Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Powerless
A/N: This whole drag thing may have gotten slightly out of hand. I apologize, for I am insane.
“Gerard…” I panted. “D-Does this happen often?”
“What do you think it is, a fucking initiation rite?” He laughed, beads of sweat dripping down his cheeks. “As far as anyone else is concerned, this never happened. Got it?”
“Got it.”
Damn, I must say his dress looks even better on the cold hard ground than it does on him. And that’s saying something.
“Y’know, you should probably get that back on.” He suggested, pointing to my dress, which was lying crumpled on the ground beside his.
But this is oh so much more fun.
He got himself dressed and decent again, and I followed suit. Soon after we both had managed to lose the not-so-subtle “post-sex” look, he led us out from our little space behind the thrift store, and he walked in his heels with his head held high and shoulders back, like he just came straight from the fucking runway.
“Stop that.” I mumbled, getting more and more frustrated with his sudden attitude.
“Stop what?” He said with a proud grin. “We’re almost there.”
“Almost where?”
He continued his model-strutting for another few minutes until we reached a flashy, neon-laced bar. Outside stood a couple of unmistakable drag queens.
“Bert.” Gerard said casually, tapping the one on the left on the shoulder. Got the goods?”
The man took a small leather pouch from the garter belt underneath his dress, handing it to Gerard.
“You’ve got an hour.”
Gerard nodded, his heels clicking on the ground as he made his way into the bar, leading me by the hand. I didn’t even dare to ask what was happening, although from the looks of the inside of the bar, the dresses we were wearing served much more of a purpose than our behind-the-thrift-store fun.
Lights flashed all around, and bursts of smoke were released into the air from all corners. Drag queens lined every edge of the room, and a few groups of them were gathered around the center stage, watching the performers do their thing.
“Gerard, wh-“
Just trust the fucker.
He pushed through the crowds and into the bathroom, locking the door behind us.
“Nobody in here?” He asked.
“Not as far as I can see.” I answered. “Wh-what are we doing here?”
“What do you think?”
He dropped the pouch onto the counter, its contents spilling out.
“Makeup? Are you fucking kidding me?” I laughed.
By the looks of it, he was far from kidding. I watched him intently as he applied multiple coats of every product on the counter; things I’d never even heard of before. He applied eyeliner better than most girls I knew back in Chicago, and regardless of how fucked up it may be, it was sorta hot… the way he did it so effortlessly, with just a flick of the brush.
“Your turn.” He smirked, grabbing me and pushing me into the wall adjacent to the counter. “This is gonna be fun.”
“What the hell is that?” I cringed as he piled some liquid shit thing onto my face.
“Foundation. Just shut up and let me work my magic.”
I, of all people, should know by now that those hands are more than definitely capable of magic.
“Quit blinking, we’re almost done.” He said after a few minutes, holding my eye open for the last coat of mascara. “There ya go. You’re done.”
With marked hesitation, I looked into the mirror. I barely even recognized the person looking back at me; I was a drag queen, complete with eyeliner, eyeshadow, lipstick, and a shitload of other crap I can’t even pronounce. I was no longer Frank, I was Gerard’s little bitch. And he knew that.
“You look good. One last thing.”
He took the sample-sized bottle of hairspray from the counter and sprayed it at me, messing up my hair and pushing it down into my eyes simultaneously.
“Good. Now whatever you do…” He crooned. “Trust me. And play along.”
“O-Okay.” I agreed, unaware of what I was getting myself into.
We left the bathroom and started mingling with one of the center groups.
“Alejandro!” One of the drag queens exclaimed, pulling Gerard into a tight hug. “¿Qué te ha pasado?”
Am I the only one here who is both able and willing to speak English?
“Viajar. Este es mi amigo Cristian ... que va a estar llevando a cabo hoy conmigo.” Gerard answered, looking over at me briefly.
“Ya veo. Buena suerte a los dos.”
He grabbed me by the arm and pushed through the remaining crowd, closer to the stage.
“Are you ready for this?” He asked, eyeing the dancers above us.
“Ready for what?” I asked in panic. “You’re fucking insane.”
“Remember what I said? Play along.”
The music shook the floors, and smoke disturbed my vision. What happened next was mostly a blur, but I do remember with excruciating clarity, the feeling of being pulled onto the stage and thrown over to the pole beside Gerard. The only words I remember were “follow me”.
The crowd screamed and cheered, raising their drinks for us in unison.
“G-Gerard-“
He either couldn’t hear me over the music and the crowd, or he was being the infuriating little bastard he always has been and wasn’t acknowledging my panicked cries for help.
“Gracias por venir hoy ... Espero que todos disfruten.” He screamed over the music, looking me straight in the eye for a second or two before giving the cue to the DJ.
