Various Ficlets (all Frank/Gerard)
I was feeling a bit blah about my bbb fic today, and I haven't written anything else in a disappointly long time, so I asked my twitter list for drabble requests. Only, I kind of fail at keeping things short, so these all turned into little ficlets.
for spuzz: werewolves and/or domestic!fic and/or kid!fic
Hi, I’m a Teenage Werewolf - 1230 words
Frank sits with his back to the wall, chin propped on his knees as he stares out the high garage window. The sun is still out, but the trees are starting to get that orange glow that comes with sunset. He guesses he has maybe an hour, maybe a little less, before the moon rises. The itch under his skin has been getting more intolerable all day, but now that it’s reached its peak, Frank can push the feeling to the back of his mind, like white noise.
He’s bored out of his mind, and there’s not even anything in the garage to keep him occupied. He’d rather be bored than rip a book to shreds or smash his iPod, though, so he stares out the window, at the tips of the trees.
Suddenly, a small pebble hits the window. Then another one, like he’s in a fucking romantic comedy or something. A third rock taps the window.
“Hey!” he shouts. The barrage of rocks stops. Frank stands up; he’s only just tall enough to see out the high window. A face not his own appears in the window like a fucked-up reflection and Frank reels back in surprise. He maybe cries out as well, but he’ll deny that if anyone mentions it.
“Frank!”
“Gerard, what are you doing here?” Frank asks, once he catches his breath.
Gerard just grins and raps his knuckles on the reinforced glass. “Came to bail you out. I think I can break it.”
“Gee, no, you can’t-”
“I brought a brick. Just stand back,” Gerard says.
“No!” Frank cries. “No, you can’t, I can’t leave. You shouldn’t be here.” Frank gives Gerard a stern look and Gerard frowns.
“Why not? Why are you all locked up, anyway, Frank, what the fuck?”
“I’m not locked up,” Frank lies through gritted teeth. Part of him-and Frank knows exactly which part-hates to be reminded that he can’t get out. He says, “I just need to stay here tonight,” which is true. “Please just leave me alone. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
“Frank, what’s going on?” Gerard asks plaintively.
The sky is getting darker behind Gerard. Frank can feel the moon getting closer to rising now; it’s more than just an itch under his skin. He’s practically vibrating with energy.
“Leave me alone,” he growls, smacking one fist against the window pane right in front of Gerard’s face.
“Frank-”
Frank pushes off from the window and paces the length of the room. The feeling doesn’t subside, of course, so Frank walks around the room again, his hands clenching and unclenching. He knows once the sun sets, he’ll start losing control of himself, and Gerard can’t see that. Frank takes a few deep breaths and approaches the window again, where Gerard’s watching him with obvious concern.
“Gee,” Frank says, in the steadiest voice he can manage, “I need to be alone right now, okay? I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Me and Mikey are gonna have a Star Wars marathon,” Gerard replies quietly. “I even got beer. Come over, Frankie.”
Frank shivers all over and grabs the window frame tight. “I can’t,” he mumbles. “Go home, Gee.”
Gerard looks really hurt, but he backs away from the window. Frank breathes out a sigh of relief; he can patch up whatever damage he’s caused when he’s fully human again. There’s not much light coming in through the window anymore, and Frank can feel the moment the sun disappears completely. He shivers again, really shakes this time, with his whole body, and it’s hard to stay upright. Then the moon rises-Frank knows that feeling, he’d know it anywhere-and it crashes over Frank like a wave. He falls to his knees with a loud cry.
The wolf in him whirls his body around to face the window, already searching for the bright light of the moon. Frank’s gums bleed as his teeth change and grow, sharper, cutting his tongue and his lips. Blood drips over his chin and throat and stains the collar of his t-shirt.
Gerard’s face is pale and scared in the window. Their eyes lock for a moment. Frank can’t speak anymore, he can’t tell Gerard to fucking leave him alone. The next wave of the change hits and Frank doubles over, breaking eye contact and screaming. Gerard’s not going to leave, he realizes, through the haze of pain. Gerard’s going to know.
