FicWad

Kick-ass chapter will be uploaded pretty soon.

And now, ladies and gentlemen, my sister's humor complex...

IMPORTANT NOTE: this is meant to be after the chapter Meds, but fuckign FicWad win't allow me to move this for some reason. Just bear this in mind.
-Jane

This is something I wrote to try and be funny but it probably sucks so please don't hate me too much....
L.N.I.




First of the Gang to Die
Sessantacinque
Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This)


"Yo, Frankie? Can we...can we come in?"

Frank de la Via grinned like a maniac as he heard Bob Bryar's low tone outside his door request quietly. It was the night before Donald's funeral and six members who had been selected to attend the service were staying the night over at the House of Way. It was unlike most stays in that they would be sleeping in their boss's bedroom.

That's right; six gangsters would be sleeping in the Don's bedroom with his husband for the fact that LA was now being pelted and assaulted with the mos terrible weather seen in a century. Wind howled and screeched at the windows and rain made the mud liquid slush in the streets. Last night the electricity had blown and candles had replaced all light bulbs. To save energy, Ray had suggested they all sleep in the same room. The biggest bedroom was, of course, the room Frank and Gerard shared together.

Frank had actually been excited about it; he liked the thought of everyone in the same room. They could swap scary stories (not even fiction but that of raids and dealings and other grisly people involved in La Cosa) and talk and it could be like a giant sleepover. Instead of little girls, it would be the Mafia. Instead of comparing make-up and clothes guns would be paired off against one another.

But Gerard had not been so keen. He loved the privacy he got with Frank. It was the only time during the day where some shit in a suit couldn't piss him off, and he could just cuddle his bunny rabbit and chat to him. And he had never shown his men where he slept at night-with the exception of Bryar and Toro when Frank had dyed his hair-and it was so private, only for him and Frank. It was like something out of a dark heaven; they had a walk-in wardrobe that folded out when a button was pressed. Their bed was absolutely massive, big enough for at least four obese people who were eight foot tall, and had wispy, lacy black curtains that pulled around it. Jewellery and accesorries draped around the dresser-table. Paintings decorated the walls, and their bedside-tables were seperately decorated; a gun and several magazine rounds on Gerard's, and biscuits and books on Frank's.

But, nonetheless, it was going ahead. Now, at eleven in the evening, Frank was sitting on their bed, satisfied with his work he had spent all day on. Candles were lit around all available spaces inside the chamber. He, respecting his husband's bequest on their first night spent together, was dressed in checked pyjama pants and one of Gerard's shirts. He liked to think he was only meant to be for Gerard; that his skin was something for only his husband to see. Meanwhile, sleeping bags and matresses laid the floor. The room was so gigantic that Frank could easily run around the room whilst the arrangements were set. He had also got a ladder, clambered to the highest rung, stood on his toes, and polished their chandilier. He lit the fire and giggled as a warm, cosy atmosphere enveloped the room.

"Uh huh!" He replied happily, clapping his hands together. He moved Gerard's gun slightly so that it was perfectly symmetrical. Oh, perfect, the boy hummed happily to himself. "You can come in, guys!"

Katlyn Bryar opened the door and put a hand over her mouth. The last time she had been here she had been in a frightful, fragile state of mind and had not fully absorbed her surroundings. She and the five others had to pick their mouths from the floor. The room was beautiful, so dark and gorgeous. Flames of the fire danced and jumped in the fireplace, and the light, filmy curtains outside the balcony flew from the winds. The boy sat in a plush black throne, wearing some of his husband's jewellery and a fake scowl. A fat cigar sat betwixt his thin fingers.He was trying desperately not to smile.

"Welcome to my bedroom," Frank said in his best impression of Gerard's sexy drawl. "Umm...something threatening in Italian...I say something about the Romano's...er, yeah." He jumped up suddenly, the laughter of the gangsters reverberating throughout the house. "I bid you welcome to myself and my husband's bedroom, guys! I hope your stay at whatever room is in Italian de la Via!"

"Swanky do," Molko commented, stepping inside, holding a bottle of wine, as he sashayed inside. "Art Deco. Stylish."

Frank waited for Katlyn, Christa, Brian, Ray and Bob to settle down before he spoke.There was also a tall, blond man whom he vaguely recognized. He tapped his knuckles against the bedpost and smiled at them.