The music stopped suddenly, and then a beat-heavy tune started playing. Gerard flashed a smirk my way, shortly before grabbing my hand and pulling me over to his pole and pressing his lips to mine, grabbing my ass violently. The crowd roared, the music was turned up louder, and a massive blow of smoke was sent our way, covering the ground beneath us.
Gerard wrapped his leg around the pole and hung himself from its side by one arm, thrusting his hips gently forward. Remembering what he said about playing along, I followed suit.
If only my parents could see me now. Wouldn’t they be proud?
He stuck his tongue out half way, biting it between his teeth. The way he moved was an obvious sign that he did this regularly. Why? I don’t know, and I likely never will. But holy shit, I could have watched him all day. When he moved his hips around the pole and lifted his toned calves towards the ceiling, it washed my brain of any memory that I too was supposed to be dancing; not standing there wishing I didn’t have to share him with all those strangers screaming his name.
…
“Have fun?” Gerard panted, taking a sip of water backstage.
“Fuck, what purpose did that serve?” I asked, finding it hard to be furious with him, given the circumstances.
“You didn’t answer my question.” He grinned knowingly.
“Yes okay, I had fun.” I answered hesitantly, but truthfully.
He flipped his hair over his shoulder, taking another swig of water.
“That, my love…” He said. “Was a distraction. While we did our thing out there, some friends of mine got in.”
“So this is the base? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“A smart one, you are. The base is underground, directly below this, where nobody would guess or even bother to look. It’s so obvious, it’s brilliant. This is our only way of getting in; thus why I’m so damn good at dancing.”
“Every time you guys want to get in or out, you need a distraction?”
“Right-o. Almost all of us have a drag alias. And now, you do too. Follow me.”
He took me by the hand and led me over to what appeared to be a manhole. He tugged it open effortlessly, revealing a metal ladder descending into a seemingly infinite darkness.
“For all they know, this thing has been sealed for years. We broke it open 5 years ago.” He explained as he climbed down into it. “Follow me, and watch your step.”
The ladder seemed to go on forever, but eventually, we reached the bottom, where a large metal door stood before us. Gerard pulled a card out of his garter belt and slid it underneath the security guard; a green light flashed, and he pulled the door open. Inside was a cold, cell-esque room, and standing directly in the middle was the same guy we met way back in the old bar.
“Iero, I hear you’ve done well.” He said, striding over and shaking my hand nonchalantly. “Way, you on the other hand… I think we need to have a bit of a talk.”
He pulled a gun out of his pocket and inspected it closely. I looked over at Gerard, who for the first time, looked genuinely terrified.
“Gerard…” I panted. “D-Does this happen often?”
“What do you think it is, a fucking initiation rite?” He laughed, beads of sweat dripping down his cheeks. “As far as anyone else is concerned, this never happened. Got it?”
“Got it.”
Damn, I must say his dress looks even better on the cold hard ground than it does on him. And that’s saying something.
“Y’know, you should probably get that back on.” He suggested, pointing to my dress, which was lying crumpled on the ground beside his.
But this is oh so much more fun.
He got himself dressed and decent again, and I followed suit. Soon after we both had managed to lose the not-so-subtle “post-sex” look, he led us out from our little space behind the thrift store, and he walked in his heels with his head held high and shoulders back, like he just came straight from the fucking runway.
“Stop that.” I mumbled, getting more and more frustrated with his sudden attitude.
“Stop what?” He said with a proud grin. “We’re almost there.”
“Almost where?”
He continued his model-strutting for another few minutes until we reached a flashy, neon-laced bar. Outside stood a couple of unmistakable drag queens.
“Bert.” Gerard said casually, tapping the one on the left on the shoulder. Got the goods?”
The man took a small leather pouch from the garter belt underneath his dress, handing it to Gerard.
“You’ve got an hour.”
Gerard nodded, his heels clicking on the ground as he made his way into the bar, leading me by the hand. I didn’t even dare to ask what was happening, although from the looks of the inside of the bar, the dresses we were wearing served much more of a purpose than our behind-the-thrift-store fun.
Lights flashed all around, and bursts of smoke were released into the air from all corners. Drag queens lined every edge of the room, and a few groups of them were gathered around the center stage, watching the performers do their thing.
“Gerard, wh-“
Just trust the fucker.
He pushed through the crowds and into the bathroom, locking the door behind us.
“Nobody in here?” He asked.
“Not as far as I can see.” I answered. “Wh-what are we doing here?”
“What do you think?”
He dropped the pouch onto the counter, its contents spilling out.
“Makeup? Are you fucking kidding me?” I laughed.
By the looks of it, he was far from kidding. I watched him intently as he applied multiple coats of every product on the counter; things I’d never even heard of before. He applied eyeliner better than most girls I knew back in Chicago, and regardless of how fucked up it may be, it was sorta hot… the way he did it so effortlessly, with just a flick of the brush.
“Your turn.” He smirked, grabbing me and pushing me into the wall adjacent to the counter. “This is gonna be fun.”