***
Gerard’s sitting on Frank’s bed when Frank stumbles up the stairs to his bedroom the next morning. He doesn’t look tired, but Gerard’s practically nocturnal, and Frank knows he didn’t sleep.
“Have you been here all night?” he asks wearily. Gerard moves over a little so Frank can sit down. Their knees touch. Frank realizes after a moment that he’s still naked, and grabs a pillow to hold over his lap.
“Your mom let me in this morning before she left for work. She said you were staying at your dad’s place,” Gerard says quietly.
Frank looks down at the frayed hem of the pillowcase, afraid to meet his friend’s eyes.
“I was outside the garage most of the night,” Gerard adds, in an even smaller voice. “I’m sorry.”
“You should’ve gone home,” Frank whispers. “I told you to leave me alone.”
“You were screaming, Frank, I couldn’t fucking leave you alone.”
“I know how to handle it.”
“But I don’t,” Gerard argues. “How was I supposed to know what was happening? What was I supposed to think? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“This isn’t the kind of thing you just tell you friends,” Frank murmurs. “What was I supposed to say, ‘Hi, I’m a teenage werewolf’?” He sighs. “I told you to leave.”
Gerard reaches up and gently rubs his thumb over Frank’s chin. His hand comes away smeared with red. Frank flushes and clings to his pillow. “You were bleeding, Frank. Screaming. I didn’t know what was happening, and I couldn’t just leave you like that. Sorry if my thoughts didn’t immediately jump to werewolf.”
“They should have,” Frank teases weakly.
Gerard gives him a slow grin. “Yeah, maybe they should have.” He touches Frank’s face again, cups his cheek. “I’m sorry, Frankie.”
Frank lifts one shoulder in a shrug, wincing at the soreness. He finally looks up and meets Gerard’s eyes. “Well, now you know,” he says steadily. “This is my deep, dark secret.”
Gerard holds his gaze, trapping him. Frank can’t look away. “I wish it didn’t hurt,” Gerard whispers.
“It’s not that bad,” Frank tries. He licks his lips, ignoring the familiar taste of blood.
“You’re lying,” Gerard says. He leans forward, so slowly it’s almost imperceptible, and Frank finds himself mirroring him. “I hate it when things hurt you.”
Frank’s about to shake his head, say something like, “I didn’t know you cared so much,” but before he can get the words out, Gerard closes the distance between them and his lips slide slowly, gently, perfectly over Frank’s. Frank’s brain can’t even compute the sudden change from aching soreness everywhere to exquisite pleasure.
Gerard pulls away some indeterminate amount of time later, and it takes a few seconds for Frank to pry his eyelids open. There’s a tiny smear of blood at the corner of Gerard’s mouth, and his cheeks are flushed pink.
“I care, Frank,” he says quietly.
Frank manages a small smile. “I’m glad.”
fin.
for strobelighted: Frank/Gerard, Frank as a conman
For A Price - 655 words
Frank stashes the thirty bucks and hands over two admittance tickets, printed on cardstock to give them a little more realism. He gives the guy a brochure, which he swiped from the museum earlier in the day, and a bright smile. “Thank you! The museum’s open until six, but the ticket’s good all week, so take your time. It’s worth the trip, I promise!”
The guy and his fiancée say thanks and turn away. Frank always likes it when his customers thank him for taking their money. It feels less like he’s stealing it, that way.
Next up is a family of four, on vacation, and he gives them a bogus “family pass” for fifty dollars. The kids seem excited. Too bad the parents will have to pay for the tickets again once they get to the museum.
There’s a man in line after that, and he steps into place with an amused smile. Large black sunglasses cover the top of his face.
“Just one?” Frank asks cheerfully.
“I know who you are, Frank Iero,” the man says, which is unfair, because he didn’t give Frank his name.
“Okay,” Frank replies, shrugging it off. “Do I know you?”
“I know what you’re doing, too.” He takes off his sunglasses and rests them atop his tangle of black hair. Then he pulls out a shiny badge and lays it flat on Frank’s little folding table.
