FicWad

The first thing Gerard did when he arrived at home was run to his cupboard and grab the box full of drawings. Scattering them all over his bed, he looked over the ideas and creations he’d brought to life in the past, trying to gather inspiration. But the only thing his mind was focused on was Frank’s face, Frank’s body, and whether or not Frank was lying to him.
Hauling the box back in the cupboard, Gerard made his way downstairs with his sketchbook and a little black pen. He found a photo of Frank he’d taken on his phone, where his smirking little face was calm and asleep, nestled between Gerard and a soft pillow. He smiled to himself and propped his phone upright against an old candle as he started to draw. If Frank thought for one second that Gerard wasn’t wholly into this relationship, this would prove him wrong. If he thought that Gerard didn’t care about him running off with Bert, this would prove him wrong. He liked to feel admired, appreciated and attractive, and with something as simple as a drawing, Gerard could prove all of these things to him.
But it was hours until Frank would have the chance to see the dedication that Gerard so desperately wanted to show. It was much too late by then.
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The clatter of falling cans. The trickle of liquid down the dark pavement and the rough feel of Bert’s hand around Frank’s wrist.
Bert pushed the drunken mess into the backseat of his barely alive Renault and locked the doors, feeling his way in the darkness to the warm, intoxicated body beside him. “I’ve wanted you for so long, Frankie.” He slurred. Frank closed his eyes, nodding. “Me too, Gee. Me too.”
Bert let out a noise of intense irritation before banging his head against the window near Frank’s head. “I’m not Gerard!” he insisted angrily. Frank just giggled and pulled him onto his lap. “Who are you then, gorgeous?” he mumbled.
Bert just started whispering little obscenities, refusing to tell him. Neither of them could see and Frank could hardly even think, but he could feel the callous palms against his stomach as his cold metal belt was pulled away. He could feel them at his thighs and in his mouth, both at the same time, tasting of beer and sweat and betrayal. Betrayal? He wondered. What have I done wrong?
It’s not that he couldn’t remember Gerard, or that he believed it to be Gerard he was with. He simply couldn’t string together his thoughts enough to realise that this act, this sin that he was committing, was more than just dirty sex with somebody he couldn’t see. He was breaking the bond with Gerard by tying it with somebody else. This quick crime would have much more of an impact than it ever had before.
“Fuck,” Bert growled as he slid into Frank without warning. Frank yelped and threw his head back, whacking it on the solid glass and condemning himself to a pretty big bruise. His shaking hands gripped onto Bert’s shirt, trying to push him away and pull him closer at the same time. “You’re so tight, Frank.” He heaved. “You’re mine.” He whispered these little nasties constantly as he started to move slowly in and out, his breathing now nothing more than a cluster of shallow, irregular gasps. Frank whimpered and dropped his hand down Bert’s chest to his own cock and began to touch himself in time with Bert’s hips, unable to stop now that it felt so good.
The car shook as they did, and it did not hold in their wild calls of pleasure. The empty car park grew quiet around them and as they finished the silence closed in on them, almost as though it was the pressure of what they’d just done collapsing onto their consciences.
Bert sat up a few minutes later, smirking and obviously much more aware and awake than Frank. He’d deliberately had much less to drink. Pulling Frank’s phone from his jean pocket, he took a few choice photos of the semi-naked body with his own hot liquid all over his stomach, slumped against the window with his eyes half open. Pulling him up roughly, Bert ordered Frank to kiss him and he took another photo whilst holding his dirty middle finger up to the lens.
Gerard was going to love those photos.
-
It was five in the morning and Gerard couldn’t sleep. He’d hardly slept all night, as a matter of fact. He’d tossed and turned restlessly because his mind couldn’t relax at the prospect of his Frankie doing something stupid. How should he react if Frank had done something? Dismissive? Forgiving? Or should he vow to never speak to him again? Gerard didn’t know what to do with himself. The only part he loathed about this fresh relationship was the complete cluelessness with which he had bounded blindly into it.
