FicWad

A/N: Okay, this little A/N is gunna be a little longer than usual, but please read- it is kinda important. First off, I just wanted to thank each and every one of you guys for sticking with this and reading/reviewing/rating. I really can’t put into words how much I appreciate it- your support is seriously what has kept me writing. I could ramble on about this for ages, but I don’t want to get too sappy! Basically, I love you all. Thank you.
Secondly, thanks for all the opinions on my last A/N about the future of the brain cells. You shall see what happens very soon- if you haven’t already, check out this story which is gunna be my humorous frerard now that I’m done with this. http://www.ficwad.com/story/179024
I am gunna re-write this at some point, though- make it better and stuff, as I agree with the constructive criticism about certain aspects- but that won’t be for a couple months (I’ll post a note on here when I start re-writing).
Also, I’d love it if you checked out and reviewed this new story (chapeterd) I’m gunna be doing- it’s quite dark. http://www.ficwad.com/story/185813
Right, I’ll shut up now and let you read the last ever chapter of Be My Detonator. Enjoy! xD


Chapter Twenty Five

Okay. Yeah. So, um, this is terrifying.

In fact, I think this may actually be THE single most tense and terrifying pause in my entire moose-excrement splattered existence. And trust me, there have been a lot. But seriously, even being woken up by a knife-brandishing Jamie while my manly parts were so conveniently doing a rather impressive imitation of the leaning tower of Pisa, wasn’t as terrifying and nerve-wracking as this.

And seriously, that was no fucking picnic.

But yes. This tops it all. This is, without a doubt, the most nerve-wracking few seconds I have EVER been part of- and that actually includes the extremely nasty silence that followed me orgasming on Jamie. Yeech. Sticky stuff.

Um, literally and metaphorically.

Anyway, the reason this is so life-threateningly terrifying is because, in a second, Frank will open that wonderful, ridiculously sexy mouth of his and either make all my pathetic, perverted little dreams come true, or destroy my whole life so as I’ll fling myself under the nearest double-decker bus.

Sadly, I seriously doubt it’s going to be the first option.

I mean, Frank is sex on legs; a blowjob on ankles; and orgasm on toes.

And I’m a moron.

A moron coated in half-melted ice cream, wasp stings, dog saliva, my own blood, and sweat from my crazed and failed escape from the park, need I add. Mmmm. Sexy stuff.

In other words, I have absolutely no hope in hell. I mean, as a co-ordinationally demented, gothic lunatic with a dangerous lack of control over his tongue, I was already fucking universes out of Frank’s league, but now, covered in the incidents of the afternoon, I’m fucking eons out of his league.

Um, not to mention that I am lacking a shoe, which I’m pretty sure is now being digested in the stomach of that demonic, grumpy little sausage dog. Which, by the way, I will assassinate viciously with my herd of bloodthirsty meese as soon as I’ve stopped trembling more than Mikey when he’s being electrocuted by electrical devices.

Having a bunch of sparkly, perverted lunatics living inside my skull, a best friend who has sexual relations with cats, and a stepsister whose home planet is hell doesn’t really help my case here. Not to mention the fact I generally look like an escaped patient from a mental institute trying to look like a cross-dressing albino on heroin and blue lemonade (not a good mix, in case you’re wondering).

Yes. I know. I am practically Romeo.

And Frank’s Juliet.

Uh, except he’s got a penis. At least, I think he has.

But hey, life’s never perfect is it?

And actually, now I come to think of it, Romeo kinda died, didn’t he?

The again, I am about to die too, so perhaps we’re more similar than I’d realised. Seriously, if Frank doesn’t say something soon and put me out of my misery, I am actually going to expire, which actually has nothing to do with the fact I’ve just taken more exercise than all the exercise in my whole life put together.

I’ve never really been a sporty kind of person; I tend to trip over my limbs.

Or knock people out with hockey sticks.

Or impale myself on my own javelin.

Or swallow all the water in the swimming pool.

So, yeah- I guess I’m not really cut out to be an Olympic athlete.

But that doesn’t matter, because Frank STILL hasn’t said anything, and I am going to DIE. Like, here and now. And not in the orgasmic Shakespearian way.

I do lead a tragic little life, don’t I?

