For The Rest Of Your Life...

“Gerard Way, you’re insane, how can you be scared of needles?” a personally-very-tattooed Frank Iero asked as they walked home from Starbucks one Saturday afternoon, coffees in hand.

“Frank…” Gerard smiled as he sipped his coffee, which had far too much cream and sugar in it, as usual. They’d discussed this so many times before that it seemed the topic would’ve worn itself out in Frank’s mind, but it never did.

“They don’t really hurt,” Frank said, using a favorite stressing point, “why would you be scared of something that didn’t really hurt? See?” He pushed up his sleeve to display his own tattoos, “How d’you think I go these done? I’ve never even fainted.”

“I just don’t like needles,” Gerard said simply as they reached the door of their first-floor apartment that was set on the street.

“Uh-uh-uh,” Frank corrected, stopping on the stoop as Gerard took out his keys. “It’s not just a dislike. You’re terrified. I remember when you had to get your tour inoculations and don’t you think I don’t. You fainted because you were scared. It’s an official phobia.”

“Frank,” Gerard said again, unlocking the door, but there was no stopping Frank here.

“Mikey, for Godssake, your baby brother, has earrings. Do you think it really hurt so bad if Mikey got them? It’s just a needle, Gerard, it’s nothing to be scared of.” Gerard pushed open the door and stopped Frank as they stepped inside, a hand on his arm.

“Frankie,” he said with a small, almost amused smile. He leaned down to kiss the scorpion on Frank’s neck gently, one hand resting on the back of Frank’s neck, then looked in his eyes, “I love your tattoos, and I know it doesn’t hurt as bad as they say, but it’s just not for me. Alright?”

Frank sighed. “Gerard, you could be making a huge mistake here.”

Gerard laughed, “That’s what you’re supposed say when someone does get a tattoo.”

They went inside the apartment, and Frank grabbed his arm, “Wait, what if you got it numbed, so you didn’t feel it? If you didn’t look, you’d barely know it was happening. And I’d hold your hand and you could cry if you wanted. Real men cry for tattoos.” He nodded earnestly in his most convincing way.

Gerard shook his head in near disbelief, though he already knew Frank was stubborn as hell.
“Frank. I’m not getting a tattoo. Okay? No tattoos, no piercings. You like me without them, don’t you?”

“I might like you better with them,” Frank tried with that laughing smile of his, raising his coffee to his lips.

Gerard shrugged, “Guess you’ll just have to like me fair-to-middling then.”

Frank slipped an arm around Gerard’s neck, pulling him gently down to his height for a kiss. “Guess so.”

*********

“Gerard, what’s the matter? ”
Snuggled beneath the sheets of their bed that night, Frank kissed Gerard softly, stroking his hair, “I- I’m sorry, baby, I just can’t seem to stay awake,” Gerard’s brown eyes were drifting shut as he spoke, sounding drowsy. “It’s okay. We have all tomorrow; we could stay in bed all day if we wanted, or…”
He stopped, kissing Gerard again. “I love you.”
“Love you too,” Gerard’s reply was just barely audible, mumbled with sleepiness. Frank smiled as he watched Gerard fall asleep in under two minutes, then kissed his forehead softly and got out of bed. He opened his drawer for a shirt, pulled on the pants he’d worn that day, and took his phone from the desk as he left the room… along with the bottle of sleep aids, one of which he’d guiltily slipped in Gerard’s drink half an hour earlier. He didn’t exactly like to do it this way, but Gerard would just have to understand. He’d like it when he saw it and besides, it was for his own good. It might rid him of his phobia.
And God, how hott would he be with a tattoo?

*********

Gerard woke with a headache, his vision blurred, his dream still lingering. Where was Frank? He sat up some, rubbing his eyes, and looked at the clock. It was almost noon, the sun casting its light over the bed from the window and warming the blankets.
Damn, his head hurt. And his hip… there was something on his hip… His mouth was dry and he realized he must have been asleep at least 9 hours straight.
Lifting his head, he called, “Frank?” It came out a hoarse whisper, but Frank appeared by the bed from where Gerard didn’t know as he sat up a little more, his hand going to his hip to see what it was he could feel rubbing beneath the band of his boxers.

