R U Mine?

Gerard’s knuckles are whiter than his fucking face as he walks the few martyr steps that take to get to the front porch of Frank’s mom’s house. It’s not like he’s actually scared, but for a lack of a better word, he’s just really fucking ner- okay, yeah, he’s shit scared and also possibly about to wet himself. To be honest, he prefers deep dungeons, caverns and the usual grimy moist that is his Trig homework over making a fool out of himself in front of the woman whose vagina Frank’s head peeked out of exactly twenty-five years and two months ago.

Okay, no, ew- that mental image certainly doesn’t do anything good for the anxiety currently raiding his nerves. It’s one of those moral questions, Gerard would say- it’s that thing you get inside your chest when you think about genitalia of the people whose genitalia you really shouldn’t think about. For instance, your boyfriend’s mom’s.

He kind of feels like that one hair you suddenly develop hate for while plucking your eyebrows. You know, the one that bothers you even though you know you shouldn’t pluck it because it’s going to make too much of a difference, but if you do pluck it you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life and your kids will probably talk about you with disgust as they remember that one hair you plucked that one day. He’s annoyed by himself, but not annoyed enough to do anything about it. And that lack of annoyance makes him even more annoyed and- Gerard is having a nervous breakdown.

Frank’s strangely fucking calm, which is… well, strange, but also putting him at ease. He isn’t sure where this certainty regarding the entire thing has come from, it’s probably just because it’s funny to see Gerard shaking like a fucking beaver while he’s probably the only one who shouldn’t be worried about anything at all. Frank’s mom is one really chill person and Gerard is going to find that out real fucking soon- but that really isn’t the problem here.

So, yeah, the first thing that happens when Frank knocks on the door is Gerard jumping at the loud bark that ensues. He hasn’t got time to tell him it’s just the dogs being little shits and not the scary zombie wolves that will tear him apart because the door opens and a very stoned-looking woman peeks out with her head.

“Frankie?” She opens the door further and the dogs practically jump on him, tackling him to the ground as Gerard yelps and moves back. “You could’ve called. I haven’t got any more pot.”

“Shark, get off me,” Frank yells at the dog, and then grins brightly at his mother. “No, Mom, I’m good. If I wanted weed, I’d go to Dewees’s mom instead.”

She looks at him for a few seconds, tilting her head to the side before she erupts into giggles. Gerard kind of already likes her, even though he isn’t sure if that’s just the fear talking. “Come here, you useless punk.”

She pulls Frank to his feet and then tugs him in a hug that looks like it could crush all his bones, and he’s pretty sure the Ieros are made out of adamantium because that woman looks fucking strong. He wouldn’t want to mess with her, honestly, she’s on grandma Elena’s level and that says something.

“I’ve missed you, too, Ma.”

“Now let me go, I want to take a look at the beauty. It’s the only appropriate, now after the beast and all.” Frank rolls his eyes at that, but Gerard kind of sniggers; even though it sounds more like a really high-pitched whine than anything else, really. She walks over to him, and Gerard can swear he falls in love just a little because she has the exact same smile as Frank. “You’re so gorgeous. No, really, you are even prettier than what this idiot here described you as. My son isn’t very bright, but he sure knows how to pick ‘em. C’mere, you.”

Gerard swears it feels like family when she hugs him, even with all the pot.

*

It started to seem that, in reality, the only actual difference between Frank and his mom lies in the cooking skills.

“No, Frank, you can’t cook,” Linda [she threatened to hurt Gerard’s private parts if he calls her ‘Mrs. Iero’ one more time] says, firm as a fucking rock. She’s proven to be quite the deathly type, to be honest, and Gerard’s kind of relieved he hasn’t gotten to her bad side. Well, she kind of adores him, so.

“No, Frank, you can’t,” so Gerard is getting the best out of the situation and being a bitch to his beloved boyfriend. Why, you might ask? Because it’s fun, because he can, and because Frank’s said before that it turns him on.

“Okay, I give up.”

“Also you two should make yourselves useful and walk the dogs tomorrow.”

“I’ve been here for a half an hour and I already have to do chores.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up.”

“Language, Ma.”

“You swear more than I do.”

“Lies.”