"Okay, hey guys. Gerard, who, FYI, is your boss-yes, that's his first name-has given me this little notey thingy because he's paranoid about privacy and stuff and I dunno, he thinks you guys are gonna bomb shit or something." Light laughing. "He's downstairs meeting with people about his dad's funeral tomorrow and he won't be up for a little while." He waved a piece of paper. "So I'm gonna read them."

"First off-everyone has to be wearing lots of clothes. He said he doesn't want to see you all in your underwear and stuff. Modesty and respect and all that stiff. So, Brian..." girls giggled and men guffawed at the short man in his tight boxers. "I think you'll have to cover up a bit more."

"Fuckin Way," Molko cussed; he was not in the Mafia and did not therefore have to treat Gerard with the upmost of respect. Nonetheless, he tugged on an old pair of skin-tight leather pants. "What is he, a nun? Telling me to cover up, honestly. Next he'll be telling me I can't kiss Stef or something..."

Frank flushed a little pink. "That's number two. He said..." Brian screeched with indignance as Ray howled with laughter, clutching his sides. "'No engaging in sexual activity.'" He grinned ruefully. "And I quote; 'or their asses will be mine.'"

"Aw, come on, man! I'm motherfucking homosexual, just like you guys!"

"I don't think that comes into it. He didn't really specify between gay and straight."

"BUT I HAVE NEEDS, GERARD-"

"Moving on," the boy said, heaving with laughter. Ray had tears in his eyes and was banging the floor. "The third is that he doesn't want to talk about his dad's death." He looked up. They were all serious now, hushed and respectful. "Just...that we should talk about other things." Frank bit his lip and sat down on black silk. "Gee doesn't like his dad. Don de la Via was so mean to him."

"And the fourth...is that whoever wants to have a shower brings their own shampoos and soap and stuff." Laughing resumed again; all was light. "Don't touch the black bottles by the ledge."

"What are they? Full of blood?" Molko suggested cheekily, and he earned some applause. Unknown to him, Gerard slipped through the door, smirking. Frank saw him and giggled, claaping his hand over his mouth. "I'm Gerard Way and I'll bathe in your blood and I-"

"And I am most likely known to take said blood from my victims when he is making fun of me," the Don murmured, simpering, and the laughter grew louder. He looked around, wearing his lop-sided grin; despite being together for over a year, butterflies still fluttered happily in his stomach when he saw his husband in his scarlet and black tuxedo. "So. You have all seen my bedroom." He nodded at Frank. "You tell em the rules, baby?"

"Yes, Gee," the boy answered happily as his husband covered him in soft kisses, and people around them cooed. Gerard pushed him lightly on his back and then took off his tie and jacket.

"How come you and your boy can get frisky but no one else can?" Brian asked, pouting. His taller husband pushed him a little, giggling. "I don't wanna wake up and hear you and Frankie getting it on."

People laughed, but Frank bit his lip, blushed, and looked away from his husband. He didn't want to have sex yet. Gerard knew that, and the gangster closed his eyes, caressing his bunny rabbit.

"That won't be happening, Brian," he said softly, and the twenty-four-year-old bowed his head in thanks. "You won't have to worry."

"Thank God," Molko said. "Now get your pj's on, Gerard, I can't wait to see you in a frilly nightgown or something. And then prepare yourself for..." he pulled over a candle and held it beneath his chin. "Scary stories, oooooooh!"

"God, you are such a weirdo," the Don shrugged, pulling out his black night-clothes. "What are you, thirteen?"

"Oh please, Don de la Via!" Katlyn begged, grinning, clasping her hands. "Just for one night?"

Gerard raised en eyebrow but said nothing, finally nodding. He opened the door to the en suite and went through.

"Okay then!" Molko declared happily, crossing his legs on the floor and popping open the wine bottle. He poured into six glasses, bearing in mind that Frank did not drink and that Christa was pregnant. The boy pulled down a soft pillow from the bed and sat upon it, picking up a chocolate biscuit that Toro had supplied the group with. The gangsters and the boy were in a tight circle. "Who'll go first?"

"Hold on, hold on!" Gerard called, pacing into the circle and pulling Frank into his lap. He was in all in black nightclothes, unsurprisingly."I'm ready for the stories. Better be good." He felt the boy sink into him and dug his ringed fingers into the rabbit's abdomen, not enought to hurt but enough to reassure his safety. "Who's gonna go?"

