Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Just GO for it, Already!

Pimp My Gerard

by GerardWayisSex 5 reviews

Gerard needs to learn to love himself. Well, a super-sexy makeover should help, right?

Category: My Chemical Romance - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Humor,Romance - Characters: Frank Iero,Gerard Way - Published: 2007-12-11 - Updated: 2007-12-11 - 1766 words

I’m sorry about the delay in updates. I had Frerard-ers block. I appreciate and encourage all comments as they help me write more effectively. Seriously, the more you comment to me, the quicker I will update! I promise you that! This is chapter five. Enjoy.

“Do it.”

“I /can’t./”

“Just do it-”

“-No, Finch, I can’t-”

“-Pick up the phone-”

“-I’m serious, I can’t-”

“-Dial the numbers-”



Finch gave Gerard a half-playful, half-irritated punch on the shoulder. She folded her arms and cocked her head to the side, the pink-ended tips of her hair grazing her cheeks. Even her sharp glare wasn’t enough to get Gerard to pick up the phone on the table less than a foot away. He was starring at it as if it was some sort of poisonous spider that might suddenly spring into his lap at any given second. He shook his head frantically. The fear radiated off his body like heat and he pushed his back against the chair as if to escape.

“I…/can’t/…” He protested. He turned and looked at Finch. He should have known there was going to be no support in her eyes. Instead, she gave him a look at said something along the lines of, ”I know you can do it, but please, sometime today if you will?” Gerard sat in the kitchen table chair, Finch behind him making sure he didn’t leave without make a very pertinent phone call. He swallowed, feeling more like she was pushing him into a war-zone than towards a telephone. And at the moment, he honestly felt like he couldn’t pick up the phone and call Frank. He couldn’t. There was a rock lodged in the gears of his brain, right inside the part that controlled the function of his arms. And even if he managed to dislodge that mental rock, his fear of confronting Frank in any form (even via telephone) was so great that he felt physically ill. It was greater than his fear of needles, his fear of losing the people close to him, every other fear he had simply paled in comparison to the fear that had sunken its jagged teeth into his stomach lining. Finch gave him a less than gentle slap upside the head.

He twitched in surprise. “What the /hell?!/”

Finch bent over so that they were at eye-level. “You like him, right?” she asked firmly. He nodded. “Do you like him enough that you would do anything to get him?” Gerard swallowed and nodded.

“Y-yeah…” he stammered. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “But…” From the way he bit down gently on his bottom lip, Gerard looked like he wanted to either cry or had under the table in fear. Probably a little of both. Finch sighed and leaned on the back of the chair with her arms crossed. It was difficult to tell what emotion she was experiencing. I seemed like it was somewhere between protective, confusion, and pity. Pity was the last thing Gerard wanted out of anyone.

“You need more confidence,” she declared. She rolled her tongue around in her mouth while she thought for a moment. “Yeah. You need to…/trust/ yourself more…/love/ yourself more.”

Gerard turned around in his chair to look at her. “Why would I need to love myself more? How is that going to make me pick up the phone and call him…?”

Finch let out a breath of air through her nose. “If you can’t love yourself, how can you expect Frankie to?” Gerard looked back at the phone. He wanted it to disappear. He wanted to hide it, to keep it where no one could see it, where he could forget about how stupid and cowardly he was being.

“How?” He asked. By the tone of his voice, it was obvious that he was frustrated- especially with himself. “I’ve never really…/liked/ myself, anyway. How can I…?” A smile suddenly broke the stoicism in her face like a crack in a statue. He asked what she was smiling about.

“We’re gonna pimp you out.”

Gerard froze in place and starred at her. His mouth fell open slightly and he narrowed his eyes.


Finch smirked at him. “I’m…going to…/pimp/…you out.”

“Wha-what does that even mean?/” he stammered. “Can you even /do that?” Finch tugged on the collar of his shirt until he stood up.

“Hell yeah, we can!” she exclaimed. “We’re going to make you so sexy that Frank is going to have to change his pants when he sees you.” She tugged him out of the kitchen and down the hall, towards her bedroom.

“Hey-hey, what are you doing?” Gerard cried as she led him into her unorganized bedroom. She pushed him into a chair in front of a large mirror and many different makeup cases.

