FicWad

go on get it green. I dare you

"Trust no one”

Even as the words leave my mouth I’m unsure of what I’m saying but they come out with such great force, in this rush of anger that they sound almost rehearsed, polished. And he’s looking at me, well of course he is, he’s holding the microphone out from a few feet away, most of his face covered by candy apple hair.

He was waiting with everyone else for my signature line. Though it wouldn’t be have been surprising if he were looking away or looking over me, even. He’s always been odd like that, doing exactly what isn’t expected of him. So that’s why, I guess, he’s looking now red hair gleaming in the stage lights and that wicked grin, I like to think he saves for me, on his face.

It’s only for a moment though before he prances back across the stage hips swinging in his tight jeans. The crowd, of course, goes mad cheering and clapping, whooping and screaming just as they always have. Not that they ever do the unexpected, or at least not at our gigs, they arrive, they queue, the file in and they wait, then they scream and bellow, praising our every breath.

My hands: thankfully on autopilot, have started strumming away again finishing off the song without fault, then it’s all over.

Gerard; a sight in red and black, blows kisses and bows arrogantly to our ever loving audience then swaggers off stage a prominent spring in his step. I too then make my way off stage, feet dragging slightly against the industrial floor, Mikey appears beside me a moment later.

From far away you can clearly see the changes to who used to be a mousy, steel faced boy but up close the difference is incredible. Slight stubble on his young face, glowing eyes and a steady smile. I notice something then, a wisp of sympathy hidden in his grin, that he knows only I will see before he wipes it from his face with the back of his hand and just as soon he’s gone too.

Mikey Way had never been anything but a blessing to this world but even he could never stand up to his brother.

I trudge over to the hotel my head hanging low and long hair sticking to the back of my neck I swing through the door and collapse on one of the sofas while Ray and Mikey check us in. The familiar stench of Gerard’s untameable and unmistakeable musk seeps up my nostrils and seconds later he’s there leaning over me a coy smile on his pixie face.

He's odd looking, Gerard. Tiny nose pointing to the heavens and slanted hazel eyes. He's beautiful in how own way but even after all these years ten years he still looks ever so strange to me.

I find myself missing the long hair and the puppy fat of his cheeks, all the scarfs and the nicotine on his teeth and in his breath. I understood that Gerard.

I’m trapped, trapped between him and the chair, only a few inches separating our sweating bodies. As much as I hate him, I still have to catch my breath as a blush rises to my cheeks, he spots it in seconds and his smirk grows into a grin. My heart picks up, each beat dripping with both loathing and lust, and then he’s gone.

It takes me a moment to find him in the empty lobby but there he is arm hanging lazily over his brother who looks too tiered to shove him off. I allow myself to relax a little bit he’s paying no attention to me, or at least I think he’s not.

He could just be playing cool, playing games. That would be more him or at least I like to think it would be, because if he’s playing a game with me he’s paying attention to me.

And so I play along stretching up in faux fatigue letting out a little moan and flashing a little stomach in the process. Then I know he’s game a little smirk that could easily be seen as a friendly response to conversation only it’s dirty, dripping with filth. It’s the way he smiles just before he-

Sudden flashes of heat, moans, sweat, sometimes blood and that smile I have to catch my breath and, of course, of course, he sees. Like a hunter stalking his prey, a dance between us, he leads I follow.

He slinks over now Ray and Mikey following a few paces behind “You’re in with me tonight” His voice is a seductive snarl and boy am I in trouble.

I don’t know how he does it to me, why my body reacts this way to him. I hate him, I want him. I despise him, I love him.

I always have since the moment I first laid eyes on him. Cocky words, arrogant hair flicks and tight jeans. Those jeans. Always snug, wet look and filthy, so filthy.

He swung around on stage using the microphone stand like a whore and a pole screaming into the small cluster of underage drinkers. I was one of them grinding and jumping staring up at the black beauty prancing about on stage.

I was in awe, star struck. Then he got off stage and that was the first time he saw me; standing alone at the bar. Watching him watching me. He smiled then, that wicked smile that I claimed as my own.