Frank deflates, barely stopping himself from cursing aloud. The identification reads Detective Gerard Way, and if Detective Gerard Way knows his name, Frank’s pretty much fucked.
“I’m gonna need to check out your cash box,” Detective Way says, still with that fucking amused smile. Frank sighs and spins the box around. There’s about four hundred bucks in there, including the small bills Frank put in this morning to use for change, but that’s really the least of Frank’s worries right now.
“Yeah, I’m gonna have to confiscate this.” Detective Way snaps the box shut, flips the latch closed, and lifts it off the table. He gives Frank a cheerful wave and turns to walk away. “Have a nice day!” he calls over his shoulder.
Frank stands there in stunned silence for a moment, then he jumps out from behind his table and goes running after the detective. It doesn’t take him long to catch up.
“Wait,” Frank says as they walk. “Why aren’t you arresting me?”
“Do you want to be arrested?”
“No. But I broke the law, isn’t that how it works?”
“Forgot my handcuffs,” the detective replies simply. “Don’t do it again. You’re off the hook.”
Frank stops short. Gerard keeps walking. “Motherfucker!” Frank gasps, then dashes to catch up again. “Give me my money back, asshole. Where’d you get that badge? Is Gerard Way your real name?”
“Oh my god,” Gerard groans. “Yes, it’s my real name, and my brother made me the badge, and no, I’m not giving you back your fucking money. It’s mine now, I conned it off you fair and square.”
“You can’t con and con man, fuckhead,” Frank says, rolling his eyes. He makes a grab for the cash box but Gerard deftly moves it out of his reach. “Can your brother make me one too? Hey, maybe we could all work together! The best cons all need more than one person. We’d be a totally awesome team!”
“Oh my god.”
“Please?” Frank asks. He darts out in front of Gerard and clasps his hands together. Paired with the sad-puppy-eyes, he’ll get his way. That look’s earned him a lot of money in the past.
And it seems Gerard Way is not immune. He rolls his eyes and jerks his head towards a parking lot. Frank flashes him a grin and falls back into step beside him.
“Mikey’s gonna kill me,” Gerard says under his breath.
“Can’t wait to meet him,” Frank replies happily. “We’re gonna be the best, just you wait and see.”
fin.
for fleurdeliser: Frank/Gerard, “the wheels on the bus”
Audition - 614 words
Frank’s leaning over the back of the seat, both fists held out, and Mikey obediently taps one of them. Frank turns his hand palm up: empty. He flips forward again, cackling with glee, and then turns the opposite way, leaning over the seat in Gerard’s direction. He holds up his fists.
“I’m not playing,” Gerard says, rolling his eyes.
“Then you lose.”
“I don’t care.”
Frank wiggles his hands in what Gerard assumes is supposed to be an enticing manner. “Come on,” he wheedles, “if you guess right, you get to keep it.”
“I don’t even know what it is,” Gerard protests.
“That’s the whole fun of it!” Frank says, eyes glinting. He shakes his fists again.
Gerard rolls his eyes again, for good measure, and sees Mikey smirking at him from across the van. Gerard ignores him and reaches out to tap Frank’s left hand.
The moment his fingertips touch Frank’s skin, the van jerks to the side and swerves off the road. Gerard grabs Frank’s hand on instinct, holding him tightly as they sway with the movement of the car. Matt drives them into the grass and they all clamber out to see what happened.
It’s Ray who discovers the problem. He kicks the front-right tire. “Blowout,” he calls.
“Do we have a spare?” Matt asks, glancing at Gerard in concern.
Gerard looks at Mikey and then back at Matt. Seriously, like he would know?
“I think there’s one in the trunk?” Mikey offers.
“Have none of you guys changed a fucking tire before?” Frank asks. “Jesus Christ, I’ll do it.”
And he does, too. He and Ray manhandle the tire out of the trunk-after unloading all the equipment to the side of the road, of course-and Frank kneels down next to the broken tire (“It’s flat, you idiot, not broken,” Frank mutters) and starts taking it off the van.