Frank grabbed his wrist, “Don’t, babe, you’ll smear it,” Gerard looked at him, trying to understand as the haze of sleep wore off, then down at his hip, pulling the covers away. He was wearing only his boxers, whereas he was sure he’d fallen asleep in his skeleton pajama pants, and from beneath the band of the TMNT shorts he could see a white bandage covering his right hip. It took him a moment, but then he pieced it all together.
His first reaction was shock and disbelief, then, as he looked up at Frank - who was biting his lip and still holding Gerard’s wrist - confirmation and anger.

“FRANK!!” he yelled, making Frank release him quickly and take a step back as Gerard stood suddenly, swaying a bit, then catching his balance and pointing an accusatory finger at Frank. “You made me fall asleep last night and then you got someone to - ” he paled a little, not finishing his sentence. “Fuck, what did you even put there?!”

He started to tear the bandage away, Frank cautioning, “Careful, you’ll smudge it,” as he took another two steps back.
Gerard got the bandage halfway off and read the half-inch tall word scripted on his hip:

Frank

Gerard let out a small scream that broke off as he gaped at the bold black word that he knew was now permanently imbedded in his skin with hundreds of tiny capulets of ink, and had been done so with a tiny needle that had punctured him more times than he could think about without becoming weak.
He stared at Frank for a long moment, Frank waiting, looking nervous but not quite sorry.

Then Gerard lunged at him, and Frank fled the room with a shriek. He flew down the stairs, barely touching them, a half-naked Gerard two steps behind him.
He ran into the kitchen before he realized there wasn’t another way out, and screamed as Gerard bore down on him, trapping him against the stove. Grabbing the frying pan on the stove that still had remnants of the scrambled eggs he’d burned that morning clinging to it, Frank gripped the handle with both hands and held it between them in case Gerard decided to clobber him.

“How could you do this?!” Gerard didn’t attempt to pound him, but pushed the frying pan out of the way so that he could be angry in Frank’s face. “How could you, Frank? I told you yesterday I didn’t want a
tattoo- ” Gerard’s hand came down hard on the counter beside Frank, making him jump.

“Because you were scared,” Frank said desperately, still holding the frying pan just in case, “I found a way you didn’t have to be nervous or feel it at all.”

“It’s my body!” Gerard looked like he wanted to shake Frank, “How would you feel if I tattooed my name on you while you were asleep like I owned you or something?”

“I’d never wear a shirt so everyone could always see how much you love me,” Frank said, then cringed, knowing this was the wrong answer as Gerard turned scarlet.
“But you said you do belong to me,” Frank tried, noticing that Gerard had both fists clenched tightly as if he wanted to punch someone, namely Frank, “Remember? Just last week, you said you were my slave and you were all mine forever.”

“Frank,” Gerard spoke through clenched teeth, “There’s sincerity… and then there’s foreplay, okay?
I sincerely gave my heart to you, but it might have been going a little too far to take what I said in the dark literally and brand me with your name like a fucking horse to show your ownership. Don’t you think?”

Frank looked a little confused at this, “I wasn’t trying to brand you,” he said, “I love you. I though you’d want to wear my name because you love me too. You were just scared of having it done. I even had it numbed so you won’t feel it for awhile.”

Much to Frank’s relief, Gerard stepped away and became much less threatening as he flopped onto the island, his head in his arms, “Fra-ank,” he moaned into the tile countertop, “I can’t believe you. This is, like, for the rest of my life! If I’d slept any longer would I have been ear-tagged too??”

Frank set down the frying pan and cautiously approached his mourning boyfriend. “Of course not,” he said, “I’d never make you have a piercing unless you wanted it.”
Gerard growled in frustration and the irony of this.
“Besides,” Frank said, a little softer, “I’m for the rest of your life, right?”

“You just don’t get it, do you?” Gerard asked the island bitterly, “This isn’t about us, this is about how you overstepped my personal space and manipulated me and did something permanent to my body after I said I didn’t want it done.”

Frank was quiet for a moment, then stepped forward and put an arm around Gerard’s bare shoulderblades, kissing his hair, which was sticking up in back from being slept on, “I’m sorry, baby,” he said quietly, “I didn’t think you’d be so mad.”

Gerard straightened up, pulling away, “Well maybe you should’ve thought before making a decision like this for me,” he said, and Frank saw that he was still angry. “You need to consider other people before you go taking things into your own hands. Did it ever occur to you that maybe I didn’t want a tattoo for other reasons than not liking needles?” He glared at Frank, who was taken aback.
He’d expected anger at first, maybe, but not cutting words and the sort of look Gerard was giving him, disgust and resentment.

