Author : heathermouth aka slashxyouxup
Summary: It’s stormy outside. The house is cold and empty, Gerard’s drowsy and confused and it’s all Frank Iero’s fault.
Warnings: Language, light blood shed and a blowj.
Disclaimer: Writers lie – just like your parents.
I read a scene like this years ago back when I read hetro (yes, that time did exist). I can’t remember much, but here’s my Frank/Gerard spin on the whole thing.
If I cut off your arms and I cut off your legs,
Would you still love me, anyway?
It’s stormy outside. The house is cold and empty, Gerard’s drowsy and confused and it’s all Frank Iero’s fault.
It’d happened so fast it had taken Gerard a moment or so to realise it had. One moment he was watching as Frank chipped away loose bits of plastic from the table in Biology (after they both refused to dissect Rupert the frog) with one of the scalpels each pair had been assigned and the next, Frank was staring at Gerard’s leg, mouth hung open in shock and slight horror.
He was about to punch Frank in the arm for ripping the only pair of black jeans he could wear and get away with, cleverly disguising them as the itchy rigid required uniform trousers, when he noticed a strange red liquid seeping through the tear in the left thigh. It wasn’t until the kid next to them had said, “Shit Way, you’re bleeding,” that Gerard finally confirmed to himself that yes, he was in fact bleeding.
“Hmm,” he had replied with a strange calmness before turning deathly pale and swooning off to one side. Frank was at his side like a shot, one arm fixed firm across his shoulders, to keep him upright in his seat, and one hand clamped over the wound.
“Oh my god,” he whispered, “fuck, fuckfuckfuck,” as he guided Gerard to lean back against the abused table. Gerard concentrated on breathing as Frank muttered under his breath, the sound of his breath shallow in his ears as the sandwich he ate at lunch began to sneakily creep its way up from the depths of his stomach. As his head swayed on his shoulders like a charmed snake he caught odd words of Frank’s ramble such as “shit,” and “idiot,” and “Mikey’s gonna kill me.” His eyes slipped closed. “Hey, no, Gerard, open up, come on dude look at me,” he vaguely heard as he felt a firm tug at his leg and press on the wound. When he opened his eyes his chin was on his chest and he could see Frank’s school tie, wrapped around the top of his thigh covering the tear and steadying the blood flow.
“M’bleedin’,” he slurred.
“Yeah,” Frank agreed, “yeah shit you are.” The close surrounding tables had begun to gather around, leaning over the desks to get a better look, whispering excitedly to each other. When a girl behind saw drops of blood on the floor she shrieked, the sound scratching down Gerard’s ear drums like shattering glass.
And that’s the last thing he remembered of being in Biology.
When he had regained consciousness, briefly, he was lay on a soft flat surface, staring up in to blinding white light. His left thigh was cold and something was tugging at the skin, sick and irritating. He tried to move, flinching his leg away but something pressed down on it. When he looked down there was a woman, young and pretty in blue overalls and white rubber gloves holding his leg steady with one hand and doing something he wasn’t too sure of with the other.
“Mumf,” he grumbled before realising just what she was doing – stitching, and that thing in her hand was a needle, small and sharp and bounding his skin back together. His eyes widened and he tried to move, despite the feeling that every limb weighed a tonne.
A hand pressed down on his chest, keeping him from sitting up. “Shh,” a voice cooed softly, “stay still Gee.”
“Frank?” he gasped as he tried to breathe, dropping his head back against the bed. “Frank, Frank what-” he got out before being shushed again.
“You’re getting stitches,” Frank replied calmly, grabbing Gerard’s hand and squeezing tightly as he whimpered. “You got cut in Biology and they took you to the hospital.”
“Hurts,” he whispered, though it sounded like shouting to him.
“I know, it’ll be over soon,” and then he’d started to feel light again, like he could float away, light and woozy as his eyes began to flutter. “Hey,” he heard Frank’s voice distantly command, “Gee stay awake, please.” He felt a hot forehead press against the side of his cold one, pushing against his temple as he grumbled a weak protest. “I’m so sorry,” Frank whispered so faintly he wasn’t sure the words were actually there. “I’m sorry Gerard, I love you.” And then he was out again.
And that’s how Gerard got here, alone in an empty house on a stormy night, over medicated and dizzy from the sound of rain jumping off the living room window. He’s been back from the hospital for a little over twenty four hours now, hardly able to walk without biting on his bottom lip until it bleeds, just to have some other pain to concentrate on.
His parents and younger brother Mikey are at the wedding reception of a distant cousin (that they absolutely could not miss, even though they haven’t seen her in at least six years) just out of town, leaving Gerard to wallow in his medicated misery alone. He’s been told to rest, sleep off the pain as much as possible and not to move his leg too much.
