Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > First of the Gang to Die

Black Market Blood

by unitedsuck007 4 reviews

Running on black market blood.

Category: My Chemical Romance - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Drama - Characters: Frank Iero,Gerard Way - Published: 2011-10-16 - Updated: 2011-10-16 - 6670 words - Complete

Thanks to everyone who replied to suzyrevenge's indiotic post the other night. So nice to see people telling that girl where to shove it.


Proof that being badass runs in the Way family.

Title is from Placebo, as are quite a few in this story. I fucking adore that band. The name here refers to how the Way tradition is bad and stuff

oh well naw Lornaigh

btw, questions raises in this chapter will be answered later.

anyway, there are four segments in this chap-first is Gee and Frank's conversation, then Luciana's talk with her friends and the intervention, Luciana and Gerard talk, and then Gerard and Frank share the almight Frerard cuteness.

Yes. sing it, my pervy MCRmy sisters.

-and brothers?

Xo lorna

First of the Gang to Die
Black Market Blood

“Got everything, honey?” Frank called up the stairs as he pulled on his gloves. “You okay?”

“Yes, Franco!” Was the jubilant reply from Luciana’s room. “I’ll be ready in five minutes!”

Iero smiled and walked into the kitchen, where his husband was. It was a dark, chilling day in early December and the residents of lower LA certainly felt the mad swing in temperature. Frank had agreed happily to take his lover’s niece to the local park today. Luciana had talked very excitedly about how her best friends from pre-school would be there-Emilia and Morgana, their names were. The twenty four year old’s heart nearly split when she talked of how seldom she saw other children her age, her peers-she was home-schooled and Donald had been fairly strict when it came to her freedom, or lack thereof.

“Hi Gee,” the boy greeted as he perched on Gerard’s knees, beaming. Their lips meshed together in a brief moment of tenderness as the younger mewled into the mouth of the other-his sexual stronghold was not as sturdy and foolproof as Way’s. He pulled back, that little grin still on his swollen lips. “You sure you can’t come?”

“I’m sorry, baby,” he purred back, brushing strands of chocolate hair from the matching eyes. “I have to meet some guys again about becoming Don de la Via. I wish I could, sugar, I wanna be with you and Luciana,” he said softly, brushing their noses together. “You know I’d rather be with you anytime.”

“What are you planning with her today?” The gangster inquired, stroking his pet’s hair.

“Park,” he replied simply, and the gangster frowned. His thin, pink lips curved downward and the green eye darkened.


“Oh, please, Gee!” He pleaded, sinking into his lap further, tugging at him; he already knew the effort was futile, but he could at least try... “Please, Gee, she’s really excited and I’d be so careful, I’d carry a gun and everything-“

“Babe, it’s not happening.” His tone was flat and depressed-if he didn’t want it going ahead, it wouldn’t. “I am not letting you out on your own with no guards.”

“It’s down the block, Gee!” He insisted, spreading his legs a little to weaken the boss-but sex was the last thing on Gerard’s mind. “It’s just down the street, Gerard, I promise I’ll wear the belt and everything-“

“Frank. You know why I can’t let you do that. You know how much danger you could be in, bunny?” He sighed. “I’m sorry for being such a bastard, darling, but I can’t let both of you do that.” Gerard rubbed his husband’s thigh and rested against his forehead. “I can’t, baby. You know what I’d fucking do if either of you got hurt?” He sucked at his cheek. “Please, babe, you can let her friends over here if she’s upset. They can play in the garden if they wish, but not the park.” He shook his head fervently. “That is not going on.”

The doorbell went with a powerful, true ring. Gerard rose, and kissed Frank on the mouth again.

“I know it sucks, bunny. But that way I can be here as well, and it’ll be better.” He sighed again and cuddled him close. “I know my current situation must frustrate you.”

“It doesn’t really,” he murmured. “Just when we can’t be together.” He thought of something. “We’re still going to London on our own, right? No defenders?”

“Mmmhmm, babe, you know it,” he breathed, then facing him again, leaning on his stick. “Got the Romano’s coming round. They’re coming around to agree to terms of the treaty we’ll agree to once I become...” The wicked, crooked, melting smirk. Frank physically weakened. “Untouchable.”

