Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Howlin' For You
(Author’s note: I wanted to change the tense of this story from first person to third from time to time, as I feel it will fit better with certain parts of the story. Feel free to let me know if you don’t like it! I’m not totally sure I’ll continue doing that, but we’ll see! …But anyways! Enjoy the third chapter; it’s been a long time coming!)
Sometimes, the brains (and mouths, for that matter) of impulsive teenage boys do this really inconvenient thing where they forget to put a filter on the stupid ass shit they want to say. Frank is no exception to this. The second the words leave his mouth, he’s regretting them. Now, despite his diminutive stature, Frank is by no means weak; He’s relatively strong for his size, and perfectly capable of taking care of himself, thank you very much. Quite honestly, to anyone who wasn’t dumb as bricks (I.E. Bryce), Frank and his multiple tattoos, facial piercings, and general “I-eat-sheets-of-metal-for-breakfast” punk-rock look are fairly intimidating. Realistically, all things considered, Frank could probably hold his own against Bryce. After all, Frank has been in his fair share of fights throughout his high-school career so far, not to mention the half-a-dozen mosh pits he’s dominated. However, just because you can fight a 6’5” football player who just so happens to be built like a motherfucking TANK, does not mean you should. Standing at just about 5’4”, Frank suddenly feels as if he’d be better off fighting a rabid wolverine at this point.
“What the fuck did you just say to me?” Bryce seethes, his group of friends falling quiet, the venomous words echoing off the walls of the now-silent bakery. Bryce glares daggers into Frank, challenging a response.
Frank panics, realizing that oh shit, he’s talking to me. Fuck. Frank steals a glance at Gerard, hoping for some non-verbal eyebrow-gesture advice on how to approach this. He’s met with Gerard’s blank, deer-in-headlights-look that silently screams, “I don’t know what the fuck to do! I’m approximately as useful as your average tortoise in a hundred-meter sprint”, so thanks a lot for that, Gerard, that’s quite helpful.
“I, uh-…” Frank starts, bringing his attention back to the fuming footballer who is now right in front of him, glaring down at Frank like he killed his fucking dog or something. Frank gulps and stares up at Bryce, ever so slightly in shock. Frank swears that he only looked at Gerard for like, 5 seconds max, so what the hell, Bryce? That's just not possible. But then again, Frank considers, not everyone has short legs, so maybe he’s just overreacting. Frank looks down at his legs and scowls. ‘My legs are not that fucking short. Everyone can fuck off, seriously.’ He thinks to himself, debating whether or not it would be really lame to measure his legs when he gets home.
“Speak the fuck up, faggot” Bryce demands, shoving Frank hard backwards, catching him off guard and startling him out of his little thought tangent. Gerard winces as Frank stumbles into the table behind theirs, knocking down a few chairs as he falls to the ground.
“I said that I had an asshole to educate.” Frank snaps. He brings his glare up to meet Bryce’s. He was scared twenty seconds ago; he was going to accept defeat and simply take the punches Bryce was sure to throw at him, just like every other time he’d been picked on, but now he’s fucking pissed off. He pushes himself to his feet, his eyes locked on Bryce. “What the fuck makes you think you can treat me like that? Who the fuck do you think you are?” Frank snarls, crossing his arms across his chest. “I am so sick and tired of your bullshit, Bryce. Grow the fuck up.”
“You little shit!” Bryce shouts, his hands balling into fists. “I’ll fucking-“
“You’re going to leave my store, you arrogant little boy” Madame Beauvais cuts in, appearing from of the back of the shop before Bryce can finish his sentence. “Trying to pick on someone in my store? I should think not!” She cries, brandishing a floury rolling pin. Bryce and his group look absolutely shell-shocked, and Frank can barely bit back a grin. “You unpleasant boys get out of my store now!” Madame Beauvais gestures violently to the door, bits of flour flying off the rolling pin.
“Watch your fucking back, Iero” Bryce spits, roughly shoving the door open and storming out, his group not far behind. Madame Beauvais sets down her rolling pin and brushes her hands off on her already incredibly floury apron.
“Are you boys okay?” she asks, approaching the pair quickly.
