The Knitting Kind
Title: The Knitting Kind
Pairing: Frank/Gerard
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,756
Warnings: excessive use of the word "fuck," mentions of Gerard bookmarking "How to Give a Good Blowjob" videos on Youtube, and Frank being sad.
Disclaimer: This is called "fanfiction" for a reason.
Summary: An AU in which Gerard is afraid of knitting needles instead of the regular kind and has the hots for a tiny, tattooed art store employee with a fondness for knitting.
A/N: So this was the first Frank/Gerard fanfic I ever tried to write (O____o) and I never bothered to finish it, so I thought I might as well do it now. I fixed it up and changed a bunch, but you can probably still tell where I came in later to finish it. XD
THE KNITTING KIND
Gerard hates needles.
Specifically, he hates knitting needles.
In fact, Gerard hates knitting needles so much that he would rather use the rotting organs of a dead pig for an art project than attempt to fumble his way through a “pfb” or a “p2tog,” or whatever the fuck that shit was. And, okay, so maybe his hatred wasn’t actually quite that intense (because honestly there’s really no way he’d ever step within twenty feet of rotting pig’s flesh, let alone engage in hands-on work, not even for the sake of his art), but the aftershocks of accidentally impaling himself after tripping on Grandma’s basket of knitting needles and Imperial Purple yarn at the tender age of six had, more or less, left a lasting impression.
The problem was that the amount of gore in his current series couldn’t possibly be accurately represented using one measly tube of Alizarin Crimson, or fuckin’ “Rosso Corsa,” or really any other “shade” of red that looked exactly the same as the one next to it. Because of this fact Gerard was now attempting to locate the paint supplies in the newly remodeled arts and crafts store. He had stumbled upon the yarn section completely by accident. The stock of paint used to reside where the Wall of Yarn now stands, daunting with its towering height and a rainbow’s array of colors.
He remains standing in front of twenty rolls of Manganese Blue, his feet frozen to the floor in shock. Since when had the art supply store had a yarn section at all, let alone one this large?
“Just because you’ve never been in the yarn section doesn’t mean it didn’t exist in the first place, you stupid fuck.” Mikey’s voice comes unbidden and unwanted in his mind.
Gerard purses his lips irritably and directs a glare at the Indigo Tile.
“Hey, can I help you with anything?”
Gerard spins to face the owner of the voice that had spoken. Before him stands a young man: tiny, tattooed, and the type of hot guy that was totally out of Gerard’s league (and therefore totally his type).
Taking Gerard’s silence as a prompt for help, the young man smiles and says, “You look kind of lost.”
“Uhhh, no, I’m really just, you know, browsing.” Gerard avoids eye contact and swallows hard.
“Browsing for anything in particular?”
Gerard chances a slightly nervous look at the employee, who wets his lips and returns the other’s gaze. “Just... just some new, uh, new... knitting needles?”
Knitting needles? Fucking knitting needles? Gerard almost groans aloud in embarrassment. Yeah, knitting needles. Real cool, Gerard. Why don’t you tell him that you write Star Wars fanfiction in your spare time, too. That’ll really get him hot for your dick.
“You like to knit?”
Maybe it's the way the young man says it, delighted, the words tumbling out alongside his crooked grin and mischievous eyes, but a moment later Gerard hears himself stammer, “Uh, yeah, l-love it… ?”
“Dude, knitting’s awesome.”
“Yeah, isn’t it? Most people, uh, think it’s, like, boring or whatever.”
The young man sends him a wide smile. “I’m Frank. I knit, too.”
Oh, of course, he would love to knit. Of fucking course. “Oh, really? Huh. That’s, uh, that’s cool. I’m-I’m Gerard?”
And then fucking “Frank” licks his lips again, tugging his silver lip ring into his mouth for an excruciating half-a-second (although Gerard could have sworn it was at least three, given slow-motion in which he views the hot art store employee’s tongue-to-lip-ring action).
Frank’s mouth is obscene.
“So you said you wanted some new needles?”
Gerard suppresses a shudder at Frank’s question, because generally anything that was sharp, able to cause great amounts of pain, and a word starting with an “n” and ending in “eedles” should really stay the fuck away from him. Given his almost-death-by-Grandma’s-knitting-basket experience, Gerard isn’t too keen on the idea of getting near knitting needles, let alone buying a pair. Yet instead of announcing his phobia to the hot employee, or even at the very least politely declining Frank’s attempt to assist, Gerard awkwardly nods his head and hums in the affirmative.