“Romano’s?” The other squeaked, being pressed into his husband’s chest. “But they’ll...they’ll do something, Gee, they’ll-“

Another shrill, impatient trill. Quiet mutterings of swear words were heard from under the crack in the door.

“It’ll be fine, babe.” His fingers caressed the boy’s face lightly. “Don’t you worry about it.”

“So you live here now?”


“With Don de la Via?”

“Uh huh.”

Emilia nodded, strawberry blond curls dancing on her shoulders. Luciana Way, along with her best friend from babyhood, was in her uncle’s common room, the gorgeous chamber of reflection and past-times. Emilia Calversari-the granddaughter of the Way family medic-a spritely little thing of seven, dolled up in a fur coat and boots, sat opposite Luciana. They had become friends when attending kindergarten together but now they were both tutored privately by their own teachers, and rarely saw each other. They were both pleased to be reunited again-when Emilia was informed by her step-mother (her birth mother, Arianna, had been killed at the tender age of twenty four whilst serving in the Calversari branch of the Brigata) that Luciana and herself would be meeting up again, she was extremely happy. The pair of them were in the large room, Emilia clasping a large porcelain doll and brushing out golden hair that mirrored her own.

Luciana was in a plain black shirt and soft slacks, grey braces secured over her slight shoulders. A tiny pair of Converse clad her feet. Her now black hair (still a mystery to Frank and Gerard) was tied back in a loose ponytail. She was practicing her bass, small fingers barely stretching over the frets.

“You look different,” Emilia pointed out, rather fondly. “I’ve never seen anyone but Daddy and Don de la Via wear stuff like that before.”

“I hate dresses,” the other replied, soft, low notes coming from the bass as she plucked the strong strings. “Don de la Via doesn’t mind what I wear at all.”

Emilia nodded, and then a slow blush blossomed in her cheeks.

“The boy who opened your door.” She grinned-it was adorable. “He’s sooooo good-looking.”

“I know,” Luciana agreed, nodding vigorously, and lying her bass back down carefully. She crossed her legs-an unheard of position for a lady-and talked animatedly with her hands. “He’s Franco, he’s my uncle’s husband.” She smiled again. “He’s nice.”

“Is he down there talking to the Romano’s?” Emilia asked quietly, and both girls paused to hear the low mutters of conversation taking place down below them, in the study belonging to Gerard.

“No, I think he’s working in their bedroom,” the Way girl said. “He’s a scientist.”

“Oh.” Emilia seemed quiet-Luciana knew this; normally her friend was the life and soul of the party, full of life. Today she was rather silent.

“Is something the matter?” She quizzed politely, hoping not to appear nosy. “You’re awfully quiet, Lia. Are you shy or something?” She shook her head and smiled. “I know Gerd’s Don de la Via now but he’s actually really nice-“

“It’s not that,” Calversari muttered. She closed her eyes and set her doll down. A sigh escaped her lips. “It’s Daddy.”

“What about him?” David Calversari was a footsoldier in his own gang, the Calversari syndicate, specializing in the illegal sales of alcohol during the Prohibition. Now, seeing as the laws had been repealed, the gang mainly served Gerard ultimately, as did the vast majority of gangs in the area. If Luciana remembered right from her father told her several years ago, he was a little younger than her uncle. “Is he ill? Is Don de la Via displeased with him?”

“No telling, Luci,” she scarce more than muttered. “Not even Morgana.”

“Oh, I promise,” she breathed, holding her friend’s hand. “I promise, Lia.”

“I’m meeting Daniel soon,” she explained so softly, not meeting Luciana’s eye. “He’s one of the boys belonging to the Reverdici family. He’s ten.” She blinked, and some crystal tears slipped down her cheeks. “Daddy says when I turn fifteen I have to get married.” She brought her hands to her face and began to sob openly. “I don’t want to! I can’t, Luci! I just...I just can’t. I don’t even know him.” She raised her eyes, dancing blue eyes filled with tears. “How can I be expected to love someone I don’t even know? Not even-“

A light tap was at the door, and then a tinkling voice passed through the keyhole.

“Luciana? Are you there?”

Emilia sniffed and dabbed at her eyes as she tried to sober herself up. She had actually hoped that she would be able to confide in Luciana and Luciana alone-Morgana would not quite be as understanding.