“Yeah, Lady B, we’re okay.” Frank replies, setting the chairs upright. “Sorry about that. Just some jerks from school, it’s no big thing.” Frank shifts uncomfortably, not really fond of explaining this sort of thing to her. She was bound to tell his mom, and that was sure to bring on a conversation Frank certainly didn’t want to have with his mother.
“Well I certainly hope so, Francois. As long as you’re okay, so am I” she says with a smile. She collects the plates from their table and gives a quick goodbye, saying that she has some things to take care of in the kitchen. Frank returns the goodbye with a little wave as she disappears once again into the back. Gerard lets out a sigh of relief and promptly smashes his forehead against the table.
“Gerard! What the hell?! Are you alright?” Frank asks, going to Gerard’s side and putting a hand on his shoulder. A few moments pass in silence, the ticking of the clock the only response. “Gee? Are you okay? Answer me, please.”
“I should’ve said something, Frankie. That guy would’ve kicked the shit out of you and it would have been my fault” Gerard mumbles into the table, his shoulders relaxing under Frank’s touch. He slowly turns his head so that his face is no longer squashed into the table, and is now looking up at Frank. ‘I’m really sorry Frankie. That was entirely my fault.” Gerard sighs.
“Gee, absolutely none of that was your fault! You had enough sense to stay out of it, unlike me. I usually just take that kind of shit; it’s not worth standing up to him most of the time.” Frank explains, rubbing small circles into Gerard’s shoulder. Gerard looks at Frank sadly and sits up properly. Frank pretends not to notice the red patch of skin spreading over Gerard’s forehead.
“Frankie, you don’t deserve that. I’m sorry that you have to deal with that bullshit. It’s not fair. At least I don’t have to put up with that kind of thing anymore, not since I graduated. I’m so sorry.” He whispers. Gerard stands up from his seat and wraps his arms around Frank in a tight hug. The two hug for longer than what is generally considered an acceptable hugging length for (perhaps unfortunately) platonic friends, but neither of them really cares. Gerard feel the need to thoroughly express his apology, and Frank just really likes being close to Gerard. Frank pulls back, feeling that if he waited any longer, he probably wouldn’t let go at all.
“Alright then, we should probably get going” Frank says, and for the record, he is totally not blushing right now. He heads to the door, holding it open for Gerard. The two walk in comfortable silence for a few blocks, not headed in any particular direction. Frank falls a bit behind Gerard after a few more blocks, partially because his steps are a fair bit shorter, and totally not because he likes watching Gerard’s ass as he walks. Nope, not one bit. Gerard glances back at Frank after a short while, and Frank scampers back to his side. Again, he is totally not blushing, and he definitely didn’t just get caught staring at his best friend’s ass. But really, Frank thinks, it’s not as if you could blame him. Have you seen his ass? Just as they’re passing the park they were at earlier, Gerard break the silence that has grown a bit awkward.
“So Frank, I was thinking…” Gerard starts, but stops briefly to pull out a cigarette from its rather squashed pack and light it. He motions for Frank to go ahead through the park gates, and follows after him. Frank takes a seat on one of the swings and lazily pushes himself back and forth. Gerard sits down on the swing next to him, taking a drag from his cigarette. “I was thinking that since it’s Friday, maybe you could stay over at my place tonight? I’m thinking zombie movie marathon. You in?” Gerard asks, and Frank swears he sounds a little hesitant, nervous even.
“Yeah! I’d love to. Should I bring anything? Like candy or something?” Frank replies, pushing himself in earnest, swinging higher. “’cause I know you love Sour Patch Kids, I’ll bring ‘em even if you say no.”
“See, normally I’d beg you to bring some, but I’ve got a bunch at my house already. Just bring your fantastic self and we’re set.” Gerard says with a smile, taking another drag before tossing it in the gravel. Gerard had once said that he tries not to smoke around Frank too often, since he doesn’t want to be a bad influence. Frank had laughed at that, explaining that bootlegging booze for him and Mikey was probably worse. “If you like, you can come straight over after we’re done out here, you can borrow some pajama pants, too.”
“Sweet! Let’s go, I really wanna watch Dawn of the Dead again.” Frank says, getting up from his swing and offering his hand to Gerard. He smiles and takes Frank’s hand, slinging an arm around his small shoulders.
