Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Vampires Will Never Hurt You

When The Day Met The Night

by KilljoyOnFire 3 reviews

Gerard practices self-control and exhibits his gentlemanly ways. Frank is loving every second of it.

Category: My Chemical Romance - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Drama,Romance - Characters: Frank Iero,Gerard Way,Mikey Way - Published: 2013-01-14 - Updated: 2013-01-15 - 3916 words

Hey! Sorry it took me forever to update, this chapter is LONG and I didn't have much time to write. Hope you enjoy!!! ^^


Chapter 10

Gerard’s POV

I don’t know what made me take hold of Frank’s hand. It was just this weird, sudden impulse, and I acted upon it. I’m glad I did. His hand is warm, a sharp contrast to my icy skin. The heat warms my hand and spreads up my arm like fire.

Fire… don’t think about fire. Bad things happen when you think about fire, I mentally scold myself.

The walk from the front doors of the school to my car is short, but painful. I forgot to put my gloves on because I’m holding Frank’s hand, so my exposed skin stings. It feels like there’s a million tiny needles under my flesh, and they’re all trying to get out at once. My eyes hurt even worse, because I forgot my sunglasses. I try to walk as fast as I possibly can without dragging Frank or looking awkward.

When we finally reach my car, I reluctantly release Frank’s hand to open the passenger door. “After you,” I say politely, internally cursing myself as I do. It’s harder than it seems, trying to act modern.

Frank blushes slightly and climbs into the car, careful to not brush his injured leg against anything. I shut the door and get in to the driver’s seat.

“You have a really nice car,” Frank says in awe, stroking the black leather interior. “What kind is it?”

“An Aston Martin DB9…” I admit as I pull out of the parking lot, embarrassed. I hope I don’t come off as a… what do they call it? Douchebag. I don’t want to seem like a douchebag.

“Your parents got this for you??” Frank asks incredulously.

“Um…” I stammer. “It’s my mom’s car.” I blurt. Merda. I forgot a very important detail in my human masquerade. How am I supposed to explain that I live alone with my brother? My parents died back in Italy…

I shake my head as if I could shake off the memories. I don’t want to think about what happened to my parents now.

“And she lets you drive it?” Frank looks amazed.

“I… well, uh… my p-parents are never home, so…” God, I’m terrible at this. Where’s Mikey when you need him?

I could pop in now, if you’d like.

No! You’ll scare the shit out of him!

“What do they do?” Frank asks.

“They’re… art collectors.” I say unconvincingly. Okay, so that’s not really a job, but it’ll explain all the paintings around the house.

“Wow, that’s really neat!” Frank says, eating it all up. I feel bad for lying to him like this, but sometimes lying is better than telling the truth. And if Frank knew the truth… who knows what would happen.

“Want me to turn on the radio?” I ask quickly, eager to change the subject.

“Sure!” Frank answers. He looks at me and grins, lip ring glinting and eyes sparkling. Mio dio! I almost run over the curb. Frank is absolutely bello. He looks so small and precious against the black leather. His hair looks so touchable, his pink lips so kissable. And his skin… Dear god, his skin. I have to take a deep breath and look away in order to control myself.

“W-What station do you like?” I stammer, clutching the steering wheel tighter.

“Anything that plays rock or punk.” Frank grins again. Dannazione. This boy will be the death of me.

I turn the radio on and find a suitable station. Come As You Are by Nirvana drifts from the speakers. Frank instantly perks up a little in his seat. “I love Nirvana!” he exclaims.

“I’ve seen them live,” I tell him, smiling at the memory. I hate going out in public, but I fit in well at concerts. Everybody is usually just as pale and weird looking as I am. Plus, they’re perfect hunting grounds.

“How?” Frank asks, confused. “I wasn’t even born yet when Kurt died…”

Wow, intelligente. Sometimes I forget that I’m 146 years old. “I meant… I’ve seen a Nirvana cover band.” I say quickly.

Frank giggles and pokes my arm. “You’re weird.”

Weirder than you know, I think.