“Morgana!” She trilled happily, flinging the door open to see her old friend, dressed head-to-toe in designer couture. “Oh my God!”

The two girls embraced quickly, after having not seen each other since Way was introduced into her grandfather’s care. Once they were done, the pair of them sat down where the third girl was also present.

“I didn’t know you had a brother, Luci,” Morgana observed, after also greeting Emilia to a lesser extent, as they saw each other more regularly.

“I don’t.” Luciana raised her eyebrows a little as her friend began to look at the house with distain. “I’m an only child.”

“The boy who answered the door,” Morgana simplified. “The short guy.”

“Oh!” Luciana and Emilia laughed shrilly. “He’s not my brother, silly! He’s married to my uncle!”

Way and Calversari rolled on the carpeted black floor, clutching their stomachs with laughter. Morgana looked shocked.

“Your uncle is Don de la Via.”

“Uh huh,” Luciana managed between laughter.

“Momma never told me...he was....was a...fanook.”

Luciana gasped. She stopped laughing and sat up, mouth open, eyes wide and accusing.

“Don’t say that,” she said, feeling her inner anger blazing. “That’s a horrible thing to say.”

“It’s a sin, Luciana,” the other girl insisted. “You can’t do that. Boys marry girls.” Emilia squeaked a little. “Girls marry boys. You can’t marry the same person.”

“It doesn’t work like that. If you love someone it doesn’t matter, don’t you get it?” She held her palms out to show her ideology. “Zio loves Franco a whole lot and he’d never ever hurt him, they’re always hugging and stuff-“

“Oh, stop it!” Morgana ordered, almost crying with effort. The thought of two men being close made her feel sick to her stomach. “It’s evil. Momma says it’s evil.”

“Maybe your momma is wrong-“

“How dare you! Just because your one is DEAD!”

Jeez Morgana is a BYOTCH

Luciana gasped again, tears of hurt stinging the backs of her eyes as she comprehended what her friend had just fired at her. It felt like someone had shot her. Her heart was ripping its stitches.

“That-that’s so horrible,” she could only murmur. “Why would you ever say something like that?”

The door of the Way common room flung open with a bang. Three boys, not much older than the girls, entered the room. Luciana knew them; but she stayed silent.

“If it isn’t the sluts of the mongrel family,” one sneered, dressed completely in a dark-grey trousers and waistcoat. “Playing dollies? Matches your faggot family, cunt.” He was looking directly at Luciana; he knew her also. “Mind if we join?”

They all looked the same-brown messy hair, pale, and grey attire. Sons of Marcus Romano, no doubt-just as vulgar and disgusting as their father before them, now talking to Gerard downstairs.

The tallest, the one who had spoke previously, was about to stamp his foot on Emilia’s-now sobbing-doll, when the Way girl spoke.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

That unnerved Peter Romano. No one-especially a girl-ever stood between him and what he wanted. When the girl sounded so certain and strong, it made him just the smallest bit nervous.

“Why the fuck not?” He moved towards her-she didn’t budge. “Why the fuck not, bitch?”

“Don’t call me that. My name is Luciana.” She raised her mousey eyes to meet his grey ones. “Luciana de la Via.”

“He doesn’t have kids, he’s a f-“

“He’s married to a man, yes.” She said reasonably. If Romano had been here he would have been struck by how similar her style was to her uncle’s. “I’m his niece.”

Peter shuffled his feet and looked the six year old dead in the eye. She remained unflinching.


“I don’t care what you think,” Luciana muttered. “I know what he is and who he’s married to. I know that I’m a girl and you think you’re better than me.” She smiled sweetly, flashing her teeth. “And I also know that if you annoy me further I’m going to rip your eyes out and make you eat them.” She blinked. “Questions?”

There would have been if Gerard didn’t intervene in the next moment, his cane tipping the door open.

“Excuse me,” he said, “you are not permitted to be up here. Please stop harassing my niece and her friends and join your father downstairs. He is waiting for you.”

Peter said nothing but stayed where he was. Gerard sighed and rubbed his temples.

“Listen, you little shit, either you get out now or I shove this so far up your ass it’ll make you look like a pig on a skewer,” he said in an airy tone, tapping his cane. The boys brushed past the tomboy and her impending relative.

Gerard rasied an eyebrow at Luciana. Then he left.

