My Theater Romance

Chapter 9
The Fairy Gaymother

A/N: Oh hai dere.

Prepare for what would happen if I had a child. (A.K.A. Extreme fuckin’ weirdness.) Like honestly this is the weirdest thing I’ve ever written and I’m afraid it’s gonna ruin the story, but it’s also my lame attempt at comedy. Imagine Brendon Urie like this… I just… I don’t even know what I’m doing with my life anymore. Send help in the form of cookies please.

OH! Also, you should totally follow my Tumblr. My URL is c12h22o1weregoindownswingin. I follow back on Tumblr. It’s the best place to reach me as well.

Smut in the next chapter!

Anyways, enjoy the fuckin’ weirdass chapter and don’t die. Ok bai.

“Mr. Urie, why are you working at WalMart?” Frank asked, his jaw dropping as he reached the checkout line.

“Frank Iero, why are you buying fucking candles?” Mr. Urie’s eyebrows arched as he stared down Frank, unfazed.

“I… uh… I…” Frank mumbled.

“Who is it? It’s for a date, I know it is.” Mr. Urie grinned wickedly. “And you can call me Brendon, this isn’t school.”

“No I can’t fucking call you Brendon, that’s weird.”

“Don’t swear. Who are you buying candles for?”

“You’re not my teacher anymore.”

Mr. Urie glared at him. “I’m charging you twenty bucks extra if you don’t tell me who you’re buying them for.”

“Well…” Frank blushed, hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “You know Gerard Way?”

Mr. Urie clapped a hand over his mouth and took out his phone, typing something in quickly. A moment later Ryan appeared at the booth, sliding in next to him, taking his apron off and putting it on himself, and kissing him on the cheek.

“Come on. I’m taking you out to coffee.”

“But – ” Frank shut his mouth. It was free coffee.

“I know you like butts, Frank, don’t say it in public though.” Mr. Urie laughed loudly at what he apparently assumed to be a passable joke.

Frank turned a vibrant shade of scarlet. “Where are we going? And I still don’t have my candles.”

“I told Ryan we’d be back in ten minutes. I’ll buy you the candles, my treat. We’re going to Dutch Bros.”

“Not that I’m complaining, but why are you buying me stuff?” Frank was still attempting to wrap his mind around what just happened.

Mr. Urie put on a serious face. “It’s my duty, now that I am your fairy gaymother.”

“Pardon?”

“Your fairy gaymother.” Mr. Urie repeated with a straight face.

“What the fuck is a fairy gaymother?” Frank asked loudly, causing passersby to give him weird looks.

“A fairy gaymother,” Mr. Urie said, “Is basically your mentor in gayness. You’re already doing very well with the eyeliner and tight jeans, Frank, but you need to insert ‘sweetie’s’ and ‘hon’s’ in your speech.”

Frank looked at him like he was a complete whack job, which he probably was. “Excuse me?”

“There we go, there’s the sass!” Mr. Urie chuckled as they walked into Starbucks. “Now just put a swing in your hips and occasionally wear lip gloss and you’ll be perfectly gay!”

“There is no fucking way I am putting on lip gloss.”

“Ah, Way! That reminds me that I wanted to talk to you about Gerard.” He slid into the booth, gesturing for Frank to sit in front of him. “Spill. Everything.”

“What do you mean, everything?” Frank asked, certain that he was not going to tell Mr. Urie everything, no matter what it was.

“Oh, you know what I mean.” Mr. Urie smirked. “Is he a good kisser? Who asked out who? What was the first date? Who’s bottoming?”

Frank looked at him oddly. “There is no way I am telling you whether or not my boyfriend is a good kisser.”

“Oh, come on,” Mr. Urie sulked. “You’re no fun. I won’t tell anyone. But you’re supposed to tell me this stuff. I’m your fairy gaymoth – ”

“I know, I know!” Frank grouched. “Fine. He is an amazing kisser – and he also smells really good – and the first date was me asking him to the dance, and he kissed me right in front of the school gates – but no one saw, at least I don’t think they did.”

“And how was the dance?”

Frank blushed slightly. “We didn’t go.”

“Why not?”

“We ditched and slow-danced in the graveyard and watched the stars.” Frank blushed nervously.

“Oh my god!” Mr. Urie looked like he was about to piss himself. “That is. So. Fuckin. Cute. Was he a good dancer?”

“Mhm,” Frank smiled dreamily. “He’s pretty much good at everything.”

“Oh, he is, is he?” Mr. Urie asked teasingly, a knowing glint in his eyes.

Frank thus took on the qualities of a tomato. “Not like that!”

“Don’t worry, Frankie, your secret is safe with me.”

“We didn’t do it, I swear!” Frank squirmed in his seat.

“Oh…” Mr. Urie puzzled something over in his mind. It was the same look that he had in math class when he was trying to work over a problem. “Is that what you’re buying candles for?”

“Maybe.” Frank figured if he turned any more red he’d look like Clifford the Big Red Dog, just midget-sized.

