And from the depths of my pseudocreative mind...LOL
And my writer self is back, I guess. I'll enjoy it while I can, heh!
Title: I'll Call You
Pairing: Frank/Gerard - My Chemical Romance (No Shit! Really?)
Word Count: 1,036
Category: Comedy
Summary: A perfect date ends with a suspicious promise, and now Frank has to wait for that call.
A/N: 119_nevermore beta-ed this and for that I thank her, huggle her and give her MCR flavoured cookies. I also dedicated this to helena_lee because, well, she's my wifey and I love her, to whisperingtome because she's a lovely girl and to joothemoo because she makes me listen to Radiohead, yep.
I'll Call You
Frank could not understand how such a little device could hold the path of his entire existence in its metaphorical hands.
Pacing across the room, back and forth, he relived in his mind the happenings of the previous night.
His date had opened the door for him, with a suspiciously adorable grin on his lips.
They had talked for more than an hour straight, never running out of things to say (what was quite a surprise for Frank, who used to be betrayed by his own mind and say something stupid and spend the rest of the evening drinking and embarrassing himself).
When he asked Frank if he would like to dance, he offered his firm hand like a gentleman and, as Frank took it in his, he felt a reassuring squeeze that sent shivers through his whole arm straight to the chest - a very dangerous thing to happen in a first date, Frank was sure.
They danced pretty close, and the heat between their bodies swaying as one was tangible. He had touched Frank's hips, and his fingers were like fire. Frank's cheeks reddened and he felt like a virginal schoolgirl (and he must have giggled like one too, he was positively sure).
He took Frank home, walking him to his doorstep and pecking his lips gently. He tugged a lock of Frank's hair behind his ear, and Frank's legs almost gave in to the touch. He never had such a romantic first date and now that he remembered it, he never had such a decent first date. Frank could almost listen to his mother's voice, saying “Frankie, honey, this one is a keeper”. It certainly felt like it.
Until he mouthed the dreadful words: I'll call you. The minute it escaped his lips, Frank predicted - no use of psychic powers were needed here, certainly - exactly what he was going to go through: being anxious, locked up in his annoyingly silent bedroom, walking from side to side, staring at an even more annoyingly silent cell phone. Suddenly, all the bewilderment and magic was gone, and he was left with anxiety, the fucking anxiety.
Morning came and there was Frank, just like the way he had foreseen it.
For the first two hours of waiting for the call, he was sincerely hopeful: the guy seemed to be the sweet, adorable, I-mean-to-call-you-when-I-say-I-will type of man. No one could fake the sweetness he had shown in that smile, could they?
For the next three hours of sitting in his room, he turned desperately bitter: he was a fraud, a fucking liar, like the last three jerks Ray had set him up with (and he was really kicking himself for trusting Toro's naivety for a fourth time.)
The last half-hour, however, Frank had positively tried to make his mind go blank. It was just he and the phone of doom, in a ridiculous battle of wits. And he wouldn't lose to that insignificant machine.
“Okay.” Frank stopped in front of the dresser, eyes fixed on the (apparently) harmless black device, finger pointed at it. “Stop fucking around and just ring.”
The stubborn phone, obviously, disobeyed his orders. Frank fumed, picking up the phone and sitting on the bed again. A mad idea crossed his mind, what if it had rung and he had missed it? However, the lack of warning messages for missed calls sent him into an angry fit, and he threw the phone onto the bed, where it bounced and came to rest on the floor.
Okay. What had he done wrong this time? Everything had gone fucking fine, hadn't it? The guy was funny, sweet, incredibly attractive and a great kisser - pretty much like Frank himself. Then why, why on Earth wouldn't he call?
Frank stroked his fingers through his hair, being all gloomy. He had been dumped, again. He could even foresee his lonely future, a house smelling of cat food, nothing to do except to feed the kitties and water the plants. Probably, the kids in the neighborhood would make up stories about him, the frightening gay madman of Whatever Street. He should have a corny/creepy nickname, like Freaky Frank or something.
Deeply engaged in this depressed thoughts, Frank almost missed the ringing noise that invaded the room. He jumped out of bed, eagerly, tripping over some rogue shoe left in the way, and made an accidentally flourished gesture to catch the phone. He flipped it open and frowned: no one was calling.
In an instant, knowledge dawned on him and he ran to the front door of the apartment. He stopped dead, staring at the doorknob. One, two, three deep breaths (He's here. Oh, fuck. I must look awful! How's my breath? What's he doing here? Ok, Frank, you can do it) and he swung the door open, welcoming whoever it was behind it with a nervous chuckle.
“Gerard! Hey!”
“Hello!”
His jaw dropped. Oh my god, are those...
“Flowers?”
“Uh? Oh, sure, sure! They're for you. Obviously.” Gerard grinned, embarrassed, tilting his head to the side a little and handing the bouquet over to Frank.
“I never get flowers.” Frank laughed, staring at them like a little boy admiring his new bicycle.
“I never gave a guy flowers before.” Gerard admitted, shrugging. “And I know I promised I'd call, but I figured you're not the kind of person that should get a call the next day. You should get flowers, you know?”
Gerard raised his green eyes to Frank's hazel ones and granted him with the sweetest smile he had ever seen.
“So I called Ray and asked...”
Whatever he had asked Ray, Frank never found out, though he still silently thanked his friend for whatever he said. He interrupted Gerard's unnecessary explanation by pulling him closer by the collar of his shirt, locking their lips together as he kicked the door close.
He dragged Gerard to the couch, dropping the flowers on the way; well, he would deal with them later. Gerard was definitely a keeper and after hours waiting for that call that never came, he wouldn't miss spending even a second with the real thing.
