Self-Loathing (Gerard/Gerard oneshot)
Title: Self-Loathing
Author: breathe_misery
Pairing: Gerard/Gerard
Rating: R
POV: real life!Gerard's
Summary: "Do you hate me, Gerard? Do you wish I'd never existed?"
Disclaimer: All I own is the story. Owning MCR would be awkward.
Author Notes: I actually wrote this because I made a little promise to all_tattooed that I would. Hope you like it, I tried not to suck too badly. XD
Beta: idonthavefleas
Warnings: Kind of insane AU. If the thought of Gerard fooling around with himself, and not in the normal way, bothers you, then maaaaaybe you should go read something else?
It was something of a trademark, a thing people expected when they watched me perform. My behavior onstage was almost shameful, with the way I pranced around as though I was the hottest thing on earth. But that was what people wanted, and so that was what they got. I touched everyone in the band, but they couldn't touch me. Well, Frankie could, but that was just because people wanted to see that too. I said outrageous, bawdy things that would make a hooker blush. I danced provacatively, in ways that you'd never imagine that I could by just looking at me. It was my job, for at least one hour a night for months on end, to be completely full of myself. To positively worship myself, so that the thousands could worship along with me. I had to be beautiful, I had to be confident. I had to be untouchable.
For one hour.
When the lights went down, when the crowd gave one final, collective scream, when my microphone was turned off and my bandmates were calling dibs on the showers, my job was done. I'd stand alone in the wings for a short moment, putting my real self back together. The self that actually really hated what was in the mirror, the self that hardly touched itself, much less anyone else. The self that barely spoke at all, the self that didn't even like to stand idly in front of people. The self that wondered how much longer it could hold this vague charade of happiness. Once this was in check, I could go on with my life for the next twelve hours, before the madness started again and I became a god once more.
I sat alone in the back lot of the venue, smoking a cigarette that I'd bummed off of one of the roadies. Brian had been trying to make me quit, but I was a little less than concerned about pleasing him at the moment. Tonight was going to suck, I just knew it. I had that feeling, like how the turtle in Over The Hedge got a tingly tail when things weren't right? That was how I felt, but without the tail. The tingling, however, was present, but that might have been because I'd been sitting on concrete for a half hour.
"Sick of playing games yet?" I must have jumped a foot at the sudden noise to my left. I must have jumped another foot when I saw where it had come from. Leaning against a telephone pole, dressed all in black except for a white button-up shirt, was an almost perfect copy of myself. I say almost perfect because this Gerard was a hell of a lot better looking than I was. His face lacked the lines that mine had, his hair was shinier and straighter, and his eyes had more light than mine had posessed in a very long time. But there was something wrong. This Gerard lacked the warmth that I knew I had. He was beautiful, yes, even to me. But it was cold beauty. There was no life behind those eyes, no glow to that perfect white skin. This Gerard looked like a doll. But I couldn't help the twinge of jealousy I felt as I looked at him. At... me?
"Um, excuse me?" I managed to choke out, not sure if I should stand up or not. The other Gerard laughed quietly and raked a hand through his perfect hair, which settled right into place when his fingers left it.
"Are you tired of going out on that stage, shaking your ass, making girls scream, then going back to the bus to wallow in your misery?" he asked, icy eyes watching me carefully. "And don't lie. You can't. Not to me."
"What the fuck is going on?" I asked, deciding that standing might be my best option if I needed to karate chop this guy's ass. I wondered dimly if that would hurt me as well, if I hit the other Gerard. He just laughed at me again.
"No, it wouldn't hurt you," he said, looking only vaguely amused. "But that wouldn't be very nice, anyway. What's wrong, Mr. No Violence? Losing your morals?"
"Shut the fuck up and answer my question," I barked, figuring that if I acted tough, maybe he'd back off. He raised an eyebrow, a cold smirk on his lips.
"What's going on? I'll tell you what's going on." He walked right up to me and looked me dead in the eyes, and I knew he could see my fear. "I'm here because your self-loathing has gotten the better of you. I'm here, Gee-face, because everything you hate about yourself is becoming stronger than what you really are. I'm here because you're a weak, pathetic little freak. Answer your question?"
"Uh-uhm," I gulped, taking a step back. Quick as lightning, the other Gerard's hand was on my upper arm, gripping with inhuman strength.
"Not thinking about running, are you?" he pouted. "We're just getting to know each other, it would be rude for you to leave now. Tsk tsk, slipping in morals and manners. What would your-- haha, excuse me, what would our mother say?"