“Only if it’s the original”
***************************
We make it about a block or so before I’m feeling hyped up again. The promise of horror movies, candy, and Gerard for hours on end has me totally excited, and I’m having a hard time containing it. I can’t help but start poking Gerard in the side, jumping around him and generally being irritating. He’s giggling and flinching away from me, and oh my god, that’s the cutest fucking thing, Jesus fucking Christ. He darts around the corner and hides behind a fence just as I’m about to tackle him into the grass. Goddam spoilsport, he probably read my mind. Wait, if he could read my mind, I would be so royally fucked. Not literally, unfortunately. I sneak after him and peer around the fence to find Gerard bracing himself against said fence, panting and giggling.
“Christ, Frankie! No more sugar for you, I’m afraid you’ll start bouncing off the walls!” Gerard laughs, standing up and stepping away from the fence. Gerard is seriously testing my limits right now; his hair is sticking up in random places, and his stupidly adorable little smile makes me wanna smash my face into a wall. I can’t handle this. He tries in vain to fix his chaotic hair, but soon gives up on the lost cause, shrugging his shoulders as he starts to play around with his hair. I’m not totally sure if I’m staring at him, but judging by the way Gerard starts to shift uncomfortably, I have to assume I am.
“Um, Frankie, why are you looking at me like that? Have I got chocolate on my face? Oh god, that’s embarrassing.” He blushes furiously and reaches up to rub frantically at his face. Oh lord, if only he knew.
“No, no. That’s not it. Your face is just fine.” I assure him, the words meaning a lot more than he could ever know.
“Oh! Okay then. That’s good.” He says with a small smile. He stretches his arms above his head for a long while, and then brings one down to rest on my shoulder. Hey, wait, weren’t his arms sore? Huh. Well then that would mean… that he wanted me to feed him earlier? Does that mean that he actually likes me? Well shit, this changes everything, at least I hope. New plan. I turn my head to the side slightly and bite the bit of paper-white skin on Gerard’s wrist that’s exposed where his jacket doesn’t cover it.
“Ouch! Seriously, what the hell Frankie?! What’s with the biting?” Gerard squeaks, pulling his hand away like he’s been burned. That sure got his attention. Here goes nothing.
“You don’t want me to bite you, hmm?” I purr, stepping closer to him, leaving barely an inch between us. My skin is practically vibrating with nerves and my heart is racing out of my chest. I hear his breath hitch in his throat, and it just spurs me on. “What would you prefer I do to you?” I place my hands on his chest and gently push him up against the fence behind us, mildly crushing a flowerbed in the process. I gaze up at him through my eyelashes and quirk an eyebrow inquisitively at him.
“I-… I, uh. I would… ah… like if… ummm.” He stutters, his cheeks flaming red once again, tangling the fingers of his left hand in his midnight hair, the other shoved awkwardly in his skinny jeans pocket, his eyes refusing to meet mine. Okay, this is definitely going better than I expected. I reach up and cup his face in my hands, forcing him to look at me. His hand drops back down to his side, and I stare up at him, taking in the lovely hazel colour of his eyes and perfect crease of his Cupid’s bow lips. He’s taking short, shallow breaths, and it’s all or nothing now. I take a shaky breath, and stand up on my tiptoes. I lean in, and whisper huskily in his ear,
“Go ahead, Gerard. You know that I’d love to-“I start, but before I can finish, I’m cut off by a rather disgruntled looking elderly woman shuffling rapidly towards us across the lawn, her hair up in bright pink curlers, and a rather unflattering floral nightgown billowing about her. I jump away from Gerard as if I’d been electrocuted, my current facial colour joining the list of things tomatoes envy. Motherfucker! Is the universe just hell-bent on ruining my life?!
“Oi! You two! Knock it off! Get away from my petunias! You nasty little rascals!” She cries, waving a rolled up newspaper at us, her old lady arm flab flapping about in a manner that reminds me an awful lot of a turkey’s wattle. Oh my god, EW. Excuse me while I burn out my retinas with a blowtorch.
“We were, uh-… just leaving, right Frankie?” Gerard asks, nodding his head down the street, implying a ‘let’s get the flying fuck out of here before she mauls us with her garden trowel’ sort of message. “Sorry ma’am!” he shouts, grabbing my wrist and dragging me down the street at the speed of a deranged antelope.