“Do-do you wanna drink?” I shouted over the noise of the bar.

“Skip the drinks, you know what I want”

And I did.

It’s funny how even that seems like a formality now. The most I get these days is a rough grab and a wink; we’ve gotten over words. There’s no point pretending we like each other now.

Everything we have is a shallow want. Lust.

I still trusted him then though. Trusted him to be nothing more than a bastard in tight jeans but at least that he lived up to.

Except he didn’t, because he became more than that, he became more than that when the band took off, when he made me believe everything was more than it is.

The others were attempting to wash we should have been too but with Gerard’s need of a caffeine fix and me apparently not coping well when away from him we had gone to sit in Starbucks.

He sipped on his coffee and I sipped on mine, we never looked at each other just drank in silence like we always had.

Except this time it was different because this time, five minutes in, he looked at me and spoke.

“You know, Frankie” He started and I looked up from my steaming mug eyebrows slightly raised.

I didn’t know how to react so I did the bare minimum. He probably proffered that, he was big on the no speaking unless spoken to rule.

“You are the longest I’ve ever been with anyone”

I nodded not speaking, at the time it seemed hardly relevant, but then I couldn’t see what was happening in Gerard’s mind

“So I was thinking”

I nodded again encouraging him forward, Gerard tucked a piece of his ash hair behind his ear before continuing, probably so that he could actually see me

“When we’re thirty, if we still haven’t found anyone”

I nodded not entirely sure just where this conversation was going. I think at the time, my first suspicion, was that Gerard was having another early midlife crisis.

“I want us to get married”

It was that that made me choke on my coffee and it was that that finished the conversation.

I still trusted him then though, trusted him to stay the same old Gerard, to stay despising me with such passion that it turned him on, turned us both on.

I still trusted him when I told him to trust me. It was probably a year later; he scripted it and I said it and we trusted each other.

I trusted him to drink far too much coffee and wear far to tight jeans, and he trusted me to fan girl about my dogs and stay around a foot smaller than everyone else.

He didn’t break my trust until years later when she came along. A heart attack in black hair dye, he called her.

And she was, she was the woman every punk girl wants to be, in her red lipstick and ripped fishnets, Lyn-Z was an icon for female strength. And how could Gerard not be attracted to that? He was the biggest punk girl of them all. They fell in love and Gerard and me fell out of lust.

Or at least he did.

I had learnt to trust him again over the years; I even married a girl from my childhood.

She’s amazing, and everything I should want in a wife, only, she’s not him. I like her, but I don’t love her, she’s great but she’s not right.

But the man I do love, I trusted to be my friend, a band mate, sometimes with benefits on stage.

Of course, it was all artificial, or at least I told myself it was so that I wouldn’t get my hopes up.

But he had to do it, had to break my trust again.

It was tonight, before the show he sat sipping coffee I sat chugging beer blissfully unaware of just how shattering his next words would be.

“I still want you, Frank” He said and I spat my drink everywhere

I had only begun cleaning it up when he was on me thighs straddling my waist, hands in my hair and tongue down my throat.

And I kissed him back, kissed him back with all the passion and hatred that I’d always had for him. For his arrogance, his flair, confidence, sass, for loving her and not me, for being the best fuck I’d ever had, for owning me completely, for shattering my cellotape trust.

Then this bit is all new and kind of like a sequel only not because mostly it's just smut and only like 700 words or something and be warned if you're gonna read it has some kind of (lots of maybe) bdsm themes :/ Oh don't look at me like that I'm not as innocent as you think just because most of my stories are based on nursery rhymes

And that just about catches us up. Though, it sort of feels like we're starting over.

The room is chilled, the air conditioner buzzing in the corner and one window cracked open. He knows I hate that, it will get too cold later and bugs with get into the room to nip all up my legs when Gerard has stolen the comforter. I don't say anything though, don't even think about it too much. He's trying to wind me up, trying to push me to the edge but he'll have to do better than that tonight.

