Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > "Be My Detonator."

Chapter Seven

by CosmicZombie 31 reviews

Being unsuitably attached to people's chests, the dangers of boiling water, and mentally handicapped gerbils...NEW CHAPTER, PLEASE R&R GUYS!!! :D

Category: My Chemical Romance - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Humor,Romance - Characters: Frank Iero,Gerard Way,Mikey Way - Published: 2011-10-09 - Updated: 2011-10-15 - 3495 words

A/N: hey guys, sorry it’s taken me so long to update- my mum’s away at the moment and my dad doesn’t really let me on the computer much, but I’ve tried my best…sorry if this is a bit rushed, but like I said, I’m not really allowed on the computer much. It still needs spell checking ect, but I’ll have to do that next time I’m allowed on- I thought you guys would want me to post this as soon as possible. THANK YOU ALL SO FREAKING MUCH FOR THE AWESOME REVIEWS! YOU ALL FUCKING ROCK! Ahem, yeah :L anyways, hope you enjoy and please remember to R&R!

Chapter Seven

Despite my desperate mental pleas, I do not magically evaporate on the spot.

Or get rapidly absorbed by the hall rug.

Or even get suddenly abducted by bright purple aliens.

Instead, I stand there like a gobsmacked, mentally incompetent hamster dying inside as Frank Iero, the god of sexiness himself, grins up at me from the doorstep, making my knees melt beyond meltedness, resulting in me clutching hurriedly at the door in attempt to keep myself upright, suddenly feeling very aware that the last time I saw him I was running from the embarrassment of a spectacular faceplant on the grass.

“Hi, Gerard.” He grins his devastating grin, pushing a hand through his carelessly styled black mini-Mohawk, jade green eyes glittering in the bright sunshine beaming down from the cloudless blue sky.

“Ungheemoof…” I mumble unintelligibly, my brain cells all functionless in a pathetic mush of hormone-crazed, embarrassed, melted gooeyness.

“Sorry?” Frank looks amused.

I give myself a violent mental facepalm; I mean, seriously, how fucking hard can it be to just manage one intelligible sentence in front of this guy?! It’s not like he’s Glen fucking Danzig or anything! Jesus fucking Christ, I can talk in my sleep so why can’t I in front of this guy?!

Maybe it’s cause he’s standing on the doorstep looking incredibly, impossibly, brain-combustingly, knee-meltingly sexy; rebellious and casual with his scruffy dyed-black mini-mohawk that flops carelessly across his twinkling olive green eyes rimmed with smudgy red eyeliner that matches the shaved sides of his hair, dishevelled strands of ebony tickling his smiling lips and his silver lip ring that reflects the summer sun beaming down on the doorstep. His tight, faded and ripped black skinny jeans, adorned with safety pins and badges, only emphasise his slim, muscular physique, and his black ‘kill ‘em all’ t-shirt has the sleeves chopped off, exposing his smooth, lightly tanned and tattooed forearms.

Focus, fuckface. Or you really will die this time.

“Iffnoosejgs…” I say dazedly. Okay, it would be easier to speak if I was in a coma when he’s looking at me all sexy, lopsided grin, reckless hair, twinkling eyes, and just…gah. Brain. Explosion.

Seriously, it should be against the law to walk around looking that sexy- I’m surprised he doesn’t get people raping him every five seconds.

You’re doing it again, moron.

Doing what?

Spending about ten times more than can be classed as normal thinking about the guy, who by the way, is standing in front of you.

Well you’re doing it too.

You started it.

How can I have started it? you are me!

Oh, he probably thinks you need mental help.

You need mental help.

I mean he’s gunna think that because you’ve just been staring at him for the past five minutes.

Moosefuckers and meese shit.

“Um, are you okay, dude? …did you get concussion when you tripped over in the park?” Frank asks, peering at me with curious, subtly amused bright green eyes.

“Umpfhsh…No…” I manage, inwardly castrating my mushy little brain cells and resisting the urge to whack my head against the door only because I think he might actually start to think I need the kind of help involving padded white cells and extremely strong drugs.

If he didn’t think that already.

“Um, is Jamie in?” Frank asks casually, the annoyingly sexy amused smirk still playing across his lips.

Oh. Jamie.

I’d forgotten he’s dating the only descendant of Hitler.

Meesefuckers and moose shit. Why does everything in my life always have to be so complicated?!

“Uh…she’s out…she said to come in and wait for her though…she should be back..uh..soon…” I say, feeling so incredibly proud of myself to have actually managed to form an almost coherent sentence in his presence, and then not quite so proud of myself as says “Okay, cool” in response and smiles, which just about destroys the remains of my knees and I fail to move as he steps into the hall, resulting in a collision.