“Luciana? May I come in please?”

The little girl raised her eyebrows at her uncle’s formality as his knuckles rapped on the wooden door. She was in bed, snuggled under royal purple silk sheets, eyes falling along lines of the book she was currently indulging in; the Italian edition of the Bible, the only literature Donald had supplied her with.

“Yes, zio.”

Gerard pushed the door open and rapped over to her, placing himself carefully on the edge of her bed. There were violet bags under his eyes and reading glasses were propped up on his nose. He raised his eyebrows at the title.

“'La Bibbia'?” He sounded amused. “Interesting light reading.” His lips curled up at the sides. “May I see which part you are currently at?”

Luciana bit her lip. Nonetheless, she handed the leather bound text to her uncle. His eyes widened slightly when he caught sight of the author and the verse.

“Leviticus.” He nodded. “Men lying with men.” He was struggling not to laugh. “I see.”

“I don’t-I don’t agree with that-“ her uncle giggled as she stammered. “I was just reading through it-“

“It’s fine, darling,” he confirmed. “I just want to chat to you about some things, honey.”

“Alright.” She placed the book on the bedside table and sat cross-legged. “Go ahead.”

“I’m sorry that you could not attend the local park with your friends this morning,” he said quietly, both members of the Way family watching the candle flame in the corner dance and jump. “But the fact is that I was not able to accompany either of you and I could not bear it if yourself or my husband were hurt.” She nodded. “I was busy today, Luci, and I could not leave the meeting.”


He nodded gravely. “Sitting down with them for three hours. I spent at least two of them listening to them insult me and our family, we got bad blood and whatever.” He yawned and cracked his neck. “Some people are so unreasonable.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Many things, love, many things...” he rubbed his temples. “Primarily that I am head of the Famiglia now and that I am to be stricken from their hit-list, as it were.” He smirked.

“Do I have to call you Don de la Via now?” The girl inquired. “Everyone calls you that. Like zia Christa and zio Raggio.”

“You call me whatever you like, honey,” he said, eye soft and smouldering.

“Franco doesn’t call you that,” she chirped happily, and she glimpsed the faint sight of a pink glow on the gangster’s cheeks. “He calls you by the first letter of your Christian name.” She giggled again. “I heard this morning.”

“When did you hear this?”

“In the kitchen. He was sitting in your lap and you were kissing and stuff.” She cringed once more. “You call him your bunny rabbit.”

Gerard smiled and closed his eyes, rubbing at his cheek.

“Yes, I do.” His tone was hushed and romantic-he loved talking about Frank. “But I must remind you that tomorrow your history tutor is coming here and you will be spending two hours with her, I believe.”

“Yes, zio.”

“That is all, baby girl.” He got to his feet, stooped down and brushed his lips to Luciana’s forehead. “I’ll see you in the morning.”



"Today, while we were in the living room, Emilia told me she has to get married when she's fifteen." She blinked a few times, troubled. "To a boy she's never met before."

Gerard rubbed the back of his neck.

"I'm sorry, honey, but that's her parents' choice, not mine. I cannot stop that."

"I know that," she whispered. "I was just wondering if you're gonna make me do that. Getting married."

Gerard smiled.

"Baby, you get married to whoever you want." He backtracked. "More importantly...get married to who whoever you love."

“Good night, zio.” Gerard’s hand drifted to the light. “Oh, please, I want to read more!”

“Luciana, it’s after nine,” he scolded gently. “You must go to sleep.”

“Well...okay.” She whimpered as the light suddenly shut off. “But...please, leave the light on outside.” She was near crying, and Gerard became a little alarmed. “I hate the dark.”

“Of course, darling,” he said, shrugging. “I’ll leave the hall-light on, okay? And if you have any trouble whatsoever here just come down to my bedroom and I’ll make sure it’s okay, honey.”



“There’s a spider over there.” She snuggled further under the duvets and peeped from over the tops of the sheets. “Will you squish it?”

The gangster saw the arachnid hanging from the ceiling, sharp legs hovering in mid-air. He remembered Frank’s fear of spiders and smiled fondly. He reached out and grabbed it, smashing it between his hands, the blood of the insect washing his hands.

“Goodnight, darling.”

Frank squeaked as he tried to stifle his yawns.