A while later and he had showered, dressed and framed his drawing of Frank, taking down one of the pristine photos of him and his wife to use the shiny glass frame as a token of permanence. He meant business, and he felt that whilst a flimsy bit of paper was meaningful, it didn’t hold for a particular length of time, whereas a frame proved that he wanted this to last. He knew he was being slightly obsessive – Frank probably wouldn’t even notice – but it reassured him that he was doing the best he could.
He arrived at work much too early so, tucking the drawing into his bag, he headed to the nearest coffee bar to get himself a wake-up call. He needed to be alert. He felt slightly over-prepared, as if his mind and gone over the possible outcomes so many times that he’d thought of. Treating himself to a hazelnut flavoured mocha with chocolate sprinkles, he ambled back over to the parlour and unlocked a few minutes early to set everything up.
When Frank arrived, Gerard was sipping his coffee and there was a little white moustache of foam on his upper lip.
“Hey, Frankie. How was your night?” he asked, calmly. He didn’t look up and he didn’t move from his seat behind the desk, so Frank bounded towards him, slightly red in the face from having to run to work from Bert’s car to avoid being late. He hugged him fervently and then looked him in the eyes and licked the foam from his lip, giggling. “Hi. You had a coffee moustache.” He kissed him quickly and lightly.
Gerard smiled and wrinkled his nose. Frank kinda smelt of sweat. “So, how was your night?” he repeated.
Frank turned away and shrugged, quickly depositing Gerard’s jacket in the back room. “Average.” He said. Gerard couldn’t detect anything, but he knew Frank was a fucking fabulous liar.
“How come you didn’t change clothes?” he asked quietly, worry settling in his edgy mind. Same shirt, same belt, same jeans. Probably the same boxers. And the smell of sweat…
“O-oh,” Frank said, pausing for a moment. “I felt like being punk today. You know, don’t wash your clothes, fight the social norms, all that shit. I slept in them and everything.”
Gerard nodded slowly. “Right.” Frank could detect the disbelief in his voice and it was confirmed by the tears threatening to appear in Gerard’s eyes, so he walked up behind him and wrapping his arms around his neck, separated from him by the back of the chair. “What’s wrong?” he asked, seemingly guiltlessly. Gerard refused to reply. Until he had solid evidence, he couldn’t accuse Frank of anything without seeming horribly unfair, yet...Frank’s excuse just didn’t seem that plausible.
Just then, Gerard’s phone vibrated violently in his front pocket. He giggled a little in spite of himself because it was really close to his crotch and you know, it didn’t feel too bad. Frank smiled, thinking he’d cheered up – that is, until he saw that the text was supposedly from himself. He suddenly shoved his hands into his own pockets and realised in despair that it wasn’t there. He ran out to check the jacket, and it wasn’t there either.
“Who the fuck is texting you from my phone?” he walked back over, looking jittery and worried. Gerard was downloading the images he’d been sent nervously. The text read in tauntingly bright letters ‘Hey Gee. We had a great night.’
Slowly, gradually, the images developed on the screen. A date at the bottom: yesterday. Someone’s knees, someone’s groin, someone’s hips. Someone’s come-splatted stomach covering Frank’s tattoos. Frank’s neck, Frank’s panting face. And the next image, of Bert and Gerard’s boyfriend kissing, kissing hard. It wasn’t a one sided thing. They were both fucking into it.
“You fucking bastard.” Gerard growled, tears spilling from his eyes. He closed them and tried to calm himself down, tried to react appropriately. But he couldn’t find the strength. Frank leant over, trying to pry Gerard’s phone away to see the pictures. He gasped at the images, internally cursing himself. Why hadn’t he realised? He cursed Bert too, relentlessly. That stupid twat.