“Awww, that’s so romantic!” Mr. Urie giggled like a schoolgirl. “You’re such a good boyfriend, Frankie. Are you planning on getting him roses, too?”

Frank nodded. “Yeah.”

“Where and when?” Mr. Urie asked. It was obvious what he was referring too.

“I dunno. We’re having a sleepover this weekend but I don’t want to do it then. I want it to be… special. Maybe rent a motel room or something.”

“Awww, that’d be perfect,” Mr. Urie fawned. “One of the trashy ones with the neon lights and the hot tubs, and you can buy him everything out of the little fridge, and afterward you can sit and share a beer on the balcony, and…”

“Mhm, that sounds nice…” Frank said dreamily, already envisioning the situation.

“Anyways,” Mr. Urie announced, typing something into his phone, “We’d better be getting back.”

Frank nodded. This was the weirdest thing that had ever happened to him.

When they arrived back at Walmart, Mr. Urie and Ryan switched again, and Ryan handed Frank a plastic bag. “Enjoy.” He smiled.

The bag was heavier than Frank expected, and when he got back home he went directly to his room and spilled the contents across his bed. He rolled his eyes. Ryan had thrown in

–One tube of lemon-flavored lube (Frank didn’t even know they made lemon-flavored lube, Jesus)
–One box of breath mints
–One 25$ gift certificate to Safeway that had “For roses” scrawled across the back in Ryan’s messy handwriting
–One small bottle of mouthwash
–One 25$ gift certificate to Victoria’s Secret
–Two boxes of vanilla-scented tea lights
–One large red candle
–One large white candle
–One large black candle
–One matchbook
–One piece of paper that simply said, “You’re welcome”

Frank had no idea what he would do with a Victoria’s Secret gift certificate, but he stuck everything in the back of his closet and opened his laptop to research crappy motels.

Chapter Nine Part Two
Gerard Way’s Panty-Related Social Anxiety

A/N: I was thinking of uploading parts one and two separately but then I remembered that I was too lazy to, so you readers get an extra-long chapter! This is probably one of my favorites yet. Just so you know, there will be no Mikey in this chapter, because he got a lot in last chapter and also this chapter is long enough without it. Prepare for possible smut in the next chapter, or the chapter after that – I’m not sure yet. Anyways, enjoy, and I’m sorry part one was so fuckin’ weird.

Gerard took a deep breath as he paused outside Mikey’s bedroom door, reading over he and Frank’s last text messages for incentive.

Gee: Are you okay?

Frnk: Ya, just stressed x

Gee: Aw, what abt?

Frnk: idk, just… everything. I dunno what I’m doing abt college n I’m also failing half my classes n idk just… ugh… I’m not sleeping well n having nightmares when I do n smoking more than I should and everything is just kinda overwhelming right now :( idk what to do

Gerard took a deep breath, knocking on and opening Mikey’s door.

“Taylor?” Gerard asked nervously. Taylor, Tay, Mikey, and some other girl with bright red lipstick and black pigtails who was fiddling with Mikey’s bass strings were sitting in Mikey’s room. Gerard was invited to hang out with them, he knew, but he didn’t necessarily want to.

“Mhm?” Taylor stood up, dusting off the nonexistent dirt on her red skinny jeans. “What can I help you with?” She offered him an understanding smile, and Gerard made a note to sacrifice several virgins to whoever made Taylor Momsen not only outgoing but also extremely understanding of social awkwardness and anxiety in general.

“Could I have a word with you in private?” Gerard fiddled with his jean pockets nervously.

“Of course.” She smiled understandingly again and if Gerard wasn’t gay and she wasn’t lesbian he would’ve kissed her for being such a fucking saint, although he was pretty sure saints didn’t wear Bauhaus t-shirts and fishnet gloves, but whatever.

She closed the door gently behind her and followed Gerard up to his room, sitting cross-legged on the bed. Gerard decided not to chide her for putting her Doc Martens on the bed – he didn’t really give a fuck. He sat down next to her and fiddled with the sleeves of his hoodie. “Spill.” She demanded.

“Well, I, uh…” Gerard blushed awkwardly. “I… can you, um… can you teach me how to um… how to put on makeup… and… could you maybe loan me… some shorts… and…” he turned a bright, flaming red, “Some… panties?” His voice cracked.

Taylor grinned knowingly. “Is this for Frank Iero?”

Gerard looked up. “How did you know?”

“It’s really obvious, at least to someone who pays attention. You’re always hanging out, and he told me he likes you a lot.”

“Do you think anyone else knows?” Gerard asked faintly, still recovering from panty-related social anxiety.

“Naw, no one’s smart enough to notice shit. Do you want to come over to my house tomorrow after school? No one’ll be home, except maybe my older sister, but she never leaves her room. I can loan you shorts, makeup, panties, shoes… anything.”

“Thank you so much,” Gerard said, relieved. “Can I meet you after school on the steps?”