"Use the wine bottle," Stefan, Brian's thin, European husband suggested. "Spin it around and around."

Frank nodded, Gerard's lips grazing his scalp. They were not the only ones indulging in romance; Ray had his arm around Christa and Brian and Stefan tipped their heads together. Bob and Katlyn looked dangerously close to kissing.

"That seems fair," the boy figured. "I'll spin it and we'll see who gets it."

Gerard raised a finger. "Stories should be original and well put together. No forgetting what happens or abandoning the plot line."

Brian rolled his eyes. "Oh my Gawd, he's even bossy at sleepovers."

Frank placed his fingers on the empty bottle and twisted it. It spun and eventually swivelled to Bob.

"Okay, okay!" Frankie declared excitedly, clapping his hands. "It's Bob's turn."

These are some of the freakiest tales I've ever heard. Bob's one is from my friend who got it from the net, the second one is just a take off a well known one

"Well, okay then," the sandy blond man said happily, rubbing his hands together as Brian handed him the candle. "I heard this one off one a my old friends called Tommy, he used live in tha slums wi me in Chicago." He took a deep breath and began to tell the tale.

"Now, one a the reasons I used fight with Tommy was cuz he was a real lousy guy. He always cheated on his girlfriend, and beat er when she was pregnant wi his kid. This was years before I came to LA. He slept wi prostitues all the goddamn time, and always in different hotels so he wouldn't get caught, ya know? The guy stayed in tha same amount a hotels as one dude does in his lifetime. His favourite was one called The Classic."

"So, anyway, one day Tommy was checking into his hotel room, ya know? A hotel he'd never tried before. That struck me kinda weird when he said it to me; he knew every hotel in tha innner-state area in Chicago, know what I'm sayin?"

"What was it's name?" Ray asked politely, ruining the mood. "My sister lives in Chicago, I might-"

"The name ain't important. Anyway-"

"Of course it's important, I would never let Angela stay in a hotel that solicits-"

"RAY!" Christa screamed suddenly. "WE ARE TRYING TO LISTEN!"

"Thank you, Missus Toro. Now, where was I? Aw yeah...so Tommy goes up to the reception chick and says he's stayin at Room 312. She looks at him, kinda bored like, and hands im the key. She tell ims under no goddamn circumstances can he go into the room next door, Room 311. That if he does he's in big trouble."

"Tommy walks up the stairs and walks down the hall, gettin into his room. He mooches around for a lil bit and then his curiosity gets tha better of im, ya know what I'm sayin? So he leaves his room and decides he won't go the full shit and go inside-he'll just peep in the keyhole, all secret-like. So he looks in the hole and he sees this naked woman sitting on tha bed, with er back to im. Her skin is bright white and her hair is bright red. He doesn't think too much about it, and figures some weirdo lady sitting in er birthday suit. He goes back to is room."

"Tha next morning Tommy goes back to the reception after, ya know, doin the deed wi a whore, and he decides to look in the key-hole again. This time, whaddaya know, it's red. He figures it's just some red cloth over the door or somethin. He goes up to the reception chick, the same one as tha day before. And while he pays she asks if he looked in tha room. Kinda ashamed, he says yeah, but she don't seemed too surprised. Lotta people ave done it, she says, shruggin, like. Tha reason they don't like people doin it is cuz it's haunted, she says."

"Haunted?" The boy squeaked, clinging to Gerard.

"Haunted," Bob confirmed. "She says there are ghosts in there. Not normal ghosts, though. These ghosts have white skin and red eyes."

Everyone gasped a little as Bob finished. Then Gerard began to laugh quietly to himself.

"What's funny, Mafia-boy?"

"Well, it was hardly scary first of all," Gerard said. "I mean, it's just the fact that the 'ghost' was looking back at him, she didn't do anything." He shrugged and his smile grew. "And secondly is that I don't think red eyes are too scary. Mainly because I have one."

"A'ight, a'ight," Bryar conceeded. "I'll spin it now."

Bob pun the bottle. It ended up pointing int the direction of Frank. The boy smiled nervously.

"Go on," Brian urged, eyes wide. "Tell one."

"Well...I'm not that good at telling them," he mumbled, pink. "I'm not in the Mafia or anything..."

"Tough shit," Bob demanded, and then softened at Gerard's glare. "Oh...um...when you're ready, Frankie."

The rabbit looked up, eyes huge and dark. He accepted the candle from Brian and then looked at everyone in the circle, deadly serious.

