Gloves

A haze of almost drunken slurs and images started seeping through his clouded senses. Quick, panicked yelling made his head pound and his stinging eyes squeezed just once again. A faint sweet scent made his stomach turn unpleasantly. Something rubbed against his bare wrists and ankles, an uncomfortable sensation. His face felt--
Wait, bare?
Alarmed red eyes shot open and looked at his irritated red wrists, which revealed painfully white hands. Hands. His gloves were gone. He yanked at his hemp bindings, groaning when he made no headway in breaking them, merely drawing blood. The coppery substance trickled down his wrists and off his fingertips, coloring his fingernails red. His ankles ached from the pulling, appearing raw and bloody.
The light shining on his face blinded him momentarily when he glanced back up. He could see nothing beyond the glow of the lamp hanging in his face, burning his tired eyes and gathering sweat on his already sticky forehead. He was not sure if the sticky substance was purely sweat or partly a liquid he was slowly becoming accustomed to elsewhere on his body. He could smell the musty scent of dust and mold in the air and hear the slight plink of water and/or blood hitting the apparent concrete at his bare (why were his shoes and socks off?) feet.
Sudden echoing footsteps broke the relative silence, light and something along the lines of giddy. They crossed the room, careful not to cast a shadow into the lamplight or step close enough to silhouette their figure. He heard the flick of a switch and muffled cursing from what he assumed was the fact that there were no lights on. The footsteps disappeared for a moment, most likely out of a door, then came back dragging something heavy. It stopped and he could hear a light thump as something--
Holy shit, his captor was changing a light bulb.
Gerard let out a loud, honking duck laugh, snorting obnoxiously and doubling over as far as his binding would allow. "How many serial killers does it take to change a light bulb?!" he crowed, tears leaking out of his eyes and his bladder suddenly filling. No one ever thinks about the urine factor when they kidnap, do they? He was promptly silenced by something soft and squishy smacking the side of his head. He paused. "What the fuck did you just hit me with?" His voice was surprisingly calm and full of humor.
There was no reply received as what he assumed was a chair was dragged from the room. The footsteps reentered the room and the click of the switch resounded, followed by a bright flash of light.
The first thing Gerard noticed was Frank sitting across from him, looking around in distress, opening his mouth silently and rocking in the chair he was bound to. Gerard realized quickly that Frank was behind a pane of one-way glass, and came to the conclusion that Frank had been making the panicked noises he had heard when he woke, but the speaker beside the wall of glass must have been turned off. He noticed they seemed to be in an old interrogation room, long since abandoned and dilapidated.
The last thing he noticed about the room, though, was the person standing to the side, a coy smile on their lips. Familiar green eyes twinkled mischievously.
"Ah, fuck."

Notes

Sorry for the wait; I had a bit of a double-suicide OH MY GOD PLEASE DON'T STOP GOD PLEASE PUT IT DOWN scare yesterday with a couple of pretty good friends so I was all depressed and shit and then I found other Frerard fics and so that was cheering me up and then Comic Book Men popped up on my Netflix thingy and I was all YESSSSSSSS and so procrastination but I have no school today because ice and rain and cold weather overall so YAY :D. Clearly, I'm in a much better mood now.
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-Stitches