Frank begins to sing along to the radio, tapping his foot to the beat. “Come doused in mud, soaked in bleach…

Frank’s voice is surprisingly good. I listen to him in awe, smiling a little to myself. His perfection is just never ending. Watching him out of the corner of my eye, I take in all the little details, like how he closes his eyes as he sings, his fingers moving slightly as he plays the tab in his mind. I could watch him forever.

The song is nearly over before Frank realizes that I’ve been listening. “Sorry,” he says meekly, his face turning bright red. “I know that must have been torturous for you.”

“Are you kidding me, Frank? You have a beautiful voice!” I exclaim. Suddenly, I notice that we’re half a block away from my house. I’d been driving on auto-pilot, my mind focusing on Frank while my body took over the wheel.

“Thank you,” he replies, laughing out of embarrassment. I turn the Aston Martin onto my street and up my long, winding driveway. My stomach churns slightly. I wish this relaxed car ride didn’t have to end, but it’s time to begin what could be one of the best and the most terrifying nights of my life.

Frank steps out of the car and looks up at my house. “Your home is beautiful!” he enthuses.

“Thank you,” I reply, trying to sound as calm as possible. I walk over to Frank and gently place my hand on his elbow, electricity shooting up my arm. “Shall we?”

Frank’s eyes light up and he gives me one of his signature grins. “We shall.”


Frank’s POV

Gerard places his hand on my elbow. “Shall we?”

I smile. He’s such a gentlemen. “We shall,” I reply. He leads me up the driveway and to the front door. It swings open, and a handsome boy dressed similar to Gerard smiles warmly at me.

“Hello, Frank!” he says excitedly, beckoning for us to enter. I try not to limp as I walk, but it’s hard. My calf and lower thigh are sore as hell.

“Hi…” I trail off, not knowing his name. This must be Gerard’s brother.

“Michael. Call me Mikey.” he finishes for me, sticking his hand out. I shake it politely. The surface of his hand is cool, like Gerard’s. As if he had just stuck his hand in a refrigerator for a few minutes.

I gaze around the foyer. From here, I can see a living room and the beginnings of several hallways. All the windows are blacked out, the only source of light coming from tall candles. Everything looks old, beautiful, and delicate. I suddenly feel very out of place.

“My brother has told me all about you,” Mikey tells me, grinning.

Gerard takes his hand off my elbow to shove his brother lightly. “Oppilo!” he whines.

“Hey, use English around the stupid American,” I joke. My elbow tingles where Gerard touched it. Little does he know, but that simple gesture drove me crazy inside.

“Sorry,” Gerard says sheepishly. I smile. He’s so cute.

“I hope you like Italian food.” Mikey says. “That’s all we eat around here.” Gerard gives him a sideways glance.

Something about the way he said it was slightly off-putting, like he was lying or something. I mentally shrug it off. “Yeah, I go to Olive Garden all the time.”

Mikey and Gerard burst into laughter simultaneously. “Olive Garden? Patheticus. We’re going to make you real Italian food.” Mikey tells me. Then he turns on his heel and exits the foyer.

“Sorry about my brother, Frank.” Gerard says. “You’ll get used to him.”

“What do you mean? I think he’s awesome,” I reply. “I see where he gets it from.”

Gerard looks down bashfully at his feet. “Oh, please…” I can’t help but notice how attractive he looks in the candlelight. In his sharp black attire and slick half-quiffed hair, he looks like somebody who attends a lot of wine tasting events and is familiar with classic literature.

I giggle. “Take the compliment, damnit. Now show me your room.” I’m curious to see where he sleeps. Are his walls plastered in posters like mine? Is he a neat freak? There’s a lot to Gerard that I don’t know.

Gerard leads me down a long hallway lined with beautiful paintings and up a lengthy staircase. I turn my head every which way as I walk. He wasn’t kidding when he said his parents are never home. They must have to travel across the globe to get all this stuff. Busts, paintings, and sculptures are everywhere. On the landing, I point to a particularly nice oil painting of a golden-haired girl in a long, blue dress. “That’s really pretty,” I comment.