"I thought Bob's story was good," he said quietly. "And to be honest, all you guys are pretty freaky," he whispered, placing his hand on his husband's arm. "But there isn't anyone as scary or as creepy as the person I'm about to talk to you about. I've had nightmares about him, I've cried about him just by someone saying his name." He took a deep breath. "My ex-boyfriend...James Romano."

A clap of thunder struck to emphasize the effect of the dead man's name. Christa was eating her nails already; Brian even looked severely unnerved.

"Mmm, James," the boy breathed, focusing on the dancing flame. "I think this happened when I was about eighteen...so he was twenty four. About...six years ago it must have been. Yeah, I think that's right."

He cleared his throat. "James slept with everyone he met. He was very charming and a huge bully so he could force anyone to have sex with him. He wasn't that bad looking either. Men and women always visited our house and they'd fuck up in our bedroom for hours, when me and James were supposed to be engaged."

"James was twenty two when we started dating, so I presumed he had boyfriends before me. He talked about all of them...except this one guy that I found a picture of. The name on the back said Johnny. I asked James once about him but I got beaten." Gerard closed his eyes quickly; other people gasped. "So I decided not to press it."

"One day I was at home alone and the doorbell rang. James said I wasn't allowed answer the door but no one else was home and the person seemed pretty desperate. So I answered the door and this guy was there-the guy from the picture, the Johnny guy. He looked at me for ages, but didn't say anything. So I said I was James' new boyfriend and asked who he was. He ignored my question but his face lit up sorta and he kinda said James' name in this weird voice, like his throat hurt, all raspy. I knew something was up with his voice but I couldn't place it. He eventually wondered away, repeating James' name in this weird voice, and I forgot about him."

"James came home a little while later and I told him about the guy-James freaked out and beat me for answering the door, but he seemed angrier about something else. He told me to go to bed and that he'd be torturing for the next few hours. So I went upstairs."

"It was about eleven o' clock when I woke up; that's when I heard it. It was coming from the stairs. I heard..." Frank's voice became weak and raspy. "Thump...thump...draaaaag. Like someone thumping a wall or something. Thump...thump...draaaaaag. And then that same weird voice; saying 'James'. It sounded like he had a mouth full of hater or something."

"It kept going and I was getting scared now...thump...thump...draaaag. James. I thought I was having a nightmare-I was crying and calling out for James, begging him to protect me. But then suddenly it stopped. I waited because I thought it might have been a fluke; but it had actually stopped. I decided to bite the bullet and go outside and see what it was."

"I went outside and saw Johnny on the top of the landing, dead. But that wasn't all. His arms-up to his elbows-had been chopped off as well as his legs, so that explained the noises. He pulled himself by his elbow stumps and dragged his body afterward. The reason his mouth was so weird was because he had one told a lie to James. And James had cut his tongue out. James had dragged Johnny back to our house and cut his limbs off and then Johnny had come up the stairs. James told me later on...it was a warning to me."

The air remained thick and heavy after the scale. Then, slowly, Molko shook Frank's hand.

"Oh my God," he said. "I may actually have pissed my pants."

"Agreed," Ray put in. "Holy shit, Frank."

"I am so not sleeping next to the stairs tonight."

"Can we leave the light on tonight, il mio Coro?"

"No."

"OH GOD JOHNNY'S GONNA GET ME-"

"Anyone else up for another game?" Katlyn put forward, smirking. "Perhaps a little more...adult?"

"Strip poker?!" Bob said eagarly.

"Oh no," Christa said, smirking. "Truth or dare."

All men in the room groaned.

"Aw, Chris, come on, that's a girl's game-"

"Tough shit, Bob!" Missus Toro replied, then pointing at Bryar. "Truth or dare?"

The Chicago man sighed gruffly. "Truth."

"Okay...have you ever put on make-up?"

"No," he spat instantly, crossing his arms. "This game is fucking stupid."

"Come on, Bob, pick someone else. You'll get into it."

"Can I...um..." he paused and looked downward. "Can I ask you, Coro?"

Gerard's lips strectched into a smile.

"Of course."

"Truth or dare, sir?"

"Dare." His eyes flickered with wicked delight. "I'm braver than some pansies around the table here."

A chorus of oooh's. Bob leaned forward.

"I dare you to get us the hell out of this game." Gerard laughed as the girls began to protest. "Uh uh, he's the Capa, he gets to decide."

