hotheaded a-hole frank: commentspam.
So: in college I had a year or so where I tried not to own anything (incl. furniture), drank a lot (A LOT) ("", for popslashers) of beer with frat boys, called people really horrifying names (not conventional slurs, but some that you would find offensive got quite the workout), hooked up with girls and didn't call afterwards, got into dust-ups, and was generally an asshole. That's just background knowledge; I figure we all have our bad periods.
The real point is that stereomer posted a picspam of hotheaded-asshole!Frank here. And I felt a great deal of affinity with said character.
fluffontop wrote: Hahahaha. Best picspam EVER. Though I was waiting for the part where asshole!Frank meets Gerard. Or is that whose name he blanked on? OH WAIT OF COURSE IT IS.
stereomer wrote: asshole!frank and socially awkward!gerard would make a perfect match. frank blows him off to go drinking! gerard blows him off by saying he's busy when really, he just spends the night sitting in his room, enjoying solitude! yesssss.
I said that the above was the fantasy fictime response that had immediately run through my head upon reading fluffontop's comment, and stereomer said the words that invariably get me rolling: AND THEN THEY BLOW EACH OTHER, Y/Y
I'm just smacking together my comments, with little fixups.
---
Frank sits back on the couch and says, "C'mere, asshole, my dick ain't gonna suck itself."
"Hm?" Gerard says, absently. "Do you think this painting needs more blood?"
Frank tilts his head. "No. And dick. Sucking. Now."
"Sure, sure," Gerard says, adds just a bit more blood, and goes over to the couch. He unzips Frank's jeans and pulls his dick out, and it seems to be going pretty well -- Frank's pulling Gerard's head down on his dick, yanking a little on his hair -- when Gerard picks his head up. "One sec," he says, and gets up.
"Where the fuck do you think you're going?"
"Just a little bit more blood!" Gerard says, and picks up his paintbrush.
So when Frank finally coaxes Gerard to actually, y'know, give him an actual blowjob, Frank comes all over Gerard's face. Gerard just gets up and goes back to painting again, leaving Frank there with his dick out. And Frank would find it funny that Gerard's painting with jizz all over his face, but Gerard totally doesn't care. He's just standing there, come dripping off his chin, humming some Britney Spears song and adding dimension to the crucified vampire who's bursting into flame.
Then Gerard swipes one finger across his chin and licks it, totally absentmindedly, and Frank's like, "Fucking Christ."
So he ends up blowing Gerard, which is bullshit, because Frank doesn't like to reciprocate. Except maybe it's a little hot that midway through Frank sucking him off, Gerard starts to get distracted from painting, and by the time he comes he's totally focused on Frank, staring down at him, his ugly crooked mouth hanging open, come still smeared on his cheek.
Frank tucks him back in, picks up a rag, and wipes Gerard's face roughly. "You look like a fucking moron, comeface," he says.
"Thanks!" Gerard says happily, and leans over him to add a detail. "Can you, like..."
"What?"
"See yourself out?" When Frank just stands there, Gerard gestures. "The door'll latch behind you."
Frank slams into the car, reaches up to fix his hair and stops. Gerard totally got paint in Frank's hair, too. "What the fuck," he says, and sucks down a cigarette before he even starts the car.
And then GERARD DOESN'T CALL.
Finally Frank texts him, because he fucking sucked the guy's dick, okay? And Gerard texts back, all sry stayd n bsmnt all wk, and Frank kind of wants to bounce his head off the wall. Gerard's head, for being an asshole, and his own head, for being a moron.
Then he kind of wants to fuck Gerard and not let him come. OR paint. Either of those things! Dammit!
Which means, obviously, that Frank ends up going to the Way house again.
----
"That's not very nice."
Frank looks up from flicking cigarette butts down on the sororisluts from the balcony and raises an eyebrow. "Who the fuck was calling me nice? I'll fuck them up."
"I was," Gerard says, and steals Frank's cigarettes. He waves the pack. "Can I have one?"
"Whatever," Frank says, and digs another cigarette butt out of the can. He takes aim at one girl with a strapless shirt on, but he doesn't fling it. He looks over at Gerard, who's smoking and looking at the top of the building. At least, Frank thinks that's where Gerard's looking; he's wearing fucking sunglasses at one in the morning, so Frank can't be completely sure.
