Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > 100 Gerard/Frankie Fics


by aiIenzo 5 reviews

Bert preys; Gerard falls victim; Frank suffers

Category: My Chemical Romance - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Drama, Romance - Characters: Frank Iero, Gerard Way, Ray Toro - Published: 2007-03-02 - Updated: 2007-03-03 - 1742 words

For Prompt #014

"Be with me," his hot, liquored voice poured against your skin. His fingertips were brushing your cheek gently as you looked away, watching the others soak up the night in tattered clothes. Red, plastic cups were in every hand that you could see, and their owners were getting progressively more rowdy, falling against the walls and each other, making leers and inebriated jokes at every passing person just to have it fully reciprocated, before both members walked off in different directions, their rapidly flowing minds already set onto something new.

Not a single one of them was paying attention to you, lying in a lawn chair with a pounding headache and a vocalist on your lap.

"Please, Frankie?" he whispered, kissing your neck lightly. Music was blasting, and you couldn't tell if it was live or it was just a recording, but it made you wonder how many shows you had missed already. The night was still young.

"No, Gerard," you answered, pushing him away from your neck. He whimpered and tried to kiss you, but you held him at bay, one hand on his chest to keep him at a respectable distance, although doing so allowed you to look straight into his eyes; they were rimmed in black and horribly red, a definite clue that alcohol hadn't been his only target escape that night.

"Why not?" he whined, giving up the fight and slumping against your chest. You let him stay there, but didn't dare touch him. You pinned your fingers to the armrests to avoid running your hands through his unkempt hair and decided not to answer his question.

He was asleep anyway.


"Isn't anyone going to do anything?"

You bit your lip harder and pulled the blankets over your head, trying to cut out Ray's voice; it would seem rude to close the curtains in your bunk on his face, but right now, nothing seemed more appealing.

You didn't want to talk about it. No one wanted to fucking talk about it. They never did. Why start now?

Ray scratched his head and looked at the door of the bathroom, where Gerard had disappeared into, and stared at it worriedly. You wished bitterly that you had followed Mikey's lead and scrammed, finally getting your peace on someone else's bus.

"What the hell do you want us to do, Ray?" you snipped into your pillow. "Ask him if he's okay?" You snorted and let out a badly timed laugh that ended up sounding more like the choke you meant to hide. "The last time we did that, he giggled and quoted his own fucking song."

"Still. He's been in the bathroom for a long time. Don't you want to check on him?"

A silence followed, answered only by the silence that oozed from under the bathroom floor, mocking your deadpan faces and hesitant movements.

"Like you said," you answered, after the moment had stretched out far enough to reach the brink of your sanity. "He's been in there a long time."

Your answer was clear and ringing, a mask of perfect word usage to hide your broken and scattered mind. You were so afraid. Afraid of what you'd find on the other side of that door.

"I don't want to either," Ray whispered.

You both were silent after that, unwilling to say more, until Ray finally left, leaving not only you alone, but the studio in the back that he never ventured out of. The bathroom door opened a few minutes later, and Gerard was muttering and stumbling about, rocking the bus.

And you hoped to god he wouldn't realize you were there.


"What're you doin'?" you mumbled, feeling your bunk shift and a body slide in behind your own.

"Tired. Can't sleep," he replied, curling in behind you. It was late, past midnight, and you hadn't even known he was on the bus. Dark hair pooled around his face as he sniffed into the darkness and scratched the tip of his nose. You shuddered when he pressed his face into your neck, hoping--praying--that he was just catching a cold.

You sighed into your pillow and allowed his hand to rest against your stomach; you were just falling back asleep before you felt his fingers graze your hip and the hem of your pants. You slid your hand in after him and pulled it back out.

"Gerard, don't."

"Why not?" he breathed, and you nearly choked. His breath reeked of Jack Daniels and something you certainly hoped he hadn't swallowed.


"Why?" he questioned, his head flopping against the pillow in a defeated sigh.

You didn't answer. He fell asleep.


You knew it was a mistake to try and find him. You should've sent someone else. Quinn, maybe. Someone used to seeing it.

You could barely tell where you were walking, your feet carrying you on a common path back to your bus; your only thought was to get as far away from Gerard as possible.

If that was even Gerard anymore.

