Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Bodysnatcher
It was a godless thing, creeping through his bones and crushing the air from his lungs with every one of its own suffocating breaths. It worked its way through his veins, pushing away blood until it was the only thing left residing there. When it spoke, it spoke with Frank’s voice.
-
Frank wakes up not on the bathroom floor, not bleeding through his every pore but in his bed, body sore and used and so empty. There’s a gap of lost time in his memories and far too much space in his brain. He wants to call out for Gerard, he must be near, he must have been the one to put Frank to sleep. But he can’t get any sound out, his lips feel too far away, all bodily functions wasted on his paralyzed form.
The door slams shut downstairs, the noise loud and intruding. Frank stays laying still, his limbs still lost to his nerves. Gerard brought him here, he will come visit.
“Frank?” Gerard’s voice is small and tentative, winding up the stairs and into Frank’s bedroom, his footsteps following his words a moment later. He’s pale, hovering in the doorway like a nervous bird, lips pursed, hands clasped. Frank makes what he hopes is a reassuring face.
He has missed his man of god, missed the light and safety his presence provides.
Frank looks small amongst the bed sheets, fragile and doll-like. He’s too pale, sickly pale and his face is carefully hopeful, like he’s happy to see Gerard, like Gerard might not be happy to see him. His hair is stuck to his face with sweat, the house, still too hot for comfort.
“Frankie,” He says and hurries to the side of the bed. Temptations or no temptations Frank looks a wreak, he needs Gerard’s help. “I knew you were sick.”
Frank coughs and hardens his face, shifting away from Gerard’s outreached palm. “Yeah,” he grumbles, “How’d ya figure that one out?”
Gerard frowns, withdrawing his hand. “Do you need anything?”
“Aspirin.” Frank croaks.
“Where do you hurt?” Gerard’s worrying his lip again, tugging too hard on the soft flesh. It’s a habbit he really needs to quit.
“Fucking everywhere.” Frank groans, tossing his head away so that the tendons in his neck are exposed. His skin is lily white, pure as the driven snow.
“Okay.” He says, eyes still glued to Frank’s neck. “I’ll be right back.”
-
Frank sleeps the rest of the day, curled in on himself amongst the sheets. Gerard tries to get on with his work, but he’s too distracted. Memories of earlier curling like snakes around the corners of his brain, sneaking into the corner of his vision. Frank, Frank, Frank.
-
Frank starts work the next night. It’s probably a bad idea, he still feels weak and oddly vulnerable but he supposes he should at least show up to his first day at the bar. He doesn’t have to wear a uniform, at least, which is a fucking plus but he is still giving up a precious evening he could have spent jerking off or sleeping. He mutters about it to himself as he draws near to the bar, hands shoved deep into his pockets as protection from the cold. He’s already starting to miss his fever; the winter air is freezing his balls off.
Jamia is taking down chairs from the bar’s tabletops when he arrives. She smiles at him as he enters, this adorable pixie smile that does disturbing things to his insides. She has a really sweet face. “Frank!” She grins, plonking another chair on the floor with a small clatter.
“Hi,” Frank says, a little sheepishly, and begins helping her with the chairs.
The night doesn’t turn out to be a complete waste. Once he’s worked out how to actually poor a pint, without drowning everyone in the bar, work is pretty easy. He flirts with the girls ordering, taking shots with them and laughing at their drunken antics. He listens to a few of the lone men’s sob stories and tries his best to nod in all the right places. He freezes up a little whenever his new boss is around but it’s not his fault that she’s hot and totally out his league, so he has to remind himself that he works for her and nothing more and attempts to let the attraction go.
They’re sitting, after the bar’s closed, drinking disgusting mixes of drinks Frank made and called cocktails, when he finally starts to loosen up.
“So, Iero, tell me about yourself, what did you do before this? Because I can sure as hell guarantee you weren’t a barman.” She takes a sips of her drink and chokes, laughing, “Fuck have you tasted this?”
Frank tries a gulp of his own drink and cringes. It’s a good job he’s not expected to actually mix anything on working hours, he’s not sure what he’d do if this was one of those fruity bars where everything comes with cherries and paper umbrellas.
“I was in a band.” He says, relaxing into the U of the booth.
“Oh really?” Jamia asks, kicking her shoes off and pulling her legs up and under herself. “Would I have heard of you?”
“Probably not,” Frank admits. “We were pretty fucking terrible.”
Jamia laughs and it sounds like bells. Frank grins back, wondering on a scale of one to ten, how inappropriate it would be for him to kiss her. She’s beautiful in the dim lighting of the bar, with dark hair and blazing eyes, delicate hands wrapped around her glass and little freckles dancing across her cheeks.