It was roughly two in the morning, and the boy was perched on the red leather throne in his husband’s art study. A number of books and papers and writing utensils were splayed across the table in front of him, as well as calculators, the scientific period of the elements and a mathematic compass. His eyes were drooping shut and felt like they weighed a ton. His hand ached from writing, the fruit of his labours displayed under his nose-six essays, eleven diagrams and twenty four pages of written study. Muscles, bones and body structure-Frank never wanted to look at himself in the mirror again after this.

He shuffled in the seat again-Gerard had loaned the room to him over seven hours ago, and the twenty four year old was sure his other half had gone to bed at an earlier hour. He had had to pile pillows on top of each other to reach the desk, and even then he’d had to pull himself to the very edge to write easily.

Now the problem was that he was writing his first medical journal about the science of science-and he was fucked when it came to the arithmetic involved in science. He had always hated that subject with a passion, and it struck him strange as his favourite subject went hand-in-hand with math. The numbers laughed and jumped on the page, teasing him when he couldn’t figure out the square root of nine hundred thousand and eighty four and then multiply by its only numerator and make it the equivalent to the answer of the second fraction and then equals...

“Fuck,” he groaned after attempting the same question four times in a row. “It’s not eight-oh-nine point fucking three, Frank, it’s one.” He threw the piece of paper across the room and let his head fall into his crossed arms. “How the fuck does that equal to one?”

A light tapping was heard down the hall. The boy squeaked and turned around as the light switched on outside in the hall. He wondered briefly if this was like in the vampire horror flick he had witnessed days ago in the arms of his lover; he’d been suctioned dry while trying and failing to do algebraic equations. Great.

But the door was pushed open slowly and a hushed voice travelled across the room.

“Bunny?” His chest fell again as he heard Gerard. “What are you still doing up here, pet?”

“Just...” The gangster made his way over, rapping at the wooden floors. He reached Frank and peered down at him lovingly, caressing his cheek. When Iero spoke, his voice was thin and cracked. “I have to study, Gee, I...I can’t do it.” He sniffed again, and tears came. Gerard cooed and knelt down next to him, stroking him. “I can’t fucking do it, I’m so fucking stupid, I can’t get it and everyone will hate me-“

“Baby, baby,” he murmured softly. “Don’t say that. You’re so smart, sweetie, it’s just you find math hard.” He smiled a little hopefully, trying to comfort him. “Come to bed with me, sugar, come snuggle with me. You must be exhausted.” He pressed their lips to one another, working them tenderly against Frank’s. “It’s so late and you’ve been working for so long, you’ve been looking after Luciana and being so good. And now you should go to sleep, bunny rabbit. Come sleep with me, babe.”

“I can’t,” he squeaked, hiccupping. “I have to send it in tomorrow tomorrow and if I can’t do the math then I fail,” he said miserably. “I just...I can’t fucking get this!” He turned to the killer, eyes huge and pleading. “Can you help me?”

“Sure I can, babe,” Way replied, standing up with the aid of his stick-his prosthetic had been left beside his bed. “Move over, honey, and I’ll help you.”

The boy’s ass was lightly pushed as Gerard settled underneath him, and Iero found himself in his lap for the umpteenth time, the gangster’s ringed fingers resting in between his legs. The distraction made his hand tighten around the pen he was holding, his breath come a little jagged.

“’Kay, sugar pop,” the boss said in his ear. “Show me what you’re having trouble with.”

Frank shrugged.

“I dunno...I just...I can’t do anything,” he whined desperately, a lump in his throat. “It’s so fucking hard.”

“I’ll make it nice and easy babe, you’re lucky you got me teaching you math.” He laughed a little.

“Are you good at it?” He sniffed, Gerard’s cheek pressed against the nape of his neck. The warmth was unbelievably diverting and delicious. “Are you good?”

“Mmm, I kick algebra’s ass, bunny.” His nose cleared a line through the boy’s scalp. “I’ll help, okay? But first we should get you a little more study-proof, yeah? First you should put on something warmer, pet. Not that I don’t like seeing you in your boxers, but, nonetheless, it is cold in here...”

Gerard picked up a fluffy blanket from the heater nearby and tucked his rabbit up in the material, Frank snuggling into him and breathing a sigh of deep relief.