This would all be perfectly fine and dandy if he hadn’t come down with a sudden case of insomnia and hadn’t needed to pee every five minutes. He seriously contemplates moving the TV in to the bathroom, seriously, but despite what the doctor told him he wants to move his leg – mostly just to prove it’s still there. The one time he did manage to nod off he had some crazy dream that his leg got cut off and then his Biology class dissected it. So he’s occupying his time with cartoons and reruns of old sitcoms from the eighties and nineties on some forgotten channel, way high up in the numbers of his cable network.
On his fourth trip back from the bathroom in half an hour he checks his injured leg on the corner of the cabinet. He can’t help but not care about looking like a child when he falls to the floor and bursts in to tears, hands pressed to the sides of his thigh and praying his mother will come through the door any second. The tears are sun hot in his eyes and down his cheeks as the pain throbs through his entire leg for a good minute or so like he’s being stabbed repetitively. He whimpers and gasps for breath at the same time, leaving him making some sort of gurgling sound until he bites down on his abused lip again so he’s just whimpering – quiet and breathless.
After a further minute he sets about gathering all the energy and will power he can find within himself before getting back up, slowly and carefully and gripping on to the cabinet like it’s his only hope, even though it’s the thing that got him in this mess in the first place. Actually, he thinks, Frank Iero’s the one who got me in to this mess.
It’s not like he’s surprised, not really, he’s known Frank since he was six and he’d always been the cause of those childhood cuts and bruises and broken arms and chipped teeth and concussion. So no, he’s not surprised or angry. Frank’s never meant to hurt him; he just can’t stay still for five seconds. He was the same back then and he’s the same now at seventeen, but no matter what the injury Gerard’s always forgiven him – every single time.
He makes it back to the couch, somehow, and grabs the bottle of painkillers from the coffee table. Take one, two at most when you need to the Doctor had told him and now, when he really needs to, he figures maybe three won’t hurt (well no more than what he’s feeling now anyway). And so he takes three, washing them down with the rest of the bottled water and pulling the blanket over himself, laying down on the couch and focusing on the TV.
Sometime later the bodies on the screen begin to blur in to one spill of angry colour and soon, he’s out again.
This time there’s no Biology class, it’s just cold, freezing cold and he can’t breathe. There’s something tearing at his leg like claws, making gaping holes in his body as it shreds through skin. He can’t feel the pain but he can see it, he sees it in Frank’s eyes as he leans over him, hand in his hair as he whispers. It’s just a movement of lips at first and Gerard squints, straining his eyes and ears trying to make out what he’s saying.
“I love you, I love you, I love you,” the words aren’t coming from Frank’s lips but still somehow Gerard can hear them. The light gets brighter and the words get louder, faster like a rhythm as they build up in his head pounding against his skull like his heart against his chest as he pants.
He wakes up with a jolt as something crashes, loud and harsh against his ears. It’s just the TV, some car insurance commercial with a smashed up blue sports car and irate uninsured owner. Gerard sighs in relief, closing his eyes and waits for his heart rate to steady before mumbling, “Fucking commercials.” He fumbles for the remote, which is wedged somewhere under his lower back, and flicks off the TV. He closes his eyes again.
“I love you.”
His eyes shoot open again and he sits up, quickly, ignoring the string of pain that slithers through his leg in protest. Staring at the opposite wall like he’s trying to make it catch fire with intense concentration alone he thinks back to the hospital, piecing together what little he remembers.
And then it’s there, clear as day, so clear he’s bewildered as to how he missed it until now. He’s sure of it, even though the room’s sort of spinning and the edges of everything in view are a little blurred he’s so sure of what Frank said – just confused as fuck as to what it means. Frank’s said those words before, but usually in the context of “I love you man,” when Gerard brought him beer, leant him comics or rolled him the perfect joint. This one was different, a desperate little whisper ghosting over Gerard’s ear like no one else was meant to hear it.
He’s sure, but he needs to be positive and most importantly he needs to find out why.
Surprisingly, there isn’t blinding pain when he pulls himself up from the couch. For this he thanks the painkillers, though his vision is still some what questionable and there’s a strange buzzing sound in his ears he still considers it a mild victory. He even manages to stuff his bare feet in to some sneakers and put on a hoodie (which he thinks might be Mikey’s) without losing the will to live. Win.
He’s not quite sure how he made it from door to the end of the path, or how long it took him, but suddenly he’s there. He’s stood at the end of his path at night, in the rain – in Jersey. What the hell is he thinking? He’s not, and again he’s got the meds to thank for that, wrapping up all rational thought in a big squishy coat of ‘it’ll be fine’.