“I painted it,” Gerard says, gazing up at it with a strange expression on his face. He seems to be remembering something.

“Holy shit, you’re good.” I tell him in awe.

Gerard doesn’t reply. He gives the painting one last fleeting glance and continues to walk. I run my thumb over the small golden plaque beneath the gilded frame. It reads “Adelaide, 1866.”

“Frank?” Gerard calls from another room.

“Sorry,” I apologize. I follow his voice and find him in a large room with high ceilings.

“This is my bedroom.” Gerard says.

A four-poster king bed sits against large, curtained bay windows, all blacked out like the windows of a limousine. Antique-looking wrought iron furniture lines the spacious room. Leather-bound books fill a row of bookcases against one wall. A gleaming violin rests on a tasseled velvet pillow, most likely handmade. Like the rest of the house, paintings decorate the walls, and the only lighting comes from a plethora of tall candles.

Damn, how loaded is this guy? “Well this certainly isn’t your average teenage bedroom,” I laugh. “But I like it.”

Gerard smiles, a bemused expression crossing his delicate features. “Thank you?”

I run my fingers along his silk bedspread. It looks as if it hadn’t been slept in for ages. Suddenly, I have an image of Gerard lowering me onto the huge bed while kissing me, his hands exploring my body, pulling my shirt over my head and latching his lips onto my chest…

“I know, I’m old-fashioned,” Gerard admits sheepishly, pulling me away from my embarrassing thoughts and fiddling with his tie, the way he always does when he gets nervous. “I guess it’s just the way I was brought up.”

I force a shaky laugh. If he could read minds, he’d probably kick me out and leave me to rot on his well-manicured lawn like a dog that just peed on his imported Persian rugs. “My room is covered in band posters and overflowing with comic books.” I say. “I don’t really have an explanation for that.”

Gerard grins at me, and I suddenly notice how unnaturally sharp his canine teeth are. It’s actually pretty hot.

“Dinner will be ready soon!” Mikey shouts from downstairs. Well, that was fast. As if on cue, my stomach growls. I flush with embarrassment.

“Hungry?” Gerard laughs. “Come on, let’s get you some food.” he takes my hand like earlier and we head downstairs. OHMYGODHE’SHOLDINGMYHANDAGAIN.

In the kitchen, Mikey is wearing one of those cliché “Kiss The Chef” aprons and wielding a wooden spoon like a weapon. The apron still has a tag hanging off the corner.

“Whatcha making?” I ask, wandering over to the array of pots cluttering up the stove and dragging Gerard behind me. I’m not letting go of his hand just yet.

Ricotta antipasti, arancine, pinzimonio, puttanesca…” Mikey goes off into a long list of foods that I’ve never heard of before as he stirs something.

I lean towards Gerard and raise an eyebrow. “Care to translate?” I whisper, pretending to pay attention to his brother.

“Pasta with goat cheese, stuffed rice balls, vegetable platter, and spaghetti.” he whispers back, squeezing my hand.

“Set the table, frater.” Mikey says to Gerard, pointing to a stack of bowls, plates, and silverware on the kitchen island.

“No please?” Gerard scoffs, but he picks up the dishes and carries them to the table.

“Please shut the fuck up.” Mikey replies calmly. I burst into laughter.

Etiam? Ante Frank?” Gerard groans. I catch my name.

Esse desieris whiny ferreo canis exprimamus.” his brother says in a teasing tone. I wish I knew what they were saying.

Te tam stupri nice quod tuum erga frater,” Gerard fires back, glowering at Mikey.

I just shake my head and laugh. “I’m gonna have to learn Italian so I can understand you guys.”

Gerard perks up a little. “I can teach you!” he offers.

Excitement buzzes through my body. Foreign languages aren’t exactly my best skill, seeing as I’ve flunked Spanish 1 twice, but it’s an excuse to spend time with Gerard.

“I would love that!” I say, a little too enthusiastically. Suddenly, my phone begins to ring and vibrate in my pocket. I pull it out and look at the screen. It’s Pete.

“I’ll be right back, I gotta take this.” I tell Gerard, turning around to leave.