"I like your idea, Robert," he purred, and lightning struck just outside the manor. "And I have a wonderful game." He laughed again, ever so lightly and just in Frank's ear. He pulled a Colt from his belt and cocked it. "Russian Roulette, anyone?"

Frank froze as the rest of the table began to clap and cheer, pulling out pistols and emptying bullets from the chambers. They all seemed ready, willing and eagar, chatting excitedly to themselves. The boy turned in Gerard's lap and tugged on his sleeve.

"Babe?"

"Gee, do I...do I have to play?" He whispered, feeling his chest getting tighter as tears threatened.

"Do you not want to play, sweetheart?

"Just...James..." he whispered again, fretting. Bob yelped with triumph as he loaded his gun. "Used to play..." he pressed the Don's hand just over his midriff. "And aim for my belt..."

Tears ran down his face and he buried his hair in Gerard's neck, the gangster rubbing his back soothingly. The onlookers paused to fill their guns and regarded the couple.

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom for a minute," he sniffed. "I have to change my bandages."

He got up quickly and headed for the en suite. Gerard turned to his henchmen and women.

"We ain't gonna play?" Bob asked, sounding neither angry nor surprised.

"I would be very appreciative if we didn't, despite it being my idea," he said quietly, and all members nodded seriously, shoving guns back in belts. "I'm sorry, but it would upset him and I don't want him upset. Crying irritates his chest and..." he sighed, running his hands through his hair. He didn't feel the need to carry on.

"Of course," Ray concured, nodding. "We don't want the kid to be hurt."

"What did he say about bandages?" Christa wondered. "What's wrong?"

"He was beaten," Gerard said dully. Katlyn was in tears now. "He was beaten and his ribs are very weak. They leak blood and he has to change wrapping around them every so often. He stays hooked up to a hemopurifier sometimes-a machine used to clean impure blood," he explained when he saw blank faces. "His normal breathing is like gasping," the Don said, breathing out deep rasps to demonstrate. "If he talks too fast sometimes he squeaks out of breath and gets light-headed. Or if he's stressed, or if he's upset."

"Oh," Kat breathed, tears dribbling her cheeks. "That poor boy."

"Romano's?" Brian put forward quietly.

"Mmm," he muttered. "He's had a hard life. I shouldn't say anymore; it's very private to him, but...I don't know. It's nice to come home to him and he's the happiest, friendliest person I've ever met. I find it strange how upbeat and optimistic he can be when he's had such hardship." He shrugged. "So I treat him very well. And I don't want him to relive any memories by forcing him to put an empty chamber to his head."

"He loves you," Christa said in a dreamy voice. "He loves you so much, Capa. He constantly talks about you."

"Yeah," Gerard said lowly, smiling. "So adorable. Calls me by my first letter of my Christian name."

"Gee," Stefan said, nodding approvingly. "We heard."

"Where's he from?" Molko asked. "LA?"

"Oh yeah, native. Inglewood."

"Inglewood?" Bob gasped, eyes wide. "Shit, he must be hard. Thug-life in Inglewood."

"I've never asked. I'm sure he can do his worst with a knife...he did rip James' heart out and stab it...but he's a hardly a narural fighter."

"Yeah," Ray nodded. "He's too nice. Too friendly."

The bathroom door opened slowly as Frank entered the room again, biting his lip. He was greeted by the gangsters as he settled into his husband's lap.

"Who's too nice?"

"You are," Gerard said, biting his ear. Iero flushed scarlet. "We were talking about you being from Inglewood and Robert said you have the genetic make-up of being a murderer."

"Oh my Gawd," Molko petitioned. "Do you have any fucking clue what he says most of the time, Frankie? It's like living in the seventeen hundreds, with the modesty and the long words and shit."

"I'm...I'm from Inglewood," he said, smiling politely. The wind howled weakly and Gerard's hands moved to rest in the boy's lap. "Why? Is that bad?"

"No," Bryar said, shrugging. "People from Inglewood just beat the shit outta me when I first moved here. You must be hardcore, Frankie. That where you learn fancy knifework?"

Frank felt a pink tinge on his cheeks. Gerard was sliding his nose up his neck.

"Growing up in the slums," he said quietly. "I don't know...I just didn't really street-fight. When you're as short and skinny and wimpy as I am..."