He’s warm and slim and tattooed and smells irresistibly of mangoes and tobacco and sunshine-

Uh oh. how long have I remained unsuitably attached to this guy’s chest?

Remove yourself, moron.

Blushing redder than a sunburnt nose of Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer on red nose day and mumbling unintelligible apologies, I stumble slightly unsteadily down the hall, motioning for Frank to follow me.

“Loving your t-shirt, by the way.” Frank grins at me, following me into the kitchen and making me blush more furiously still. “Really suits you.”

“Umeeph...thanks..” I mutter, ducking behind my dishevelled black hair in attempt to hide my flaming cheeks and narrowly avoiding a collision with the kitchen table as my raven black strands of hair obscure my vision.

There’s a slightly awkward silence for a moment, during which I hover uncertainly by the table, trying extremely hard to not give in to my hormone-crazed mushy little brain cells and look up at the beyond gorgeous human being that unfortunately happens to be dating the most fearsome female in existence since Lady Macbeth, and who would undoubtedly remove my eyeballs with her nail scissors if she knew the way I was looking at her boyfriend.

Despite the fact I know perfectly well that the female equivalent of Henry The Eighth will personally castrate me with her eyelash curlers if she knew what was going through my deranged skull, it doesn’t make the resisting any easier.

And my Frank-deluded little brain cells are not listening to me.

Seconds later, I find myself looking up through my curtain of hair and immediately realise just how bad an idea it was; Frank is leaning against the kitchen counter, hair hanging in his eyes, looking even sexier than sex itself.

Must. Get. A. grip.

Umm…d’you want something to drink?” I mumble, addressing the kitchen floor rather than Frank, deciding it would be seriously dangerous to look up again unless Frank warms to suddenly having large amounts of hormone-crazed Gerard thrown at him.

“Sure.” Frank smiles easily.

“Um, what of?” I mutter like the stupid, muttering moronic moron I am.

“Uh, do you have any coffee? Shit, dude, I’m fucking addicted to that stuff!” Frank chuckles.

Okay, this proves it; there is such thing as perfection.

“Y-yeah…coffee’s awesome…” I stutter, going over to the sink and filling the kettle up with shaky hands.

“I know right.” Frank grins, walking across the kitchen and coming to lean against the bench next to me.

It takes all my concentration to not drop the kettle.

“Emoooff..” I mumble, reverting to the language of retarded moron.

I have to concentrate harder than I ever have in my life to successfully get the mugs from the cupboard, spoon coffee grounds into them and switch the kettle on; the fact that perfection itself is leaning casually against the bench mere centimetres away from me is doing very funny things to my heart rate, not to mention my (already not brilliant) co-ordination.

“So…what year are you in at school?” Frank asks conversationally, running a hand through his careless mini-Mohawk as I tremble by the kettle.

“Um…eleven.” I manage, the pride of managing to fill the kettle and put coffee into the mugs without blowing up the kitchen giving me enough confidence to actually manage a small sentence.

“Coolbeans.” Frank grins at me.

Jeez, couldn’t the guy just like, not smile like that for a second? I might actually need my knees later on in life. Why can’t he just frown or something? Actually, his frown would probably be sexy too. Fucker.

“I dropped out of school last year.” Frank tells me, fiddling with his lip ring as the kettle starts to boil. “I mostly just play guitar now- I wanna be in a band when I’m older.”

“Awesome.” I say as the kettle clicks.

“Yeah…so, you write lyrics, Ray said?”

Ray is going to die.

“Um…kinda..” I mumble, getting the milk out of the fridge.

“Can I see them?” Frank asks.

“I dunno…” I mumble.

“I bet they’re awesome.” He grins at me.

“Why?” I ask, starting to pour the boiling water into our mugs.

“Cause you seem pretty damn awesome.” Frank says, his breath tickling the nape of my neck.

Frank thinks I’m awesome.

Frank thinks I’m awesome.

I suddenly lose all control of my hands and realise that the water is no longer being poured into the mugs.

I look down and see that I’m pouring boiling water over my own hand.

Oh. nice one, retard.

Then it hits me; I’m pouring boiling water over my own hand.

“OWWW!” I yelp, dropping the kettle and flailing my arms around. “FUCK FUCKIN FUCK!! OWWW!”

“Shit, dude, are you alright?” Frank cries, picking up the kettle.

“FUCK!” I squeal, flapping my throbbing hand about. “Ow, Ow, Owww!”

“Dude, calm down!” Frank cries, trying to grab hold of my flailing arms. “Let me have a look.”

He finally manages to grab hold of my burnt hand.

Normally, my stomach would be turning somersaults and my hand would be tingling, but my flesh feels like it’s been sliced right off and I can barely even feel his hand round mine.