He always made me loose it, I'd come so unravelled in his arms; my head tipped back and my mouth hanging open. And he'd just look at me and smile this tiny, secret smile sometimes rubbing my hair back off my face, when it was long enough. He'd always be so collected though, just holding me so still when I couldn't do it myself.

I think he got off on that, seeing me like that, I mean. I was so easy to break back then, just a child really, when we started all this. I couldn't have known what I was even getting into back then, I was no virgin but things with Gerard went beyond sex.

He had all these rules on the first night, some of them he forgot over the years but most of them he was still strict about even on stage. No talking was his favourite, of course, he still spoke you can't really tell Gerard Way to pipe down, but I was silent for the most part, unless I was looking to get punished, of course.

I discovered the punishments on that first night, I was nineteen; I wasn't used to being told to shut up. It was in the cab home, he'd just lay out all these conditions and I'd been cocky about it, laughing and swearing and trying to kiss him again. It had been subtle, what with the driver only a few feet away, but he had made me know that he meant business. It was a sharp pinch, or maybe it was more of a grab, his hand either way, pressing into the skin on the back of my neck, it hadn't exactly hurt but it had been something.

The shock it sent down my body, the ricocheting buzz of heat and blood shooting down my spine, had been enough to tell me that I too, was business.

I had sat with my hands on my lap and my head down for the rest of the journey, I didn't look at him but I think I could feel his eyes on my, sometimes.

The punishments got worse as time went on, the squeeze on the back of my neck was almost like praise compared to some of the stuff he did to me.

That's why I'm still now, sitting cross legged in the middle of the hotel bed. He's not here, not yet, but I can hear him; running the faucet and humming something familiar in the bathroom. He likes to make me wait, he used to leave me in his apartment for hours with nothing but the promise of his possible return. That and the cuffs, of course. He wont make me wait hours tonight, though, I can see it in him, that he needs this as much as I do. He'd never admit it though, not like me. I'm a mess without him and ain't that sick? He's the one person in my life that I can't stand but I don't know what to do with myself without him.

He comes out of the bathroom a few minutes later, he's shaved and his hair is pulled back of his face with water, his clothes are still the same though; tight leather and denim, his boots, the ones with the buckle and thick sole.

He comes to the bed and kneels up over me, his hand cupping my jaw as he inspects my face. I can feel his breath; hot against my skin and my pulse picks up. I don't let on though, I just stare right back at him, holding my breath so I wont chicken out.

He smiles, just a little bit and tilts my chin, his eyes hot and heavy on my sweating features. The room doesn't feel so cold anymore. He bights his lip and I watch the movement, the scrape of his teeth on the sensitive pink flesh of his mouth, it sends a wave of pleasure down through me and I inhale sharply, my own lips parting with the breath.

He makes an approving mm noise and runs the pad of his thumb across my bottom lip, smirking as I press back against it.

His voice is low when he finally speaks, "so pretty, Frankie"

My back arches and my hands struggle to stay in my lap as he presses his lips close to mine, it's not a kiss, but it's close enough. He stays in that proximity when he speaks again, his words hushed and warm. "Do you remember all your rules?"

I nod, my head bobbing up and down just a fraction of an inch, he's close enough to see though.

"Your safe word is Sweet Pea, say it for me, Frank"

"Sweet Pea"

He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and smirks before pushing me back down onto the bed. My head hits the mattress just short of the pillow and my legs barley have time to uncurl before he's crawling up my body with that look on his face. My heart makes leaps and bounds as it tries to catch up my lungs on their breathing and the hairs on my neck stand tall, sensing the danger linked to Gerard.

"Take of your shirt" Gerard's voice is husky in my ear and my fingers fumble at the hem of my t-shirt as I try desperately to comply.

Gerard kisses at my neck, puckering and blighting the sensitive flesh then humming against the red welts that form there, he lifts up just enough for me to strip off my shirt then he's back, all hands and wandering eyes like he hasn't seen everything before. I bright on my tongue to suppress the groan threatening to escape my lips when he pinches the soft flesh of my hips then slips his hands round to cup my ass.