“Were you looking for any kind in particular? A certain brand? Type?”
“Uh, nope.” Gerard tries to sink deeper into his hoodie. “I was just, you know, like, feeling a new set or whatever.”
“Well, I’m sure I can help you find the set you’re ‘feeling…’”
~*~*~
Forty minutes later Gerard arrives back at his apartment.
When he’d left his home initially, he’d been carrying:
(1) black leather wallet (containing $57.38, three receipts, two ticket stubs, and two condoms: one of which he was pretty sure had been there since his high school Sex Ed. class when the teacher had handed them out),
(1) slightly crushed, half-empty packet of Marlboro cigarettes, and
(2) fine-tipped, black sharpie markers.
When he’d stopped at Starbucks on the way to the art store, he’d acquired:
(1) cup of outrageously overpriced coffee, and
(1) slightly used napkin (on which he had sketched a fucking awesome picture of a vampire tearing some cheerleader’s throat out).
When he’d arrived at the art store, he’d been expecting to return home with:
(1) new bucket of red paint, and
(3) new paintbrushes.
Instead, with the help of an exceptionally hot dude wearing an employee uniform, Gerard had managed to tell some boldfaced lies, get himself into one awkward situation, buy some yarn, and a set of crimson knitting needles (because, really, if he was going to have to own a pair, they might as well match his other art supplies).
No other items had ever been quite so unwelcome in his living space, not even his brother Mikey.
Then Gerard had come to the startling realization that, if he ever wanted to see Frank (or “F’n’stein,” as his nametag had said) ever again, he would need to, “fuckin’ learn how to goddamn knit some shit. Fuck.”
~*~*~
If one desires to learn a new skill on the down low, Youtube videos are the way to go. The site is a (nearly) endless source of information, Gerard discovers, with user tutorials ranging anywhere from “Learn How to Make a Lined Hoodie,” to “How to Give a Good Blowjob.”
He ends up picking a tutorial entitled “How to Knit-the Basics,” which had just over two millions views, and therefore must be of some use. (Although it should be noted that he did bookmark “How to Give a Good Blowjob” for later, because one could always learn new techniques. And who knew? Maybe once he’s charmed and impressed Frank the Hot Employee with his mad knitting skills, he could further woo the young man via his tongue on Frank’s cock.)
Settling against the fluffy cushions of his couch, a hated ball of dark grey yarn and a set of knitting needles resting next to him as his only company, Gerard presses the play button.
~*~*~
“I still have my first, too,” Frank says the next time Gerard visits the art store, about a week and a half later.
“Uh, I’m sorry; your-your first what?”
Frank giggles, the sound almost as cute as the man to whom it belonged. “My first scarf. The first one I ever knit. I still wear it sometimes, too.”
“Oh. Yeah. Hahaha.” Gerard gulps, fiddling with the poorly put-together length of knitted fabric. “Sentimental value, you know?”
“Dude, I totally get that.” Frank pauses, audibly clearing his throat before adding, “So, uh, I go to this knitting group-thing once a week, and I thought you might like to come? You know, ‘cause you like knitting and stuff, too, so…”
An awkward silence follows the statement.
“Or, I mean, I guess that’s pretty lame,” Frank hurries to add after the awkward silence stretched several more seconds, “Never mind. I just thought-”
“No, I’d love to.” Gerard cuts in and then nearly punches himself in the face. In no way, shape, or form would “he love to” go to a knitting group, not even for Frank the Hot Art Store Employee with his charming, crooked smile, mischievous eyes, and goddamned adorable giggle. Knitting that damn piece-of-shit-scarf had taken fucking forever.
How the fuck was he supposed sit in front of Frank and pretend he actually knew what he was doing?
Obviously he wouldn’t be going.
But Frank didn’t know that.
With the appearance of Frank’s answering grin, Gerard’s heart stutters and catches in his throat. “So, um, yeah. I’ll… I guess I’ll just go now. Yeah. Nice, uh, nice seeing you, Frank…”
“Wait! I haven’t even given you the time! Or that address!”
“Oh. Yeah. Um.”
“You got a pen?”