“C’mon,” She says, startling Frank from his daydreams before he can do anything stupid and possibly job threatening. “It’s getting late.”
They say goodbye as Jamia locks up, her giggling and chatting, him wondering if she should be walking home alone this late. It’s not like he can offer to walk her home though, and she probably makes the journey every night. He doesn’t try to kiss her, even though he really, really wants to.
-
Frank sleeps in late the next day. Gerard doesn’t even try to wake him up when the hour falls past twelve but he’s there waiting when Frank gets downstairs.
“Morning.” He mutters, rubbing sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand. Never again, he thinks and slouches against the kitchen counter.
“Morning.” Gerard says, looking up from his notebook. “How did it go?”
“Okay enough.” Frank says, smirking a little.
“Just okay?”
His heart, and dick he has to admit, definitely think more than okay. Frank shrugs, shifting off the counter to pick through the mugs piled up on the ‘clean’ side of the sink. He grabs the one with the least amount of coffee stains. It says, ‘World’s Best Dad’. Frank doesn’t even know.
“You got plans for today?” Gerard asks, watching Frank carefully. He’s been weird ever since the bathroom incident, weirder than usual, even. Frank supposes that he did nearly die but he’d actually sort of expected Gerard to be all over him about it, not distant and tentative.
“Nope.” Frank says, sipping on his coffee and trying really, really hard to pretend he hasn’t noticed it’s de-caff.
“Frank,” Gerard blurts, eyes wide and wild. Frank’s really not ready for another lecture, he got a job, alright? But Gerard continues all the same. “About the other day…”
“The other day?”
“I. You.” Gerard huffs out a deep breath, a noisy lungful of air that Frank swears he can actually feel. He runs a hand through his hair, scowling when his fingers get stuck. Frank tries to hold back a giggle. “I’m sorry.”
He looks so desperate Frank doesn’t even want to make fun of him anymore.
“For what?” He asks instead.
Gerard frowns at him. “You don’t remember?”
“Remember what?”
“It’s nothing then.” Gerard tries to assure him. “Uh, I, have to go.” He mumbles, shooting up and hurrying out of the kitchen with his head down.
Frank frowns and takes another sip of his coffee.
Review if you’ve read, especially if you have constructive criticism. Also for those of you, which is all of you, who don’t know I now make covers for people’s works so if you want one, let me know! I’m not making like a formal post or anything and I can’t guarantee I’ll do one for everyone but if your plot line sounds interesting to me than I’ll probzz give it a go
-
Frank wakes up not on the bathroom floor, not bleeding through his every pore but in his bed, body sore and used and so empty. There’s a gap of lost time in his memories and far too much space in his brain. He wants to call out for Gerard, he must be near, he must have been the one to put Frank to sleep. But he can’t get any sound out, his lips feel too far away, all bodily functions wasted on his paralyzed form.
The door slams shut downstairs, the noise loud and intruding. Frank stays laying still, his limbs still lost to his nerves. Gerard brought him here, he will come visit.
“Frank?” Gerard’s voice is small and tentative, winding up the stairs and into Frank’s bedroom, his footsteps following his words a moment later. He’s pale, hovering in the doorway like a nervous bird, lips pursed, hands clasped. Frank makes what he hopes is a reassuring face.
He has missed his man of god, missed the light and safety his presence provides.
Frank looks small amongst the bed sheets, fragile and doll-like. He’s too pale, sickly pale and his face is carefully hopeful, like he’s happy to see Gerard, like Gerard might not be happy to see him. His hair is stuck to his face with sweat, the house, still too hot for comfort.
“Frankie,” He says and hurries to the side of the bed. Temptations or no temptations Frank looks a wreak, he needs Gerard’s help. “I knew you were sick.”
Frank coughs and hardens his face, shifting away from Gerard’s outreached palm. “Yeah,” he grumbles, “How’d ya figure that one out?”
Gerard frowns, withdrawing his hand. “Do you need anything?”
“Aspirin.” Frank croaks.
“Where do you hurt?” Gerard’s worrying his lip again, tugging too hard on the soft flesh. It’s a habbit he really needs to quit.
“Fucking everywhere.” Frank groans, tossing his head away so that the tendons in his neck are exposed. His skin is lily white, pure as the driven snow.
“Okay.” He says, eyes still glued to Frank’s neck. “I’ll be right back.”
-
Frank sleeps the rest of the day, curled in on himself amongst the sheets. Gerard tries to get on with his work, but he’s too distracted. Memories of earlier curling like snakes around the corners of his brain, sneaking into the corner of his vision. Frank, Frank, Frank.