Matt goes over to guard the equipment and have a smoke break while Ray and Mikey both go back inside the van. Gerard stays out with Frank, ostensibly to offer assistance, but mostly just to watch. Frank gets his hands really dirty and gross, and he’s sweating a little by the time he’s done, and the new tire doesn’t fall off or anything, so Gerard assumes Frank was successful.
“Do you want to be in our band?” Gerard blurts out. Frank stops moving with both hands on the flat tire, ready to push it towards the trunk.
“Why, because I can change a tire?” Frank asks, not looking at him.
“Yes,” Gerard answers. “Well, and the fact that I think we need you.”
Frank stands up straight and wipes his hands on his jeans. “You’re serious?”
“Completely.” Gerard looks down at Frank’s grimy fingers. “You didn’t have anything in your hand before, did you?”
“I did, actually,” Frank replies in a weird, hesitant voice.
“Which hand?”
“Left.”
“So I was right.”
“Yeah.”
“So what was it?”
Frank meets Gerard’s eyes and chews on the corner of his lip for a second. “I’m not so sure I should give it to you, now.”
Gerard rolls his eyes. “Frank, come on.”
Apparently Frank didn’t need much convincing. He digs into his pocket and pulls out a tiny, crumpled scrap of paper. He hands it over. Gerard uncrumples it carefully, so it doesn’t rip, and inside is a little heart, drawn in pen, with xoxo f written underneath.
Gerard looks up and raises his eyebrow. “You’re serious?” he asks quietly.
“Completely,” Frank replies.
Gerard breaks into a grin and takes a step towards Frank. “I want you in my band, Frankie.”
Frank finally cracks a smile as well. “No place I’d rather be.”
fin.
for promisethstars: tattoos/piercings (any pairing)
Pumpkin - 434 words
Frank flips through a guitar magazine, both feet kicked up into the air behind him. Gerard, kneeling beside him on the floor, selects a red marker from his set and uncaps it thoughtfully.
“Hurry up, I want to see,” Frank says, turning another page. “Hey, this one looks pretty cool, what do you think?”
“Why do you need a new guitar, anyway?” Gerard asks absently, leaning down to touch the felt tip to Frank’s bare skin.
Frank shrugs and Gerard pinches him, a warning to keep still.
“I don’t know,” Frank finally replies. “I guess I don’t need one, but I want one. Ray has like, four stashed in his closet.”
“Borrow his, then.”
“I don’t want fucking hand-me-downs,” Frank says. “I want another one of my own.”
Gerard’s seen how Frank “customized” his first guitar with flashy stickers all over the white body, and he thinks of Ray’s pristine, perfect guitars. He can see why Frank doesn’t want to borrow them, or maybe why Ray won’t let Frank borrow them.
“Hold still,” Gerard says absently. He puts his hand gently on Frank’s shoulderblade, carefully guiding the marker in a perfect semicircle across Frank’s spine.
“Almost done? I want a picture before I wash it off, this time,” Frank says, turning his head.
“Sure, I’ll take a picture.”
“I’m gonna get this tattooed as soon as I’m eighteen, dude. It’s gonna be awesome.”
“You’re gonna get this tattooed?” Gerard asks in surprise. “This is just a random pumpkin I drew on your back one day, Frank.”
“And I’ve asked you to draw the same fucking pumpkin every time I come over here,” Frank replies, rolling his eyes. “I love it, Gee, why do you think I keep asking for it?”
“I guess,” Gerard says. It would be kind of cool to have his drawing on Frank permanently, though, he has to admit. “You’re seriously going to tattoo my pumpkin on your back?”
“Yeah, man! I’m counting down the days. It’s a birthday present to myself.”
Gerard leans over some more and brushes his lips over Frank’s smooth, clean skin. “You shouldn’t be dropping money on a guitar, then.”
Frank grins. “Can I roll over yet?”
Gerard blows on the design and touches it with his forefinger to make sure it won’t smudge before giving Frank the okay. Frank rolls over in place and grabs a handful of Gerard’s t-shirt.
“I can’t believe you’re getting that tattooed,” Gerard laughs. “You should’ve told me, I would’ve put more thought into it.”