“Y-yeah. Hold a second…” Gerard fishes around in his jacket pocket. A moment later his hand emerges with a fine-tipped Sharpie marker. He stares at the marker for several seconds before handing it over, as though surprised to find it there even though he always made sure to carry several pens in each one of his jackets.
Frank sends him another crooked smile, and damned if Gerard doesn’t feel a little weak in the knees. “Thanks.”
~*~*~
“He’s almost an hour late. He’s not coming.” Frank says with a sigh, needles clicking together rhythmically. “Ten minutes is running slightly behind. Thirty minutes is ‘I forgot what time it started.’ Anyone who’s this late isn’t going to show up at all.”
Elena hums in sympathy. “Really, Frank, you are just too precious. What’s this boy’s name again?”
“Gerard.” Frank sighs longingly, thinking of the way the young man had looked when he’d seen him in the art supply store a few days prior. Black hair mussed from sleep, eyes drowsy and inviting, voice raspy from lack of use.
Frank had almost jumped him right then and there to have his wicked way with him.
Instead he’d invited him to his knitting group.
And he hadn’t even shown.
“My grandson’s name is Gerard, too, you know,” Elena replies after a moment, “but he hates it when I knit around him. Poor thing tripped on my knitting basket when he was six and hurt himself. Hasn’t gone near yarn or knitting needles since, if he can help it…”
Frank tries to pay attention to Elena, he really does, but he just can’t stop thinking about Gerard and his long, ink-smudged fingers, and his crooked, pink mouth, and the fact that he’d promised he’d be here, but he wasn’t.
Had he come on too strong? Had inviting him to a knitting group really been as stupid as it sounded? Was Gerard not a fan of his braid cable?
That’s obviously not the problem, Frank thinks, mechanically starting a new row, he hasn’t even seen my braid cable yet.
~*~*~
“Gerard?” A voice drifts from around the end cap. Frank perks up upon hearing the artist’s name. He isn’t really the type to eavesdrop, but he can’t stop himself from listening.
“Hey, Mikes…”
“Dude, what the fuck is with you lately?”
“Er, what-what do you mean?” Gerard stammers in response. Frank bites his lip, holding back a smile as he imagined the way Gerard would duck his head.
“You don’t even fucking like knitting and now you’re, like, buying all these fucking knitting supplies that you don’t even use.”
“What?” Frank isn’t aware he’s spoken aloud until Gerard whips his head around.
“Shit! Frank!” Gerard curses, eyes wide and that pretty, crooked mouth Frank can’t stop thinking about dropped open. “It’s not what it looks like!”
“Then what is it, Gerard?” The question is rhetorical. Frank isn’t stupid; he’s maybe a bit gullible and too trusting, but he can figure out what’s going on.
“It’s, you know, it’s--I just--” Gerard is stumbling over his words, but Frank isn’t letting himself fall for the man’s watery, puppy-dog look.
“You just what?”
“I just--I didn’t know you liked knitting, or anything, when I said I was looking for knitting needles. I only said it because it was the first thing that came to mind but then you said something about it, and I didn’t want to say how I actually didn’t know how to knit, or that I ever wanted to, so I just kind of went along with it, and then you invited me out to a knitting group, like, I didn’t even know there were knitting groups other than the ones my Grandma goes to, and, wow, that was really rude, wasn’t it? I didn’t mean it to say it like that--”
“You’re really not making the situation better.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say!” Gerard wrings his hands, bottom lip trembling.
“Actually, I don’t think I want you to say anything.” Frank sighs, eyes cold and hard. His chest feels tight, like he’s getting sick again. “Don’t talk to me. I feel really fucking stupid right now and I’d appreciate it if you left me alone for awhile.”
He starts to walk off, but Gerard grabs him by the elbow. “Wait! Frank, please--”
Frank shakes him off. “I said, leave me alone.”
He hears a tentative, “...Gerard?” behind him from the other man. He doesn’t stay to listen this time.
~*~*~
Gerard shuffles hesitantly into store three days later during one of Frank’s shifts. Frank refuses to engage him in conversation, ignoring his not-so-subtle coughs, throat clearing, and generally nervous fidgeting as he continues to stack the new batch of yarn rolls on the shelves in front of him.
Finally Gerard says pointedly, “Hey, Frank...”
“I thought I told you I wanted you to leave me alone for a little while.”