“Secondly is the fact that you should clear your desk, sweetie, and concentrate on one thing, okay?” He picked up the sheets rank had been labouring over for the past few hours. “Jesus Christ, Frankie, how long have you been working here?”

“A little while,” he murmured.

“Okay! Let’s do this shit!” His hand curled around the smaller one and lightly gripped the pen Frank had a hold of. “What are you on, darling?”

“This one.” His finger landed on question four. Gerard nodded, picked up his reading glasses, and read aloud. “Simplify the following into the easiest form to configurate yada yada yada,” he said, and Frank snuffled again. The gangster kissed the brown tufts tickling his chin. “ know what that means?”

“No fucking clue.”

“Alrighty then,” Gerard said. “It means you put it in the easiest shit, babe, you dig that? That instead of saying, I dunno, six minus two, you say four. It mightn’t be that simple all the time, but that’s basically it.”

“Oh...” the boy said softly, biting his lip. Gerard made his hour and a half of suffering seem ridiculous. “Okay.”

“Right, so we just write this down-may I have that pen, please? Thank you.” He put the quill to paper and scrawled the sum onto the sheet. “Okay, so what we got here is-“ he grinned when he noticed something. “You write your name in Italian?”

“Oh.” He blushed a little-he had taken to petitioning his letters and statements and signatures as FV-Franco de la Via. “Yeah, I-I use your name.”

Gerard laughed. “So cute.”

“Do you mind?”

“Do I mind that you take my name? Course not.” He licked the small curl of a bone in his ear. “It’s nice, babe, that you are known by my name.” He tapped the paper again. “Now. Tell me what to do.”

Frank stalled again, suckling on his lip. The steady ticking of the clock made him nervous as he stared at the numbers on the page. They jumped and swirled on the page, making him feel a little hazy.

(x+6)/2 + (x-2)/3 = 4

“Um...” he stared intently at the page. “ multiply?”

“Okay.” He leaned back. “Tell me what multiply means.”

“ take one number and times it by another number?” He asked a little timidly. “Is that-is that right?”

“Yes, it is. Now, do the sum.” He rocked his boy lightly on his thighs, running his fingers through the chocolate locks slowly. “Do the sum, bunny.”

“Uh...” he wracked his brains for an answer-he had completely guessed whether he should multiply or not. “I don’t...I don’t...”

“If you take two,” his chipped, roughened nail rapped at the two beneath the line. “And you times it by three, what do you get?”


“Really? You entirely sure about that?”


“Okay then.” Gerard nodded reasonably. “So if I told you to go downstairs now and get me two Oreo’s, you’d do it, right?”

“Uh huh.” He gulped-he knew he was wrong, but couldn’t place his finger on it. “I’d do anything for you.”

“And if I told you to do it again, go downstairs and get two biscuits for me, how many would I have then?”

A small pause. Frank added the pair in his head.


“Exactly. Now if I was a huge fatass and told you I wanted another two, and you went downstairs and you got me them and brought em back up to me cause you’re just the best person in the world, and added them to the other four, how many biscuits in total would I have?”

Oh my God, Frank thought. You are actually retarded.

“Six,” he muttered, ashamed. “I’m sorry, Gee, I’m so-“

“Shush,” Gerard ordered instantly, clamping his palm over his lover’s plump pout. “No apologizing. You made a mistake and will not make it again. Now-when you multiply this two by this three, underneath the line, babe, that’s it-it becomes the common denominator. What does that mean?”

“Common...denom-what?” He asked desperately, squeaking, his voice cracking.

“Common means something shared by a large amount of people.” He kissed the boy’s neck, nipping at the delicate snow white skin beneath him. “In this case, two and three. You multiply them together and you get...?”


“Right on, baby doll.”

Haha seventies Gerard I should have him say ‘far out’ or ‘groovy’ next

“ we got six, yeah? Scribble that down there.”

Frank’s tongue slipped between his teeth as he concentrated intenetly, pen spilling out dark ink as he wrote six under a long line.

“Kay then. Now, for the first sum, divide two into six.”

“Where...” he gasped a little as Gerard sucked at a sensitive spot below his ear. His lids fluttered shut and his forehead creases. “Oh...Gee...oh God-“

“No, Gerard,” the murderer told himself sternly. “No...gotta focus on math.”