Frank pulls him down for a quick kiss. “I want it because it’s yours, Gee.”
fin.
for spuzz: werewolves and/or domestic!fic and/or kid!fic
Hi, I’m a Teenage Werewolf - 1230 words
Frank sits with his back to the wall, chin propped on his knees as he stares out the high garage window. The sun is still out, but the trees are starting to get that orange glow that comes with sunset. He guesses he has maybe an hour, maybe a little less, before the moon rises. The itch under his skin has been getting more intolerable all day, but now that it’s reached its peak, Frank can push the feeling to the back of his mind, like white noise.
He’s bored out of his mind, and there’s not even anything in the garage to keep him occupied. He’d rather be bored than rip a book to shreds or smash his iPod, though, so he stares out the window, at the tips of the trees.
Suddenly, a small pebble hits the window. Then another one, like he’s in a fucking romantic comedy or something. A third rock taps the window.
“Hey!” he shouts. The barrage of rocks stops. Frank stands up; he’s only just tall enough to see out the high window. A face not his own appears in the window like a fucked-up reflection and Frank reels back in surprise. He maybe cries out as well, but he’ll deny that if anyone mentions it.
“Frank!”
“Gerard, what are you doing here?” Frank asks, once he catches his breath.
Gerard just grins and raps his knuckles on the reinforced glass. “Came to bail you out. I think I can break it.”
“Gee, no, you can’t-”
“I brought a brick. Just stand back,” Gerard says.
“No!” Frank cries. “No, you can’t, I can’t leave. You shouldn’t be here.” Frank gives Gerard a stern look and Gerard frowns.
“Why not? Why are you all locked up, anyway, Frank, what the fuck?”
“I’m not locked up,” Frank lies through gritted teeth. Part of him-and Frank knows exactly which part-hates to be reminded that he can’t get out. He says, “I just need to stay here tonight,” which is true. “Please just leave me alone. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
“Frank, what’s going on?” Gerard asks plaintively.
The sky is getting darker behind Gerard. Frank can feel the moon getting closer to rising now; it’s more than just an itch under his skin. He’s practically vibrating with energy.
“Leave me alone,” he growls, smacking one fist against the window pane right in front of Gerard’s face.
“Frank-”
Frank pushes off from the window and paces the length of the room. The feeling doesn’t subside, of course, so Frank walks around the room again, his hands clenching and unclenching. He knows once the sun sets, he’ll start losing control of himself, and Gerard can’t see that. Frank takes a few deep breaths and approaches the window again, where Gerard’s watching him with obvious concern.
“Gee,” Frank says, in the steadiest voice he can manage, “I need to be alone right now, okay? I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Me and Mikey are gonna have a Star Wars marathon,” Gerard replies quietly. “I even got beer. Come over, Frankie.”
Frank shivers all over and grabs the window frame tight. “I can’t,” he mumbles. “Go home, Gee.”
Gerard looks really hurt, but he backs away from the window. Frank breathes out a sigh of relief; he can patch up whatever damage he’s caused when he’s fully human again. There’s not much light coming in through the window anymore, and Frank can feel the moment the sun disappears completely. He shivers again, really shakes this time, with his whole body, and it’s hard to stay upright. Then the moon rises-Frank knows that feeling, he’d know it anywhere-and it crashes over Frank like a wave. He falls to his knees with a loud cry.
The wolf in him whirls his body around to face the window, already searching for the bright light of the moon. Frank’s gums bleed as his teeth change and grow, sharper, cutting his tongue and his lips. Blood drips over his chin and throat and stains the collar of his t-shirt.
Gerard’s face is pale and scared in the window. Their eyes lock for a moment. Frank can’t speak anymore, he can’t tell Gerard to fucking leave him alone. The next wave of the change hits and Frank doubles over, breaking eye contact and screaming. Gerard’s not going to leave, he realizes, through the haze of pain. Gerard’s going to know.
***
Gerard’s sitting on Frank’s bed when Frank stumbles up the stairs to his bedroom the next morning. He doesn’t look tired, but Gerard’s practically nocturnal, and Frank knows he didn’t sleep.