“Yeah, but, like,” Gerard bites his bottom lip hard, leaving it red and irritated when he lets go, “we left off on kind of a bad point? I just wanted to, I don’t know, I just wanted to, like, tell you that I really like you and I’m sorry I lied.”
Frank pauses with a hand on a roll of Medium Sea Green yarn. “You didn’t have to lie to me, you know. A lot of people don’t like to knit; it’s not like it’s a requirement that you need to know how to knit in order to date me.” He draws in a breath. “And the knitting thing wasn’t even that big of a deal, you know? It’s that you lied to me and I fell for it. Repeatedly.”
“Can we start over, or something fucking cheesy like that?”
Frank raises a skeptical eyebrow and sends it to Gerard over his shoulder. “You think pretending it never happened is the best to way deal with this?”
“No!” Gerard blushes and stares at the tops of his shoes before taking a step closer. “I just wanted to get things... out in the open?”
“Things?” Frank turns around to face him fully. “What kind of things?”
“Things like how I really am sorry I lied to you, and how I’m actually really fucking shit at knitting no matter how many Youtube videos I watch.” He takes another step, raising his eyes to meet Frank’s, hearing the catch in Frank’s throat when he says, “Things like how I really fucking like you, and how I keep coming into this art store and buying shit I can’t afford, because I want to see you, and talk to you, and make you smile.”
Gerard leans in, his breath ghosting across Frank’s lips as he says with a smile, “Things like how I wouldn’t be opposed to learning how to knit properly, if you were the one to teach me.”
Frank stares at him hard, unmoving, breathing slightly shallow. Ever so slowly, Frank lifts a hand, curling it around the back of Gerard’s neck, pressing his thumb into the pulse point right beneath the curve of his jaw.
The space between their lips is closed between one breath and the next. Frank sucks Gerard’s bottom lip into his mouth, tasting the slight tang of blood left on Gerard’s bitten lips. Gerard moans a bit, clutching at Frank's hips and returning the kiss full force.
“Frank! This is a family store!” the manager, Brian, gasps scandalized as he turns the corner. “Keep your fucking tongue out of the customers’ mouths.”
Frank giggles, pulling back but keeping his fingers on Gerard’s neck. His voice is low, husky, suggestive as he says, “So I get off work at six. Wanna see my braid cable?”
~ Fin ~
Pairing: Frank/Gerard
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,756
Warnings: excessive use of the word "fuck," mentions of Gerard bookmarking "How to Give a Good Blowjob" videos on Youtube, and Frank being sad.
Disclaimer: This is called "fanfiction" for a reason.
Summary: An AU in which Gerard is afraid of knitting needles instead of the regular kind and has the hots for a tiny, tattooed art store employee with a fondness for knitting.
A/N: So this was the first Frank/Gerard fanfic I ever tried to write (O____o) and I never bothered to finish it, so I thought I might as well do it now. I fixed it up and changed a bunch, but you can probably still tell where I came in later to finish it. XD
THE KNITTING KIND
Gerard hates needles.
Specifically, he hates knitting needles.
In fact, Gerard hates knitting needles so much that he would rather use the rotting organs of a dead pig for an art project than attempt to fumble his way through a “pfb” or a “p2tog,” or whatever the fuck that shit was. And, okay, so maybe his hatred wasn’t actually quite that intense (because honestly there’s really no way he’d ever step within twenty feet of rotting pig’s flesh, let alone engage in hands-on work, not even for the sake of his art), but the aftershocks of accidentally impaling himself after tripping on Grandma’s basket of knitting needles and Imperial Purple yarn at the tender age of six had, more or less, left a lasting impression.
The problem was that the amount of gore in his current series couldn’t possibly be accurately represented using one measly tube of Alizarin Crimson, or fuckin’ “Rosso Corsa,” or really any other “shade” of red that looked exactly the same as the one next to it. Because of this fact Gerard was now attempting to locate the paint supplies in the newly remodeled arts and crafts store. He had stumbled upon the yarn section completely by accident. The stock of paint used to reside where the Wall of Yarn now stands, daunting with its towering height and a rainbow’s array of colors.
He remains standing in front of twenty rolls of Manganese Blue, his feet frozen to the floor in shock. Since when had the art supply store had a yarn section at all, let alone one this large?
“Just because you’ve never been in the yarn section doesn’t mean it didn’t exist in the first place, you stupid fuck.” Mikey’s voice comes unbidden and unwanted in his mind.
