Just experimenting.
My friend Dana loves The Used/My Chemical Romance fan fiction. Well, yesterday I got tempted to write a Gerbert (MCR's lead singer Gerard and The Used's lead Bert) standalone. Now Dana's all happy that I wrote something with Bert and Gerard in it, lol. I posted in the bert_and_gerard community yesterday.
“What good is that knife going to do, Gerard?” Bert said quietly to me. It was the last night we were friends, the last night we were lovers.
“I should ask you the same about the drugs,” I snapped. He was such a hypocrite, telling me it wasn’t good cut, telling me it wasn’t healthy. What the fuck does Bert McCracken know about good and healthy?
He sighed and I could hear him rummage through the pockets of his black hoodie. I heard him mutter ‘where the fuck is it?’ under his breath and I knew what he was looking for. I looked back at him; paper, cash, keys and various other things fell to the ground before he found the coke he was looking for.
I laughed bitterly. I thought it’d be heroin tonight.
“Where’s that mirror you carry? Is it in your luggage?” he asked.
He went through my duffel bag, my black wardrobe danced in front of eyes, and he looked so pathetic crouched down, his pale hands searching frantically for something I would deny him.
“No.”
“Well, where the hell is it if it’s not there?” Bert was getting agitated already; I hated that, it was something I was glad I didn’t have to go through anymore.
“You don’t need to know where it is. You don’t need it.”
And then he wasn’t crouched down anymore; he didn’t look so pathetic when quickly got up, snatched the blade from my hand, and pinned me down on the bed. He didn’t seem so weak when slapped me hard, making my check sting and my nose bleed. Bert held the knife close to my throat and threatened to kill me if I didn’t tell him.
I was breathing erratically. I could smell my blood, could feel it traveling to my lips and down into my mouth. The look in his eyes was like fire - it burned right through me, melted my defenses. So, I told him where I kept it, which was the second drawer on the dresser in front of our unkempt hotel bed.
He slowly moved off of me, still holding the knife tightly. Then he tugged at my arm so hard that my entire body fell to rough, blue-green carpet.
“Come here,” he growled, while pulling me to the dresser. I fought the whole short distance but soon met his body that smelled of spicy cologne and cigarettes. He managed to get his arm around my neck.
The wooden drawer was quickly pulled out and the mirror with the red handle was retrieved. The loud slam of the drawer closing made me jump and I felt my body being pulled up to the top of the short dresser.
Bert placed the knife down, pulled out the cocaine and put some on the mirror. Then he picked the knife up and carefully made six lines. He grabbed a couple of short straws from his pocket and yanked me upwards. His breath was on my neck, hot, scorching fear into me. Then I felt myself shivering when Bert’s tongue snaked out, the tip of his lips wrapped around my earlobe and sucked lightly.
“Gerard, baby?” he breathed and I felt myself getting hard. Despite my anger and fear, I was aroused the moment he showed the slightest bit of tenderness towards me.
“Mm-hmm,” I moaned as he went back to sucking on my earlobe.
“Snort a few lines with me. It’ll be fun, I promise.”
I couldn’t believe it. Bert knew that I was clean now; I didn’t do shit like that. I tried to push him away as I yelled at him about how I wanted to stay drug-free, how I wouldn’t do this even if he begged me. And as soon as finally pushed him away, he rammed me into the dresser, chest first.
He grabbed my erection with one hand and squeezed hard. I felt his hardness grinding against the small of back.
When I saw the white, perfect inch and a half lines on my mirror, I also caught a glimpse of my face: large, red handprint across my right cheek, dried blood from my nose, tousled black hair. And, to top it off, Bert greedily kissing my neck, sucking my Adam’s Apple and dragging his teeth across. I moaned, but was disgusted by the lewd sound. I couldn’t let him win. He wanted me to be weak; he wanted me to be vulnerable again. I was never as messed up or as naked as when I was on drugs. That was a time in my life that I regretted. Through my arousal, I realized that Mr. McCracken was not the man for me. Though I think I knew that deep down in my heart. I felt sick when he put his hand in my pants, giving me a rapid hand job.
I fought harder this time. I sent my mirror crashing to the floor and Bert crashing against our bed, paralyzing him for a few moments.
“I’m not doing this, Bert! I can’t do this anymore!” I was screaming and didn’t give a damn about who would hear me.
I quickly scrambled to get some of clothes together and grabbed my duffel bag. I ran to the door, which was blurry through my hot tears. Before my hand reached the silver handle, I felt Bert’s hand grabbing mine.
“You’re not going, Gee! Don’t do this to me…” His pleads went on, but I didn’t hear them. The words became distorted and coagulated, like they were drowning underwater.
“Back the fuck away from me!” And I felt his grip loosen. I think he knew he’d gone too far this time.
I turned to look him and said goodbye. I said that we’d see each other whenever we’d see each other. He didn’t say a word but stared into my eyes, his fire gone and replaced with darkness so cold that it made the tips of my toes and fingers go numb.