“Fuck, that looks sore.” Frank grimaces. “C’mon, you need to run it under cold water.” He drags me over to then sink, turns on the cold tap and sticks my stinging hand under the gushing water.

“Is that better?” Frank asks, eyes wide and concerned, still holding my hand under the icy water.

“Umhmff…” I whimper slightly, feeling utterly pathetic, but also utterly not caring because it hurts that fucking much.

“We should get a bandage on it…where’s the first aid kit?” Frank asks me gently.

“Bathroom cupboard…” I mumble through clenched teeth- the icy water feels like fire on my aching hand.

“Okay, keep it under the water and I’ll be right back.” Frank says, gently disentangling his fingers from my hand and making for the door.

Once he’s gone upstairs, I actually lean forward and bash my head on the draining board. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Why couldn’t I have poured the boiling water over my head instead? It’s not like there’s anything in there worth saving, anyway.


Ten extremely painful minutes later (mainly painfully embarrassing, but not helped by my now numb hand), I’m sitting at the kitchen next to Frank as he carefully wraps my hand in a soft white bandage, fingertips brushing my hand.

I’m actually quite annoyed with myself because oh my god, Frank Iero is holding my hand, but thanks to my own retardedness and imbecilic brain cells, I can’t actually feel anything in my left hand.

“Better?” Frank asks, finishing wrapping the bandage round my hand, tying the ends into a bow and looking up at me through scruffy, dyed black tendrils of hair through red-rimmed eyes.

“Mphh…” I mutter, because right now he’s melting my brain just about as effectively as I melted my own hand.

“Seriously dude, I’ve never met someone so accident prone!” Frank chuckles at me, finishing tying the knot in my bandage, but not taking his hand away. “You should carry this around with you all the time!” he gestures to the first aid kit lying open on the table.

I sigh. “I know- I’m such a retard.”

“No you’re not.” Frank grins. “You’re just…”


“No, you’re just…”






“Shut up.” Frank grins. “You aren’t retarded…just co-ordinationally special.”
I have to laugh, despite the fact I’ve made more of an idiot of myself in front of this one guy than I have in my whole life, what with flying boxes of guitar plectrums, unpredictable coke cans, badly positioned hall rugs, guitars at the wrong height, magnificent faceplants and now melted hands. But hey, at least it wasn’t his hand I melted.

“Thanks.” I giggle before I can stop myself and then feel utterly ridiculous. Who giggles?! Apart from sugar-high ten year old girls in pink party dresses or Ray after that one time he decided to try smoking weed.

“You’re welcome.” Frank smirks at me.

“Very tactful.” I smile.

“That’s me.” Frank throws me a quick wink, and I’m pretty glad I’m sitting down because that’s another thing that seems to melt my kneecaps at the speed of light.

The almost peaceful silence is broken as the front door bangs open and the sound of shoes being kicked off echoes down the hall. Moments later, Mikey stumbles into the kitchen, looking suspiciously pink-cheeked and smiley with ruffled hair and traces of pink lip-gloss round his collar.

“Oh, hi guys.” He beams.

“Hi.” Frank smiles politely, and I notice his hand has suddenly detached itself from mine.

“Did you have a good time?” I ask as Mikey skips over to the fridge.

“Yeeeep thanks.” Mikey beams at me.

“How did I guess?” I roll my eyes, wincing slightly as a sharp pain shoots through my bandaged hand.

“Hey, I was- wow, what happened?!” Mikey gasps, suddenly catching sight of my bandaged hand and the first aid kit sprawled across the kitchen table.

“Gerard burnt himself with the kettle.” Frank says, getting up. “I’ll just go put this back…” He gestures to the first aid kit on the table.

“Don’t worry, I can do that…” Mikey says, but Frank shakes his head, packing the stuff back into the small, zip up case.

“It’s fine, dude.” Frank smiles, picking up the kit and leaving the kitchen.

Mikey looks at me with that ‘I know you did something totally retarded’ look. “What happened then, Gee?”

“Nothing.” I say stubbornly, not meeting his all too knowing hazel eyes.

“Aw, c’mon Gee- I’ve been your brother for fifteen years…I know when you’ve done something stupid.” Mikey smirks, sitting down beside me in Frank’s vacated seat.

“Go way.” I scowl. Right now, I really do not need my brother laughing like a hysterical hyena at me to contribute to my endless embarrassment.

“Pleeeease, Gee?” Mikey puts on his puppy dog eyes.



“Do you promise not to laugh?” I sigh in defeat.

“Promise.” Mikey says seriously.

“Pinky promise?”

“Pinky promise.” Mikey says solemnly, coiling his pinky round my un-injured one.

“Okay, well I was making coffee and Frank told me he thought I was awesome and I kinda froze and then realised I was pouring coffee over myself.” I say reluctantly.