It wasn't the Gerard you remembered. The Gerard you knew would be sitting on a the couch, his sketchbook in his hands and long black hair draped over his face. He would be laughing and doodling on people's hands and singing along to anything playing.

He wouldn't be slumped against the wall, eyes dark with lust as McCracken slid something bagged into his pants pocket, making sure to drag his fingers teasingly across the front of Gerard's zipper, whispering things into his ear that would make his mother dizzy.

His nose wouldn't be dripping blood though no physical injury was detectable.

Your heart rate was finally starting to calm down as you reached your own bus, and your hand was just groping for the latch to open the door before you paused, your entire body shaking.

And you turned your head and fell over the curb, throwing up the contents of your stomach while tears of pain and desperation stained your eyes.


"Gerard, please. Don't keep making me tell you to stop."

"Then don't," Gerard murmured, his lips smearing drunkenly across your skin as he climbed on top of you; you sighed, exasperated, and took firm hold of his wrists.

"Come on, Frankie," he whispered challengingly. "I know you. I've known you for years. I know you want me. Let go."

He bit down less than gently on your earlobe, trying to loosen his arms from your grip while swaying on top of you gently. His position required semi-good balance, which he obviously had none of in his current state.

You looked him over. From his red, tired eyes to the dark lines underneath them. From the tip of his itching nose to the tips of his greasy hair. His strength was diminishing, and his focus was lax. When he kissed your neck repeatedly, it was sloppy and random, and you bit your lip softly to hold back the tears and cries of defeat. Never in a situation like this had you ever felt so alone. You didn't know the person on top of you.

"I want Gerard," you said softly, but fiercely, before pushing him roughly to the floor and standing up. He looked up at you, shocked and confused, and you almost felt bad enough to reach down and help him up.

But you withheld, only managing the motivation to shoot him the most meaningful look you could force and whispering, "Bring him back."

Gerard didn't reply. You left.


"Gerard broke it off."

You looked up at Ray, who was barely smiling, but smiling nonetheless. The kind of face you pull when you've finally gotten your way, but you're trying hard not to act too smug about it. That was the look on Ray's face when the words spilled from his mouth, and you weren't sure if it made you feel relieved or sickened.

"With Bert, or the drugs?"

Ray shook his head, the sides of his lips twitching in his badly hidden smile, and he swallowed once before answering. "I don't know. He didn't say. Just walked in and told me that it was over. That he was done with it. He didn't care to tell me what he meant."

You weren't really listening to him anymore, stuck inside of your own head and the words Gerard supposedly said. "Not like it matters; they're the same fucking thing," you muttered, sinking further into the cushions and praying that this wasn't just a little tiff between the two.

You wouldn't smile until you knew it was more.


"You never told us, you know," you started, blowing out smoke into the Jersey air from your balcony. "What made you break it off."

Gerard shrugged, his eyes traveling over the view the two of you shared. You had promised that you'd help pick out Gerard's perfect apartment after the tour was over.

Turns out, you were picking out yours as well.

Gerard snuffed out his cigarette against the balcony railing, turning the one addiction he had left into ash and watching it float away in the breeze, adding to the multitude of unhealthy things coursing around in the atmosphere.

"We had a disagreement," Gerard said lightly, leaning against the rail as the small breeze ruffled through his short black hair.

You took one final drag and followed his lead, snuffing your cigarette out and positioning yourself against the railing. "About what?"

"What we wanted in life," Gerard answered. You could see the scenery behind him, blurring around the edges and giving his shape a more distinct quality. "He wanted what we had, and I wanted something else."

"Hmm? Like what?"

He turned to face you, his eyes calm as he said simply, "You."

"Oh," you answered. "Right."

A moment of comfortable silence passed, and you were about to ask him if he wanted dinner out that night, when his soft voice spoke up and carried through the breeze.

"You remember all those nights, Frank? Why didn't you take me?" he was staring out into the distance now, either embarrassed of his past or embarrassed of the question. "I wouldn't have remembered in the morning."

You reached out and slid an arm around his waist, placing your cheek against his shoulder blade and feeling him relax against you. The breeze blew comfortably around both of you as his fingers slid into yours, and you sighed contently before answering.

"Oh, you know. There were...complications."
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