Gerard doesn't look back at Frank. Frank drops his hand. "Why does it matter that it isn't nice?" Frank asks.
Gerard looks over, finally, and pushes up his sunglasses. "Like, what if they had an awful day?"
"They're sororisluts," Frank says dismissively.
"But, like, who made them sororisluts?" Gerard asks, and waves his hands demonstratively. Frank steals his cigarette and takes a drag, then hands it back. "Thanks. I mean, like, maybe they never got enough love as a child, y'know? And they just can't express themselves in any way but their breasts. They feel worthless and empty inside, Frank," Gerard says, pushing his face up way too close to Frank's. "And what if they're having a bad day, and they get a cigarette in their cleavage? Like, it's like their dad not hugging them, all over again."
"I--" Frank starts, and blinks. "Are you on crack?"
"No," Gerard says sadly, "I don't do drugs anymore, they're bad for me."
"Oh." Frank picks up his cigarettes, jitters in place. His energy has to go somewhere. "You wanna suck me off in the bathroom?"
"Sure," Gerard says, "If you blow me first." Frank blinks at him. "A relationship is built on exchange and compromise," he says primly.
Frank blinks some more. "Um, okay?" he says, because blowjob.
"Okay!" Gerard claps his hands and stubs out his cigarette in the can. "Let's go."
---
And the thing is, okay, the thing is that Frank doesn't actually think that they're in a relationship, but Gerard's kind of fun to suck off and shit, so he just stops by whenever he wants to get some.
Gerard's usually home -- the fucker doesn't leave his house, okay -- and he's usually pretty easy to get with, you just have to ask and wait until he's done dicking around with his art. Gerard has some pretty decent food in his kitchen, too.
And Gerard doesn't get pissed when Frank pees in a jar and leaves it sitting on the counter, he just dumps it out and fills it with water and washes his paintbrushes off in it. Like, Frank's grossed out by Gerard more often than not, because the dude just does not give a shit about hygiene.
Frank even makes out with some girl at the bar, and Gerard's all, "eh, we aren't exclusive." Except that kind of makes Frank mad. Frank calls Gerard a nasty-ass faggot, and Gerard just kind of makes a disgruntled face and says, "that's a mean word" and walks off. And then Frank walks in on him making out with this guy in the bathroom and fucking sees red, because fuck that, no way, Gerard is his nasty-ass faggot, not anyone else's. So he maybe fucks the guy's shit up, and comes back into the bar to haul Gerard out, but Gerard's already fucking gone.
See notes already made re: throwing shit outside Gerard's house and breaking crap and maybe getting drunk and demanding cuddles. (See post here for details on those particular shenanigans. They were really what killed me. GENIUS.)
---
So anyway: their first time is really fucking crazy. Frank is just super eager and covering it up with cocky bullshit. He's getting ready to fuck Gerard, and Gerard's all, "No, wait, I have an idea."
"You're not getting up to paint," Frank snaps, and Gerard shakes his head and pushes Frank over. "What the fuck?"
"Here," Gerard says, and gets Frank on his back.
"Ooh, reverse cowgirl that shit," Frank tells him, but Gerard ignores him, just leans over and pins Frank's hands to the bed with one hand while he guides Frank in with the other. Frank's expecting Gerard to let him up when Gerard really starts to get into the fucking, but he doesn't. Gerard keeps him pinned down, and he comes all over Frank's stomach. Then he just sits there. "Move, you fat fuck," Frank says.
Gerard hums. He smiles his stupid loopy smile and says, "It's weird being used, right?" And then gets up and fucking walks away, buck-fucking-naked, over to his art supplies.
Frank's like "...are you shitting me?" Gerard just pulls on a pair of pajama pants and starts digging through his ArtBin, shoving back his ugly-ass tangled hair that he's always pulling on and dropping stuff on the floor.
And there isn't much that Frank can do, because usually, usually the people Frank gets with really want on his dick, and they want to make him happy, right? They don't just-- peace out, in the middle of sex. Especially not weirdo fucking freaks like Gerard. He says as much, and Gerard just shrugs him off.
Frank strips off the condom and tosses it in the trash, fuming, fucking livid, and he just wants to smash Gerard's stupid fuck-ugly face in, he wants to break it. He doesn't, though he should, he fucking should.