Gerard’s not even across the street and his hoodie is already sopping wet, sticking to his skin like a second layer of moist heavy flesh. He turns his hands in to fists and pushes them together as he makes his way in to the park that separates his street from Frank’s.
The wind picks up and lashes his wet hair against his cold face in sharp little whips, catching between his lips until he can taste the rain water at the back of his throat. The ground sways slightly beneath him and he keeps a hand on the iron bars along the park’s perimeter as a just in case precaution. The grass is wet and mud thick, gripping to his sneakers and weighing down his feet even more as he trudges on, eyes focussed on the gate at the other end of the park.
When he makes it to the gate he can see Frank’s front door. There are no lights on and the curtains are drawn and he feels something like disappointment dipping low in his stomach. He can’t turn back now, mostly because he doesn’t think he’s got the energy to make it, so he wipes the mop of his fringe away from his forehead and crosses the street. He gets there without much trouble; the rain is a little lighter now, a little less piercing though he’s still cold and soggy from head to toe.
He waits for what feels like an awfully long time, curling his toes inside his wet socks checking they’re still there. Finally a light in the hallway flips on, and someone’s cursing as they fumble on the mail table for keys. When the door opens Frank goes from pissed off to complete shock in all of .4 seconds.
“Gerard?” he says, clutching the door in one hand as he tries to shake away the grogginess of sleep from his brain. “What the hell are you doing here?” he says as it finally clears, the cold outside making this all too real for him. “How did you get here?” he asks.
“Walked,” is Gerard’s meek reply.
“Walked?!” Frank squawks. “In the cold? In the rain? In the dark? In Jersey?!”
“Um, y-yes?” Gerard whispers.
“Are you mental?” but he doesn’t give Gerard time to reply. “Wait, no, that can wait just, just get in here,” and he pulls Gerard by the arm until he stumbles in to Frank’s hallway. Frank closes the door and rushes past Gerard calling, “Wait there!” as he disappears in to the kitchen. When he comes back he’s carrying a towel which he chucks over Gerard’s head once he’s near enough. He dries Gerard’s hair in a frenzy, mumbling to himself. “So lucky mom’s not here, she’d kick both our asses.” He whips the towel from his head and throws it behind his shoulder. Gerard stands, still wet and now shaken, in front of him – vulnerable and cold. “You need clean clothes. Can you walk?” Gerard nods. “Okay,” and he takes Gerard’s hand and leads him slowly up the stairs, being careful of each step.
Gerard’s been in Frank’s room a million times before it’s practically his second home. He knows, even before Frank flips the lights on, to step over the dirty pile of laundry in front of the computer chair. Frank sits Gerard on the edge of his bed and instructs him to stay there as his disappears in to the depths of his closet. He returns less than a minute later with Spiderman pajama pants and an old Misfits t-shirt.
“Arms up,” he commands, setting the pants down at Gerard’s side but keeping hold of the shirt. Gerard looks at him, confused, but does as told. Frank pulls the sopping hoodie and t-shirt from Gerard, making him shiver as the warm air hits his cold skin, and puts the clean warm one on quickly. Gerard shivers still and runs his hand over the opposite arm. “Pants,” Gerard doesn’t have the energy to complain, just leans back and slips them over his hips, kicking them off at his feet leaving him in blue checked boxers. Frank puts the Spiderman ones on for him and ends up kneeling in front of Gerard as he works them up his hips. “Now,” he says, resting his hands on Gerard’s knees, “are you going to tell me why you’re here, or do I have to call the men with big nets and straight jackets?”
Gerard stares at Frank’s hands as they rest on his legs and glances up at him. “Do you love me?” he whispers.
Frank’s face reads confusion and he moves to sit next to Gerard on the bed. “What kind of question is that?” Gerard shrugs. “Of course I love you Gee, you’re my best friend.”
“No,” Gerard interjects, grabbing Frank’s wrist and staring hard in to his eyes. “Do you love me, I mean like – really love me?” Frank’s bottom lip quivers.
“Why-why would you ask that?” and it sounds like he’s nervous.
Gerard loosens his grip on Frank’s wrist, but still keeps his cold fingers wrapped around Frank’s warm skin. “The hospital,” he says quietly, “you said you loved me and, and it didn’t sound like the best friend sort of love and I, I suppose I just wanted to know whether you meant it or not.”
Frank looks down towards his lap, “What if I didn’t?” and something tugs at Gerard’s heart – hard and cruel.
“Then, I don’t know.”