“Have you been here all night?” he asks wearily. Gerard moves over a little so Frank can sit down. Their knees touch. Frank realizes after a moment that he’s still naked, and grabs a pillow to hold over his lap.
“Your mom let me in this morning before she left for work. She said you were staying at your dad’s place,” Gerard says quietly.
Frank looks down at the frayed hem of the pillowcase, afraid to meet his friend’s eyes.
“I was outside the garage most of the night,” Gerard adds, in an even smaller voice. “I’m sorry.”
“You should’ve gone home,” Frank whispers. “I told you to leave me alone.”
“You were screaming, Frank, I couldn’t fucking leave you alone.”
“I know how to handle it.”
“But I don’t,” Gerard argues. “How was I supposed to know what was happening? What was I supposed to think? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“This isn’t the kind of thing you just tell you friends,” Frank murmurs. “What was I supposed to say, ‘Hi, I’m a teenage werewolf’?” He sighs. “I told you to leave.”
Gerard reaches up and gently rubs his thumb over Frank’s chin. His hand comes away smeared with red. Frank flushes and clings to his pillow. “You were bleeding, Frank. Screaming. I didn’t know what was happening, and I couldn’t just leave you like that. Sorry if my thoughts didn’t immediately jump to werewolf.”
“They should have,” Frank teases weakly.
Gerard gives him a slow grin. “Yeah, maybe they should have.” He touches Frank’s face again, cups his cheek. “I’m sorry, Frankie.”
Frank lifts one shoulder in a shrug, wincing at the soreness. He finally looks up and meets Gerard’s eyes. “Well, now you know,” he says steadily. “This is my deep, dark secret.”
Gerard holds his gaze, trapping him. Frank can’t look away. “I wish it didn’t hurt,” Gerard whispers.
“It’s not that bad,” Frank tries. He licks his lips, ignoring the familiar taste of blood.
“You’re lying,” Gerard says. He leans forward, so slowly it’s almost imperceptible, and Frank finds himself mirroring him. “I hate it when things hurt you.”
Frank’s about to shake his head, say something like, “I didn’t know you cared so much,” but before he can get the words out, Gerard closes the distance between them and his lips slide slowly, gently, perfectly over Frank’s. Frank’s brain can’t even compute the sudden change from aching soreness everywhere to exquisite pleasure.
Gerard pulls away some indeterminate amount of time later, and it takes a few seconds for Frank to pry his eyelids open. There’s a tiny smear of blood at the corner of Gerard’s mouth, and his cheeks are flushed pink.
“I care, Frank,” he says quietly.
Frank manages a small smile. “I’m glad.”
fin.
for strobelighted: Frank/Gerard, Frank as a conman
For A Price - 655 words
Frank stashes the thirty bucks and hands over two admittance tickets, printed on cardstock to give them a little more realism. He gives the guy a brochure, which he swiped from the museum earlier in the day, and a bright smile. “Thank you! The museum’s open until six, but the ticket’s good all week, so take your time. It’s worth the trip, I promise!”
The guy and his fiancée say thanks and turn away. Frank always likes it when his customers thank him for taking their money. It feels less like he’s stealing it, that way.
Next up is a family of four, on vacation, and he gives them a bogus “family pass” for fifty dollars. The kids seem excited. Too bad the parents will have to pay for the tickets again once they get to the museum.
There’s a man in line after that, and he steps into place with an amused smile. Large black sunglasses cover the top of his face.
“Just one?” Frank asks cheerfully.
“I know who you are, Frank Iero,” the man says, which is unfair, because he didn’t give Frank his name.
“Okay,” Frank replies, shrugging it off. “Do I know you?”
“I know what you’re doing, too.” He takes off his sunglasses and rests them atop his tangle of black hair. Then he pulls out a shiny badge and lays it flat on Frank’s little folding table.
Frank deflates, barely stopping himself from cursing aloud. The identification reads Detective Gerard Way, and if Detective Gerard Way knows his name, Frank’s pretty much fucked.