Bob is staring shamelessly at us from behind the counter; actually having managed to avert his gaze from the computer screen for once, which can’t be a good sign. Oh dear, this really is the end. Farewell, existence.

“Gerard…” Frank starts, gently squeezing my hands and looking into my eyes with an expression that violently destructs my knees to piles of melted mush and jellyfies my deluded, eagerly-tongued little brain cells.

I have to cling onto the smooth, warm skin of his hand for dear life, because assuming I really am about to get dumped by someone who wasn’t even dating me in the first place but just liked to molest me in very dangerous situations, I would at least like to regain some dignity. And dignity doesn’t really involve collapsing into a sprawled splat of moron on the floor of the music shop.

Ha. Dignity.

Me and dignity go about as well together as Mikey and toasters.

I mean, I’m a walking disaster riddled in wasp stings, only wearing one shoe and sporting a bleeding ankle. There is cappuccino ice cream melting down my neck, and I am sweating like a woolly mammoth in a Sahara desert sauna. Except woolly mammoths don’t actually exist anymore. But if they did, I’m pretty damn sure they’d sweat entire fucking swimming pools if they were suddenly plonked into the desert.

Of course, Frank is sweating too, but that just makes him look like a walking orgasm.

Life isn’t fair.

And why can’t he start getting ugly or something? It would kinda soften the blow if I was dumped by someone who looked like a cross-dressing pug doing an imitation of Hannah Montana rather than someone who actually looks sexier than sex itself. Oh, and has the tongue of a god. And mango flavoured saliva. And smouldering eyes. And-

Yeah, maybe I should say something now before he thinks I need pills for the mentally unstable.

“Um?” I choke on air, trembling from head to foot.

“I really need to explain,” Frank sighs, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.

“Drinwei,” I stammer, trying very, very hard to kill the sweat glands in my hands so as Frank’s parting memory of me isn’t of an ice-cream and wasp sting coated Sweaty Mc.Slipperysweaterson.

“Okay,” Frank says again, taking a deep breath and tucks the same strand of slightly dishevelled hair behind his ear with his free hand again. “Look, I really…”

“Think I’m retarded?” I blurt.

Frank blinks. “No, I-”

“Never want to see me again?” I offer.

“N-”

“Want to disembowel me and strangle me with my own intestines?”

“Ger-”

“Want to decapitate me? Or put me in a blender?”

“I-”

“Want to squash me with a steamroller and feed me to tarantulas?”

“Liste-”

“Oh dear god, please don’t give me to Jamie! She’ll chop of my manly parts and feed them to her tribe of demons and then she’ll dissect me with my own eyelashes and make me-”

“Gerard!” Frank interrupts me loudly, and I stutter my nervous verbal vomiting to a halt, quivering in terror, realising that I really am gunna have to hear what hell he is about to unleash. I mean, I know it seems like I could ramble on and on forever, but I really can’t. Especially as my knees are no longer in the land of the living, but seem to have taken an incontinent detour to the Grim Reaper’s office.

Little fuckers.

“…Efnieu?” I stutter, proving that yes, I do indeed need my kneecaps to form intelligible sentences.

“Just listen to me for a second,” Frank shakes his head, but looking slightly amused at my insane ramblings. “I’m not going to kill you or leave you to the mercy of Jamie, okay? I am not going to kill you with a blender or disembowel you- I hate blood, anyway.”

“O-okay?” I stammer, relaxing slightly.

“Listen, I’m actually-”

“A woman?” I blurt, trying to postpone the end of my life for as long as possible.

Frank blinks.

Over by the counter, Bob snorts like a crack addict.

Oh no. I think I may have just implied that Frank has boobs. And no manly parts.

Oh dear. That’s never a way to get a dude to like you. Unless, of course, he actually is a woman, in which case I must actually be a normal heterosexual.

Ha. That’s hilarious.

“Uh, no,” Frank is smirking that oh-so-sexually-knee-cap-and-testicle-detonating smirk of his. “I’m not a woman.”

“Ah,” I say wisely, currently resembling an asphyxiating raspberry. “That’s good.”

“Oh, it is, is it?” Frank smirks, leaning subtly closer.

“Nich,” I stammer, losing all control over my mouth as I so often do when there are sex gods inches away from my face.

“Gerard, I just wanted to apologise,” Frank says simply.

