ficlet & foolishness.
Why am I posting a Frank/Gerard high school AU ficlet with a John Sheppard icon? I have no idea. Why am I apparently incapable of writing anything other than Frank-centric MCR stories? Still no clue. Oh well. If you want to give me prompts for non-MCR or non-F/G stories in the comments, that would be tops.
The Thing Is
Comment fic for algernon-mouse, who expressed an interest in angry!high school Frank. Frank/Gerard, MCR, rated PG. 792 words.
The thing is, Frank could win. If he hit a truly epic growth spurt, started wearing brass knuckles, and developed a meth habit. Then, then Frank would have a real fighting chance against four of the school's best lacrosse players.
As it is, though, he's getting his ass handed to him.
Gerard tries to pull one of the bigger guys off of Frank's back, and gets an elbow to his nose for his trouble. It's an afterthought for the guy, fending him off, and Gerard wishes that he had his own meth habit.
Or, even more outrageously, that Frank would stop starting fights.
"Fuck you!" Frank crows, and one of the guys stumbles mid-kick. "I heard your mother gets it from a donkey, Peterson!"
"Christ, Frank," Gerard says, and ducks down to try to pull Frank out by his feet.
"Fucking faggots," Peterson says, and nails Gerard in the side.
"Fuck!" Gerard says, and Frank laughs.
------
The thing is, it's all true.
Well, Gerard doesn't know if Peterson's mom really gets it from a donkey, or if Jack Warner actually enjoys felching the lacrosse coach's jizz out of his own ass -- he doesn't really look that bendy -- but the rest of it, what the lacrosse players said, those parts are true. Frank does like to suck cock, Gerard is his own freak parade, and they are fucking faggots. Frank doesn't exactly need to spit in Peterson's face and kick Warner in the nuts for saying any of it.
Gerard checks the tissue he's been holding to his nose, and presses it back against his left nostril. His side hurts. His butt hurts. He's missing art class.
Frank saunters out of the principal's office and grins. His teeth are bloody.
"Your teeth are bloody," Gerard says.
"I know," Frank says, and smiles even wider. "I'm gonna tell one of the goons I have analaplaxial meninscoliomidia."
"Ana-what?"
Frank shrugs. "I made it up. They don't know that, though. And I bled all over the new kid." Gerard sighs and struggles to his feet. Frank catches him under one elbow and holds him steady. "You need to stop interfering," Frank says, and Gerard blinks at him in disbelief.
"You need to stop getting into trouble." Because Frank does this- he gets into trouble for no reason. At least when Gerard acts like a crazy bastard it's for his brother, or to keep the lacrosse team from actually killing Frank this time.
"Let's try for things we can actually achieve," Frank says.
"Look--" Gerard starts, and then stops. He doesn't know what to say that he hasn't already said. He tries again. "They're only hurting you, y'know, and. I mean. It's not like it isn't true." It comes out more awkward than it was in his head.
"It's the principle," Frank says. Gerard thinks he's talking about Ms. Pressman at first, and then realizes he's talking about ideals. Again. "They think they can just kick people around, Gee, it's not okay."
"They can just kick you around," Gerard says, and Frank's face clouds over.
"What the fuck." It's not even a question. "It's- why do you keep giving up?" He pushes Gerard back, up against the wall across from the principal's office, and--
And okay, the thing is. The thing is, this is part of why Gerard likes him. It's strange, but this, the reason why Frank keeps fighting, this is why Gerard doesn't want him to get keep getting into fights. Frank has this energy thrumming under his skin, a strange power that lets him shove Gerard - who is taller, and older, and heavier than him - against a wall and hold him there. It's why he hurled himself into a group of four lacrosse players, and it's why Gerard kept trying to hold him back, to pull him free.
Frank nudges his leg in between Gerard's, presses up carefully. Gerard gasps. He drops his tissue.
"So what if they kick me around? I heal," Frank says. Gerard can't help looking at the frosted glass of the principal's door, Lois Pressman, Upper School Head in navy blue letters and the dark shape of her secretary sitting behind it. He looks back at Frank, who is still stormy-looking, but smiling now. "What about the kids who don't fight? What about the other fags?" Frank doesn't play fair. Gerard always forgets that.
"You've got three more years of fighting for them," he says, but it's helpless, weak. His hips are shifting against Frank. He's already lost the argument. Maybe, he thinks, and almost laughs, maybe if Frank tried fighting the lacrosse team like this, maybe he'd win once in a while.
"I'm gonna go break into the locker room and pee on their gloves," Frank whispers, breath hot on Gerard’s neck. "And then we're gonna make out in the showers."
Gerard can't help it. "Okay," he says, already sure that Frank's going to get hurt again, "okay, let's go."
---End---
My women's studies class was cancelled, which made my day a far sight better. My finger is sprained, my knee is bonkers, and I have a vicious cold complete with bronchial spasms, but I can go home now and watch Repo Man. Life has its upsides.
I'm sorry if I'm a little wahmbulance these days. I thought about going off LJ for the duration, but eh. I'll probably just LJ cut.
[EDIT: For those of you who like MCR on my friendslist (all, uh. three of you?): I downloaded Pencey Prep's album from a friend, and OH MY GOD I LOVE IT. Help. Help. Seriously. It is every.single.shitty.band I went and saw in crappy venues when I was in college and high school and OH MY GOD. I was dancing in my chair, guys. HELP.