His eyes wonder back up my body, raking over the skin of my chest with a wanting burn, my back arches unforgivingly and he moves his hand to dig his nails into the inside of my elbow as a warning. I shut my eyes and try to focus on keeping still whilst he explores the remainder of my body, my jeans kicked onto the floor and my legs exposed.

Then he's back, bracketing my head with strong arms and staring down at me with a wicked grin. I swallow audibly as he allows himself to sink down to a solid weight on my chest, he must be able to feel my heart through my skin but he doesn't let on as he bights at my neck, re-exposing the sensitised skin to his carnivorous teeth. A small gasp escapes my lips, drawing his attention back towards me.

He smiles crookedly but the look in his eyes isn't very reassuring.

"You missed me, Frankie?" he asks, his face controlled.

I nod, my hair falling back into my eyes with the movement, I don't brush it back; my hands staying firm at my sides.

"mm" he says, rubbing the pad of his thumb up and down my cheekbone "How's Jamia?"

He holds my eyes and I'm carful not to breathe, my toes curling when I think about her, she doesn't belong in this world. I close my eyes, avoiding his carful gaze.

"I thought so" he says, then leans down so his lips are pressed against my ear, he bights then grows, "still mine". Something like a whine unravels from my throat and my eyes open only to roll back into my skull, my breathing heavy. "And proud" he whispers.

He lets up off me then, stretching a little as he moves down to straddle my hips, he's still fully dressed and his jeans rub against my bare legs but the friction feels good on my cold skin. He brings his left hand up to my face and traces along the lines of my lips, parted and drawing in the scarce oxygen. There's no band on his ring finger and he must catch my staring because he's smiling down at my wide eyes with an amused smirk.

"In the bathroom, I left it there"

My heart does something funny in my chest and i can't quite pinpoint the feeling, my thoughts caught somewhere between relieved and disappointed; of course he wouldn't leave Z.

"Suck" he says then and his fingers are back at my mouth, pressing instantly and bringing me back from my day dreams "Frank" there's a warning in his voice now.

I draw his fingers into my mouth and suck at the salty digits, the familiar routine of this calming my fiery nerves. He pushes into my mouth harshly, his long fingers almost hitting the back of my throat as he swills them around in my mouth.

"Your mouth, Frankie" he says and I gurgle, the sounds escaping up through my throat desperate and needy "next time"

He pulls his fingers back and out with a pop and leaves me with dribble on my chin and my eyes wide like saucers, watering slightly from gagging, salt slipping from the corners.

The first finger hurts, it's been two long maybe two, three years. I haven't been with another man since Gerard, it felt wrong. I thought about it though, thought about cheating on Jamia so many times. With random guys at bus stops and when passing whore houses on the road. But then there was Gerard, out of the corner of my eye and I couldn't.

By the time the second finger slips in, it's started to feel good, he pushes up to his knuckles and I try not to push back down or clench or breath. He scissors slowly, opening me up and stretching the tender muscle with intense, precise movements.

There's sweat on my forehead and my spit's still drying on my chin, cold in the damp room.

And then there are no fingers and it's just him pushing in slowly and breathing heavily on my chest, kissing sometimes but mostly just pressing his lips flush against my skin and gasping.

It's slow at first, not gentle but controlled and Gerard presses in deeper and deeper until I'm ready. Then he picks up.

It hurts, Gerard is so much bigger than his fingers but the burn feels good as he rocks in and out with speed, drawing me close to the edge as he slams against my prostate repeatedly. All the while whispering into my ear promises of all the things we'll do next time like the the promise of there being a next time wasn't enough.

And then I'm cumming so hard that I can't see, my eyes pressing shut, trying to escape the white light flooding and distorting my vision. I barley feel Gerard following, using up all my strength trying not to make a sound as he pulls out, dripping down my leg.

He leaves me there then, going into the bathroom and turning on the shower. I curl up into myself and try to just breathe my eyes still scrunched tight as I listen to him pottering about in the en suite.


Oh my god did she really just write that? Will she probably decide to delete it in a few days due to embarrassment? Probably yes. Oh I need to go shower now why the hell did I write that in first person I feel dirty. ew ew ew buttsecks