He goes to the bathroom and takes a piss -- his hard-on is fucking gone for the night, fuck -- and smokes a cigarette out the window, trying to get his hands to stop shaking. They don't, though, and Frank slams out of the house -- the latch banging shut behind him -- and goes to the shittiest bar he knows in the shittiest part of town.
This is the bar where, when Frank walks in, the bartender's already lining up dirty shot glasses and slopping cheap whiskey into them. The bartender even puts cans of Pabst up behind them. Frank doesn't need to say "four specials, Pat," but he does, stripping off his jacket and dropping it next to the bar stool.
"Where'd you get tossed out of this time?" Pat asks, gruff, and Frank says, "Someone's fucking bed," before he thinks about it. He slams down the first shot and cracks the beer tab with his teeth, swilling it down to cover the burnt-tire bite of the whiskey. He's already looking for the most likely fight.
It's the guy in the corner, older than Frank, twice as mean, chest out like a puffed-up rooster, slutty old bottle-blonde bitch on his arm. Frank nods at him, the man nods back. Frank wants to get three more specials in him, though, so he turns back to the bar.
The thing Frank knows about barfights is that there are three kinds: There's the boring normal kind, two drunk morons who normally wouldn't fight a stiff wind, swinging and crying at each other. There's the unfair kind, a guy who knows his shit against some idiot who's never had a fight in his life. And there's the fucking scary ones, the good ones, when it's two assholes who've fought too much before to hold back, and have too much liquor in their system to be scared. Frank makes his way over when he's got enough alcohol to kill a small pony in him, and tells the blonde bitch that her weave is showing. It's enough to start the fight, and Frank was right about this guy: they've got a scary fucking fight on their hands.
He and the guy he picked out get tossed out way before closing time, and they duke it out in the parking lot. Frank's sick and staggering, swallowing blood from his split lip and his cracked nose. He gets the guy good in the jaw, though, the gut, the groin.
When they're both reduced to puking and shaking wrecks, Frank says, "it's cool, man, it's cool, she's a lady, I'm sure." The guy sets his nose for him after that, wrenching it into place. Frank gives a weird, cut-off scream, but the throb dies down almost right away. "Thanks, man," he says, and the guy smiles, taps his fist. He's got blood on his teeth.
---
Frank's not looking for fucking sympathy, that's not why he started the fight. He started the fight because he wanted to go wild on someone, rip their fucking face off if he could, at least beat the ever-loving shit out of them if he couldn't. It feels good, to get all the energy out in bruises and broken bones. When his nose aches later, and black-purple marks streak out from the inside corners of his eyes, it feels like he's getting something out of his system.
He gets in a couple more fights that week, a few dust-ups with skater punks, a shoving match with a bicycle messenger that fizzles out too fast to be satisfying. He's pretty calm, though, when he sees Gerard that Friday, outside a show. He's smoking a roach with some kids who think he's cool for having knuckle tattoos, talking shit about some kid who wore fucking brand new Skechers to a hardcore show, thinking about stomping a few heads during the next band's set, when up wanders Gerard. He just stands there for a second, smiling, and then says, "hi Frank," before he keeps on wandering, heading inside.
Frank passes the roach and sucks down the last of his beer, chucks the can out in the road. "This show fucking sucks," he says, "They'll let anyone in." He gets up soon after that, goes inside, takes a piss, and fucking bumps into that shit-eating retard again. "What the fuck are you doing here?" he says, before he can think to check the impulse.
"Thought you might be around," Gerard says, and pushes up his sunglasses. He's fucking smiling. Fucking smiling. "That looks like it hurts," he says, and goes to touch Frank's nose. Frank jerks his head away, snarling.
"Fuck you," Frank says, but it comes off kind of weak. He doesn't know what to say to this kid, this space cadet asshole. He says, "You tell anyone what you did--"
"Why would I tell anyone?" Gerard interrupts, "I'm not proud of it, or anything." He stops and goes to touch Frank's face again. Frank dodges it, and Gerard makes a sad face. "It isn't a nice thing to do to anyone, ever, is it?"
"Just fuck this," Frank says, "I gotta go." But Gerard comes with him, grabs hold of his shirt and gets dragged along in his wake.
"Come back to mine," he says, when they're back outside, putting his fucking sunglasses back on. Frank fidgets, pissed and freaked out. "I'll suck your dick," Gerard says, like that's some sort of reward.