"You musta somehow," Bob said. "Did your dad?"

Gerard stiffened and snarled a little. Frank shook his head, placing his hand on his husband's arm.

"I didn't know my dad. He left my mom when she was pregnant with me, when they were just teenagers. They weren't married, ya see," he said, and people nodded. "And he left her to join the army. I'm named after him; I don't know why."

"Your mom in the Mafia?"

"No," he laughed shakily. Then, a pause. He'd never thought about the involvement before. I did make slight sense. "Well...maybe. But she wasn't Italian or anything, no one in her family was." He looked down at the floor and sighed sadly. "She was a prositute. We were dirt poor and she told me I couldn't go to school until we got enough money. I didn't learn to read or write until I was fourteen. I can't spell words properly; I don't understand some words."

"How old are you now?" Brian asked quietly.

"Twenty four," he mumbled. "I met James when I was sixteen, I guess, and I thought he was kinda weird, kinda angry, could bust at any minute...but he could be nice as well. He told me he was leader of this group that was fighting the Mafia...he told me he was English and a Protestant, and that he didn't want to marry a Catholic. I told him I was...but only when we got engaged. He burned me with his lighter when I did." He sighed again. "He never let me go outside, and I'd just stay up in our bedroom all day. He only let me go out in public twice a month."

"Did you ever meet anyone else?" Kat asked as she rested comfortably in Bob's mucley arms. "Anyone at all?"

"I met one guy," the boy said slyly, trailing his fingers along his husband's amber skin. "One day James was going to the races-he was a really big gambler, ya see, and he took me with him once and we were sitting down and this man came up to James. He was tall, and had black long hair, with a walking stick. Dressed differently to anyone I'd even seen. In...black and red." Gerard laughed in his ear and the surrounding six wore knowing smiles. "And Ray was there, you were there," Frank said, and Toro nodded happily. "He told me his name was Gerard Way and he was my fiance's enemy." He flushed a little pink and bowed his head. "And I thought he was just the most fucking gorgeous person I'd ever seen."

"A few months later, we were married," he said simply, smiling now. He turned round to his husband and their lips met in a glorious, soft kiss. Gerard tilted his head so he could nip at the boy's neck. "Mmm, Gee. My Gee."

"So bloody adorable," Brian said thickly, dabbing at his eyes. "Damn you, Way, making me cry."

"Can't help it," Gerard replied. "When I have the most perfect person in the world sharing marriage-"

"Jesus Christ, you are actually ninety or something. I honestly do not believe you're twenty nine."

"Excuuuuuuse me!" Frank repsonded, snapping his fingers in a Z formation. "Do not insult my man!"

"Your man talks like someone out of the medieval times, shortie!"

"Shortie? Look who's talking, five seven! Anyway, Gee likes me short." His fingers danced along the Don's neck. "Don't you, Gee?"

"Mmm," he confirmed, and Frankie smirked. "Love my bunny all puny."

"When it comes to looks-"

"Oh please, Molko," the Don said, chuckling. "Don't try to compete with Frank when it comes to being good-looking."

Christa suddenly yawned hugely. Ray sprang into over-compensating-father-to-be mode.

"Oh my God, honey, are you alright? Are you feeling light-headed? Is the baby kicking? Are you having any pains? The nurses said-"

"Jesus Christ, Ray, you're as bad as Gerard with the over-protectionism."

"I'm just a little tired," she said, shrugging, looking tiny in her billowing black night-dress. "I think I might go to bed now."

"That's a good idea," Stefan concured. "I'm fricking exhausted."

"Aw, come on!" Molko protested. "It's not even two yet! You bunch of pansies-"

A loud thump reverberated through the manor. Brian screamed and flew into his husband's arms.

"IT'S JOHNNY!" He screeched. "Oh Jesus, he's gonna get me, he's gonna rip out my tongue-"

Iero giggled a little as he was scooped up in Gerard's arms and plopped onto their bed, pulling the silk sheets over him, letting his lids flutter shut. Way clambered into their bed as well and pressed his lips to Frank's quickly.

"Hey Gerard, can I read for a little bit?"

"No."

"Hey Gerard, can I borrow a blanket?"

"No."

"Hey Gerard, can I-"

"No. Shut and go to sleep."

"Well. Someone's hospitable."

"In my fucking room-"

Another thump, and a draaaaag. Some members whimpered; others were too scared to make a sound. The electricity went out suddenly and Frank heard scurrying to beds and sleeping bags.