"Get away from me," I whispered, trying to break free from his grasp. He just smiled humorlessly, seemingly not exerting any energy at all in holding me in place. But I couldn't move.
"I can't get away from you," he said calmly. "I am you, whether you like it or not. You have to deal with that, now don't you?"
"I don't know how, just let me go," I pleaded, looking anywhere but his eyes. "Please."
"Do you hate me, Gerard?" he whispered in my ear, breath hot and real in my ear. It made my skin itch. "Do you wish I'd never existed? Do you want me to go away?"
"I don't know, please--"
"Do you hate me?" he asked venomously, his lips still at my ear. "I know the answer, I just want to hear you say it."
"Say it yourself," I said quickly, spitting out the words before I lost my nerve. His fingers tightened their grip.
"Don't be clever," he growled, moving closer so our chests were pressed together. "Just do what I ask. Say it." His other hand made itself known on my hip, and I shivered slightly. I knew what this would have had to look like to anyone else. Bizzarre, Twilight Zone-worthy even. And somewhere deep inside of me, in a place I'd never even known existed, I was thinking about how incredibly right the other Gerard's hand felt against my side. It was then that his lips moved from my ear to my neck, where they actually touched skin. They weren't cold, like I'd imagined, but impossibly warm and soft as silk.
"I know your thoughts better than you do, sweetheart," he drawled, his fingers moving to slip under my shirt. I jumped, but his other hand still held me tightly. "Maybe you are so self-centered that you don't hate me after all..."
"No," I muttered, my eyes slipping shut as he backed me up into a chainlink fence, teeth nipping at my skin. I'd meant to make my words forceful, but it all felt too good. I didn't mean no, and I knew it. He knew it.
"I'm beginning to love how weak you are," he murmered, chuckling softly against my neck. The hand under my shirt came to rest over my heart, which was beating wildly inside of my chest. "It gives me a reason to exist, you know?" His fingers moved lower, nails dragging along the way, until they were at the waistband of my jeans. That was when I knew it had to stop, before I gave in to whatever sick things my dark side wanted me for.
"I hate you," I whispered, staring into his eyes, my eyes. His eyebrows raised in shock, but he let go and stepped back.
"That's a shame," he said softly, tilting his head to the side. "That's a damn shame... Because you need me."
"Dude, wake up!"
"Wha--?" I opened my eyes and squinted up at Frankie, who was standing in front of me, looking at me weirdly.
"How the hell did you fall asleep out here?" he asked, offering his hand. I took it and allowed him to pull me up, running a hand through my messy hair.
"No clue," I said with a yawn. "Um, almost showtime?"
"Just about," Frankie nodded. "Interesting dream?"
"What?" I asked sharply, looking at him with wide eyes.
"You may want to take care of that before we go on, dear," he said, gesturing vaguely at my waist. I looked down and-- oh.
"Damn," I muttered, taking off at a run towards the venue, leaving Frankie behind. As soon as I got through a door that wasn't locked, I went inside an empty room and shut the door behind me. I caught sight of myself in a mirror and couldn't swallow a terrified gasp. Small red marks made by unnaturally tiny teeth dotted my pale neck like spider bites. I shakily removed my jacket and pulled up the sleeve of my T-shirt, knowing what I'd find but wanting to see it anyway. And there it was, a large bruise encircling my bicep. A very real bruise. He was real.
A dull ache in the pit of my stomach reminded me that the other Gerard had left me with a problem. I groaned and pulled my jacket back on before leaving the room and going on a search for an unoccupied bathroom. Tonight was going to be hell.
I final notes of Helena filled the arena, and the lights dimmed slowly before fading entirely as the crowed roared. I already felt the high of the show wearing off, and it only caused me to think about the "dream" from earlier that night. For that one hour, I became that other me. That cold, invincible beauty who could have whoever, whatever he wanted. Even himself. And he had that, that was certain. He'd been right. I needed him. I needed him because without him, I could never escape the harsh reality that I just would never be good enough. Not for anyone. Most definitely not for myself.
I stared angrily in the grimy bathroom mirror, the same one I'd been determined not to look in earlier as I washed my hands after fixing my "problem". Dream or no dream, the other Gerard had won. He was right. I was, in the end, a whore for myself.
"It's okay, you know," he whispered, appearing behind me, his arms sliding around my waist to hold me almost lovingly to his chest. "I have no problems with being a whore, myself." I looked at our reflection and watched as my face moved to imitate his cold smirk.