Except for how it kind of is. Frank grudgingly says, "You got poptarts?"
"Yeah," Gerard says, "And Mallomars." He touches Frank's face, quick and light. Frank lets him. "And some steak? I think that's what you put on these."
"It's, like, six days old," Frank says, before he thinks about it, and Gerard's lips quirk down.
"Sorry," he says, and grabs Frank's wrist when he goes to turn away. "C'mon, poptarts."
"And a blowjob," Frank says, relenting a little.
"And a blowjob."
LOL THE END
Epilogue thingy:
Eventually Gerard gets Frank around to the point where Gerard can cuddle him in public, if he doesn't talk about it or anything, because fuck, what are we, girls? And Frank uses one beer as the "drunk" excuse so he can be the little spoon.
Gerard totally tries to make Frank process when Gerard gave him a taste of his own medicine. He makes him do fingerpaints. Frank just draws penises all over his paper. Gerard insists that he express himself, and Frank shoves paint up his nose and snotrockets it out again onto the paper. "There," he says, "Now I'm gonna fuck you in the ass."
Also I would like to state, with my usual obnoxious ways, that at some point Frank bottoms, and then he realizes that he's in an actual relationship with Gerard, and he flips out and goes on a wild bender across the entire state of New Jersey and, like, sleeps with a cheerleading team, except that for "sleeping" see "actually just sleeping" because he gets hammered with them on appletinis and talks about his boyfriend. They make out in front of him to save his masculinity, at least.
And then he falls asleep on the head cheerleader's breasts! And he's all drunk and sad, and the cheerleaders pet him, and he's like, "Your breasts are fucking off the chain, sweetheart. I wish I could gruntfuck you, but my boyfriend would be mad, and. Fuck. My boyfriend, what the shit is that?" And the cheerleaders are all looking at each other over Frank's head, mouthing "soooo precious!!!"
stereomer writes: and frank just mouths "bozangas" really sadly, and wonders what he's become. but then he kind of likes this whole 'being with gerard' thing. but then he's like "BOZANGAS~" :((
EDIT: Guys, please check out evocatory's illustration, for the good of your souls. Bozangas. BOZANGAAAAS.
ANOTHER EDIT: llamapi drew this awesome illustration of Frank and Gerard. AWESOME! I approve in all ways.
The real point is that stereomer posted a picspam of hotheaded-asshole!Frank here. And I felt a great deal of affinity with said character.
fluffontop wrote: Hahahaha. Best picspam EVER. Though I was waiting for the part where asshole!Frank meets Gerard. Or is that whose name he blanked on? OH WAIT OF COURSE IT IS.
stereomer wrote: asshole!frank and socially awkward!gerard would make a perfect match. frank blows him off to go drinking! gerard blows him off by saying he's busy when really, he just spends the night sitting in his room, enjoying solitude! yesssss.
I said that the above was the fantasy fictime response that had immediately run through my head upon reading fluffontop's comment, and stereomer said the words that invariably get me rolling: AND THEN THEY BLOW EACH OTHER, Y/Y
I'm just smacking together my comments, with little fixups.
---
Frank sits back on the couch and says, "C'mere, asshole, my dick ain't gonna suck itself."
"Hm?" Gerard says, absently. "Do you think this painting needs more blood?"
Frank tilts his head. "No. And dick. Sucking. Now."
"Sure, sure," Gerard says, adds just a bit more blood, and goes over to the couch. He unzips Frank's jeans and pulls his dick out, and it seems to be going pretty well -- Frank's pulling Gerard's head down on his dick, yanking a little on his hair -- when Gerard picks his head up. "One sec," he says, and gets up.
"Where the fuck do you think you're going?"
"Just a little bit more blood!" Gerard says, and picks up his paintbrush.
So when Frank finally coaxes Gerard to actually, y'know, give him an actual blowjob, Frank comes all over Gerard's face. Gerard just gets up and goes back to painting again, leaving Frank there with his dick out. And Frank would find it funny that Gerard's painting with jizz all over his face, but Gerard totally doesn't care. He's just standing there, come dripping off his chin, humming some Britney Spears song and adding dimension to the crucified vampire who's bursting into flame.
Then Gerard swipes one finger across his chin and licks it, totally absentmindedly, and Frank's like, "Fucking Christ."