For the record, I keep hearing people say that Frank wasn't a good singer. He isn't, not for something like MCR. He's fcking GREAT for a hardcore band. Only a few wobbles, and a great fcking howl. OMG. I think I've rediscovered my love of hardcore. WHAT.]
The Thing Is
Comment fic for algernon-mouse, who expressed an interest in angry!high school Frank. Frank/Gerard, MCR, rated PG. 792 words.
The thing is, Frank could win. If he hit a truly epic growth spurt, started wearing brass knuckles, and developed a meth habit. Then, then Frank would have a real fighting chance against four of the school's best lacrosse players.
As it is, though, he's getting his ass handed to him.
Gerard tries to pull one of the bigger guys off of Frank's back, and gets an elbow to his nose for his trouble. It's an afterthought for the guy, fending him off, and Gerard wishes that he had his own meth habit.
Or, even more outrageously, that Frank would stop starting fights.
"Fuck you!" Frank crows, and one of the guys stumbles mid-kick. "I heard your mother gets it from a donkey, Peterson!"
"Christ, Frank," Gerard says, and ducks down to try to pull Frank out by his feet.
"Fucking faggots," Peterson says, and nails Gerard in the side.
"Fuck!" Gerard says, and Frank laughs.
------
The thing is, it's all true.
Well, Gerard doesn't know if Peterson's mom really gets it from a donkey, or if Jack Warner actually enjoys felching the lacrosse coach's jizz out of his own ass -- he doesn't really look that bendy -- but the rest of it, what the lacrosse players said, those parts are true. Frank does like to suck cock, Gerard is his own freak parade, and they are fucking faggots. Frank doesn't exactly need to spit in Peterson's face and kick Warner in the nuts for saying any of it.
Gerard checks the tissue he's been holding to his nose, and presses it back against his left nostril. His side hurts. His butt hurts. He's missing art class.
Frank saunters out of the principal's office and grins. His teeth are bloody.
"Your teeth are bloody," Gerard says.
"I know," Frank says, and smiles even wider. "I'm gonna tell one of the goons I have analaplaxial meninscoliomidia."
"Ana-what?"
Frank shrugs. "I made it up. They don't know that, though. And I bled all over the new kid." Gerard sighs and struggles to his feet. Frank catches him under one elbow and holds him steady. "You need to stop interfering," Frank says, and Gerard blinks at him in disbelief.
"You need to stop getting into trouble." Because Frank does this- he gets into trouble for no reason. At least when Gerard acts like a crazy bastard it's for his brother, or to keep the lacrosse team from actually killing Frank this time.
"Let's try for things we can actually achieve," Frank says.
"Look--" Gerard starts, and then stops. He doesn't know what to say that he hasn't already said. He tries again. "They're only hurting you, y'know, and. I mean. It's not like it isn't true." It comes out more awkward than it was in his head.
"It's the principle," Frank says. Gerard thinks he's talking about Ms. Pressman at first, and then realizes he's talking about ideals. Again. "They think they can just kick people around, Gee, it's not okay."
"They can just kick you around," Gerard says, and Frank's face clouds over.
"What the fuck." It's not even a question. "It's- why do you keep giving up?" He pushes Gerard back, up against the wall across from the principal's office, and--
And okay, the thing is. The thing is, this is part of why Gerard likes him. It's strange, but this, the reason why Frank keeps fighting, this is why Gerard doesn't want him to get keep getting into fights. Frank has this energy thrumming under his skin, a strange power that lets him shove Gerard - who is taller, and older, and heavier than him - against a wall and hold him there. It's why he hurled himself into a group of four lacrosse players, and it's why Gerard kept trying to hold him back, to pull him free.
Frank nudges his leg in between Gerard's, presses up carefully. Gerard gasps. He drops his tissue.
"So what if they kick me around? I heal," Frank says. Gerard can't help looking at the frosted glass of the principal's door, Lois Pressman, Upper School Head in navy blue letters and the dark shape of her secretary sitting behind it. He looks back at Frank, who is still stormy-looking, but smiling now. "What about the kids who don't fight? What about the other fags?" Frank doesn't play fair. Gerard always forgets that.
"You've got three more years of fighting for them," he says, but it's helpless, weak. His hips are shifting against Frank. He's already lost the argument. Maybe, he thinks, and almost laughs, maybe if Frank tried fighting the lacrosse team like this, maybe he'd win once in a while.
"I'm gonna go break into the locker room and pee on their gloves," Frank whispers, breath hot on Gerard’s neck. "And then we're gonna make out in the showers."
Gerard can't help it. "Okay," he says, already sure that Frank's going to get hurt again, "okay, let's go."
---End---
My women's studies class was cancelled, which made my day a far sight better. My finger is sprained, my knee is bonkers, and I have a vicious cold complete with bronchial spasms, but I can go home now and watch Repo Man. Life has its upsides.
I'm sorry if I'm a little wahmbulance these days. I thought about going off LJ for the duration, but eh. I'll probably just LJ cut.
[EDIT: For those of you who like MCR on my friendslist (all, uh. three of you?): I downloaded Pencey Prep's album from a friend, and OH MY GOD I LOVE IT. Help. Help. Seriously. It is every.single.shitty.band I went and saw in crappy venues when I was in college and high school and OH MY GOD. I was dancing in my chair, guys. HELP.
For the record, I keep hearing people say that Frank wasn't a good singer. He isn't, not for something like MCR. He's fcking GREAT for a hardcore band. Only a few wobbles, and a great fcking howl. OMG. I think I've rediscovered my love of hardcore. WHAT.]