The pirate boy (Frerard, Petekey)

Chapter twenty one - dumb

Chapter twenty one - dumb

u have no idea how difficult it was to resist titling this chapter 'pilots'

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It took a while to clean and dress Gerard's scratched-up hands once we returned to the ship, and he was reluctant to speak at all in the time I spent helping him. His eyes stayed fixed on my hands holding his as I bandaged the cuts.

I secured the bandage with a knot, and Gerard flexed his hands experimentally.

"Why?" I asked him, breaking the silence as warmly as I could after minutes of tense quiet.

I expected the worst, I expected guilt and distress, but as Gerard scratched at the back of his head and raised an eyebrow, shrugging his shoulders awkwardly, I started to think that he might be feeling something completely different– embarrassment?

Gerard grimaced. "I can't read Latin."

I felt my brow furrow. "Excuse me?"

"The map. There's Latin on the back, I tried to translate it but I can only just fucking read English, I didn't–"

I covered my face with my hands. "What has that got to do with all those cuts?" I mumbled in frustration, my voice muffled. "Tell me the truth."

"There was a word that looked a lot like blood. I don't know, I thought I had to spill blood on the map in order for you to believe me," Gerard said. "Like, some curse magic thing."

My head fell forward and I pressed on my eyes. "Are you joshing me?"

"I know it sounds stupid, but I didn't have a team of tutors like you–"

"Oh, shut up." I hugged him in relief.

Gerard tensed in surprise. "You thought– ? Oh." His chest vibrated as he spoke.

"It's fine," I muttered. "You prick. You scared me."

"Didn't mean to," Gerard said. "And excuse me, do you know me at all? I know I'm a prick, Frank. My entire personality is just being an prick. My entire existence is centred around being as much of an prick as humanly possible."

I shoved him. "You aren't that bad."

At that remark, he looked almost wounded. "Excuse me? I'm the worst around."

I cocked my head to the side. "Sure, Gerard."

Gerard huffed. "Shut it, darling."

"Fine," I said, rolling my eyes. "You're a disgrace to society. Is your ego blossoming now?"

"Just about," Gerard smiled.

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That night in my bunk, my mind was reeling.

None of the crew was aware of what was going on– of what I had agreed to do. I was essentially risking my life and my sanity for Gerard, and the weight of my utter stupidity was already resting heavy and sickly on my head. There was just something disquietingly compelling about Gerard that had a hold on me, tight spun and stubborn, and although it made me shudder to admit it, I sort of liked it.

Gerard had always been a strong presence in my mind, ever since I first stepped on this ship, and with such a character as himself, I doubted that his prominence in my thoughts would ever change. Whether my thoughts centred around hate or interest, however, had seemed to be shifting lately. He was less of a monster to me, more an associate. On the edge of fitting into the category of friend. But there was just something different about the perspective I was beginning to see him from, and it was only just falling short of scaring me.

I liked the names he called me. I liked the cockiness in his eyes when we fought, the feminine drawl to his voice and the devilish smirk almost permanently twisted on his face. I found it incomparably addictive to watch him as he worked up on deck, sweating and rough, laughing roguishly as he hung upside down from the rigging. I noticed myself absently stealing away each smile he gave me in my mind, treating the memories like glass. There was something rare about his smile, something almost precious that I couldn't quite grasp an understanding of.

I tried to shake the thoughts from my head, but all I could think about was Gerard's stupid smirk when he called me darling, and the twist of his wrist when he fought with a dagger, and the dizzying high that suffocated all my common sense when I let Gerard kiss me back in his cabin months ago. The memory was almost more vivid and heavy than the experience: his mouth on my neck, hot and slick, biting down on the scorpion mark, and his hands tugging sharply at my hair.

I shifted in my bunk and tugging at my collar: I felt too hot in my skin, and every nerve was prickling. I winced and squeezed my eyes shut– I was already half hard. Carefully, I slid a hand down to cup myself, and a shock of warmth went through my body. I was dizzy, and the thought of Gerard was driving me to ruin, all my thoughts of him heady and warm. I tried not to think of him touching me, but Mother Mary.

I let out a soft, weak noise and then clamped my hand over my mouth in surprise. Hell. Hell. I was trembling a little, tentative, but curious, and there was a feeling of urgency in my gut, spreading and crawling through my body like hot liquid silk. Carefully, I pressed my palm down, and a startled moan forced its way from my lips.

"Frank," Dewees mumbled into his pillow, sleepy and irritated, and I froze in shock. "Go touch yourself somewhere else. 'M tryna sleep."

I swallowed, crossing my legs in a vague attempt to ignore what I was feeling. "Sorry," I managed, my voice slightly strangled.

Good Lord. I rolled over and buried my face in my pillow, hearing Dewees laugh dryly from the bunk beside mine.

"Fuck you," I mumbled, my voice muffled.

"No. Fuck Gerard instead."

I exhaled in defeat, propping myself up on my elbows so I could glare at Dewees, but he just chuckled and closed his eyes to go to sleep again. I sighed and shoved my face back into my pillow, clenching my fists, tired and hot and pissed. Fuck Gerard. I hated him. Fuck Gerard.

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The next morning was disastrous. I felt exhausted with guilt, and I hadn't slept until I had gone up on deck in the night and drenched myself in icy seawater to freeze away all the thoughts in my head. I was dreading seeing Gerard again.

"Sleep well?" Dewees asked as he munched cheerfully on a biscuit.

I grunted and let my head rest on the table, face down.

Dewees patted my head. "You and Gerard still haven't fucked yet?"

"No," I muttered, the varnished wood of the table cold against my mouth as I spoke. I spat a little at the vile taste of a hundred rotten biscuits and lemons, then settled tiredly against the tabletop again. "Not that I'd want to," I mumbled unconvincingly.

"Sure, Iero," Dewees chuckled. "Anyway, it's not like he'd ever fuckin' let you. He needs you untouched for his precious little plot."

I hummed half-heartedly in agreement, not really listening anymore. All I could seem to think about was what was going to happen when I next spoke to Gerard. I was frightened, genuinely so. I had no understanding of what I was feeling– it was just a spectacular mess of contradictions. I wanted to be close to him, but simultaneously I hated his guts; I wanted to touch him, but at the same time I was afraid of him touching me.

I wanted him, but there was something ingrained in my mind telling me that it was just inherently sick. I felt like a child, lost and confused, isolated from anyone who would be willing to tell me the truth or explain what the fuck was wrong with me. Honesty was a far cry from what anyone on this ship was willing to give me. I just felt dumb.