“Hold on!” she commanded. “I’m going to get a few things. Move and you die.” He saw her leave in the reflection of the mirror. Gerard leaned his elbows on the dresser in front of him, starring at his reflection. He felt a pang of dissatisfaction, of disappointment. His hair was always a mess, there were dark circles under his eyes, and whenever he talked, it sort of happened out of the corner of his mouth. He felt ugly and stupid. He felt worthless. Desperately, he wanted to be like Frank. If it was possible, he would do anything to be more like that ethereal being. Gerard leaned his forehead on the table, not wanting to look at himself anymore.

His head was forced up as Finch burst into the room, startling him, her presence like that of a marching band rather than that of a single girl. He turned. In her hands were about a dozen different styling tools, chords dangling to the floor, metal shining in the light.

“What is all that for?” Gerard asked. His knowledge in the beauty and style department wasn’t exactly broad. Finch nearly tripped on her way over to the table, wobbling as she walked over, and plopped the styling tools onto an empty space.

“I told you,” she panted. “We’re gonna pimp you out. This is for your hair.” Gerard looked at all the different tools.

“/All/ of them?” he gawked. He wasn’t sure he had that much hair.

“Well, no,” she replied, fishing through the pile until she found a long, metal straightener. She plugged it into the wall. “But I’d like to try a few things out. So hold still and I’ll make you sexy…” She looked around the makeup table. “Can you hand me that black eyeliner, please?” Gerard twitched.

“You’re putting makeup on me?!” He exclaimed. “How is that going to help at /all?!/” Finch huffed, blowing the air out her nose irritably and grabbed the stick of black eyeliner. She held it as if it was a weapon and not a beauty product.

“You have…beautiful eyes,” she began. Gerard blinked. “If I use this and some dark brown eye shadow, it’ll bring out the hazel in your eyes. Your skin is pale and your hair is dark. It’ll make your eyes stand out like…like…” She struggled to think of an adjective. “…like GOD. Just trust me, okay?”

Gerard squirmed. But, really, what did he have to lose? At this point, the answer was almost nothing. He sat up straight in the chair.

“Fine,” he agreed quietly. “But be careful with that straightener, those things get hot.”

Finch smiled broadly. “I’m gonna pimp you out so good.”

“/Ouch!/ Watch it!”

Finch pulled the straightener away. She held a comb in between her teeth.

“If you would shtop moving/, I wouldn’ /burn you…Now hold /shtill!/” She pulled the comb out of her teeth and used it to separate pieces of Gerard’s hair for individual straightening. He was shrinking down into his seat, trying to pull away from the hot piece of metal. As painful as it was, he had to admit, she knew her stuff when it came to beauty.

The lower rims of his eyes were now lined lightly in a smoky black liner, the lids brushed in a masculine brown. The combination of the colors made his eyes look large and almost golden. Now his hair, after she had forced a straightener through it, was smooth and shiny. She put the piece of metal down and picked up some styling gel. Rubbing it between her fingers she pieced out his hair.

“How do you know he’s gonna like this?” Gerard asked softly. Finch inhaled and exhaled quietly.

“I don’t,” she replied. “But…/you/ like it…right?” Gerard nodded. He did. He liked it a lot. Now he understood why rock stars wore makeup like this during concerts. It just…added a certain presence. A certain air of confidence. She finished with his hair and patted him on the shoulder. Now the ebony locks stuck out in a way that looked almost intentionally messy. It looked under control. It looked…/good./ Gerard felt a tiny flame of excitement begin to burn inside him.

“What’d you think?” Finch asked. Gerard swallowed and nodded. He didn’t know what to say, so instead he just gave a quiet, ”Yeah.” She knew what he meant. She put her hands on both his shoulders and leaned her face next to his, so they were both looking in the mirror.

“Now, look at yourself,” she said. “And say, ‘I love you’.”

“Why?” He asked. “That’s…weird.” He laughed nervously. She smiled softly at him.

“Come on. Just…do it. For me?” He looked at her, then returned his gaze to the mirror.

“I…love you,” he repeated, starring into his reflection. Finch stood back up.

“It’s a start,” she said. “One day it’ll come more easily for you…I hope.”

He hoped, too.

And when he went home later that night, he went into the bathroom and starred at his reflection. Before he took the makeup off, before his hair became disheveled and unorganized he just looked at himself. He swallowed. He said, ”I love you.” He felt awkward and silly and stupid…but he said it again.

”I love you.”

He starred directly into those golden eyes and said it, gathering all the courage he could to make it mean something.

”I love you.”

And this time he meant it.
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