“Can we have a break?”

“Babe, we just started. We just figured out the common denominator-“

“Not listening,” Frank declared openly, turning around fully so he could lay eyes on the man he was sitting on. He grinned toothily and waved. “Hai.”

I’m trying to make this cute but I know it’ll end up being shitty

“Hi Frankie.”

“Gee,” he cooed happily, hugging him around the neck. His husband chuckled and wrapped his arms around Frank’s waist, pressing soft kisses onto his scalp. “How was your day?”

“Long,” the boss replied wearily. “Arguing with Romano’s...would not be my choice of how to spend a day.”

“But you’ve come to a decision?” Frank asked quietly. “You have, haven’t you?”

All shall be explained in coming chapters

“Yes, seems the Romano family are not the only men I should fear.” The other looed up at him when the words were muttered. “Mister Warner is moving to Los Angeles.”

The boy groaned and cussed. Way nodded.

“I was not particularly ecstatic either, babe.” He took a deep breath. “It seems he wants to meet with me to discuss something.”

“Did you tell him to fuck off?” Frank inquired suddenly. “I hate that creepy motherfucker.”

“I can’t do that, pet.” Gerard looked a little pained. “I am now invincible to those involved in Italian family-fare but anyone outside that crime circle can kill me. He would not appreciate my disrespect and he will come regardless.”

“Oh.” Frank bit his lip. He had pissed Warner off majorly by stabbing him in the balls-would he make Gerard pay for his rashness? “Oh.”

“’s wrong, sugar pop?” The killed mused, stroking his hair. “You’re all tense and shook up.” He cocked his head. “I do something you didn’t like, bunny? Do you want to get off me?”

“” he breathed, nudging his head under Gerard’s chin. “I did something you won’t like.”

“Oh,” the boss replied, slightly confused.

“Please don’t be angry with me,” the twenty four year old pleaded meekly. “I’ll do anything you want, Gerard, I just did something stupid.”

“Aw, baby,” the older sympathized, as his boy sniffed and snuffled. “I won’t get mad, honey, I promise.” His tone morphed into a gruff growl. “If some fucker put his fucking hand on you, sugar, that cunt dies and he dies soon.”

“But you said you can’t disrespect him,” Frank whispered, closing his eyes. Gerard stiffened. “So you can’t do anything.”

“We’ll fuckin see about that-“ he took another deep inhale and cuddled his rabbit closer to his chest. “Tell me what he did, baby. Tell me and I promise I’ll make it better.”

“No-no killing.” The boy requested, tugging at his husband’s collar.

Gerard remained silent.

“Please, Gee. Promise me you won’t kill him.”

“Why should he stay alive?” The twenty nine year old spat. “No one hurts you, Frank, no one fucking looks at you without my goddamn permission.” He softened again. “Please, bunny. Tell me what he did.”

“Well...” he inhaled sharply and buried himself against Gerard, sucking in his scent and listening to his heart drag in thumps. “We were just shopping and then he came up to me and started talking about you.” He winced when he remembered the scene. “How you weren’t here to protect me and stuff.” The gangster hung his head in self-shame. “And then he just...just grabbed my ass and said something-“

The gangster growled and spat curse words. His rabbit flinched.

“Please, Gerard,” he begged. “Please, I don’t want you to get in more trouble with them, please!” He embraced him tightly. “I stabbed him in the balls, Gerard, I put him through pain, you don’t need to do anything-“

Way ignored the pleads of his pet and reached for the telephone on his desk. Frank cried out.

“Please, Gee!” He was sobbing now, openly and unashamedly. “Please, they’ll be so pissed off and they’ll come after us.” He snuffled again. “I like you being Don de la Via cause no one apart from them can hurt you. Please. Just forget about it.”

“You want me to look weak?” The gangster questioned, phone in hand. The boy wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and sniffed.