Title: I'll Call You
Pairing: Frank/Gerard - My Chemical Romance (No Shit! Really?)
Word Count: 1,036
Category: Comedy
Summary: A perfect date ends with a suspicious promise, and now Frank has to wait for that call.
A/N: 119_nevermore beta-ed this and for that I thank her, huggle her and give her MCR flavoured cookies. I also dedicated this to helena_lee because, well, she's my wifey and I love her, to whisperingtome because she's a lovely girl and to joothemoo because she makes me listen to Radiohead, yep.
I'll Call You
Frank could not understand how such a little device could hold the path of his entire existence in its metaphorical hands.
Pacing across the room, back and forth, he relived in his mind the happenings of the previous night.
His date had opened the door for him, with a suspiciously adorable grin on his lips.
They had talked for more than an hour straight, never running out of things to say (what was quite a surprise for Frank, who used to be betrayed by his own mind and say something stupid and spend the rest of the evening drinking and embarrassing himself).
When he asked Frank if he would like to dance, he offered his firm hand like a gentleman and, as Frank took it in his, he felt a reassuring squeeze that sent shivers through his whole arm straight to the chest - a very dangerous thing to happen in a first date, Frank was sure.
They danced pretty close, and the heat between their bodies swaying as one was tangible. He had touched Frank's hips, and his fingers were like fire. Frank's cheeks reddened and he felt like a virginal schoolgirl (and he must have giggled like one too, he was positively sure).
He took Frank home, walking him to his doorstep and pecking his lips gently. He tugged a lock of Frank's hair behind his ear, and Frank's legs almost gave in to the touch. He never had such a romantic first date and now that he remembered it, he never had such a decent first date. Frank could almost listen to his mother's voice, saying “Frankie, honey, this one is a keeper”. It certainly felt like it.
Until he mouthed the dreadful words: I'll call you. The minute it escaped his lips, Frank predicted - no use of psychic powers were needed here, certainly - exactly what he was going to go through: being anxious, locked up in his annoyingly silent bedroom, walking from side to side, staring at an even more annoyingly silent cell phone. Suddenly, all the bewilderment and magic was gone, and he was left with anxiety, the fucking anxiety.
Morning came and there was Frank, just like the way he had foreseen it.
For the first two hours of waiting for the call, he was sincerely hopeful: the guy seemed to be the sweet, adorable, I-mean-to-call-you-when-I-say-I-will type of man. No one could fake the sweetness he had shown in that smile, could they?
For the next three hours of sitting in his room, he turned desperately bitter: he was a fraud, a fucking liar, like the last three jerks Ray had set him up with (and he was really kicking himself for trusting Toro's naivety for a fourth time.)
The last half-hour, however, Frank had positively tried to make his mind go blank. It was just he and the phone of doom, in a ridiculous battle of wits. And he wouldn't lose to that insignificant machine.
“Okay.” Frank stopped in front of the dresser, eyes fixed on the (apparently) harmless black device, finger pointed at it. “Stop fucking around and just ring.”
The stubborn phone, obviously, disobeyed his orders. Frank fumed, picking up the phone and sitting on the bed again. A mad idea crossed his mind, what if it had rung and he had missed it? However, the lack of warning messages for missed calls sent him into an angry fit, and he threw the phone onto the bed, where it bounced and came to rest on the floor.
Okay. What had he done wrong this time? Everything had gone fucking fine, hadn't it? The guy was funny, sweet, incredibly attractive and a great kisser - pretty much like Frank himself. Then why, why on Earth wouldn't he call?
Frank stroked his fingers through his hair, being all gloomy. He had been dumped, again. He could even foresee his lonely future, a house smelling of cat food, nothing to do except to feed the kitties and water the plants. Probably, the kids in the neighborhood would make up stories about him, the frightening gay madman of Whatever Street. He should have a corny/creepy nickname, like Freaky Frank or something.
Deeply engaged in this depressed thoughts, Frank almost missed the ringing noise that invaded the room. He jumped out of bed, eagerly, tripping over some rogue shoe left in the way, and made an accidentally flourished gesture to catch the phone. He flipped it open and frowned: no one was calling.
In an instant, knowledge dawned on him and he ran to the front door of the apartment. He stopped dead, staring at the doorknob. One, two, three deep breaths (He's here. Oh, fuck. I must look awful! How's my breath? What's he doing here? Ok, Frank, you can do it) and he swung the door open, welcoming whoever it was behind it with a nervous chuckle.
“Gerard! Hey!”
“Hello!”
His jaw dropped. Oh my god, are those...
“Flowers?”
“Uh? Oh, sure, sure! They're for you. Obviously.” Gerard grinned, embarrassed, tilting his head to the side a little and handing the bouquet over to Frank.
“I never get flowers.” Frank laughed, staring at them like a little boy admiring his new bicycle.
“I never gave a guy flowers before.” Gerard admitted, shrugging. “And I know I promised I'd call, but I figured you're not the kind of person that should get a call the next day. You should get flowers, you know?”
Gerard raised his green eyes to Frank's hazel ones and granted him with the sweetest smile he had ever seen.
“So I called Ray and asked...”
Whatever he had asked Ray, Frank never found out, though he still silently thanked his friend for whatever he said. He interrupted Gerard's unnecessary explanation by pulling him closer by the collar of his shirt, locking their lips together as he kicked the door close.
He dragged Gerard to the couch, dropping the flowers on the way; well, he would deal with them later. Gerard was definitely a keeper and after hours waiting for that call that never came, he wouldn't miss spending even a second with the real thing.