So he ends up blowing Gerard, which is bullshit, because Frank doesn't like to reciprocate. Except maybe it's a little hot that midway through Frank sucking him off, Gerard starts to get distracted from painting, and by the time he comes he's totally focused on Frank, staring down at him, his ugly crooked mouth hanging open, come still smeared on his cheek.
Frank tucks him back in, picks up a rag, and wipes Gerard's face roughly. "You look like a fucking moron, comeface," he says.
"Thanks!" Gerard says happily, and leans over him to add a detail. "Can you, like..."
"What?"
"See yourself out?" When Frank just stands there, Gerard gestures. "The door'll latch behind you."
Frank slams into the car, reaches up to fix his hair and stops. Gerard totally got paint in Frank's hair, too. "What the fuck," he says, and sucks down a cigarette before he even starts the car.
And then GERARD DOESN'T CALL.
Finally Frank texts him, because he fucking sucked the guy's dick, okay? And Gerard texts back, all sry stayd n bsmnt all wk, and Frank kind of wants to bounce his head off the wall. Gerard's head, for being an asshole, and his own head, for being a moron.
Then he kind of wants to fuck Gerard and not let him come. OR paint. Either of those things! Dammit!
Which means, obviously, that Frank ends up going to the Way house again.
----
"That's not very nice."
Frank looks up from flicking cigarette butts down on the sororisluts from the balcony and raises an eyebrow. "Who the fuck was calling me nice? I'll fuck them up."
"I was," Gerard says, and steals Frank's cigarettes. He waves the pack. "Can I have one?"
"Whatever," Frank says, and digs another cigarette butt out of the can. He takes aim at one girl with a strapless shirt on, but he doesn't fling it. He looks over at Gerard, who's smoking and looking at the top of the building. At least, Frank thinks that's where Gerard's looking; he's wearing fucking sunglasses at one in the morning, so Frank can't be completely sure.
Gerard doesn't look back at Frank. Frank drops his hand. "Why does it matter that it isn't nice?" Frank asks.
Gerard looks over, finally, and pushes up his sunglasses. "Like, what if they had an awful day?"
"They're sororisluts," Frank says dismissively.
"But, like, who made them sororisluts?" Gerard asks, and waves his hands demonstratively. Frank steals his cigarette and takes a drag, then hands it back. "Thanks. I mean, like, maybe they never got enough love as a child, y'know? And they just can't express themselves in any way but their breasts. They feel worthless and empty inside, Frank," Gerard says, pushing his face up way too close to Frank's. "And what if they're having a bad day, and they get a cigarette in their cleavage? Like, it's like their dad not hugging them, all over again."
"I--" Frank starts, and blinks. "Are you on crack?"
"No," Gerard says sadly, "I don't do drugs anymore, they're bad for me."
"Oh." Frank picks up his cigarettes, jitters in place. His energy has to go somewhere. "You wanna suck me off in the bathroom?"
"Sure," Gerard says, "If you blow me first." Frank blinks at him. "A relationship is built on exchange and compromise," he says primly.
Frank blinks some more. "Um, okay?" he says, because blowjob.
"Okay!" Gerard claps his hands and stubs out his cigarette in the can. "Let's go."
---
And the thing is, okay, the thing is that Frank doesn't actually think that they're in a relationship, but Gerard's kind of fun to suck off and shit, so he just stops by whenever he wants to get some.
Gerard's usually home -- the fucker doesn't leave his house, okay -- and he's usually pretty easy to get with, you just have to ask and wait until he's done dicking around with his art. Gerard has some pretty decent food in his kitchen, too.
And Gerard doesn't get pissed when Frank pees in a jar and leaves it sitting on the counter, he just dumps it out and fills it with water and washes his paintbrushes off in it. Like, Frank's grossed out by Gerard more often than not, because the dude just does not give a shit about hygiene.
Frank even makes out with some girl at the bar, and Gerard's all, "eh, we aren't exclusive." Except that kind of makes Frank mad. Frank calls Gerard a nasty-ass faggot, and Gerard just kind of makes a disgruntled face and says, "that's a mean word" and walks off. And then Frank walks in on him making out with this guy in the bathroom and fucking sees red, because fuck that, no way, Gerard is his nasty-ass faggot, not anyone else's. So he maybe fucks the guy's shit up, and comes back into the bar to haul Gerard out, but Gerard's already fucking gone.