“No-not weak-“ he struggled to explain as Gerard gazed upon him. “Gerard...why is being tough so important to you?” He asked helplessly, honestly. “I’m not being mean...I just wanna know. You’re always so terrified of not looking manly and strong and stuff.” He trailed a finger along his bare chest, the muscles underneath his touch rippling and contracting. “And don’t be mad, Gee, I love you the most in the world, you’re perfect to me. But that’s not who you are.” He looked into his functioning eye. “You like reading and painting and stuff, it’s not like you love sports and sleeping with people and working out.” He blinked a little. “And I know you have to be tough in the Mafia but you don’t have to in front of me.” He laughed weakly. “I always feel like the girl of our marriage, not because I’m shorter and stuff but because you act different to me and then to your men.” His shoulders hunched. “If you weren’t married to me I woulda thought you were the straightest guy on the planet.”

“What do you expect me to do?” The elder questioned, one eyebrow raised. His hands were still clamped to the phone. “Walk around and sway my hips, go on shopping trips and call people honey?”

“But you do do that,” Frank said quietly. “You do all those things when you’re with me. You giggle and you talk about clothes and you tell me you love me. Gerard.” He tugged at his collar. “If it makes you feel any better, you scare the living shit out of me.” The mobster grinned. “You are just the most intimidating person ever, Gee, I mean that. Just...ya know...don’t be afraid of showing yourself to me.”

“That sounds corny as shit, baby.”

“It’s true, though.”

“Alright. Point taken, sweets. But when he comes here...” his brow furrowed. “When he comes to our house I can’t guarantee I won’t be hella pissed at him.” He nodded at Frank. “We should get back to your math, baby.”

But now Iero was staring at something beyond Gerard. He slipped off of his lover’s knees and proceeded to the door. One of Way’s many suits was hanging up there, the black shirt and red tie calling to the boy.

He pulled the material from the hanger and shrugged it over his slender shoulders. He then took the tie from around the collar and knotted it with nimble fingers. He pulled a fedora hat on over his eyes. Gerard was watching him, laughing silently. Frank grinned and tried to swagger over like Gerard, shoulders rippling underneath his shirt and hips revolving an unseen force.

Basically, he looked like an idiot.

“What the fuck are you doing with your face, Frank?”

“Can’t you see?” He tipped the hat up and raised his eyes to the ceiling, beaming. “I’m smirking.”



"You look like you're constipated when you did that lil walk thing there." He flicked his sigh over him. “You look like a constipated showgirl.”

“Um, excuse me, I’m wearing your clothes!”

“And looking amazing in them, I must say.” He stood up and swathed his arms around the boy. “When we go to London we should go to Selfridges.”

That was set up in 1909

“What’s that?”

“A chain of high end department stores in the United Kingdom.”

Thank you Wikipedia

“It’s got clothes and furniture and clothes and food and more clothes,” Gerard explained. “We should go there so I can restrain my, as you say, ‘manliness.’”

“Enough of the manliness,” the twenty four year agreed. “I want my Gee-Bear.”

“Frank. There is a big difference between me not being manly and you calling me that.”

“Calling you what?”

“You know what.”


“The first letter of my Christian name and the title of a certain mammal of the woodland variety-“

“But you are,” he cooed, pushing himself onto the desk, with Gerard standing over him. “You always call me your baby and your bunny rabbit. It’s only democratic that I get to call you Gee.”

“Mmm,” he mused. “Just not in front of my enemies, if you would.”

“I’ll see about that,” he said slyly. Then: “When we go to that place in London, the clothes shop-“


“Selfridges, right-I’m making you try on all the normal clothes there.” He smiled vindictively into his shoulder. “I wanna see you in tight trousers and t-shirts and stuff.”

“Aww, baby, no freaking way-“

“Yes,” Frank insisted.




“Yes!” The boy said, nodding and smiling so adorably that the gangster groaned. “You never wear clothes like that, Gee. At least I have suits and normal clothes. And while I do love you in suits, I think you’d look even better in skinny jeans.” He bit his lip and nodded. “Fuck, you’d look so good in tight pants.”

“I would look like a drag queen.”

“No, you wouldn’t! I’ll try on all your fancy suit-y things. Like ties and waistcoats and cummerwhatevers.”

“That’s just a belt, babe.” He pressed his nose into Frank’s locks. “Mmm, can’t wait to play dress-up with you, honey.”

“So we’re leaving on the tenth and we come back Christmas Eve?” He giggled with excitement.

“Yep. Now;” he glowered with his head down. “Math.”

Frank groaned and clambered into Gerard’s lap once more.

Next chapter: London. I cannot freaking wait.
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