Distracted by my phone, I trip over the leg of a chair on my way out of the kitchen. I fall hard on my burned leg and let out a cry of pain. My phone flies out of my hand and hits the floor, causing the battery to pop out.

“Frank!” Gerard shouts. He’s at my side in an instant.

Mikey rushes over as well. “What happened?”

“I fell.” I tell him, closing my eyes and gritting my teeth in pain. I think I felt something rip when I went down.

“You’re bleeding,” Gerard gasps, his eyes widening.

I look down at my pant leg, where a small, dark stain is spreading across my knee. “It’s no big deal.” I say, even though it hurts like hell. “Just a little blood.” I bite my lip. The pain is almost as bad as when my leg caught on fire. But I can’t let Gerard know that. I don’t want him to think I’m weak.

Mikey freezes suddenly. “Ho bisogno di uscire di qui,” he whispers. Then he turns on his heel and dashes out of the room. What was that all about?

“Can you stand up?” Gerard asks quietly.

I nod slightly. “I think so,” I reply. I take hold of the chair that I tripped on and slowly begin to pull myself into a standing position. My hands and arms are shaking violently.

“Don’t strain yourself,” Gerard says quickly, putting his arm around my waist and helping me up. Fire erupts where he’s touching me. A good kind of fire.

“T-Thank you.” I say gratefully.

“Can you put any weight on it?” Gerard questions.

I gingerly shift some weight onto my leg. The pain flares up and the limb immediately gives out. I fall back onto Gerard with another cry of pain. Fuck, I’m pathetic.

“I take that as a no.” Gerard says. “Let’s go fix you up.” He places an arm behind my knees and lifts me bridal-style.

“Gerard?” I squeak. My heart begins to race.

Gerard doesn’t reply. He carries me upstairs and into the master bathroom with a stony expression on his face. He carefully sits me on the edge of the deep bathtub. My palms are sweating. What is he going to do?

“Are you allergic to hydrogen peroxide or anything of the sort?” Gerard asks, rummaging through some drawers.

“The only thing I’m allergic to is mustard seeds, so unless you’re going to use that or mayonnaise, I think I’ll be okay,” I laugh nervously, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

Gerard doesn’t smile. Even though he’s standing right in front of me, he somehow seems miles away. I wish I knew what he was thinking. He produces a travel first-aid kit and a roll of bandages from a drawer and kneels in front of me. For a moment, I feel like Cinderella, being fitted with the glass slipper.

“Um… Frank?” Gerard looks up at me with big, sorrow-filled eyes. “I need you to t-take off your pants.”

I freeze. Take off my pants. Gerard Way just asked me to take off my pants. Oh my god.

“O-Okay,” I say, my voice cracking and turning into a whisper. I move my shaking hands to my belt and begin to fumble with the clasp. Gerard notices my violently trembling hands and gently pushes them away.

“Let me help you,” he murmurs.

My breath catches in my throat. Gerard removes my belt and undoes my zipper slowly and efficiently. Electricity courses through my body, and my stomach won’t stop doing flips. Oh god… if I get turned on now, I’ll die of embarrassment.

I help Gerard remove my skinny jeans, trying to hide my terror and excitement. I feel like a 16-year-old virgin. Okay, I am a 16-year-old virgin. But it’s not like Gerard’s undressing me for that reason.

“W-What are you going to do?” I ask, blushing harder than I’ve ever blushed before. I can’t believe I’m sitting in front of Gerard in my boxers.

“I’m going to stop the bleeding,” Gerard replies calmly, still sporting that stony expression. He folds my jeans neatly and places them on the counter behind him. He kneels in front of me again and begins to inspect the burns. He seems to be holding his breath.

“You shouldn’t have taken off the bandages.” Gerard says, a hint of something I can’t quite place in his voice. Irritation? Exasperation?

“I know…” I say meekly, looking down at my pale, skinny legs. The burns on my right leg are bright red and look tight and shiny. Some of the blisters reopened when I fell, and blood is streaming freely down my calf.