I really hope you enjoyed that! P.S I LOVE feedback!
Sometimes, the brains (and mouths, for that matter) of impulsive teenage boys do this really inconvenient thing where they forget to put a filter on the stupid ass shit they want to say. Frank is no exception to this. The second the words leave his mouth, he’s regretting them. Now, despite his diminutive stature, Frank is by no means weak; He’s relatively strong for his size, and perfectly capable of taking care of himself, thank you very much. Quite honestly, to anyone who wasn’t dumb as bricks (I.E. Bryce), Frank and his multiple tattoos, facial piercings, and general “I-eat-sheets-of-metal-for-breakfast” punk-rock look are fairly intimidating. Realistically, all things considered, Frank could probably hold his own against Bryce. After all, Frank has been in his fair share of fights throughout his high-school career so far, not to mention the half-a-dozen mosh pits he’s dominated. However, just because you can fight a 6’5” football player who just so happens to be built like a motherfucking TANK, does not mean you should. Standing at just about 5’4”, Frank suddenly feels as if he’d be better off fighting a rabid wolverine at this point.
“What the fuck did you just say to me?” Bryce seethes, his group of friends falling quiet, the venomous words echoing off the walls of the now-silent bakery. Bryce glares daggers into Frank, challenging a response.
Frank panics, realizing that oh shit, he’s talking to me. Fuck. Frank steals a glance at Gerard, hoping for some non-verbal eyebrow-gesture advice on how to approach this. He’s met with Gerard’s blank, deer-in-headlights-look that silently screams, “I don’t know what the fuck to do! I’m approximately as useful as your average tortoise in a hundred-meter sprint”, so thanks a lot for that, Gerard, that’s quite helpful.
“I, uh-…” Frank starts, bringing his attention back to the fuming footballer who is now right in front of him, glaring down at Frank like he killed his fucking dog or something. Frank gulps and stares up at Bryce, ever so slightly in shock. Frank swears that he only looked at Gerard for like, 5 seconds max, so what the hell, Bryce? That's just not possible. But then again, Frank considers, not everyone has short legs, so maybe he’s just overreacting. Frank looks down at his legs and scowls. ‘My legs are not that fucking short. Everyone can fuck off, seriously.’ He thinks to himself, debating whether or not it would be really lame to measure his legs when he gets home.
“Speak the fuck up, faggot” Bryce demands, shoving Frank hard backwards, catching him off guard and startling him out of his little thought tangent. Gerard winces as Frank stumbles into the table behind theirs, knocking down a few chairs as he falls to the ground.
“I said that I had an asshole to educate.” Frank snaps. He brings his glare up to meet Bryce’s. He was scared twenty seconds ago; he was going to accept defeat and simply take the punches Bryce was sure to throw at him, just like every other time he’d been picked on, but now he’s fucking pissed off. He pushes himself to his feet, his eyes locked on Bryce. “What the fuck makes you think you can treat me like that? Who the fuck do you think you are?” Frank snarls, crossing his arms across his chest. “I am so sick and tired of your bullshit, Bryce. Grow the fuck up.”
“You little shit!” Bryce shouts, his hands balling into fists. “I’ll fucking-“
“You’re going to leave my store, you arrogant little boy” Madame Beauvais cuts in, appearing from of the back of the shop before Bryce can finish his sentence. “Trying to pick on someone in my store? I should think not!” She cries, brandishing a floury rolling pin. Bryce and his group look absolutely shell-shocked, and Frank can barely bit back a grin. “You unpleasant boys get out of my store now!” Madame Beauvais gestures violently to the door, bits of flour flying off the rolling pin.
“Watch your fucking back, Iero” Bryce spits, roughly shoving the door open and storming out, his group not far behind. Madame Beauvais sets down her rolling pin and brushes her hands off on her already incredibly floury apron.
“Are you boys okay?” she asks, approaching the pair quickly.
“Yeah, Lady B, we’re okay.” Frank replies, setting the chairs upright. “Sorry about that. Just some jerks from school, it’s no big thing.” Frank shifts uncomfortably, not really fond of explaining this sort of thing to her. She was bound to tell his mom, and that was sure to bring on a conversation Frank certainly didn’t want to have with his mother.