“Huh?” I say intelligently.

“For running out on you,” Frank clarifies, chewing his lip. “It was a really shitty move. The thing is, Tumbles…I got scared.”

“Well, yeah. Jamie was about to castrate us.” I manage, although I think I may be about to pass out from the proximity and FRANK STILL SMELLS OF MANGOS. Who thought a simple tropical fruit could bring on extremely inappropriate and embarrassing activities of the baby-making area?

A small smile tugs at the corners of Frank’s lips, while Bob makes another odd snorting noise from the counter where he’s still staring at us as if we’re some kind of terribly acted TV soap.

Yeah, except this is actually my life.

How sad am I?

Oh, and that was a rhetorical question- I really don’t think I want to hear the answer to it.

“No, I meant that when I saw how upset Mikey was after finding out that girl was just using him, I got scared; I wondered if I was just using you to get at Jamie.”

“You were using Gerard the Awesome to get at some Satanist?!” Bob yelps angrily from the counter. “You sadistic, dick-headed shit bottom!”

Frank blinks.

I burst into tears.

And then the door of the shop bursts open and a sweaty, livid looking Ray staggers into the cool interior of the shop, panting heavily and looking more than slightly terrifying; his mad hair clings to his sweaty skin in little curls, and his expression is darker than the most evil pits of hell. Which seriously, aren’t pleasant.

“You…you will die, Gerard Arthur Way,” he snarls, advancing on me, panting and gasping for breath while massaging his nipples.

I presume he has a stitch in his chest and that he’s not randomly molesting his man boobs in front of a sex god with smouldering eyes, a grouchy shop assistant, and a Frank-obsessed, insanely clumsy imbecile.

“Do you mind?” Frank asks him mildly. “We’re kinda in the middle of something important here.”

“I don’t care if the middle of fucking sexual intercourse- he’s stolen a piece of my ‘fro!” Ray yells furiously, shaking his fist menacingly at me and stepping forwards. “Give it to me, Gerard fucking Way! Give to me right now, or I’ll strangle you with your manly area!”

Dear god, he really looks like a demon…Jamie’s evilness must be rubbing off on him or something- I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so terrifying.

Usually, he’s just a cute, cuddly little puffhead. Well, a cute, cuddly puffhead who sexually abuses anything with whiskers.

When I say that, I mean cats- I mean, there is that weird lady who works in the post office and who has some kind of whiskery moustache, but I seriously doubt Ray molests her. I seriously doubt anyone with sanity would. She looks like she drinks the blood of new born babies for fucking breakfast.

Oh, and Ray is advancing ominously.

“I didn’t do anything!” I protest, ducking behind Frank.

“YOU VIOLATED MY ‘FRO!” Ray shouts at me.

“Dude,” Bob shakes his head from the counter. “Take a fucking chill pill.”

“He stole my ’fro,” Ray repeats incredulously, looking distraught.

“I don’t care if he stole your left nipple- I think Gerard has more important stuff to deal with right now,” Bob says calmly. “Look, come over here and you can choose a free guitar pick.”

“Oooh!” Ray brightens. “Do you have a Team Edward one?”

I think I hear Bob facepalm, but I can’t be sure because I’m too busy staring, wide-eyed and utterly petrified, at Frank, who’s still holding my hand and preventing me from the escape I so desperately seek, so as I am not destroyed by the only guy I can see myself making adorable little snail babies with in my next life.

“Gerard,” Frank murmurs softly over Ray’s protests that the Twilight guitar pick is for his seven year old cousin.

“Nichiehff,” I say alluringly. “Let me go, please.”

“Listen, I know I shouldn’t have run off, Gerard,” Frank says quietly, looking at me seriously. How is it possible for eyes to make you want to orgasm even though you know your life is about to be brutally torn apart and your heart spattered at your feet.

“Too right!” Ray interrupts from the counter. Bob hits him.

“I just…” Frank mumbles, ignoring Ray. “Got…scared.”

I blink. “Scared?”

How can the dude be scared? He’s sex personified and an actual god. Why the hell would he be scared?!

Oh, unless he’s worried that the whole world is going to rape him, of course.