“What the hell is that?” I cringed as he piled some liquid shit thing onto my face.
“Foundation. Just shut up and let me work my magic.”
I, of all people, should know by now that those hands are more than definitely capable of magic.
“Quit blinking, we’re almost done.” He said after a few minutes, holding my eye open for the last coat of mascara. “There ya go. You’re done.”
With marked hesitation, I looked into the mirror. I barely even recognized the person looking back at me; I was a drag queen, complete with eyeliner, eyeshadow, lipstick, and a shitload of other crap I can’t even pronounce. I was no longer Frank, I was Gerard’s little bitch. And he knew that.
“You look good. One last thing.”
He took the sample-sized bottle of hairspray from the counter and sprayed it at me, messing up my hair and pushing it down into my eyes simultaneously.
“Good. Now whatever you do…” He crooned. “Trust me. And play along.”
“O-Okay.” I agreed, unaware of what I was getting myself into.
We left the bathroom and started mingling with one of the center groups.
“Alejandro!” One of the drag queens exclaimed, pulling Gerard into a tight hug. “¿Qué te ha pasado?”
Am I the only one here who is both able and willing to speak English?
“Viajar. Este es mi amigo Cristian ... que va a estar llevando a cabo hoy conmigo.” Gerard answered, looking over at me briefly.
“Ya veo. Buena suerte a los dos.”
He grabbed me by the arm and pushed through the remaining crowd, closer to the stage.
“Are you ready for this?” He asked, eyeing the dancers above us.
“Ready for what?” I asked in panic. “You’re fucking insane.”
“Remember what I said? Play along.”
The music shook the floors, and smoke disturbed my vision. What happened next was mostly a blur, but I do remember with excruciating clarity, the feeling of being pulled onto the stage and thrown over to the pole beside Gerard. The only words I remember were “follow me”.
The crowd screamed and cheered, raising their drinks for us in unison.
“G-Gerard-“
He either couldn’t hear me over the music and the crowd, or he was being the infuriating little bastard he always has been and wasn’t acknowledging my panicked cries for help.
“Gracias por venir hoy ... Espero que todos disfruten.” He screamed over the music, looking me straight in the eye for a second or two before giving the cue to the DJ.
The music stopped suddenly, and then a beat-heavy tune started playing. Gerard flashed a smirk my way, shortly before grabbing my hand and pulling me over to his pole and pressing his lips to mine, grabbing my ass violently. The crowd roared, the music was turned up louder, and a massive blow of smoke was sent our way, covering the ground beneath us.
Gerard wrapped his leg around the pole and hung himself from its side by one arm, thrusting his hips gently forward. Remembering what he said about playing along, I followed suit.
If only my parents could see me now. Wouldn’t they be proud?
He stuck his tongue out half way, biting it between his teeth. The way he moved was an obvious sign that he did this regularly. Why? I don’t know, and I likely never will. But holy shit, I could have watched him all day. When he moved his hips around the pole and lifted his toned calves towards the ceiling, it washed my brain of any memory that I too was supposed to be dancing; not standing there wishing I didn’t have to share him with all those strangers screaming his name.
…
“Have fun?” Gerard panted, taking a sip of water backstage.
“Fuck, what purpose did that serve?” I asked, finding it hard to be furious with him, given the circumstances.
“You didn’t answer my question.” He grinned knowingly.
“Yes okay, I had fun.” I answered hesitantly, but truthfully.
He flipped his hair over his shoulder, taking another swig of water.
“That, my love…” He said. “Was a distraction. While we did our thing out there, some friends of mine got in.”
“So this is the base? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“A smart one, you are. The base is underground, directly below this, where nobody would guess or even bother to look. It’s so obvious, it’s brilliant. This is our only way of getting in; thus why I’m so damn good at dancing.”
“Every time you guys want to get in or out, you need a distraction?”
“Right-o. Almost all of us have a drag alias. And now, you do too. Follow me.”
He took me by the hand and led me over to what appeared to be a manhole. He tugged it open effortlessly, revealing a metal ladder descending into a seemingly infinite darkness.
“For all they know, this thing has been sealed for years. We broke it open 5 years ago.” He explained as he climbed down into it. “Follow me, and watch your step.”
The ladder seemed to go on forever, but eventually, we reached the bottom, where a large metal door stood before us. Gerard pulled a card out of his garter belt and slid it underneath the security guard; a green light flashed, and he pulled the door open. Inside was a cold, cell-esque room, and standing directly in the middle was the same guy we met way back in the old bar.
“Iero, I hear you’ve done well.” He said, striding over and shaking my hand nonchalantly. “Way, you on the other hand… I think we need to have a bit of a talk.”
He pulled a gun out of his pocket and inspected it closely. I looked over at Gerard, who for the first time, looked genuinely terrified.
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