"Gee," he mewled, not even daring to reach out for his husband. "Gee, I'm scared. Come and protect me."

"I'm here, baby," he was told, and was pulled to Gerard's warm side. They cuddled up under the covers, the rabbit tucking his nose into long black locks and inhaling Way's mind-numbingly good scent. He felt so secure; all was safe when he was with Gerard, so close to him like this. "Nothng can get you, cupcake, I'm right here next to you."

"Awwwwww!"

"Chris, what the hell?"

"They're so adorable. It is actually ridiculous. I want to dunk them in my coffee."

"Your Mafia boss and his pipsqueak husband?"

"Shut up, Molko."

"That's it, babe."

A loud thump again. Gerard cocked his gun and let it rest in his right hand. His left was pressed into his husband's back.

"Okay, I'm gonna take a totally wild guess here and say that Gerard probably sleeps with a gun."

"Don't you, Molko?"

"You're gonna blow your bollocks off one of these days, I tell ya."

A loud snore. Everyone groaned.

"I would not have fucking agreed to this if I knew what fucker snored. Who the hell did it?"

"Bob, sir," Kat replied sleepily. A pause and then a loud choking, gutteral sound.

"W-what the hell, Kat?! Did you just fuckin pinch my nose?"

"Very good, Missus Bryar. You are a faithful server of the House of Way."

"Thank you, sir."

"Mmm, so sleepy," the boy mumbled, and Christa squeaked again. "'s night-time. Sleep."

"I agree with Frank," Ray said groggily. "Everyone should go to sleep and forget about the Johnny story. It's not like anyone's really near the stairs,anyway."

"Uh, excuse me, Ray, I am right next to the door, if he visits tonight then he'll get me first-"

"Shut up, all of you, and get to sleep. Jesus Christ..."

"Sir-are those lace curtains? Do you mind me asking?"

"What? Oh yeah...um, I guess. Frank picked em, I didn't."

"They're lace, Kat," Frank lisped, pressing one light kiss to his husband's chest. "Had them...specially made...mmm..."

"They're just gorgeous, my God, we should get them for our living room, Bobby. Would that be alright, Coro?" No answer. "Coro?"

"He's sleeping," Frank said, smiling at his husband's hushed breathing, his rising chest. His hand remained clamped to Iero's warm hip. "He's asleep."

"Maybe we should all follow his lead, guys."

"Don't be such a killjoy, Ray."

I wrote that without even thinking how weird haha!

"I'm staying awake as long as that thumping noise is outside. Thanks a whole lot, Frankie."

"You're welcome, Bob."

Brian then began to hum loudly and tunelessly. Frank felt his husband twitch slightly.

"You oughta to be in pictures-"

"You cannot be telling me you are still fucking awake. Unfuckingbelievable. I order you to go to sleep. Immediately."

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, sir."

"I'm not in the Mafia, honey. You ain't my boss."

"BRIAN. I WILL SKIN YOU ALIVE."

"Oh my God, Frankie must be scared shitless of you. Poor boy's probably on the other side of the bed, clinging for dear life."

"We're cuddling, Brian." The boy yawned breathily.

"We are. Now shut up and sleep, Brian."

"I always sing before I sleep. Helps me relax."

The gun cocked again. Brian retracted.

"Okay, okay! I'll go to sleep. Jesus, so fucking bossy."

"I'm the Don, you ignat. I'm meant to be bossy."

"Whatever. Not to your friends."

"I'm bossy to whoever I want. Except my bunny rabbit. Now sleep before I castrate you."

Frank let out a shrill giggle, as did the two women in the room. It wasn't long before another loud thump filled the room.

"Someone should go check that out."

"You're right, Brian. Go have a look."

"Look, Ray, I ain't in the Mafia like you are-"

"Oh. My. God. Everyone shut the hell up and get the hell to sleep. Forget about the story, forget about being in the Mafia,forget about anything that would possibly prohibit you from falling asleep. If I wake up again and you all are talking I will fucking cut your tongues out. Understood?"

"You need your beauty sleep, Gerard?"

The gun cocked once more. Then there was a thump.Inside the room.

"Very funny, Gerard. Dropping your bullets to make me believe it's Johnny."

Frank heard the low chuckle from his husband's chest.

"That wasn't me, Brian." Another amused laugh. "Sleep tight."