"You know what... neither do I."
Author: breathe_misery
Pairing: Gerard/Gerard
Rating: R
POV: real life!Gerard's
Summary: "Do you hate me, Gerard? Do you wish I'd never existed?"
Disclaimer: All I own is the story. Owning MCR would be awkward.
Author Notes: I actually wrote this because I made a little promise to all_tattooed that I would. Hope you like it, I tried not to suck too badly. XD
Beta: idonthavefleas
Warnings: Kind of insane AU. If the thought of Gerard fooling around with himself, and not in the normal way, bothers you, then maaaaaybe you should go read something else?
It was something of a trademark, a thing people expected when they watched me perform. My behavior onstage was almost shameful, with the way I pranced around as though I was the hottest thing on earth. But that was what people wanted, and so that was what they got. I touched everyone in the band, but they couldn't touch me. Well, Frankie could, but that was just because people wanted to see that too. I said outrageous, bawdy things that would make a hooker blush. I danced provacatively, in ways that you'd never imagine that I could by just looking at me. It was my job, for at least one hour a night for months on end, to be completely full of myself. To positively worship myself, so that the thousands could worship along with me. I had to be beautiful, I had to be confident. I had to be untouchable.
For one hour.
When the lights went down, when the crowd gave one final, collective scream, when my microphone was turned off and my bandmates were calling dibs on the showers, my job was done. I'd stand alone in the wings for a short moment, putting my real self back together. The self that actually really hated what was in the mirror, the self that hardly touched itself, much less anyone else. The self that barely spoke at all, the self that didn't even like to stand idly in front of people. The self that wondered how much longer it could hold this vague charade of happiness. Once this was in check, I could go on with my life for the next twelve hours, before the madness started again and I became a god once more.
I sat alone in the back lot of the venue, smoking a cigarette that I'd bummed off of one of the roadies. Brian had been trying to make me quit, but I was a little less than concerned about pleasing him at the moment. Tonight was going to suck, I just knew it. I had that feeling, like how the turtle in Over The Hedge got a tingly tail when things weren't right? That was how I felt, but without the tail. The tingling, however, was present, but that might have been because I'd been sitting on concrete for a half hour.
"Sick of playing games yet?" I must have jumped a foot at the sudden noise to my left. I must have jumped another foot when I saw where it had come from. Leaning against a telephone pole, dressed all in black except for a white button-up shirt, was an almost perfect copy of myself. I say almost perfect because this Gerard was a hell of a lot better looking than I was. His face lacked the lines that mine had, his hair was shinier and straighter, and his eyes had more light than mine had posessed in a very long time. But there was something wrong. This Gerard lacked the warmth that I knew I had. He was beautiful, yes, even to me. But it was cold beauty. There was no life behind those eyes, no glow to that perfect white skin. This Gerard looked like a doll. But I couldn't help the twinge of jealousy I felt as I looked at him. At... me?
"Um, excuse me?" I managed to choke out, not sure if I should stand up or not. The other Gerard laughed quietly and raked a hand through his perfect hair, which settled right into place when his fingers left it.
"Are you tired of going out on that stage, shaking your ass, making girls scream, then going back to the bus to wallow in your misery?" he asked, icy eyes watching me carefully. "And don't lie. You can't. Not to me."
"What the fuck is going on?" I asked, deciding that standing might be my best option if I needed to karate chop this guy's ass. I wondered dimly if that would hurt me as well, if I hit the other Gerard. He just laughed at me again.
"No, it wouldn't hurt you," he said, looking only vaguely amused. "But that wouldn't be very nice, anyway. What's wrong, Mr. No Violence? Losing your morals?"
"Shut the fuck up and answer my question," I barked, figuring that if I acted tough, maybe he'd back off. He raised an eyebrow, a cold smirk on his lips.
"What's going on? I'll tell you what's going on." He walked right up to me and looked me dead in the eyes, and I knew he could see my fear. "I'm here because your self-loathing has gotten the better of you. I'm here, Gee-face, because everything you hate about yourself is becoming stronger than what you really are. I'm here because you're a weak, pathetic little freak. Answer your question?"
"Uh-uhm," I gulped, taking a step back. Quick as lightning, the other Gerard's hand was on my upper arm, gripping with inhuman strength.
"Not thinking about running, are you?" he pouted. "We're just getting to know each other, it would be rude for you to leave now. Tsk tsk, slipping in morals and manners. What would your-- haha, excuse me, what would our mother say?"
