Random Frerard Fluff [ONE SHOTS] [COMPLETED]

Pizza Boy

He promptly sat back in his favourite pale-blue armchair, making himself comfortable. He'd barely cupped a hand around his cock when the doorbell rang, though, ruining what would have been another mediocre orgasm.

"Oh my God," Gerard exhaled shakily, not out of pleasure but annoyance, straightening up and thanking the heavens that he wasn't hard yet. He trotted through the short hall that led out of the living and dining area, toward the front door, curling his bare feet into the soft carpet when he reached the entry to his semi-expensive home.

He eyed the polished oak door warily, running his gaze downward from the peephole - a small circle that sat above two vertically-lengthened, murky, glass window panes - to the gold-plated lock that stared up at him from beneath the fancy door handle.

Gerard absent-mindedly extended his right hand outward to pull the door open, fingertips fumbling with the lock, when the doorbell rang once again; a shrill electronic tune that would have resembled a non-faltering ten seconds of Greensleeves, had Gerard bothered to replace the batteries when he first moved in.

"I'm coming!" he shouted, although the statement was quite contradictory, really, considering none of that would be happening any time soon.

Gerard finally managed to release the stiff latch, swinging the damned door open and shedding some street lamplight into the dim and silent house- a dim and silent house that did produce a slight glow of its own, in turn illuminating the figure stood upon his front steps.

He recognised the stranger's face almost instantly, from a gig at some popular Belleville nightclub that Gerard couldn't remember the name of, and from a number of different magazine covers. He clapped a hand over his mouth suddenly, stumbling backwards in excitement. "Hey, you're- you're the LeATHERMOUTH guy!"

The young man before him tipped his head back in supposed bliss, and with eyes half lidded he sighed contentedly.

"Can you say that again, please?" he asked Gerard.

"Erm... What?"

Gerard was thoroughly perplexed, and he didn't quite understand how he'd managed to make the guy on his front steps so fucking happy.

"You shouldn't answer a question with another question, you know," the man said, disbanding Gerard of his thoughts. He rolled his eyes, but the small gesture was lost in the dark. "That's stupid."

"Oh, uh- sorry." Gerard flushed a light pink, and it burnt his cheeks in blotches underneath his skin, though he was pretty sure it went unnoticed- or at least the lack of light kept it hidden. "But you fronted LeATHERMOUTH!" he stated happily, voice bouncing in the empty evening air.

"Yeah, and now here I am, delivering a pizza for Gerard. Guessing that's you?" The ex-frontman scratched his shaved-brunette head awkwardly with his free hand, offering the other- which held a cardboard box, topped precariously with a can of soda- to Gerard.

"Oh!"

Gerard mentally slapped himself in the face, thinking, Of course he's the pizza delivery guy. I mean, I wasn't expecting anyone else, at this time especially. Why the fuck else would the ex-frontman of Leathermouth be at my door?

It was then that the force of the whole, utterly stupid situation hit him like an explosion, leaving him to feel as heavy as an anvil- and to make it worse, Gerard suddenly recognised his voice, too. "You called me back, didn't you? What did you say your name was again? Like-"

"Frank," the guy- Frank- prodded helpfully. "Iero is my lastname. But I didn't say that over the phone, I don't think."

"Yeah!" It was all coming together for Gerard, and as he bashfully scanned the man before him, the situation seemed even more absurd than he'd first thought. "I knew you sounded familiar, 'cause I saw you with my little brother back in Jersey when you were still playing home gigs. Ya'know, before you got famous and started touring and shit. The accent was the biggest clue, though I wouldn't have ever guessed who you were."

"Aw, c'mon dude, give yourself some credit. We weren't that famous," Frank laughed. "So are you gonna' pay or what?"

Gerard deliberately ignored him, however, as he turned away, walking back into his house to fetch his wallet - pizza in hand - signalling Frank to follow, out of pure politeness, of course. He kind of hoped Frank would, and he did; follow, that is; because it wouldn't have looked half as cool if Frank had have decided to stay out in the chilly weather, awaiting Gerard's money so he could, most probably, leave work for the night.

"I think I have your CD lying around somewhere, actually!" Gerard called out from the kitchen. Once Frank had entered the vast room, full of cooking utensils that would never be used, Gerard paid for his meal, and offered the shorter man some pizza for the trouble of taking so long.

"Nah, I'm actually vegetarian. No pepperoni for me, but thanks anyway," replied Frank, humming.

Now that there was some proper light filtering in between them, Gerard took the time to study Frank's actual appearance, besides what he'd seen in local punk magazines, as well as onstage.

He was quite young, probably close to Gerard's age, and stood a few inches shorter than him. He wasn't as pale as Gerard either, seeing as he seemed to have the Italian olive skin that Gerard Way, being half-Italian himself, tried to avoid.

From what he could see, Frank had a growing collection of tattoos criss-crossing up his arms in various places, some not even completed. They peeked out from under the short sleeves of his vibrant red polo shirt - a work uniform, Gerard suspected.

Sure enough, the shirt brandished a black and blue logo across the breast pocket: curly lettering that spelled out, Giovanni's. The ex-frontman/pizza delivery guy stood silently whilst he was observed, and as if he knew what Gerard's raised eyebrow was questioning, Frank said,

"My aunt and uncle own the place, you know, being Italian and all. They thought it might be good if I stayed with them for a while after the breakup, to help me get my life back on track." Gerard stopped in his tracks for a second, considering what he should say.

"That's good of them," was all the author of Umbrella Academy could think of.

"Yeah." Frank had this faraway twinkle in his hazel eyes, and Gerard desperately didn't want, at all, to interrupt the comfortable silence that had befallen them - but sometimes he couldn't help the rash way he acted.

"I'm a comic book author," he blurted out, only to be met with surprised interest from his companion.

"You boasting there, Gerard?" Frank asked, amused.

"N-no!" And just like that, in front of the most attractive male he'd talked to in months, Gerard was a stuttering mess, at twenty-five. He ran a hand through his lemon-colored hair tiredly, flicking his tongue out ever-so-slightly and holding it in place between his array of abnormally little teeth.

He thought the night couldn't get any more strange (or any more wonderful, for that matter) but the question that next popped out of Frank's mouth was pretty much the cherry on the cigarette for Gerard.

"Can I see some? Of your comic books, I mean."

And that's how, after a few minutes of reassuring Gerard that he had no more pizzas to deliver, Frank Iero: ex-frontman of an angry NJ punk band and employee at a Californian pizza place, found himself spending an hour in a complete stranger's house one boring Friday night, after a particularly long day of work, all thoughts on love pushed back to the furthest corner of his own mind.

They conversed about whether Batman was better than Doom Patrol, and who liked Morrissey and the Smiths more, before exchanging numbers and vowing to get coffee one day soon.

Immediately after Frank had left, Gerard had rushed to the phone to make his second phonecall that night, neglecting the cold pizza and hot soda that sat next to his mobile on the dining table; instead dialling his brother, Mikey - as fast as he could without accidentally pressing the wrong key - to tell him everything (and maybe to show off, just a little).

~FIN~

A/N
ok first up, I'm really sorry: I have no idea what that was. I think it actually sucked more than the first one if I'm honest.
I guess you could say it was pretty... cheesy!
*cringes*
it flowed really awkwardly I know, and it was pretty shitty, but I wrote it on my phone in like a couple of days because I had to keep going back to it so *eh*
Anyway
-Olz

ps Sally was an OFC