“Well I certainly hope so, Francois. As long as you’re okay, so am I” she says with a smile. She collects the plates from their table and gives a quick goodbye, saying that she has some things to take care of in the kitchen. Frank returns the goodbye with a little wave as she disappears once again into the back. Gerard lets out a sigh of relief and promptly smashes his forehead against the table.
“Gerard! What the hell?! Are you alright?” Frank asks, going to Gerard’s side and putting a hand on his shoulder. A few moments pass in silence, the ticking of the clock the only response. “Gee? Are you okay? Answer me, please.”
“I should’ve said something, Frankie. That guy would’ve kicked the shit out of you and it would have been my fault” Gerard mumbles into the table, his shoulders relaxing under Frank’s touch. He slowly turns his head so that his face is no longer squashed into the table, and is now looking up at Frank. ‘I’m really sorry Frankie. That was entirely my fault.” Gerard sighs.
“Gee, absolutely none of that was your fault! You had enough sense to stay out of it, unlike me. I usually just take that kind of shit; it’s not worth standing up to him most of the time.” Frank explains, rubbing small circles into Gerard’s shoulder. Gerard looks at Frank sadly and sits up properly. Frank pretends not to notice the red patch of skin spreading over Gerard’s forehead.
“Frankie, you don’t deserve that. I’m sorry that you have to deal with that bullshit. It’s not fair. At least I don’t have to put up with that kind of thing anymore, not since I graduated. I’m so sorry.” He whispers. Gerard stands up from his seat and wraps his arms around Frank in a tight hug. The two hug for longer than what is generally considered an acceptable hugging length for (perhaps unfortunately) platonic friends, but neither of them really cares. Gerard feel the need to thoroughly express his apology, and Frank just really likes being close to Gerard. Frank pulls back, feeling that if he waited any longer, he probably wouldn’t let go at all.
“Alright then, we should probably get going” Frank says, and for the record, he is totally not blushing right now. He heads to the door, holding it open for Gerard. The two walk in comfortable silence for a few blocks, not headed in any particular direction. Frank falls a bit behind Gerard after a few more blocks, partially because his steps are a fair bit shorter, and totally not because he likes watching Gerard’s ass as he walks. Nope, not one bit. Gerard glances back at Frank after a short while, and Frank scampers back to his side. Again, he is totally not blushing, and he definitely didn’t just get caught staring at his best friend’s ass. But really, Frank thinks, it’s not as if you could blame him. Have you seen his ass? Just as they’re passing the park they were at earlier, Gerard break the silence that has grown a bit awkward.
“So Frank, I was thinking…” Gerard starts, but stops briefly to pull out a cigarette from its rather squashed pack and light it. He motions for Frank to go ahead through the park gates, and follows after him. Frank takes a seat on one of the swings and lazily pushes himself back and forth. Gerard sits down on the swing next to him, taking a drag from his cigarette. “I was thinking that since it’s Friday, maybe you could stay over at my place tonight? I’m thinking zombie movie marathon. You in?” Gerard asks, and Frank swears he sounds a little hesitant, nervous even.
“Yeah! I’d love to. Should I bring anything? Like candy or something?” Frank replies, pushing himself in earnest, swinging higher. “’cause I know you love Sour Patch Kids, I’ll bring ‘em even if you say no.”
“See, normally I’d beg you to bring some, but I’ve got a bunch at my house already. Just bring your fantastic self and we’re set.” Gerard says with a smile, taking another drag before tossing it in the gravel. Gerard had once said that he tries not to smoke around Frank too often, since he doesn’t want to be a bad influence. Frank had laughed at that, explaining that bootlegging booze for him and Mikey was probably worse. “If you like, you can come straight over after we’re done out here, you can borrow some pajama pants, too.”
“Sweet! Let’s go, I really wanna watch Dawn of the Dead again.” Frank says, getting up from his swing and offering his hand to Gerard. He smiles and takes Frank’s hand, slinging an arm around his small shoulders.