“Yeah. Scared. You see, I knew Jamie was cheating long before she even got with Ray- she was dating my cousin too. And the only reason she was dating me was to make some other guy jealous. When Mikey came in crying last week because that girl had just been using him to get back at her boyfriend, I got really fucking scared. Because I thought that was what I was doing with you-”

“Oh, you shit-sucking anus nostril!” Ray says in outrage.

“Will someone let me fucking finish what I’m trying to say?!” Frank is starting to sound slightly irritated. However, I’m trying to struggle free at this point, in some vain hope that if I manage to leg it, I won’t have to face the truth that Frank Iero, the god of all sexy sexiness, was just using me heartlessly, and that our tongues aren’t really soul mates after all.

Oh god, I’ll never get to name our little snail children! I always wanted to name my kids Felicity and Bandit. But now that’s all ruined. Oh, the tragedy.

“Where are you going?” he adds, looking at me where I’m trying to scuffle free of his oh-so-soft grip.

“Um, that…uh…club, I told you about,” I stammer, trying to prise my fingers from his grip. “You know, the platypus fan club…”

“Seriously?” Frank raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah. There’s this exhibition thing with…platypus births through the centuries and-”

“Platypuses lay eggs, Gerard.”

“Um…That’s what I meant to say.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Really, I have to go- like I said, they have these venomous fangs and saliva, and if you piss them off they swell up like raisins in hot water and go all funny and mottled and their noses-”

“GERARD!” Frank yells.

Ray stops yelling insults. Bob stops trying to shut Ray up. I stop rambling about non-existent platypus conventions.

“I really, really fucking like you, Gerard,” Frank breathes into the deadly silence. “And if you’d shut up, and if your friend would stop calling me a ‘custard bottom with no balls’, I’d explain.”

I blink. Several billion times.

It is very possible that a), I have died and gone to heaven, or b), my insanity has finally invaded me completely and I have started hearing things. I mean, there’s not way in flying moose hell that this can actually be happening.

“…You….like…me?!” I whisper, feeling dangerously detached from my own kneecaps. But I guess that’s nothing new.

Frank smiles gently. “Yes. A whole fucking lot, Gerard Way. I’ve honestly never felt this way before. The only reason I did a runner was because I was scared I was just messing you about- I didn’t want to hurt you-”

“You did, dude. He’s spent the past week lying under a dead man,” Ray says casually from where he’s shuffling through the box of picks.

Bob chokes.

“…Gerard?” Frank suddenly looks worried for my non-existent sanity.

“A poster of Kurt Cobain,” I roll my eyes to clarify.

“Oh,” Frank looks deeply relieved, and Bob goes back to trying to shut my moronic, cat-snogging best friend up. “Look, I’m really sorry if I hurt you. I just needed to sort my head out and figure stuff out- I didn’t want to fuck you around or use you to get at someone else. I kinda have a reputation for breaking hearts and shit. I’m not exactly good at…commitment. I thought you were just another fling, but I realised as soon as I stopped seeing you, that wasn’t the case- I missed you like hell.

“I really care about you, Gerard. I really, really like you. I’ve never liked someone like this before. And, um, if you forgive me for being an insensitive dick, I’d be honoured if you’d be my boyfriend.”

Yes. I must have died.

“Gerard?” Frank actually looks nervous, nibbling his lower lip and looking expectantly at me with wide eyes.

Oh moose shittings, is this real?

“…Platypus?” Is the first thing I breathe, feeling shocked.

Frank frowns, confused. I see Bob facepalm.

“I mean,” I add hastily, feeling wonderfully unreal. “Uh, I’d love to be your moose.”

Frank grins. “My ‘moose’?”

I internally facepalm and glower furiously at the moronic, conspiring part of my brain that controls my mouth. But hey, I guess it could have been worse. I could have told him I wanted to be his penis or something.

“Uh, penis,” I stammer, and then blush furiously, realising what I just said.

Bob snorts from the counter, and Frank smirks.

“Boyfriend,” I clarify, cheeks burning. “I’d love to be your boyfriend.”

A smile stretches across Frank’s god-like face. Oh wait. My boyfriend’s face. Oh my god, I’m dating a god. This really must be heaven.

However, before I have time to mentally break down in joy, Frank’s leaning close, warm mango-scented breath tickling my lips softly, strands of dyed black hair brushing my cheek as he smiles, eyes shining beautifully golden and russet in a way that makes me feel as though not only my kneecaps have been removed from existence, but both my entire legs.