“Sure,” Taylor smiled. “And don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Thank you so much,” Gerard smiled. “I’ll buy you coffee or something.”

Taylor grinned, heading out of Gerard’s room. “Deal.”

Monday, after school:

Taylor’s house was big and clean and posh, and she wrinkled her nose at the smell of Lemon Pledge. “C’mon.” Her room didn’t match the rest of the house at all. The walls were plastered with band posters and it smelled like cigarettes. A skateboard was propped up in the corner and The Purge was paused halfway through on her open laptop.

“Okay, so do you wanna start with clothes?” Taylor asked. She smiled at Gerard, who surprisingly didn’t feel all too uncomfortable. Taylor was probably the nicest person he’d ever met. He nodded and she went to her big oak dresser, pulling out a drawer. She grabbed three pairs of shorts and thrust them into Gerard’s arms. “Here, try these ones on in the bathroom.”

He went into the bathroom connected to her room and examined the three pairs of shorts. One was a black pair of booty shorts. Yeah, he could go for that. Another was white – no, there was no way in hell Gerard was wearing white. It was so not his color, he decided, pursing his lips in front of the mirror and trying on the last pair, and oh, these ones were perfect.

They were bleached-denim-shorter-than-short-surfer-girl-high-waisted-booty-shorts, and they fit Gerard like a glove. Sure, they bulged a bit in some places, but that didn’t matter. Gerard shook his butt in front of the mirror and decided that they made him look delectable as fuck.

He came back out in them, because he couldn’t bear to take them off, and Taylor giggled when she saw him. “I see you’ve made your choice?”

Gerard chuckled slightly. “Mhm.”

“They look really good,” Taylor said in a fashion-guru voice. “They do great things for your butt.”

“I thought you were lesbian,” Gerard teased.

Taylor stuck out her tongue. “Platonically. You have a platonically good butt, Gerard. Here.” She tossed him something lacy, and Gerard caught it with a horrified look on his face. “Try those on.”

Gerard went back into the bathroom and put them on after about thirty failed tries. They were black lacy panties with a little red bow on the front, and they were cute. Gerard decided he liked looking pretty. He resignedly pulled his jeans back on and padded out, blushing scarlet. “They work.”

Taylor laughed. “Here, you can borrow a crop top too if you want to.” She passed him a couple, and Gerard held them up. There was a loose black Judas Priest one, an Aerosmith one that seemed a bit tight for Gerard’s liking, and a faded gray Nirvana one. Gerard settled on Judas Priest. “Go put on everything and then come back out,” she ordered.

Gerard put on the panties and then the shorts, and then the crop top, which came about halfway down the waist of the shorts, but when he bent it showed a small ring of his skin. He looked in the mirror, smirking and pushing his hair back. This was fun.

He came back out and Taylor squealed. “Awww, you look so pretty!”

Gerard giggled. “I know, right?”

Taylor brought out about fifty thousand different shades of lipstick, and Gerard tried on about thirty until he decided on a classic red one. Taylor blotted it on a tissue and then had Gerard practice putting it on for 42675647 hours until she was satisfied. He smiled. It was gorgeous, but there was still something missing.

Taylor brought out a tube of mascara and Gerard stabbed himself in the eye repeatedly before getting it on right. Then Taylor brought out an eye shadow palette. “Okay, so I’m thinking we’re going black and gold here, okay?” she asked.

Gerard nodded. Eye shadow was surprisingly natural to him – he got it right on the second try, painting the lid smoky gray and the edges and crease gold. He stopped in front of the mirror, putting a hand on his hip. “I like it.”

“I like it too,” Taylor smiled kindly. “You look great.”

“Okay,” Gerard sighed. “Now time to take it all off.”

“Ew, this is the worst part.” Taylor wrinkled her nose. “For the longest time I wouldn’t wear makeup just because I didn’t want to take it off.” She passed Gerard a wipe and turned on something Gerard didn’t know, humming along to it. “This is Lindsey’s band.”

“Lindsey?”

“Oh, you don’t know her? She was the girl in Mikey’s room on the bass – the one with black hair – she’s dating Kitty, the drummer – they’re in a band called Mindless Self Indulgence. They’re pretty good.”

Gerard agreed, they were pretty good. He hummed along to the music as he scrubbed off his makeup, grinning at the lyrics. They were pretty funny, even though he didn’t hate Jimmy Page.

Finally, Gerard changed back into his normal clothing. Taylor put together the makeup and clothes in a bag, and a pair of ballet flats that looked to be about fifty times too small and handed them to Gerard at the door. “Thank you so much,” Gerard said, hugging her awkwardly.

“Of course.” She pecked him on the cheek. “If you ever need anything, come to me. I’m glad to help.”

Gerard walked home with a warm fuzzy feeling in his stomach, because Taylor was the nicest person ever, and he had booty shorts, and if Frank didn’t like it Gerard would stab him with a spoon.

Notes