-
Frank starts work the next night. It’s probably a bad idea, he still feels weak and oddly vulnerable but he supposes he should at least show up to his first day at the bar. He doesn’t have to wear a uniform, at least, which is a fucking plus but he is still giving up a precious evening he could have spent jerking off or sleeping. He mutters about it to himself as he draws near to the bar, hands shoved deep into his pockets as protection from the cold. He’s already starting to miss his fever; the winter air is freezing his balls off.
Jamia is taking down chairs from the bar’s tabletops when he arrives. She smiles at him as he enters, this adorable pixie smile that does disturbing things to his insides. She has a really sweet face. “Frank!” She grins, plonking another chair on the floor with a small clatter.
“Hi,” Frank says, a little sheepishly, and begins helping her with the chairs.
The night doesn’t turn out to be a complete waste. Once he’s worked out how to actually poor a pint, without drowning everyone in the bar, work is pretty easy. He flirts with the girls ordering, taking shots with them and laughing at their drunken antics. He listens to a few of the lone men’s sob stories and tries his best to nod in all the right places. He freezes up a little whenever his new boss is around but it’s not his fault that she’s hot and totally out his league, so he has to remind himself that he works for her and nothing more and attempts to let the attraction go.
They’re sitting, after the bar’s closed, drinking disgusting mixes of drinks Frank made and called cocktails, when he finally starts to loosen up.
“So, Iero, tell me about yourself, what did you do before this? Because I can sure as hell guarantee you weren’t a barman.” She takes a sips of her drink and chokes, laughing, “Fuck have you tasted this?”
Frank tries a gulp of his own drink and cringes. It’s a good job he’s not expected to actually mix anything on working hours, he’s not sure what he’d do if this was one of those fruity bars where everything comes with cherries and paper umbrellas.
“I was in a band.” He says, relaxing into the U of the booth.
“Oh really?” Jamia asks, kicking her shoes off and pulling her legs up and under herself. “Would I have heard of you?”
“Probably not,” Frank admits. “We were pretty fucking terrible.”
Jamia laughs and it sounds like bells. Frank grins back, wondering on a scale of one to ten, how inappropriate it would be for him to kiss her. She’s beautiful in the dim lighting of the bar, with dark hair and blazing eyes, delicate hands wrapped around her glass and little freckles dancing across her cheeks.
“C’mon,” She says, startling Frank from his daydreams before he can do anything stupid and possibly job threatening. “It’s getting late.”
They say goodbye as Jamia locks up, her giggling and chatting, him wondering if she should be walking home alone this late. It’s not like he can offer to walk her home though, and she probably makes the journey every night. He doesn’t try to kiss her, even though he really, really wants to.
-
Frank sleeps in late the next day. Gerard doesn’t even try to wake him up when the hour falls past twelve but he’s there waiting when Frank gets downstairs.
“Morning.” He mutters, rubbing sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand. Never again, he thinks and slouches against the kitchen counter.
“Morning.” Gerard says, looking up from his notebook. “How did it go?”
“Okay enough.” Frank says, smirking a little.
“Just okay?”
His heart, and dick he has to admit, definitely think more than okay. Frank shrugs, shifting off the counter to pick through the mugs piled up on the ‘clean’ side of the sink. He grabs the one with the least amount of coffee stains. It says, ‘World’s Best Dad’. Frank doesn’t even know.
“You got plans for today?” Gerard asks, watching Frank carefully. He’s been weird ever since the bathroom incident, weirder than usual, even. Frank supposes that he did nearly die but he’d actually sort of expected Gerard to be all over him about it, not distant and tentative.
“Nope.” Frank says, sipping on his coffee and trying really, really hard to pretend he hasn’t noticed it’s de-caff.
“Frank,” Gerard blurts, eyes wide and wild. Frank’s really not ready for another lecture, he got a job, alright? But Gerard continues all the same. “About the other day…”
“The other day?”
“I. You.” Gerard huffs out a deep breath, a noisy lungful of air that Frank swears he can actually feel. He runs a hand through his hair, scowling when his fingers get stuck. Frank tries to hold back a giggle. “I’m sorry.”
He looks so desperate Frank doesn’t even want to make fun of him anymore.
“For what?” He asks instead.
Gerard frowns at him. “You don’t remember?”
“Remember what?”
“It’s nothing then.” Gerard tries to assure him. “Uh, I, have to go.” He mumbles, shooting up and hurrying out of the kitchen with his head down.
Frank frowns and takes another sip of his coffee.
Review if you’ve read, especially if you have constructive criticism. Also for those of you, which is all of you, who don’t know I now make covers for people’s works so if you want one, let me know! I’m not making like a formal post or anything and I can’t guarantee I’ll do one for everyone but if your plot line sounds interesting to me than I’ll probzz give it a go
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