“I’m gonna need to check out your cash box,” Detective Way says, still with that fucking amused smile. Frank sighs and spins the box around. There’s about four hundred bucks in there, including the small bills Frank put in this morning to use for change, but that’s really the least of Frank’s worries right now.
“Yeah, I’m gonna have to confiscate this.” Detective Way snaps the box shut, flips the latch closed, and lifts it off the table. He gives Frank a cheerful wave and turns to walk away. “Have a nice day!” he calls over his shoulder.
Frank stands there in stunned silence for a moment, then he jumps out from behind his table and goes running after the detective. It doesn’t take him long to catch up.
“Wait,” Frank says as they walk. “Why aren’t you arresting me?”
“Do you want to be arrested?”
“No. But I broke the law, isn’t that how it works?”
“Forgot my handcuffs,” the detective replies simply. “Don’t do it again. You’re off the hook.”
Frank stops short. Gerard keeps walking. “Motherfucker!” Frank gasps, then dashes to catch up again. “Give me my money back, asshole. Where’d you get that badge? Is Gerard Way your real name?”
“Oh my god,” Gerard groans. “Yes, it’s my real name, and my brother made me the badge, and no, I’m not giving you back your fucking money. It’s mine now, I conned it off you fair and square.”
“You can’t con and con man, fuckhead,” Frank says, rolling his eyes. He makes a grab for the cash box but Gerard deftly moves it out of his reach. “Can your brother make me one too? Hey, maybe we could all work together! The best cons all need more than one person. We’d be a totally awesome team!”
“Oh my god.”
“Please?” Frank asks. He darts out in front of Gerard and clasps his hands together. Paired with the sad-puppy-eyes, he’ll get his way. That look’s earned him a lot of money in the past.
And it seems Gerard Way is not immune. He rolls his eyes and jerks his head towards a parking lot. Frank flashes him a grin and falls back into step beside him.
“Mikey’s gonna kill me,” Gerard says under his breath.
“Can’t wait to meet him,” Frank replies happily. “We’re gonna be the best, just you wait and see.”
fin.
for fleurdeliser: Frank/Gerard, “the wheels on the bus”
Audition - 614 words
Frank’s leaning over the back of the seat, both fists held out, and Mikey obediently taps one of them. Frank turns his hand palm up: empty. He flips forward again, cackling with glee, and then turns the opposite way, leaning over the seat in Gerard’s direction. He holds up his fists.
“I’m not playing,” Gerard says, rolling his eyes.
“Then you lose.”
“I don’t care.”
Frank wiggles his hands in what Gerard assumes is supposed to be an enticing manner. “Come on,” he wheedles, “if you guess right, you get to keep it.”
“I don’t even know what it is,” Gerard protests.
“That’s the whole fun of it!” Frank says, eyes glinting. He shakes his fists again.
Gerard rolls his eyes again, for good measure, and sees Mikey smirking at him from across the van. Gerard ignores him and reaches out to tap Frank’s left hand.
The moment his fingertips touch Frank’s skin, the van jerks to the side and swerves off the road. Gerard grabs Frank’s hand on instinct, holding him tightly as they sway with the movement of the car. Matt drives them into the grass and they all clamber out to see what happened.
It’s Ray who discovers the problem. He kicks the front-right tire. “Blowout,” he calls.
“Do we have a spare?” Matt asks, glancing at Gerard in concern.
Gerard looks at Mikey and then back at Matt. Seriously, like he would know?
“I think there’s one in the trunk?” Mikey offers.
“Have none of you guys changed a fucking tire before?” Frank asks. “Jesus Christ, I’ll do it.”
And he does, too. He and Ray manhandle the tire out of the trunk-after unloading all the equipment to the side of the road, of course-and Frank kneels down next to the broken tire (“It’s flat, you idiot, not broken,” Frank mutters) and starts taking it off the van.
Matt goes over to guard the equipment and have a smoke break while Ray and Mikey both go back inside the van. Gerard stays out with Frank, ostensibly to offer assistance, but mostly just to watch. Frank gets his hands really dirty and gross, and he’s sweating a little by the time he’s done, and the new tire doesn’t fall off or anything, so Gerard assumes Frank was successful.