Oh, and my heart may be about to detonate.

Still smiling that oh-so-wonderful-yet-devastating smile of his, Frank slowly trails his hand up my neck, leaning slowly into me, until-

“Yowww!” I yelp in agony as his hand brushes the wasp stings on my jugular.

“Shit,” Frank pulls back, eyes wide with concern. “You okay?”

“Wasp stings,” I stammer, wincing.

“Oh,” Frank says softly. “Did you know you’re meant to suck the venom out?”

Before I have a chance to respond or melt into a pathetic little puddle of goo on the floor of the music shop, Frank dives at my neck and starts sucking on the several raised weals there. To begin with, it just really fucking hurts, because yeah, I just got stung, but after a couple of moments, it starts to actually feel a whole lot better. It starts feeling pretty damn good, actually.

In fact, as Frank starts to slowly trail his tongue sloppily up the warm flesh of my neck, my lower-belly starts flipping inside out and tingling like crazy, and I can’t suppress a small, embarrassingly squeaky moan.

Breath hot on my skin, Frank keeps moving his mouth up towards my face, over my chin, biting gently on my bottom lip and tugging softly at the flesh in a way that makes my stomach turns inside out with pleasure and I suddenly want to spontaneously combust. Except that would kinda be shit right now, seeing as all my retarded, clichéd teenager dreams have just come true.

So instead of exploding, I dip my head closer to Frank’s, and crush my mouth onto his, hearing him groan softly as my lips sink into his, and I’m truly in heaven now; his lips are soft, so soft, warm and silky and just fucking perfect. I can actually see fireworks exploding behind my closed eyes as our lips tangle longingly together.

Then again, it could just be my little brain cells dancing in celebration.

Frank’s arms snake out and wind their way round my hips, dragging me close into his warm body as my pulse flutters and jumps and my heart pounds and my stomach somersaults, all the while our lips smushing against each other’s relentlessly.

Heart thumping crazily, I push my trembling hands up into his hair and let my fingers curl into the reckless tendrils, while I work my lips in perfect sync with Frank’s, softly, deeply, slowly. The kiss is full of passion and longing and affection, and it just about melts my entire being- my knees are long gone.

Behind us, I’m pretty sure I hear the familiar sound of Ray vomiting, and Bob’s groans of ‘In the till, Toro! The manager will kill me- for fucks sake, aim your spew, dude!’, but really, I actually don’t care if Ray’s stomach is being spattered over Bob and the music shop or not.

Because a sex god has his tongue in my mouth, and all my dreams have just come true. In fact, I’m so happy that my brain cells have actually shut up- they’ve stopped fluffing their pink boas, and are just sitting happily inside my skull, little goggle eyes closed in bliss.

The kiss is starting to progress, Frank’s fingers pressing more insistently into the small of my back and tugging me closer still so as our hips can grind together. Both of us let out a low moan, and I feel my lower belly spontaneously combust with a ridiculous amount of tingliness.

I hear the sound of Ray’s vomit hitting the till, but I just press myself into Frank, meshing my lips more urgently against his as my breath comes in little stifled gasps.

A couple of moments later, when Frank has pushed me back into the music stand behind us and is straddling me and doing the most lethally wonderful things with his tongue, Bob groans and says “Guys, for the love of sanity, and for Ray’s stomach, please stop.”

However, both of us pretend not to have heard and just kiss more needily than ever, tongues sloppy and teasing.

Ray lets out an extra loud belch as Frank snakes his hand down towards the waistline of my jeans and I groan loudly like a dying tortoise and dig my nails into Frank’s back, licking at his neck.

“Please stop sexing in my shop,” Bob says faintly over the sound of Ray’s copious disemboguement and mine and Frank’s groaning.

Vaguely in the magical cloud of sex god saliva and overactive, crazed hormones and just pure awesomeness, I hear the music shop door clang loudly shut.

Frank finally pulls away from my lips, breathing heavily, but smirking devilishly as he starts suckling on my earlobe, breath hot and feverish on my neck, making me shiver and moan like a sexually abused cat.