My hand jiggled the handle and I walked out, away from the stench of sex, away from destruction.
“What good is that knife going to do, Gerard?” Bert said quietly to me. It was the last night we were friends, the last night we were lovers.
“I should ask you the same about the drugs,” I snapped. He was such a hypocrite, telling me it wasn’t good cut, telling me it wasn’t healthy. What the fuck does Bert McCracken know about good and healthy?
He sighed and I could hear him rummage through the pockets of his black hoodie. I heard him mutter ‘where the fuck is it?’ under his breath and I knew what he was looking for. I looked back at him; paper, cash, keys and various other things fell to the ground before he found the coke he was looking for.
I laughed bitterly. I thought it’d be heroin tonight.
“Where’s that mirror you carry? Is it in your luggage?” he asked.
He went through my duffel bag, my black wardrobe danced in front of eyes, and he looked so pathetic crouched down, his pale hands searching frantically for something I would deny him.
“No.”
“Well, where the hell is it if it’s not there?” Bert was getting agitated already; I hated that, it was something I was glad I didn’t have to go through anymore.
“You don’t need to know where it is. You don’t need it.”
And then he wasn’t crouched down anymore; he didn’t look so pathetic when quickly got up, snatched the blade from my hand, and pinned me down on the bed. He didn’t seem so weak when slapped me hard, making my check sting and my nose bleed. Bert held the knife close to my throat and threatened to kill me if I didn’t tell him.
I was breathing erratically. I could smell my blood, could feel it traveling to my lips and down into my mouth. The look in his eyes was like fire - it burned right through me, melted my defenses. So, I told him where I kept it, which was the second drawer on the dresser in front of our unkempt hotel bed.
He slowly moved off of me, still holding the knife tightly. Then he tugged at my arm so hard that my entire body fell to rough, blue-green carpet.
“Come here,” he growled, while pulling me to the dresser. I fought the whole short distance but soon met his body that smelled of spicy cologne and cigarettes. He managed to get his arm around my neck.
The wooden drawer was quickly pulled out and the mirror with the red handle was retrieved. The loud slam of the drawer closing made me jump and I felt my body being pulled up to the top of the short dresser.
Bert placed the knife down, pulled out the cocaine and put some on the mirror. Then he picked the knife up and carefully made six lines. He grabbed a couple of short straws from his pocket and yanked me upwards. His breath was on my neck, hot, scorching fear into me. Then I felt myself shivering when Bert’s tongue snaked out, the tip of his lips wrapped around my earlobe and sucked lightly.
“Gerard, baby?” he breathed and I felt myself getting hard. Despite my anger and fear, I was aroused the moment he showed the slightest bit of tenderness towards me.
“Mm-hmm,” I moaned as he went back to sucking on my earlobe.
“Snort a few lines with me. It’ll be fun, I promise.”
I couldn’t believe it. Bert knew that I was clean now; I didn’t do shit like that. I tried to push him away as I yelled at him about how I wanted to stay drug-free, how I wouldn’t do this even if he begged me. And as soon as finally pushed him away, he rammed me into the dresser, chest first.
He grabbed my erection with one hand and squeezed hard. I felt his hardness grinding against the small of back.
When I saw the white, perfect inch and a half lines on my mirror, I also caught a glimpse of my face: large, red handprint across my right cheek, dried blood from my nose, tousled black hair. And, to top it off, Bert greedily kissing my neck, sucking my Adam’s Apple and dragging his teeth across. I moaned, but was disgusted by the lewd sound. I couldn’t let him win. He wanted me to be weak; he wanted me to be vulnerable again. I was never as messed up or as naked as when I was on drugs. That was a time in my life that I regretted. Through my arousal, I realized that Mr. McCracken was not the man for me. Though I think I knew that deep down in my heart. I felt sick when he put his hand in my pants, giving me a rapid hand job.
I fought harder this time. I sent my mirror crashing to the floor and Bert crashing against our bed, paralyzing him for a few moments.
“I’m not doing this, Bert! I can’t do this anymore!” I was screaming and didn’t give a damn about who would hear me.
I quickly scrambled to get some of clothes together and grabbed my duffel bag. I ran to the door, which was blurry through my hot tears. Before my hand reached the silver handle, I felt Bert’s hand grabbing mine.
“You’re not going, Gee! Don’t do this to me…” His pleads went on, but I didn’t hear them. The words became distorted and coagulated, like they were drowning underwater.
“Back the fuck away from me!” And I felt his grip loosen. I think he knew he’d gone too far this time.
I turned to look him and said goodbye. I said that we’d see each other whenever we’d see each other. He didn’t say a word but stared into my eyes, his fire gone and replaced with darkness so cold that it made the tips of my toes and fingers go numb.
My hand jiggled the handle and I walked out, away from the stench of sex, away from destruction.