Frank looks back up, teeth sucking the ball of his lip ring in to his mouth the metal clangs against them. “And if I did?” he whispers, low and almost silent. Gerard’s heart jumps in to his throat and, later he’ll blame this on the medication – if it doesn’t work out, lets his body sway forward. His hand touches Frank’s elbow gently and before he can think of an answer his lips do it for him, pressing lightly against Frank’s.
Terrified would be an understatement to what Gerard’s feeling right now as his heart hammers against his chest, sirens screech and flash in his mind as he thinks ohmygodohmygodohmygod. Yet the inside panic is not apparent to Frank as Gerard calmly captures Frank’s top lip between his own, separates them and dives in again to repeat the motion – slow and careful. Somewhere along the line Frank’s fingers slide over Gerard’s shoulder and slip on to his neck, stroking the skin delicately until the hairs prickle beneath the touch. Their noses bump together in an unattractive squish which makes them both smile with a breathless laugh.
“We’re losers,” Gerard comments quietly as Frank smirks and bites his own bottom lip.
“Yeah,” he breathes in agreement before pressing for another kiss. This time though, he wraps his arms around Gerard’s shoulders and pulls him along as he lies back on the bed. Gerard gasps as Frank’s knee prods his thigh, dull pain shooting along his leg, bitter tasting as his eyes water. “Shit,” Frank mutters, “sorry,” as he pushes Gerard to lie on his back. “Sorry,” he says again.
“S’okay,” Gerard smiles, threading his fingers through Frank’s short hair as he leans over him. “I forgive you.”
“What? For cutting you in the first place, for hurting you again or for taking so long to tell you how I feel?” he asks in to Gerard’s mouth, pecking his bottom lip quickly as he draws away.
“Everything,” Gerard replies. Frank’s smile is soft and warm and he nods. He dips his head down again but his lips instead land on Gerard’s neck as he begins to kiss slowly across his collar bone through the material of his t-shirt.
“Thank you,” Gerard thinks he hears Frank whisper in to the fabric, though his mind isn’t clear enough to be sure as Frank’s hand sneaks under the hem and crawls to his chest. Gerard’s shudders and his pale skin flushes with self consciousness. His palm flattens against Gerard’s chest as he strokes the warming skin in smooth fluid motions as his lips stay preoccupied with bruising the skin on Gerard’s throat and Gerard can’t help but arch his back and groan just a little, even though his leg protests. Frank’s hand travels down to Gerard’s hips where it takes hold of the elastic there and rests. “Can I?” Frank tears his lips away from their work to ask. Gerard’s breath catches in his throat and he nods, slow – but the room still spins.
Frank pulls the material down, latching on to the edge of the boxers as well once he gets there and drags them down Gerard’s legs, kicking them off with his own feet. Gerard gasps and closes his eyes, unable to hide the twinge of red that rushes through his cheeks. Smirking to himself Frank makes his way carefully down the bed, manoeuvring the bandaged thigh with ease until he’s settled; kneeling between Gerard’s parted legs. Though the look on Gerard’s face would say otherwise, it’s pretty much the hottest view Frank’s had in his life.
With a hand pressed against Gerard’s good thigh, Frank pulls himself closer until his breath runs warm over the tip of Gerard’s erection. He glances up to watch him squirm and bite back the moans he thinks are embarrassing. Subsiding his own nervousness in favour of making Gerard moan out loud he wraps his lips around Gerard’s cock and moves down. He grins around Gerard when he finally hears it, a guttural moan as he grabs at the sheets beneath him. He swallows, wetting his throat for a slippy surface and digs his fingertips in to Gerard’s good thigh. “Frank,” Gerard gasps breathlessly, heels digging in to the mattress below.
Frank sucks and hums and licks, and uses every trick he’s got in his brain locked away in the box marked awesome porn, making Gerard forget about the pain in his thigh, or the embarrassment of being half naked or the nervousness of being sucked off by your best friend. By the time it’s all built up low and hot in the pit of Gerard’s stomach, and he’s ready to explode, he couldn’t even tell you where he is. He thrusts his hips and tries to give some warning in the form of, “Frank, shit, m’gonna-” but Frank’s not budging. Gerard shakes when he comes, arm slung over his eyes as his hips arch far away from the bed, putting pressure on his thigh which should hurt like hell – but he’s got more important things to feel.
As he’s coming down Frank snakes his way back up his body, just as carefully as when he went down, and bites softly on Gerard’s earlobe until he opens his eyes again. “Hi,” he smiles when he finally does, and all Gerard can do is laugh, bring his face closer to peck his lips and whisper back, “Hey.”
p.s. for saint_sorrows, because she's my favourite (: