Getting Away with Murder [Part 2]
Title: Getting Away With Murder
Author: ferardx4ever (the one and only).
POV: Frank, 1st.
Disclaimer: This is all pure lies.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Frank Iero/Gerard Way(main), Gerard Way/Bert McCracken
Summary: I'm addicted to your punishment. You are the master, and I'm waiting for disaster.
Author's Note: This is pretty much drabble. I got the idea from Getting Away With Murder by Papa Roach.
Warnings: Homosexuals, abuse, depression, rape...kind of?What happens when you enjoy being raped?
I Feel Irrational
I regretted uttering those words as soon as they tumbled off my lips. I glanced down at the bed, and waited for him to do something to me. Such as hit me, or shout something at me that would make me want to cry for hours. I could feel his dark, dramatic eyes on me, "I don't fall for sad little fuckers." He replied, and I felt tears burn in my eyes, but I forced them back.
He stood up, and I watched him as he pulled his clothes back on. "If you move from this room, I swear I'll beat the fucking crap out of you, you won't know what fucking hit you." He warned, and I nodded. I had tried to one away once. I remember the consequences vividly.
He gripped me by the hair, dragging me up every flight of stairs. Once we reached the landing, he threw me onto the floor. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" I sobbed, and he kicked me hard in the ribs. "Fucking asshole you are!" He shouted, and took hold of my hair again, pulling me to my feet.
He shoved me into the bedroom, "Get up!" He yelled at me, and I scrambled to my feet, using the wall for support. He punched me square in the face, and my head collided with the wall. I felt blood trickle out of my nose, as I slid to the floor. He wasn't done with me. No, this was just the beginning.
He seized my wrist, and forced me down on the floor. He pulled my clothes off of me, along with his own pants. He shoved himself inside of me, and I screamed out in pain, having nothing to hang on to. I writhed underneath him, tears pouring out of my eyes. I threshed, trying with the little strength I had left to get away. He thrust hard into me everytime I struggled against him, purposefully missing my prostate. (The fact being he had done this so many times to me, he seemed to know exactly where it was).
It burned, and my insides felt mangled inside of me. "Stop! Gerard please stop!" I wailed, but he only picked up his rhythmn. "Don't do this! Please!" I howled, and after a long, grueling fifteen minutes, he stopped after he came inside of me, pulling out of me. He put his pants back on and growled, "That'll show you not to run again, you fucking worthless piece of shit."
I grimaced at the sheer memory of it, "I'll be back later." He muttered, and headed out of the house. As soon as I heard the front door slam, I let out heart-wrenching sobs, taking advantage of Gerard not being home. Once again I had lied to myself. I told myself I'd put an end to it, and get help. I didn't - I fell for him time and time again.
How could I ever escape anyway? Running didn't seem to be an option, and I grimaced at the horrific memory of it. If you know Gerard like I know him, you'd know he wasn't always the psychotic asshole he is now. In fact, I know why he is the idiot he is today. I've just never gotten up any courage even try to mention it to his face. It didn't seem worth getting beaten, or sexually abused anymore. But, now I was starting to get even more sick of it than ever before. Tonight, I'd put an end to it.
Maybe all of my talk of taking action wasn't true before, but now I mean it. I really, really mean it.
Usually around after it gets dark out, if I even move from my room, I get slugged. I was just going to have to deal with it. I swallowed hard, before opening the door, trying to make sure it didn't creak. I heard the television running downstairs, and traveled down the hallway slowly. I gripped the railing tightly, before ascending down the stairs. What would he do to me if he saw me? I didn't even want to know.
I slowly took one step after another, until I reached the next floor. I could smell alcohol, and I saw his sleeping form on the couch. I circled around the other side of the sofa, and knelt down in front of him. His lips were parted slightly, and his just long enough dark hair fell over his eyes. He looked so beautiful when he slept. When he slept I could see the old Gerard, the one that was kind and caring.