Gerard dampens a washcloth. “Tell me if I hurt you.” he says.

“Okay.” I bite my lip and chew on my lip ring nervously.

“Do you promise?” Gerard asks sternly, holding the washcloth just inches away from my skin.

“Yes,” I whisper.

I let out a small gasp when the cloth comes in contact with my skin. Oh my god… Gerard Way is touching me. It stings, but it feels heavenly at the same time. Mostly because Gerard is doing it. Gerard presses down firmly on one of the bleeding areas, making me wince in pain.

“Did I hurt you?” Gerard looks up at me, his beautiful hazel eyes filled with apology.

“It just stings a little,” I give him a weak smile, trying not to show how nervous I am inside.

“I’m sorry,” Gerard whispers. “But this is the only way to stop the bleeding.” He dabs at the blood again.

I suddenly realize that I’m trembling violently. My heels are practically vibrating against the edge of the bathtub, and my hands are going crazy. Control yourself, Frank. But I can’t help it. Having Gerard so close to touching my skin is driving me insane with want and anxiety.

Gerard puts down the washcloth and produces a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. He rips the plastic off the top, and unscrews the cap.

“This will probably sting more than the washcloth.” Gerard tells me, pouring a little onto a cotton ball.

“I can handle it,” I say quietly, gripping the edge of the bathtub. My palms are slick with sweat.

Gerard presses the cotton to my skin and tenderly begins to wipe off the remaining dried blood. I bite my lip hard to stifle a whimper. It hurts and stings like a motherfucker, but it feels so damn good.

Once he’s done cleaning off the wounds on my calf and knee, all that’s left is my thigh. Gerard stares at the bit of exposed skin below my boxers for a moment, contemplating something. Then he takes a deep breath and pushes the fabric of my boxers up a few inches.

I don’t know if it was the chilled temperature of his skin, how slowly he moved the fabric, or the fact that he just touched my thigh, but I let my guard down and accidentally let out a small moan. SHIT.

Gerard hesitates, looking up at me again with those hazel eyes that drive me crazy. “Frank?” he whispers.

“I’m sorry, Gerard,” I whisper back, my face burning with shame.

Gerard shakes his head slowly. “Don’t apologize, Frankie.” he murmurs. He begins to clean off the blisters on my thigh.

My heart jumps. Frankie. He just gave me a pet name.

My trembling slowly fades away, and I slip into contentment. The feeling of the cotton on my skin, Gerard’s fingers occasionally brushing my thigh… it feels amazing. Absolutely amazing. I know I shouldn’t be enjoying this, but hey, it’s Gerard. He could be… I dunno, ripping my throat out or something and I’d probably enjoy it.

When he stops, I’m left with a feeling of disappointment and a little relief. Disappointed because it felt so good, relieved because it felt too good. If I had gotten an erection… My face burns just thinking about it.

Gerard unravels a roll of white bandages and begins to tenderly wrap my leg. He still seems to be holding his breath.

“Gerard? Why do you have all this stuff, anyways?” I ask out of curiosity.

He looks perplexed for a moment. “Oh, you mean the bandages and things. I went shopping today and thought it might be good to have some on hand.” He secures the bandages with a piece of medical tape and gives my leg a gentle pat.

He skipped out on school to go shopping? I frown in confusion, but shrug it off. “Well, er, thanks for… you know, doing all this.” I say, blushing deeply.
“It was my duty.” Gerard replies solemnly.

I gaze at him admiringly. He’s such a gentleman… God, I sound like a chick.

Gerard stands up and helps me to my feet. My leg throbs dully, but it feels a hell of a lot better. “Let’s go see if the food is ready.” he says.

Before we reach the top of the staircase, Gerard pauses and places his hand on my elbow like he did earlier. “Shall we?” he asks with a silly grin.
I can’t help but smile. “We shall.”


Esse desieris whiny ferreo canis exprimamus- Stop being a whiny little bitch.
Te tam stupri nice quod tuum erga frater- You're so nice to your brother.
Frater- brother.
Ho bisogno di uscire di qui- I need to get out of here.
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