“Only if it’s the original”
***************************
We make it about a block or so before I’m feeling hyped up again. The promise of horror movies, candy, and Gerard for hours on end has me totally excited, and I’m having a hard time containing it. I can’t help but start poking Gerard in the side, jumping around him and generally being irritating. He’s giggling and flinching away from me, and oh my god, that’s the cutest fucking thing, Jesus fucking Christ. He darts around the corner and hides behind a fence just as I’m about to tackle him into the grass. Goddam spoilsport, he probably read my mind. Wait, if he could read my mind, I would be so royally fucked. Not literally, unfortunately. I sneak after him and peer around the fence to find Gerard bracing himself against said fence, panting and giggling.
“Christ, Frankie! No more sugar for you, I’m afraid you’ll start bouncing off the walls!” Gerard laughs, standing up and stepping away from the fence. Gerard is seriously testing my limits right now; his hair is sticking up in random places, and his stupidly adorable little smile makes me wanna smash my face into a wall. I can’t handle this. He tries in vain to fix his chaotic hair, but soon gives up on the lost cause, shrugging his shoulders as he starts to play around with his hair. I’m not totally sure if I’m staring at him, but judging by the way Gerard starts to shift uncomfortably, I have to assume I am.
“Um, Frankie, why are you looking at me like that? Have I got chocolate on my face? Oh god, that’s embarrassing.” He blushes furiously and reaches up to rub frantically at his face. Oh lord, if only he knew.
“No, no. That’s not it. Your face is just fine.” I assure him, the words meaning a lot more than he could ever know.
“Oh! Okay then. That’s good.” He says with a small smile. He stretches his arms above his head for a long while, and then brings one down to rest on my shoulder. Hey, wait, weren’t his arms sore? Huh. Well then that would mean… that he wanted me to feed him earlier? Does that mean that he actually likes me? Well shit, this changes everything, at least I hope. New plan. I turn my head to the side slightly and bite the bit of paper-white skin on Gerard’s wrist that’s exposed where his jacket doesn’t cover it.
“Ouch! Seriously, what the hell Frankie?! What’s with the biting?” Gerard squeaks, pulling his hand away like he’s been burned. That sure got his attention. Here goes nothing.
“You don’t want me to bite you, hmm?” I purr, stepping closer to him, leaving barely an inch between us. My skin is practically vibrating with nerves and my heart is racing out of my chest. I hear his breath hitch in his throat, and it just spurs me on. “What would you prefer I do to you?” I place my hands on his chest and gently push him up against the fence behind us, mildly crushing a flowerbed in the process. I gaze up at him through my eyelashes and quirk an eyebrow inquisitively at him.
“I-… I, uh. I would… ah… like if… ummm.” He stutters, his cheeks flaming red once again, tangling the fingers of his left hand in his midnight hair, the other shoved awkwardly in his skinny jeans pocket, his eyes refusing to meet mine. Okay, this is definitely going better than I expected. I reach up and cup his face in my hands, forcing him to look at me. His hand drops back down to his side, and I stare up at him, taking in the lovely hazel colour of his eyes and perfect crease of his Cupid’s bow lips. He’s taking short, shallow breaths, and it’s all or nothing now. I take a shaky breath, and stand up on my tiptoes. I lean in, and whisper huskily in his ear,
“Go ahead, Gerard. You know that I’d love to-“I start, but before I can finish, I’m cut off by a rather disgruntled looking elderly woman shuffling rapidly towards us across the lawn, her hair up in bright pink curlers, and a rather unflattering floral nightgown billowing about her. I jump away from Gerard as if I’d been electrocuted, my current facial colour joining the list of things tomatoes envy. Motherfucker! Is the universe just hell-bent on ruining my life?!
“Oi! You two! Knock it off! Get away from my petunias! You nasty little rascals!” She cries, waving a rolled up newspaper at us, her old lady arm flab flapping about in a manner that reminds me an awful lot of a turkey’s wattle. Oh my god, EW. Excuse me while I burn out my retinas with a blowtorch.
“We were, uh-… just leaving, right Frankie?” Gerard asks, nodding his head down the street, implying a ‘let’s get the flying fuck out of here before she mauls us with her garden trowel’ sort of message. “Sorry ma’am!” he shouts, grabbing my wrist and dragging me down the street at the speed of a deranged antelope.
I really hope you enjoyed that! P.S I LOVE feedback!
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