Without even hesitating, I brushed some hair out of his eyes, and placed a light kiss on his forehead. He stirred a tiny bit, and I leaned in again, kissing the corner of his mouth. His eyes fluttered open, "What are you doing?" It wasn't a threatening tone thankfully, just a question. "I want to talk to you. And I know you want to kill me for being out of my room after dark, but I don't really give a shit, Gee." I explained before I could think of what I was saying.
He pulled himself into a sitting position, and I sat down next to him. He was silent, not saying a word. Just waiting. "I know you think I don't know. But, I know about Bert." I said quietly, "Gee, before you were like this - always hurting me, and making me miserable - I loved you. A lot. Fuck, I idolized you ever since I was a little kid. You were some kind of superhero to me. Always fighting for what you believed in, and never letting anyone stop you from reaching your goals. I wanted to be like you." I told him, and he glanced at me from the corner of his eyes, and then averted his gaze, staring into his lap.
"And then... Ever since you let him get the better of you - you stopped trying. You haven't even drawn anything in God knows how long. And I wish to fuck the old you would come back, every single day. And, in the end maybe I know you hurt me because...you want someone else to know how it feels. How it feels to be shoved around, and broken down as hard as you've been." I explained, lifting up his shirt slightly, revealing scars and bruises, "And I know you can stand up to him. I know you can get through this. Maybe not in an entire day, but you can." I finished, and he turned to me, gently removing my hand off of the hem of his shirt.
I thought he would shout at me, and tell me it was none of my business. But no, he turned to me, with tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry." He barely audibly whispered, and I swear, I thought it was a dream. Had I actually done it? Had I actually - ?
His lips pressed against mine, and I missed when he used to kiss me like that. Slowly, and tenderly. He pulled away, and I drew him into my arms. "I love you." I murmured into his hair, and he tilted his head upwards, gazing into my eyes.
"I love you too, Frankie."
Well, you asked for a sequel, and you got one. Just don't yell at me for it's suckish-ness!
Author: ferardx4ever (the one and only).
POV: Frank, 1st.
Disclaimer: This is all pure lies.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Frank Iero/Gerard Way(main), Gerard Way/Bert McCracken
Summary: I'm addicted to your punishment. You are the master, and I'm waiting for disaster.
Author's Note: This is pretty much drabble. I got the idea from Getting Away With Murder by Papa Roach.
Warnings: Homosexuals, abuse, depression, rape...kind of?What happens when you enjoy being raped?
I Feel Irrational
I regretted uttering those words as soon as they tumbled off my lips. I glanced down at the bed, and waited for him to do something to me. Such as hit me, or shout something at me that would make me want to cry for hours. I could feel his dark, dramatic eyes on me, "I don't fall for sad little fuckers." He replied, and I felt tears burn in my eyes, but I forced them back.
He stood up, and I watched him as he pulled his clothes back on. "If you move from this room, I swear I'll beat the fucking crap out of you, you won't know what fucking hit you." He warned, and I nodded. I had tried to one away once. I remember the consequences vividly.
He gripped me by the hair, dragging me up every flight of stairs. Once we reached the landing, he threw me onto the floor. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" I sobbed, and he kicked me hard in the ribs. "Fucking asshole you are!" He shouted, and took hold of my hair again, pulling me to my feet.
He shoved me into the bedroom, "Get up!" He yelled at me, and I scrambled to my feet, using the wall for support. He punched me square in the face, and my head collided with the wall. I felt blood trickle out of my nose, as I slid to the floor. He wasn't done with me. No, this was just the beginning.
He seized my wrist, and forced me down on the floor. He pulled my clothes off of me, along with his own pants. He shoved himself inside of me, and I screamed out in pain, having nothing to hang on to. I writhed underneath him, tears pouring out of my eyes. I threshed, trying with the little strength I had left to get away. He thrust hard into me everytime I struggled against him, purposefully missing my prostate. (The fact being he had done this so many times to me, he seemed to know exactly where it was).