See notes already made re: throwing shit outside Gerard's house and breaking crap and maybe getting drunk and demanding cuddles. (See post here for details on those particular shenanigans. They were really what killed me. GENIUS.)
---
So anyway: their first time is really fucking crazy. Frank is just super eager and covering it up with cocky bullshit. He's getting ready to fuck Gerard, and Gerard's all, "No, wait, I have an idea."
"You're not getting up to paint," Frank snaps, and Gerard shakes his head and pushes Frank over. "What the fuck?"
"Here," Gerard says, and gets Frank on his back.
"Ooh, reverse cowgirl that shit," Frank tells him, but Gerard ignores him, just leans over and pins Frank's hands to the bed with one hand while he guides Frank in with the other. Frank's expecting Gerard to let him up when Gerard really starts to get into the fucking, but he doesn't. Gerard keeps him pinned down, and he comes all over Frank's stomach. Then he just sits there. "Move, you fat fuck," Frank says.
Gerard hums. He smiles his stupid loopy smile and says, "It's weird being used, right?" And then gets up and fucking walks away, buck-fucking-naked, over to his art supplies.
Frank's like "...are you shitting me?" Gerard just pulls on a pair of pajama pants and starts digging through his ArtBin, shoving back his ugly-ass tangled hair that he's always pulling on and dropping stuff on the floor.
And there isn't much that Frank can do, because usually, usually the people Frank gets with really want on his dick, and they want to make him happy, right? They don't just-- peace out, in the middle of sex. Especially not weirdo fucking freaks like Gerard. He says as much, and Gerard just shrugs him off.
Frank strips off the condom and tosses it in the trash, fuming, fucking livid, and he just wants to smash Gerard's stupid fuck-ugly face in, he wants to break it. He doesn't, though he should, he fucking should.
He goes to the bathroom and takes a piss -- his hard-on is fucking gone for the night, fuck -- and smokes a cigarette out the window, trying to get his hands to stop shaking. They don't, though, and Frank slams out of the house -- the latch banging shut behind him -- and goes to the shittiest bar he knows in the shittiest part of town.
This is the bar where, when Frank walks in, the bartender's already lining up dirty shot glasses and slopping cheap whiskey into them. The bartender even puts cans of Pabst up behind them. Frank doesn't need to say "four specials, Pat," but he does, stripping off his jacket and dropping it next to the bar stool.
"Where'd you get tossed out of this time?" Pat asks, gruff, and Frank says, "Someone's fucking bed," before he thinks about it. He slams down the first shot and cracks the beer tab with his teeth, swilling it down to cover the burnt-tire bite of the whiskey. He's already looking for the most likely fight.
It's the guy in the corner, older than Frank, twice as mean, chest out like a puffed-up rooster, slutty old bottle-blonde bitch on his arm. Frank nods at him, the man nods back. Frank wants to get three more specials in him, though, so he turns back to the bar.
The thing Frank knows about barfights is that there are three kinds: There's the boring normal kind, two drunk morons who normally wouldn't fight a stiff wind, swinging and crying at each other. There's the unfair kind, a guy who knows his shit against some idiot who's never had a fight in his life. And there's the fucking scary ones, the good ones, when it's two assholes who've fought too much before to hold back, and have too much liquor in their system to be scared. Frank makes his way over when he's got enough alcohol to kill a small pony in him, and tells the blonde bitch that her weave is showing. It's enough to start the fight, and Frank was right about this guy: they've got a scary fucking fight on their hands.
He and the guy he picked out get tossed out way before closing time, and they duke it out in the parking lot. Frank's sick and staggering, swallowing blood from his split lip and his cracked nose. He gets the guy good in the jaw, though, the gut, the groin.
When they're both reduced to puking and shaking wrecks, Frank says, "it's cool, man, it's cool, she's a lady, I'm sure." The guy sets his nose for him after that, wrenching it into place. Frank gives a weird, cut-off scream, but the throb dies down almost right away. "Thanks, man," he says, and the guy smiles, taps his fist. He's got blood on his teeth.