"Get away from me," I whispered, trying to break free from his grasp. He just smiled humorlessly, seemingly not exerting any energy at all in holding me in place. But I couldn't move.
"I can't get away from you," he said calmly. "I am you, whether you like it or not. You have to deal with that, now don't you?"
"I don't know how, just let me go," I pleaded, looking anywhere but his eyes. "Please."
"Do you hate me, Gerard?" he whispered in my ear, breath hot and real in my ear. It made my skin itch. "Do you wish I'd never existed? Do you want me to go away?"
"I don't know, please--"
"Do you hate me?" he asked venomously, his lips still at my ear. "I know the answer, I just want to hear you say it."
"Say it yourself," I said quickly, spitting out the words before I lost my nerve. His fingers tightened their grip.
"Don't be clever," he growled, moving closer so our chests were pressed together. "Just do what I ask. Say it." His other hand made itself known on my hip, and I shivered slightly. I knew what this would have had to look like to anyone else. Bizzarre, Twilight Zone-worthy even. And somewhere deep inside of me, in a place I'd never even known existed, I was thinking about how incredibly right the other Gerard's hand felt against my side. It was then that his lips moved from my ear to my neck, where they actually touched skin. They weren't cold, like I'd imagined, but impossibly warm and soft as silk.
"I know your thoughts better than you do, sweetheart," he drawled, his fingers moving to slip under my shirt. I jumped, but his other hand still held me tightly. "Maybe you are so self-centered that you don't hate me after all..."
"No," I muttered, my eyes slipping shut as he backed me up into a chainlink fence, teeth nipping at my skin. I'd meant to make my words forceful, but it all felt too good. I didn't mean no, and I knew it. He knew it.
"I'm beginning to love how weak you are," he murmered, chuckling softly against my neck. The hand under my shirt came to rest over my heart, which was beating wildly inside of my chest. "It gives me a reason to exist, you know?" His fingers moved lower, nails dragging along the way, until they were at the waistband of my jeans. That was when I knew it had to stop, before I gave in to whatever sick things my dark side wanted me for.
"I hate you," I whispered, staring into his eyes, my eyes. His eyebrows raised in shock, but he let go and stepped back.
"That's a shame," he said softly, tilting his head to the side. "That's a damn shame... Because you need me."
"Dude, wake up!"
"Wha--?" I opened my eyes and squinted up at Frankie, who was standing in front of me, looking at me weirdly.
"How the hell did you fall asleep out here?" he asked, offering his hand. I took it and allowed him to pull me up, running a hand through my messy hair.
"No clue," I said with a yawn. "Um, almost showtime?"
"Just about," Frankie nodded. "Interesting dream?"
"What?" I asked sharply, looking at him with wide eyes.
"You may want to take care of that before we go on, dear," he said, gesturing vaguely at my waist. I looked down and-- oh.
"Damn," I muttered, taking off at a run towards the venue, leaving Frankie behind. As soon as I got through a door that wasn't locked, I went inside an empty room and shut the door behind me. I caught sight of myself in a mirror and couldn't swallow a terrified gasp. Small red marks made by unnaturally tiny teeth dotted my pale neck like spider bites. I shakily removed my jacket and pulled up the sleeve of my T-shirt, knowing what I'd find but wanting to see it anyway. And there it was, a large bruise encircling my bicep. A very real bruise. He was real.
A dull ache in the pit of my stomach reminded me that the other Gerard had left me with a problem. I groaned and pulled my jacket back on before leaving the room and going on a search for an unoccupied bathroom. Tonight was going to be hell.
I final notes of Helena filled the arena, and the lights dimmed slowly before fading entirely as the crowed roared. I already felt the high of the show wearing off, and it only caused me to think about the "dream" from earlier that night. For that one hour, I became that other me. That cold, invincible beauty who could have whoever, whatever he wanted. Even himself. And he had that, that was certain. He'd been right. I needed him. I needed him because without him, I could never escape the harsh reality that I just would never be good enough. Not for anyone. Most definitely not for myself.
I stared angrily in the grimy bathroom mirror, the same one I'd been determined not to look in earlier as I washed my hands after fixing my "problem". Dream or no dream, the other Gerard had won. He was right. I was, in the end, a whore for myself.
"It's okay, you know," he whispered, appearing behind me, his arms sliding around my waist to hold me almost lovingly to his chest. "I have no problems with being a whore, myself." I looked at our reflection and watched as my face moved to imitate his cold smirk.
"You know what... neither do I."