“You also smoke like a chimney.”

“Oh, please, look who’s talking.”

“Don’t bitch about it when you die of lung cancer.”

“How am I supposed to bitch about it if I’m dead?”

Linda rolls her eyes. “Technicalities.”

“Also, remind me who the person who gave me my first cigarette was?”

She widens her eyes so much Gerard is kind of worried all the capillary inside might burst. That’d make a cool movie scene, though. He should put it in one of those comics he’ll never write because he’s a lazy-ass piece of shit.

“I found you with it, I just gave you my lighter.”

Now Frank’s the one who’s rolling his eyes. “Technicalities.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“Please don’t.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“I don’t want to neglect Gerard any further for the sake of conversation in which we debate exactly how disgusting mother-son incest would be.”

“No, be my guest.” Gerard waves his hand around, feeling like an intruder but also helplessly holding back laughter and, well, vomit because fucking mother-son incest.

“This conversation is the biggest fail the world has seen since Gangnam Style.” And now Gerard is cackling, and Linda is looking at Frank like he’s said that he highly enjoys squid sex. Which, by the way, he doesn’t.

*

“Sorry about that,” Frank says, pointing his finger in the general direction of downstairs, the kitchen, and his mother. “We’re probably way too similar to get along.”

“True, that is,” Gerard says in a Yoda fashion, opening the door to Frank’s room and tugging him inside before closing the door.

At first, Gerard just looks around for a few moments, because there’s almost too many things to see- a double bed by the window with ratty, red sheets spread across it almost lazily, along with a giant wardrobe on the opposite side of the room. There’s also a desk, but you can’t really see it because of all the papers and bits and shits splayed across it. On the bookshelf, though, there are so many books that Gerard can’t even recognize half of the titles. Some of them are Hellboy and Deadpool comic books, though, all beaten up old editions that make Gerard’s heart flip just a little.

There are so many posters on the walls. Some are so worn out it’s almost hard to read the band names, but then there are the huge ones like Zombie Ghost Train and Circle Jerks that Gerard can’t help but to notice. What gets his attention the most is a creamy-colored Les Paul in one corner, standing seemingly untouched amongst all the other colorful things in the room.

“I used to call it Pansy,” says Frank, coming up to him from behind and putting his chin on Gerard’s shoulder. “It was, like, a personality thing. Pricks used to call me a pansy, and I felt like nobody understood me but my guitar. So it was the logical thing to do- if I’m a pansy, so is my guitar. There wasn’t a place I didn’t take it. To Ray’s, to James’s, Hambone’s, my girlfriend at the time’s place… it was always Frank and Pansy.”

Gerard wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what. So, instead of saying anything he just grabbed Frank’s arms and wrapped them around his waist. He leaned a bit backwards and inhaled deeply, letting Frank talk as he wishes.

“Jamia always said that I loved that guitar more than her,” he sniggers silently, but Gerard doesn’t smile. He feels like this is a touchy subject, and he really doesn’t want to come off as disrespectful even if he’s a piece of shit.

“You can tell me about her, if you want to.”

Frank sighs, and there’s pain in it, even if Gerard doesn’t feel like he’s asked too much. “I don’t really know what to tell you. She was the first person I ever had feelings for and I don’t regret it, even if I ended up getting hurt.”

“That’s reasonable,” Gerard bites his lip, “I guess I should feel jealous, or something. But I don’t.”

Frank chuckles lightly, “Why would you feel jealous? I loved her, but that’s past tense. I love you, and that’s present tense. I don’t teach you grammar, but I guess you should know that much. And I love you a lot.”

Gerard smiles, and to Frank it looks way too important to be true. “I love you, too.”

“I know. Now come here,” Frank flips him around, “listen closely. First, I’m going to kiss you, and then I’m going to take you outside. It’s New Year’s Eve and we’re going out. Into the world.”

Gerard rolls his eyes. “My plan was making you play the guitar for me while I’m eating your food and using you as a human pillow.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but no can do.”

“Why?” Gerard makes a pouty face.