It burned, and my insides felt mangled inside of me. "Stop! Gerard please stop!" I wailed, but he only picked up his rhythmn. "Don't do this! Please!" I howled, and after a long, grueling fifteen minutes, he stopped after he came inside of me, pulling out of me. He put his pants back on and growled, "That'll show you not to run again, you fucking worthless piece of shit."
I grimaced at the sheer memory of it, "I'll be back later." He muttered, and headed out of the house. As soon as I heard the front door slam, I let out heart-wrenching sobs, taking advantage of Gerard not being home. Once again I had lied to myself. I told myself I'd put an end to it, and get help. I didn't - I fell for him time and time again.
How could I ever escape anyway? Running didn't seem to be an option, and I grimaced at the horrific memory of it. If you know Gerard like I know him, you'd know he wasn't always the psychotic asshole he is now. In fact, I know why he is the idiot he is today. I've just never gotten up any courage even try to mention it to his face. It didn't seem worth getting beaten, or sexually abused anymore. But, now I was starting to get even more sick of it than ever before. Tonight, I'd put an end to it.
Maybe all of my talk of taking action wasn't true before, but now I mean it. I really, really mean it.
Usually around after it gets dark out, if I even move from my room, I get slugged. I was just going to have to deal with it. I swallowed hard, before opening the door, trying to make sure it didn't creak. I heard the television running downstairs, and traveled down the hallway slowly. I gripped the railing tightly, before ascending down the stairs. What would he do to me if he saw me? I didn't even want to know.
I slowly took one step after another, until I reached the next floor. I could smell alcohol, and I saw his sleeping form on the couch. I circled around the other side of the sofa, and knelt down in front of him. His lips were parted slightly, and his just long enough dark hair fell over his eyes. He looked so beautiful when he slept. When he slept I could see the old Gerard, the one that was kind and caring.
Without even hesitating, I brushed some hair out of his eyes, and placed a light kiss on his forehead. He stirred a tiny bit, and I leaned in again, kissing the corner of his mouth. His eyes fluttered open, "What are you doing?" It wasn't a threatening tone thankfully, just a question. "I want to talk to you. And I know you want to kill me for being out of my room after dark, but I don't really give a shit, Gee." I explained before I could think of what I was saying.
He pulled himself into a sitting position, and I sat down next to him. He was silent, not saying a word. Just waiting. "I know you think I don't know. But, I know about Bert." I said quietly, "Gee, before you were like this - always hurting me, and making me miserable - I loved you. A lot. Fuck, I idolized you ever since I was a little kid. You were some kind of superhero to me. Always fighting for what you believed in, and never letting anyone stop you from reaching your goals. I wanted to be like you." I told him, and he glanced at me from the corner of his eyes, and then averted his gaze, staring into his lap.
"And then... Ever since you let him get the better of you - you stopped trying. You haven't even drawn anything in God knows how long. And I wish to fuck the old you would come back, every single day. And, in the end maybe I know you hurt me because...you want someone else to know how it feels. How it feels to be shoved around, and broken down as hard as you've been." I explained, lifting up his shirt slightly, revealing scars and bruises, "And I know you can stand up to him. I know you can get through this. Maybe not in an entire day, but you can." I finished, and he turned to me, gently removing my hand off of the hem of his shirt.
I thought he would shout at me, and tell me it was none of my business. But no, he turned to me, with tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry." He barely audibly whispered, and I swear, I thought it was a dream. Had I actually done it? Had I actually - ?
His lips pressed against mine, and I missed when he used to kiss me like that. Slowly, and tenderly. He pulled away, and I drew him into my arms. "I love you." I murmured into his hair, and he tilted his head upwards, gazing into my eyes.
"I love you too, Frankie."
Well, you asked for a sequel, and you got one. Just don't yell at me for it's suckish-ness!