Demolition Lovers (Frerard)

8: I Love Your Asshole Too

It only began to dawn on Frank as to how much of a bad idea this was the very moment that they actually began to walk into the part of the city that wasn't infected with council estates and people like themselves, because it quite obvious with the dark tattered clothing they wore that they didn't belong here at all.

Gerard even had fucking paint stains all over his jeans, and Frank had similar white stains, but of course of the less artistic variety.

However, that wasn't exactly the biggest of Frank's problems as he came eye to eye with someone entirely too familiar across the street: blue eyes, long dark hair and this was exactly just where his clients lived, and Frank was an alien in their world, catching far too many familiar gazes as he found himself almost clinging to Gerard's side as the artist made his way down the road in a state of utterly oblivion to Frank's situation.

But Frank just didn't bargain for the consequences of his apparent closeness to the man beside him at all, and with stares turned nasty, paces quickened and Gerard finally caught on as he caught up with Frank's pace, and within moments they were inside a coffee shop and Frank looked just about as if he was about to have seven thousand panic attacks at once.

"Frank... I?" Gerard exclaimed with varying degrees of exasperation, grasping the twenty four year old by the hand, their gazes locked like they were caught up in themselves and the world around them meant nothing and everything at the same time. "Are you okay? You're really not okay, are you- f-fuck? Frank?"

"It sounds ridiculous but I've seen like five people that have paid me to fuck them around here, and it's just fucking different - I feel like a freak show, I feel like that whore, and I... Gerard, I c-can't..." Gerard didn't think, only threw the twenty four year old into a hug, and suddenly who they were didn't matter at all anymore: Gerard and Frank cared about each other, perhaps more than they'd like to admit, but that was it, and that was all that mattered.

"Look, Frank, do you want to go sit down somewhere - I'll get us coffee, and we can sort things out from there, okay?" Frank only nodded in response, pulling away from Gerard and attempting to pull himself together as he went and sat at a table near the back: outside of sight from the window, but from Gerard too.

And just like that, opportunity felt into idiocy and the worst ideas Frank's stupid little head could possibly concoct: the little packet of pills in his back pocket, and safely out of the artist's eye line, he swallowed a few, and his head spun like hell for a few seconds, but from then on, everything was dizzy, blurry, but the good kind - the detached, the distant kind of existing, and for the first time today, Frank Iero could say that he was truly okay.

It seemed that beautiful little pills won over both Gerard and sex itself, which was truly nothing but an intriguing discovery.

"This was a bad idea." Gerard sighed out, his voice catching Frank by surprise as he sat down beside the twenty four year old, totally oblivious to the little white pills and the reason for the stupid little grin on Frank's face. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have, I... this is clearly making you uncomfortable and Mikey's an asshole so it's just not going to get any better and I-"

"Gerard, it's fucking fine." Frank sighed out, meeting the artist's gaze with nothing short of a grin. "Can't you just ask him to meet us here and we could get coffee or whatever? He could even bring his trophy girlfriend or whatever-"

Gerard cut Frank off with a fit of ridiculously over exaggerated laughter, which due to Frank's words was probably nothing but well deserved. "Trophy girlfriend? So what does that make you then?"

"It makes you my little trophy bitch." Frank corrected him with a smirk and Gerard just rolled his eyes, pulling his coffee mug up to his lips, and burying everything in the bittersweet caffeinated remedy. "I don't do trophy boyfriends."