“Because this is a town where nobody knows who we are. Maybe they know I’m the Iero boy who went off to college somewhere, but that’s all they know. I’m not Mr. Iero, Belleville High’s Lit teacher, and you’re not Gerard, a senior at the already mentioned school. I’m just Frank and you’re my boyfriend, and nobody needs to know anything else. I just want to be the man I want to be for one evening, and I want to do it with you.”

Gerard bites his lip and then leans in, crushing their lips together as his forearms hit the back of Frank’s neck. The contact’s intense but he doesn’t care, and he can feel the grip on his waist becoming firmer, holding him in place as the side of his nose touches Frank’s.

“Love you,” he whispers against Frank’s lips.

“You better.”

*

Gerard’s ideal of a perfect night out isn’t the local McDonalds, but he really doesn’t give a shit if it’s Frank who’s taking him. Frank’s skeleton-gloved fingers are laced with his as they enter the warmth of the restaurant, and Gerard’s hair is glowing blue-ish in the fluorescent light. The beanie Frank got him a while ago is gray and it makes his hair look even darker, and Frank keeps joking how they both look like death. Gerard doesn’t mind.

“Uh, is a veggie burger okay? And coke?” Frank asks, standing in line.

“Nuh uh, I’d rather have a latte than a coke.”

“Very strange,” Frank rolls his eyes, but then turns around as he sees it’s their turn to order. The guy at the register is tall and kind of gruff, obviously wanting to be anywhere but here while he’s boredly staring into the screen. Frank’s eyes bulge out when he sees the guy, and a cheeky smile replaces the confusion very soon. “James?”

The guy’s head shoots upwards. And then downwards, because Frank really isn’t as tall as ‘James’. “Frankenstein?”

And Gerard really has no idea what kind of golden money Frank paid this guy to call him Frankenstein.

*

“Why does everyone call me pretty? I’m literally a walking, talking, rotten turnip,” Gerard says, mouth full of veggie burger and lips in a frown.

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Frank kisses his cheek and Dewees stage-whispers a ‘PDA’.

“You’re his first guy, but you’re definitely the prettiest one he’ll ever have. I guarantee you that one,” James winks at him and Frank rolls his eyes exasperatedly.

“I am right here.”

“Thank you for that information,” Dewees sighs. “Anyhow, now that I’ve listen to your rants, it’s my turn.” Frank gives him a look, but James just waves him off. “Hambone broke his leg yesterday.”

“Jesus Christ,” Frank rubs his forehead with his palm. “What’d he do?”

“Rammed his skateboard into his mom’s back yard.”

“He still skates?”

“Obviously,” Dewees looks like he got punched in the face by a two year old. “He’s such a man child.”

“You’re talking to Frank Iero, seriously,” Gerard chimes in and earns an elbow in the side. “Fucking ouch. You’re an asshole.”

“You love me,” Frank says and kisses his cheek before he can say otherwise.

“No, like, Frank doesn’t even look twenty-five. Hambone is literally a six feet tall hill that likes to fuck shit up. Mrs. McGuire is getting really tired of his shit. Man, my Ma would kill me if I touched her garden.”

Frank grins, “The pot garden.”

“She moved that one to dad’s old tractor, she just keeps all her pot stashed at the back.”

“Is that a thing here? Do all your moms smoke pot?” Gerard asks, kind of baffled.

“Not all. Neil’s mom didn’t let him hang out with us back in the day because Linda started smelling like weed when she’d come over for coffee. It was brutal.”

Frank starts laughing. “Neil was the fucking worst of us all.”

“Oh, sweet irony.”

“I don’t even do that shit anymore,” Frank says, “the last time I was high was for my birthday.”

“It’s probably my fault, I give him way too much caffeine,” Gerard sighs.

“And I smoke like a chimney anyway, it’s getting annoying. My mom lectured me about lung cancer today.”

“You were always traveling with a gray cloud around, anyway,” Dewees mocks, and Frank just kicks him in the shin.

“I didn’t corrupt Gerard, though, I consider it a win.”

“Shut up,” Gerard rolls his eyes.

The truth is, though, Gerard is nothing but corrupted.

Notes

i feel gerard on an emotional level tbh.

also, i'm sorry i didn't update- i was too busy listening to bad brains & watching wolverine & reading spiderman & procrastinating. sawi.

i'm generally just a turnip.

xomls