“Listen…” Frank pants, nipping at my ear with his teeth. “Perhaps we should…go back to mine. We don’t wanna scar people for life or let them lose their jobs. It would be kinda cruel.”

I moan, but sigh in agreement.

“Thank you,” Bob sighs in relief. “Ray had to make a run for it. I think you guys might need to buy him a bucket if you can’t keep your PDAing under control.”

Frank sadly gets off me and helps me to my feet. It seriously feels as though all my bones have suddenly become jelly. Melting Jelly. Which trust me, is not easy to walk with.

However, Frank seems to find it amusing, and grins at my flushed cheeks and wobbly steps.

“Need a hand?” he smirks, brushing his dishevelled hair from his eyes and holding out a hand.

I beam like a retarded, sappy, loved up moron, and take it.

Franks fingers curl gently round mine as we go out of the music shop and out into the golden late afternoon sun.

I feel as though I’m in some kind of amazing dream and I never, ever want to wake up. But I can’t wake up, because it’s actually real. Oh god, is it healthy to feel this happy?!

“So…my place? Or do you wanna go get an ice cream first?” Frank smiles. “My treat.”

“Well…” I consider, still feeling like a gothic jelly, which, let me tell you, is very, very sophisticated and alluring. “…I don’t mind.”

“Ice cream, then?” Frank asks, disentangling his fingers from mine and slinging his arm round my waist instead, pulling me close and smiling. “After all, we’ve got all the time in the world now, Tumbles.”

I think my face may be about to split in two from smiling so much. Seriously, it’s not natural for me to be so god damn happy.

But jeez, it feels so god damn good.

Frank softly kisses my cheek, breath soft against my skin and sending shivers of ecstatic happiness all the way down my spine as we start leisurely towards the park, and I stumble and squeak.

He grins widely, lip ring glinting in the sun. My knees take yet another abrupt and inconvenient departure to have tea with the Grim Reaper.

“How are you so adorable, Tumbles?” Frank murmurs, tucking a strand of my ebony hair behind my ear and squeezing my waist in order to keep me upright. His eyes glitter gorgeously in the late afternoon sun, making me melt even further.

“Nighewo,” I reply intelligently, and Frank grins even more.

I have a feeling that having Frank as my boyfriend (cue stupid, giddy little wave of excitement at the words ‘Frank’ and ‘Boyfriend’), will result in a lot of hasty departures from my knees and random melting.

But I really don’t care. I’m happy- I’m walking into the sunset with the guy of my dreams. Seriously- that has to be a good omen.

Frank and I will live happily ever after and then become reincarnated as snails, where well have snail intercourse and give birth or whatever the fuck snails do, to little Felicity and Bandit the mini-snails.

As we near the park, I notice Ray and Jamie lying, side by side, on the shorn, parched grass. Jamie is playing with Ray’s ‘fro, and Ray is purring, all vomiting completely ceased. They look like any other loved-up couple; cute and totally in love.

No one would guess one of them is Satan and the other is a cat molester.

But hey, I guess love comes in the strangest forms.

I mean, who would have guessed I, Gerard Arthur Way, sixteen year old homosexual dipshit with the mind of an unhinged mental patient and the complexion of a dead albino Black Veil Brides member, would become the boyfriend of Frank Iero, the hottest, sexiest, coolest, six-dicked sex god in the whole of creation.

Hold on a second. We don’t actually know he has multiple genitalia, you fucktard.

Okay, brain. Let’s settle this once and for all then.

“Hey, um, Frank?” I pipe up as we walk into the sunset, his arm slung round my waist, eyes shining gold in the setting summer sun.

“Yeah?” Frank smiles softly at me.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Anything, Tumbles,” Frank smiles gently.

“How many penises do you have?”



The end.




Well, there you go guys! Be My Detonator is officially finished! I hope you all liked the last chapter- PLEASE let me know your thoughts? It’d mean a whole fucking lot to me- I felt stupidly nervous about posting the final instalment and I feel weirdly emotional that it’s over now- I’ve really enjoyed writing this story! I hope you’ve enjoyed reading it (: So yeah…hope you all like my new story, and thanks once again so, so, so much for all your support on this. You have no idea how much it means to me. I hope the ending was okay, and I love you all so, so fucking much. You’re all AMAZING, okay?!

Right…rate and review for the last time? :D

CosmicZombie xo