“I knew this would happen.” Gerard’s voice cut into the tense air, threatening. “You really are good for nothing, aren’t you, Iero?” he raised his voice and threw his phone across the room, letting out another growl of anger. “I trusted you! You know how difficult it’s been, and I fucking trusted you! Look what I did for you!” he shouted, hauling the photo from his bag and throwing it at Frank. It his his shins and fell to the floor with a clatter. Frank wince and picked it up slowly, his face now the perfect picture of guilt as he saw the delicate penstrokes of care with which Gerard had drawn him. “I’m sorry.” He whispered. “I thought it was you, at first, and then he…” he could hardly even bring himself to make excuses. “You remember when you kissed me, Gerard? When you were drunk? It was like that. He got me drunk first.”
Gerard shook his head disgustedly. “This is entirely different. You know what my fiancée was like, and how I needed to get away from her. If you needed to get away from me, why didn’t you just fucking tell me? Not go and sleep with some repulsive junkie who’s gonna send me awfully explicit photos afterwards!”
Frank wanted to giggle then. Only Gerard would complain about the sexual content of photos when the main issue was the evidence they provided. But he hardly even had the chance.
“You know what?” Gerard shrieked, completely losing himself. “Is this because I wasn’t ready? Because if it is, you can take your fucking condoms and fuck off right out of my goddamn house! I’ll never be ready for you, you useless twat!” His chest rise at fell with the effort of exerting such a ruckus and he stormed towards Frank determinedly, slapping him across the face. “And then you come in here and kiss me like nothing’s even happened. Would you ever have told me if he hadn’t sent me those photos?”
He considered with outrage the number of times this could have happened before. They hadn’t spent every night together, so who knows where Frank could have been whilst they were apart?
“I’m not like your other partners.” He spat. “You can’t just treat me like shit, Frank. Go and learn some fucking respect before you come back begging for me.” He threw a glare at him that could shatter pretty much anyone before struggling past a startled looking customer and out of the shop. It was so similar to him, his situation…so heart-achingly similar. It just reminded him how there was nobody to trust, nobody to rely on, nobody who he could be with who wouldn’t humiliate him. Why was it him in humanity who’d been chosen to play the role of the useless piece of shit that everybody felt they could walk all over? What had he done wrong?
Anger, regret and disappointment were blinding him. The only thing he wanted was a little piece of revenge, a little piece of satisfaction from the mess life was throwing at him. Maybe, just maybe, he could play Frank instead of constantly being played by him. Maybe he’d find a way to win back what he felt he’d lost. To win back dignity. He was shocked that he'd even found it in himself to stand up for his rights so much back there. A few weeks ago and he'd have let Frank's apologies flatten him back into the ground, and he'd sit there feeling like an accusatory idiot whilst Frank went about his business as though it was all Gerard's fault that he'd cheated. At least that much had changed.
Frank, meanwhile, had no clue what to do with himself. He rubbed his aching face, feeling that he deserved the pain entirely. In the past, his boyfriends and lovers had never cared for him enough to give a shit about who he fucked around with. They’d expected it from him because of his reputation, his deliberate image and his ability to flirt with anything that moved. It was one of the first times he’d genuinely apologised for what he’d done: in all previous situations, he’d laughed or told them to get over it and move on. Or they’d cheated on him first, so it really hadn’t mattered. But seeing Gerard so angry and so hurt all because of him had built a little wound in his chest. It had dug a little hole, burnt a little scar of emotion. He’d felt as though everything was going so smoothly with him: they were laughing and touching all the time, sharing almost everything: except their feelings about eachother. Gerard continuously held back his worries as Frank held back his depth. Anything that wasn’t a joke Frank found it difficult to express. They were both keeping things from eachother and if this relationship was ever going to work, they were going to have to keep all the cogs turning…no more secrets, Frankie. No more secrets.
That’s what he told himself as he wrote everything down that he’d kept from Gerard. The feelings, the tears, everything that he felt about his situation. He wrote it as a letter, and by the time he was done, he felt more naked – in terms of soul, mind, spirit – than he ever had in his life.

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Be impressed with the quick update ;D I'm gonna try and keep doing this til it's done. :D I hope the quality doesn't severely drop or anything...please r&r!