---
Frank's not looking for fucking sympathy, that's not why he started the fight. He started the fight because he wanted to go wild on someone, rip their fucking face off if he could, at least beat the ever-loving shit out of them if he couldn't. It feels good, to get all the energy out in bruises and broken bones. When his nose aches later, and black-purple marks streak out from the inside corners of his eyes, it feels like he's getting something out of his system.
He gets in a couple more fights that week, a few dust-ups with skater punks, a shoving match with a bicycle messenger that fizzles out too fast to be satisfying. He's pretty calm, though, when he sees Gerard that Friday, outside a show. He's smoking a roach with some kids who think he's cool for having knuckle tattoos, talking shit about some kid who wore fucking brand new Skechers to a hardcore show, thinking about stomping a few heads during the next band's set, when up wanders Gerard. He just stands there for a second, smiling, and then says, "hi Frank," before he keeps on wandering, heading inside.
Frank passes the roach and sucks down the last of his beer, chucks the can out in the road. "This show fucking sucks," he says, "They'll let anyone in." He gets up soon after that, goes inside, takes a piss, and fucking bumps into that shit-eating retard again. "What the fuck are you doing here?" he says, before he can think to check the impulse.
"Thought you might be around," Gerard says, and pushes up his sunglasses. He's fucking smiling. Fucking smiling. "That looks like it hurts," he says, and goes to touch Frank's nose. Frank jerks his head away, snarling.
"Fuck you," Frank says, but it comes off kind of weak. He doesn't know what to say to this kid, this space cadet asshole. He says, "You tell anyone what you did--"
"Why would I tell anyone?" Gerard interrupts, "I'm not proud of it, or anything." He stops and goes to touch Frank's face again. Frank dodges it, and Gerard makes a sad face. "It isn't a nice thing to do to anyone, ever, is it?"
"Just fuck this," Frank says, "I gotta go." But Gerard comes with him, grabs hold of his shirt and gets dragged along in his wake.
"Come back to mine," he says, when they're back outside, putting his fucking sunglasses back on. Frank fidgets, pissed and freaked out. "I'll suck your dick," Gerard says, like that's some sort of reward.
Except for how it kind of is. Frank grudgingly says, "You got poptarts?"
"Yeah," Gerard says, "And Mallomars." He touches Frank's face, quick and light. Frank lets him. "And some steak? I think that's what you put on these."
"It's, like, six days old," Frank says, before he thinks about it, and Gerard's lips quirk down.
"Sorry," he says, and grabs Frank's wrist when he goes to turn away. "C'mon, poptarts."
"And a blowjob," Frank says, relenting a little.
"And a blowjob."
LOL THE END
Epilogue thingy:
Eventually Gerard gets Frank around to the point where Gerard can cuddle him in public, if he doesn't talk about it or anything, because fuck, what are we, girls? And Frank uses one beer as the "drunk" excuse so he can be the little spoon.
Gerard totally tries to make Frank process when Gerard gave him a taste of his own medicine. He makes him do fingerpaints. Frank just draws penises all over his paper. Gerard insists that he express himself, and Frank shoves paint up his nose and snotrockets it out again onto the paper. "There," he says, "Now I'm gonna fuck you in the ass."
Also I would like to state, with my usual obnoxious ways, that at some point Frank bottoms, and then he realizes that he's in an actual relationship with Gerard, and he flips out and goes on a wild bender across the entire state of New Jersey and, like, sleeps with a cheerleading team, except that for "sleeping" see "actually just sleeping" because he gets hammered with them on appletinis and talks about his boyfriend. They make out in front of him to save his masculinity, at least.
And then he falls asleep on the head cheerleader's breasts! And he's all drunk and sad, and the cheerleaders pet him, and he's like, "Your breasts are fucking off the chain, sweetheart. I wish I could gruntfuck you, but my boyfriend would be mad, and. Fuck. My boyfriend, what the shit is that?" And the cheerleaders are all looking at each other over Frank's head, mouthing "soooo precious!!!"
stereomer writes: and frank just mouths "bozangas" really sadly, and wonders what he's become. but then he kind of likes this whole 'being with gerard' thing. but then he's like "BOZANGAS~" :((
EDIT: Guys, please check out evocatory's illustration, for the good of your souls. Bozangas. BOZANGAAAAS.
ANOTHER EDIT: llamapi drew this awesome illustration of Frank and Gerard. AWESOME! I approve in all ways.