doleful and wet and large. “Isn’t that what you meant?”

“No, baby,” he breathed, “not at all. It means you sit in my lap and we have a cuddle, yeah? Nothing sexual at all, sugar pop, I just wanna hug my bunny rabbit tonight because I haven’t seen him in so long and he’s gotten even more gorgeous since I left.”

A short silence.

“Will you...will you be gentle?” He whimpered, snuffling.

“Of course I will,” he affirmed honestly, opening his arms. “I’ll be so gentle, baby, so soft.” Frank clambered onto his legs and snuggled into his chest, tears streaking down his cheeks. “That okay, honey?”

“Uh huh,” he answered, wiping his tears away and giggling a little. “Thanks, Gerard.”

“Oh, no problem, pet, you know I aim to please here.”

“You’re good at it,” Frank said softly. “You’re so good at making me feel better.”

“Don’t want you to be afraid a me,” he murmured. “I want you to feel safe around me.” He realized they should be celebrating instead of being sorrowful. “Now! Shall we commence the operative of the film?”

“You’re so weird,” and the hiccup giggle.

“So I’ve been told, babe, so I’ve been told.” He saw the other grin as the picture came to life, the projector stretching blowing up images of the original picture, and the title of the movie became known.

“Dracula?” He squealed again. “Oh Gee, that’s so wicked! I fucking love this movie!”

The real Dracula movie (ie from the book) was made in 1931

“Who doesn’t?” He pulled a serious face and let his voice take on a throaty, Eastern European accent. “I am...Dracula.”

“I bid you...welcome,” Frank finished, giggling again, his whole body shaking in Gerard’s lap. It was very dark-Gerard could only see Frank and the screen in front of him, and his lover was but a moving shadow in his arms.

“Pass me some food, will ya, honey? Fricking starving back here.”

“What do you want?” The younger put to him, scanning through the feast. “Fuck, there must be like twenty bowls of food here, Gee!”

“Actually twenty three,” he corrected.

“Did you buy them?”

“I instructed Brian and Matthew to do so whilst you were sleeping this afternoon.” He scrutinized the selection. “I’ll have that chocolate thing.”

“Which chocolate thing? There a whole lotta chocolate things, Gee.”

“That thing in the front. Kinda looks like a dick or something.”

“Gerard! That is a mouse!”

“That’s what they want you to think, isn’t it? Censorship at it's finest.”

Frank rolled his eyes but laughed, and took an Oreo, looking suspiciously around for its associated drink.

“Want milk?”

“It’s okay, I’ll get it upstairs-“

“Waaaay ahead a ya, bunny rabbit,” he said, and earned another kiss for his thoughtfulness as he brought out a jug of milk from the freezer behind him. “I know you too well.”

“I love you, Gerard.”

“I love you, Frank.” He broke the biscuit in half for his husband. “Now, come, eat up.”

Iero giggled.

“What are you laughing at now, you little weirdo?”

“You just treat me like your pet, that’s all,” he grinned, black marks on his teeth from the cookies. “Like now. You’re stroking my hair, and you always do it. And you’re feeding me. And you call me pet sometimes.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t know it offended you.”

“Oh no-don’t stop,” the boy said quietly, suckling on his lip once more. “I love it. It feels nice cause you like me so much.” The cat-like grin widened. “Cause you love me.”

“You goddamn right,” the criminal confirmed, and the film flickered into life. “Here, babe, since I’m the best husband in the world, you wanna crawl over and get me that bowl of popcorn?”

“Where-oh, Gee, it’s way over there!”

“So what? You get to have popcorn and I get to see your ass, it’s a great compromise.”

“But-alright,” he huffed, and reached over to grab it, just as the man in the movie was being warned by the innkeeper and his wife. “I love this.”

“What? Me seeing your ass?”

“No-just doing things like this. Eating shit and watching a movie. What normal couples do.” He shrugged. “I never thought the Don of the Mafia would do something like this.” He laced their hands together. “You’re really sweet.”

“Old fashioned lover boy, you know me.”

“Mmm,” Frank replied, so utterly gleeful about the situation.

“Frank? Baby?”

“Yeah?”

“If I scream, you promise not to tell my men? The window scene always scares the shit outta me.”

The twenty four year old nodded, so warm and safe in his bubble of paradise.

“Okay, Gee.”

The two would be found by Dolores in the morning, wrapped in each other’s arms.