“Do you want to be in our band?” Gerard blurts out. Frank stops moving with both hands on the flat tire, ready to push it towards the trunk.
“Why, because I can change a tire?” Frank asks, not looking at him.
“Yes,” Gerard answers. “Well, and the fact that I think we need you.”
Frank stands up straight and wipes his hands on his jeans. “You’re serious?”
“Completely.” Gerard looks down at Frank’s grimy fingers. “You didn’t have anything in your hand before, did you?”
“I did, actually,” Frank replies in a weird, hesitant voice.
“Which hand?”
“Left.”
“So I was right.”
“Yeah.”
“So what was it?”
Frank meets Gerard’s eyes and chews on the corner of his lip for a second. “I’m not so sure I should give it to you, now.”
Gerard rolls his eyes. “Frank, come on.”
Apparently Frank didn’t need much convincing. He digs into his pocket and pulls out a tiny, crumpled scrap of paper. He hands it over. Gerard uncrumples it carefully, so it doesn’t rip, and inside is a little heart, drawn in pen, with xoxo f written underneath.
Gerard looks up and raises his eyebrow. “You’re serious?” he asks quietly.
“Completely,” Frank replies.
Gerard breaks into a grin and takes a step towards Frank. “I want you in my band, Frankie.”
Frank finally cracks a smile as well. “No place I’d rather be.”
fin.
for promisethstars: tattoos/piercings (any pairing)
Pumpkin - 434 words
Frank flips through a guitar magazine, both feet kicked up into the air behind him. Gerard, kneeling beside him on the floor, selects a red marker from his set and uncaps it thoughtfully.
“Hurry up, I want to see,” Frank says, turning another page. “Hey, this one looks pretty cool, what do you think?”
“Why do you need a new guitar, anyway?” Gerard asks absently, leaning down to touch the felt tip to Frank’s bare skin.
Frank shrugs and Gerard pinches him, a warning to keep still.
“I don’t know,” Frank finally replies. “I guess I don’t need one, but I want one. Ray has like, four stashed in his closet.”
“Borrow his, then.”
“I don’t want fucking hand-me-downs,” Frank says. “I want another one of my own.”
Gerard’s seen how Frank “customized” his first guitar with flashy stickers all over the white body, and he thinks of Ray’s pristine, perfect guitars. He can see why Frank doesn’t want to borrow them, or maybe why Ray won’t let Frank borrow them.
“Hold still,” Gerard says absently. He puts his hand gently on Frank’s shoulderblade, carefully guiding the marker in a perfect semicircle across Frank’s spine.
“Almost done? I want a picture before I wash it off, this time,” Frank says, turning his head.
“Sure, I’ll take a picture.”
“I’m gonna get this tattooed as soon as I’m eighteen, dude. It’s gonna be awesome.”
“You’re gonna get this tattooed?” Gerard asks in surprise. “This is just a random pumpkin I drew on your back one day, Frank.”
“And I’ve asked you to draw the same fucking pumpkin every time I come over here,” Frank replies, rolling his eyes. “I love it, Gee, why do you think I keep asking for it?”
“I guess,” Gerard says. It would be kind of cool to have his drawing on Frank permanently, though, he has to admit. “You’re seriously going to tattoo my pumpkin on your back?”
“Yeah, man! I’m counting down the days. It’s a birthday present to myself.”
Gerard leans over some more and brushes his lips over Frank’s smooth, clean skin. “You shouldn’t be dropping money on a guitar, then.”
Frank grins. “Can I roll over yet?”
Gerard blows on the design and touches it with his forefinger to make sure it won’t smudge before giving Frank the okay. Frank rolls over in place and grabs a handful of Gerard’s t-shirt.
“I can’t believe you’re getting that tattooed,” Gerard laughs. “You should’ve told me, I would’ve put more thought into it.”
Frank pulls him down for a quick kiss. “I want it because it’s yours, Gee.”
fin.