Gerard purses his lips irritably and directs a glare at the Indigo Tile.
“Hey, can I help you with anything?”
Gerard spins to face the owner of the voice that had spoken. Before him stands a young man: tiny, tattooed, and the type of hot guy that was totally out of Gerard’s league (and therefore totally his type).
Taking Gerard’s silence as a prompt for help, the young man smiles and says, “You look kind of lost.”
“Uhhh, no, I’m really just, you know, browsing.” Gerard avoids eye contact and swallows hard.
“Browsing for anything in particular?”
Gerard chances a slightly nervous look at the employee, who wets his lips and returns the other’s gaze. “Just... just some new, uh, new... knitting needles?”
Knitting needles? Fucking knitting needles? Gerard almost groans aloud in embarrassment. Yeah, knitting needles. Real cool, Gerard. Why don’t you tell him that you write Star Wars fanfiction in your spare time, too. That’ll really get him hot for your dick.
“You like to knit?”
Maybe it's the way the young man says it, delighted, the words tumbling out alongside his crooked grin and mischievous eyes, but a moment later Gerard hears himself stammer, “Uh, yeah, l-love it… ?”
“Dude, knitting’s awesome.”
“Yeah, isn’t it? Most people, uh, think it’s, like, boring or whatever.”
The young man sends him a wide smile. “I’m Frank. I knit, too.”
Oh, of course, he would love to knit. Of fucking course. “Oh, really? Huh. That’s, uh, that’s cool. I’m-I’m Gerard?”
And then fucking “Frank” licks his lips again, tugging his silver lip ring into his mouth for an excruciating half-a-second (although Gerard could have sworn it was at least three, given slow-motion in which he views the hot art store employee’s tongue-to-lip-ring action).
Frank’s mouth is obscene.
“So you said you wanted some new needles?”
Gerard suppresses a shudder at Frank’s question, because generally anything that was sharp, able to cause great amounts of pain, and a word starting with an “n” and ending in “eedles” should really stay the fuck away from him. Given his almost-death-by-Grandma’s-knitting-basket experience, Gerard isn’t too keen on the idea of getting near knitting needles, let alone buying a pair. Yet instead of announcing his phobia to the hot employee, or even at the very least politely declining Frank’s attempt to assist, Gerard awkwardly nods his head and hums in the affirmative.
“Were you looking for any kind in particular? A certain brand? Type?”
“Uh, nope.” Gerard tries to sink deeper into his hoodie. “I was just, you know, like, feeling a new set or whatever.”
“Well, I’m sure I can help you find the set you’re ‘feeling…’”
~*~*~
Forty minutes later Gerard arrives back at his apartment.
When he’d left his home initially, he’d been carrying:
(1) black leather wallet (containing $57.38, three receipts, two ticket stubs, and two condoms: one of which he was pretty sure had been there since his high school Sex Ed. class when the teacher had handed them out),
(1) slightly crushed, half-empty packet of Marlboro cigarettes, and
(2) fine-tipped, black sharpie markers.
When he’d stopped at Starbucks on the way to the art store, he’d acquired:
(1) cup of outrageously overpriced coffee, and
(1) slightly used napkin (on which he had sketched a fucking awesome picture of a vampire tearing some cheerleader’s throat out).
When he’d arrived at the art store, he’d been expecting to return home with:
(1) new bucket of red paint, and
(3) new paintbrushes.
Instead, with the help of an exceptionally hot dude wearing an employee uniform, Gerard had managed to tell some boldfaced lies, get himself into one awkward situation, buy some yarn, and a set of crimson knitting needles (because, really, if he was going to have to own a pair, they might as well match his other art supplies).
No other items had ever been quite so unwelcome in his living space, not even his brother Mikey.
Then Gerard had come to the startling realization that, if he ever wanted to see Frank (or “F’n’stein,” as his nametag had said) ever again, he would need to, “fuckin’ learn how to goddamn knit some shit. Fuck.”
~*~*~
If one desires to learn a new skill on the down low, Youtube videos are the way to go. The site is a (nearly) endless source of information, Gerard discovers, with user tutorials ranging anywhere from “Learn How to Make a Lined Hoodie,” to “How to Give a Good Blowjob.”