Mikey starts howling with laughter like a mentally handicapped gerbil on speed.

“You promised not to laugh!” I say indignantly.

Wordlessly, still shaking with laughter, Mikey takes his hand out of his pocket and shows me his fingers. They’re crossed.

“I hate you, Mikey Way!” I cry, standing up. “It’s not my fault I suck at life, okay?!”

Mikey clearly is beyond speech, cackling hysterically in his seat.

“Is he okay?” a soft voice behind me asks, and I jump and whirl round to see Frank standing in the doorway.

“Umm…yeah…he’s just forgotten his medication today…” I sigh.

“Hey, will you show me your lyrics now?” Frank asks, looking at me with big, olive-green eyes and an irresistible lopsided, hopeful grin.

“…S-sure.” I hear myself say. Fuck. Do I no longer have any control over what I say? “They’re upstairs.”

Apparently not.

“Awesome.” Frank grins at me, starting up the stairs.

I groan, inwardly murdering my brain, and following him up the stairs, sincerely hoping that by the end of the afternoon, all Frank’s essential organs will still be intact and fully functioning.


“Dude, these are fucking amazing!” Frank exclaims after he’s finished reading his way through two of my songs, sitting cross-legged on my bed.

“Y-You think?” I stutter from where I’m hovering apprehensively by the stereo, trying not to stare to much at the vision of perfection that’s sitting on my bed, cheeks pinkening, a stupid little bubble of pride swelling in my chest.

“Fuck yeah! Can you sing?” Frank asks, scanning over my lyrics again and running a hand through his careless hair.

“Kinda…” I mumble, hiding my blush behind my hair.

“Can I hear?” Frank asks eagerly, looking up at me.

“No way! I never sing in front of people!” I protest and then add, “Sorry.” As I notice his face fall a bit.

“Shame…I’d love to jam with you sometimes- these songs are fucking awesome.” Frank says regretfully, getting up and handing me back my lyrics.

My heart jolts. Frank Iero would like to play music? With me?

Is he on drugs?

Oh yeah, he must be- he’s dating Jamie, and no one in their right mind would do that without the aid of extremely strong medication.

“…Thanks..” I mutter, taking the sheets and jumping slightly as our hands touch, sending sparks up my spine and making me wish for Jamie’s immediate removal from existence.

And Frank to suddenly become gay.

And attracted to beyond clumsy, stuttering, brain-dead retards.

“No worries.” Frank smiles gently at me, and suddenly he seems a whole lot closer than before, his face just centimetres away from mine, his tobacco and peppermint scented breath warm and tickly on the soft flesh of my lips, his recklessly styled hair flopping between us, floppy and dyed-black and mango scented.

Suddenly, I can’t breathe, and I’m incredibly thankful I seem to have gone into frozen shock, otherwise my knees would definitely have given way into a pathetic slushy mess on the floor.

“Y’know…” Frank breathes softly, making goose bumps erupt all over me and my knees tremble as his smoky exhale brushes my cheek. “…You really are pretty awesome.”

It is possible I have actually died. I mean, seriously- this just wouldn’t happen in real life.

“M-me?” I hear myself stutter in a whisper.

“Yeah.” Frank’s lips twitch into a smile.

“But…but I’m weird and ugly and I can’t even walk across a flat surface without finding something to trip over..” I stutter, horribly aware of just how much my legs are trembling and my heart is racing and seriously hoping my knees don’t give way, cause that would kinda ruin things.

“Weird is awesome, you are pretty much the last thing from ugly, and incidentally, I find the fact you manage to injure yourself or me each time we’ve met kinda cute…” Frank smiles, and then his nose brushes the tip of mine so softly, briefly, I wonder if I imagined it.

If it wasn’t for the fact I’m pretty sure I’m dreaming, I’d be pretty damn worried about fainting right now; my hearts racing, pulse fluttering, stomach somersaulting, head spinning…

Frank brings a hand up and pushes my messy black hair out of my eyes, making me shiver as his eyes gaze into mine, reckless and olive green, shimmering in the sunlight that streams through my bedroom window. He’s so close…wild, creative, humorous emerald eyes, soft, pink lips, smooth, pale skin…

“Frank?!” we both jump apart as my bedroom door bangs open to reveal the last person on the planet I’d like to walk in right now.

And lest just say, if looks could kill, I’d be brutally murdered, buried, dug up and brutally murdered once more.

How was it? sorry it was kinda bad, but you’ll like the next chapter a loooot, methinkgs xD xD please please please rate and review to let me know what you think, it would mean a lot as it was really hard for me to get this posted. Thank you all so much for reading and being patient- love you all!!

CosmicZombie xo

p.s. I’d really appreaciate it if oyu could check out and review this oneshot I wrote a few weeks ago…thanks
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