He ends up picking a tutorial entitled “How to Knit-the Basics,” which had just over two millions views, and therefore must be of some use. (Although it should be noted that he did bookmark “How to Give a Good Blowjob” for later, because one could always learn new techniques. And who knew? Maybe once he’s charmed and impressed Frank the Hot Employee with his mad knitting skills, he could further woo the young man via his tongue on Frank’s cock.)
Settling against the fluffy cushions of his couch, a hated ball of dark grey yarn and a set of knitting needles resting next to him as his only company, Gerard presses the play button.
~*~*~
“I still have my first, too,” Frank says the next time Gerard visits the art store, about a week and a half later.
“Uh, I’m sorry; your-your first what?”
Frank giggles, the sound almost as cute as the man to whom it belonged. “My first scarf. The first one I ever knit. I still wear it sometimes, too.”
“Oh. Yeah. Hahaha.” Gerard gulps, fiddling with the poorly put-together length of knitted fabric. “Sentimental value, you know?”
“Dude, I totally get that.” Frank pauses, audibly clearing his throat before adding, “So, uh, I go to this knitting group-thing once a week, and I thought you might like to come? You know, ‘cause you like knitting and stuff, too, so…”
An awkward silence follows the statement.
“Or, I mean, I guess that’s pretty lame,” Frank hurries to add after the awkward silence stretched several more seconds, “Never mind. I just thought-”
“No, I’d love to.” Gerard cuts in and then nearly punches himself in the face. In no way, shape, or form would “he love to” go to a knitting group, not even for Frank the Hot Art Store Employee with his charming, crooked smile, mischievous eyes, and goddamned adorable giggle. Knitting that damn piece-of-shit-scarf had taken fucking forever.
How the fuck was he supposed sit in front of Frank and pretend he actually knew what he was doing?
Obviously he wouldn’t be going.
But Frank didn’t know that.
With the appearance of Frank’s answering grin, Gerard’s heart stutters and catches in his throat. “So, um, yeah. I’ll… I guess I’ll just go now. Yeah. Nice, uh, nice seeing you, Frank…”
“Wait! I haven’t even given you the time! Or that address!”
“Oh. Yeah. Um.”
“You got a pen?”
“Y-yeah. Hold a second…” Gerard fishes around in his jacket pocket. A moment later his hand emerges with a fine-tipped Sharpie marker. He stares at the marker for several seconds before handing it over, as though surprised to find it there even though he always made sure to carry several pens in each one of his jackets.
Frank sends him another crooked smile, and damned if Gerard doesn’t feel a little weak in the knees. “Thanks.”
~*~*~
“He’s almost an hour late. He’s not coming.” Frank says with a sigh, needles clicking together rhythmically. “Ten minutes is running slightly behind. Thirty minutes is ‘I forgot what time it started.’ Anyone who’s this late isn’t going to show up at all.”
Elena hums in sympathy. “Really, Frank, you are just too precious. What’s this boy’s name again?”
“Gerard.” Frank sighs longingly, thinking of the way the young man had looked when he’d seen him in the art supply store a few days prior. Black hair mussed from sleep, eyes drowsy and inviting, voice raspy from lack of use.
Frank had almost jumped him right then and there to have his wicked way with him.
Instead he’d invited him to his knitting group.
And he hadn’t even shown.
“My grandson’s name is Gerard, too, you know,” Elena replies after a moment, “but he hates it when I knit around him. Poor thing tripped on my knitting basket when he was six and hurt himself. Hasn’t gone near yarn or knitting needles since, if he can help it…”
Frank tries to pay attention to Elena, he really does, but he just can’t stop thinking about Gerard and his long, ink-smudged fingers, and his crooked, pink mouth, and the fact that he’d promised he’d be here, but he wasn’t.
Had he come on too strong? Had inviting him to a knitting group really been as stupid as it sounded? Was Gerard not a fan of his braid cable?
That’s obviously not the problem, Frank thinks, mechanically starting a new row, he hasn’t even seen my braid cable yet.
~*~*~
“Gerard?” A voice drifts from around the end cap. Frank perks up upon hearing the artist’s name. He isn’t really the type to eavesdrop, but he can’t stop himself from listening.
“Hey, Mikes…”
“Dude, what the fuck is with you lately?”
“Er, what-what do you mean?” Gerard stammers in response. Frank bites his lip, holding back a smile as he imagined the way Gerard would duck his head.
“You don’t even fucking like knitting and now you’re, like, buying all these fucking knitting supplies that you don’t even use.”
“What?” Frank isn’t aware he’s spoken aloud until Gerard whips his head around.
“Shit! Frank!” Gerard curses, eyes wide and that pretty, crooked mouth Frank can’t stop thinking about dropped open. “It’s not what it looks like!”
“Then what is it, Gerard?” The question is rhetorical. Frank isn’t stupid; he’s maybe a bit gullible and too trusting, but he can figure out what’s going on.
“It’s, you know, it’s--I just--” Gerard is stumbling over his words, but Frank isn’t letting himself fall for the man’s watery, puppy-dog look.
“You just what?”
“I just--I didn’t know you liked knitting, or anything, when I said I was looking for knitting needles. I only said it because it was the first thing that came to mind but then you said something about it, and I didn’t want to say how I actually didn’t know how to knit, or that I ever wanted to, so I just kind of went along with it, and then you invited me out to a knitting group, like, I didn’t even know there were knitting groups other than the ones my Grandma goes to, and, wow, that was really rude, wasn’t it? I didn’t mean it to say it like that--”
“You’re really not making the situation better.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say!” Gerard wrings his hands, bottom lip trembling.
“Actually, I don’t think I want you to say anything.” Frank sighs, eyes cold and hard. His chest feels tight, like he’s getting sick again. “Don’t talk to me. I feel really fucking stupid right now and I’d appreciate it if you left me alone for awhile.”
He starts to walk off, but Gerard grabs him by the elbow. “Wait! Frank, please--”
Frank shakes him off. “I said, leave me alone.”
He hears a tentative, “...Gerard?” behind him from the other man. He doesn’t stay to listen this time.
~*~*~
Gerard shuffles hesitantly into store three days later during one of Frank’s shifts. Frank refuses to engage him in conversation, ignoring his not-so-subtle coughs, throat clearing, and generally nervous fidgeting as he continues to stack the new batch of yarn rolls on the shelves in front of him.
Finally Gerard says pointedly, “Hey, Frank...”
“I thought I told you I wanted you to leave me alone for a little while.”
“Yeah, but, like,” Gerard bites his bottom lip hard, leaving it red and irritated when he lets go, “we left off on kind of a bad point? I just wanted to, I don’t know, I just wanted to, like, tell you that I really like you and I’m sorry I lied.”
Frank pauses with a hand on a roll of Medium Sea Green yarn. “You didn’t have to lie to me, you know. A lot of people don’t like to knit; it’s not like it’s a requirement that you need to know how to knit in order to date me.” He draws in a breath. “And the knitting thing wasn’t even that big of a deal, you know? It’s that you lied to me and I fell for it. Repeatedly.”
“Can we start over, or something fucking cheesy like that?”
Frank raises a skeptical eyebrow and sends it to Gerard over his shoulder. “You think pretending it never happened is the best to way deal with this?”
“No!” Gerard blushes and stares at the tops of his shoes before taking a step closer. “I just wanted to get things... out in the open?”
“Things?” Frank turns around to face him fully. “What kind of things?”
“Things like how I really am sorry I lied to you, and how I’m actually really fucking shit at knitting no matter how many Youtube videos I watch.” He takes another step, raising his eyes to meet Frank’s, hearing the catch in Frank’s throat when he says, “Things like how I really fucking like you, and how I keep coming into this art store and buying shit I can’t afford, because I want to see you, and talk to you, and make you smile.”
Gerard leans in, his breath ghosting across Frank’s lips as he says with a smile, “Things like how I wouldn’t be opposed to learning how to knit properly, if you were the one to teach me.”
Frank stares at him hard, unmoving, breathing slightly shallow. Ever so slowly, Frank lifts a hand, curling it around the back of Gerard’s neck, pressing his thumb into the pulse point right beneath the curve of his jaw.
The space between their lips is closed between one breath and the next. Frank sucks Gerard’s bottom lip into his mouth, tasting the slight tang of blood left on Gerard’s bitten lips. Gerard moans a bit, clutching at Frank's hips and returning the kiss full force.
“Frank! This is a family store!” the manager, Brian, gasps scandalized as he turns the corner. “Keep your fucking tongue out of the customers’ mouths.”
Frank giggles, pulling back but keeping his fingers on Gerard’s neck. His voice is low, husky, suggestive as he says, “So I get off work at six. Wanna see my braid cable?”
~ Fin ~