“Gerard, please,” he started, but Gerard cut him off, “Just don’t talk to me, okay? You’ve done enough, Frank.” He turned and left the room, still furious, leaving Frank feeling much, much worse than he ever had from something Gerard had said.

**********

All the rest of the day, Gerard stayed away from Frank. He went out for the afternoon without telling Frank where he’d be or inviting him along, and when he came home with KFC, didn’t share with Frank.

Like I’d eat that carnivore food anyway, Frank thought, watching unnoticed from around the corner of the kitchen doorway, telling himself it didn’t matter. But still, Gerard knew he loved the biscuits and had always gotten them for his vegetarian boyfriend on purpose. Frank tried to frown as Gerard peeled the flakey layers apart (perhaps aware that he was being spied on), knowing it was his fault Gerard was being so cold, but wishing he had a biscuit anyway.

Gerard hung around for a few hours, not speaking to Frank, ignoring Frank’s attempts at conversation, and stayed mostly in the room with the door locked, listening to old records on the turntable and standing in front of the mirror trying to get used to the new tattoo. It only succeeded in infuriating him.
Frank probably hadn’t even considered putting anything besides his own name permanently on Gerard’s body. Gerard didn’t care what Frank said- he knew what a possessive, jealous control-freak looked like, and right now it looked like Frank. The nerve! How dare he! Who gave him the right?! Where is his fucking conscience? Doesn’t he even care about anyone else’s feelings but his own?
These were the thoughts that went through Gerard’s head, and he felt not a tiny bit of guilt or remorse for any of them. It was beyond him how Frank could do such a thing. He’d been so upset all day he hadn’t even told anyone about it.
You’ll never guess what Frank did this time. I told him I didn’t want a tattoo, so he drugged me somehow, then got someone to come over and tattoo his name on me while I slept.
It was insane. Even for normally-insane Frank, this was a little much. Gerard sighed, turning a little to look at it better in the mirror, though it wasn’t like you could miss it or anything. It was fucking huge.
And no, if Frank was going to do this, he couldn’t do a tiny heart or something or even scale down the size of the text… he was always 100% and that meant for everything.
Gerard put the bandage back on to keep it clean, but was still seething. His skin tingled a little, and he knew why when he found a small tube of lidocaine on the dresser.
Fuck. When it wore off it would probably hurt like a bitch. How could Frank do this?!
Thoughtless at times, yes, Gerard admitted, but Frank had never done anything so - so damaging, unless you counted the time he broke Ray’s wrist tripping over him while running down the stairs, or when he gave Mikey that severe nosebleed onstage that one time, smacking him in the face with Pansy’s headstock while thrashing around. Still, those had been accidents. Frank had done this on purpose, and it was beyond Gerard how Frank thought he could be so easily forgiven.

Gerard didn’t feel like going out that night, though he wished he did because then he could go somewhere and have fun without Frank. It would serve him right. Instead, he obscured himself in the rather large ex-pantry, which had been roughly made over into an art studio. A worn-out shag rug on the floor, a small desk covered in paint splotches, stray sketches and ink spills, a chair, and a shelf for all of Gerard’s paints and charcoals and pencils…
It was his little haven, and even Frank never disturbed him when he’d shut himself inside to enter and create his own worlds through his artwork, sometimes staying in there for hours, working through sketchpad after sketchpad. A crazy artist, Frank called him.
But now, as he sat down at his desk, picking up a charcoal stick and pulling a sheet of fresh paper in front of him, Gerard couldn’t draw. He touched the tip of the charcoal to the paper and drew a circle, hoping for inspiration, but nothing came to him. He attempted to clear his mind so he could enter his parallel of art, but his mind stayed stubbornly affixed in the current world, on Frank.
Last Gerard had seen, Frank had been upstairs in the second bedroom which held Frank’s guitars and amps, wearing jeans and a wifebeater, lifting weights, the tattoos on his arms all showing.
Gerard sighed, folding his arms on the desk and laying his head down on them. What had Frank been thinking? This was no little prank. Didn’t he even consider how Gerard might feel?
Gerard knew he might not have to live with it forever, he could probably get it removed or something.
The issue was that Frank had violated him this way, so assuming and invasive and possessive.
And it wasn’t like it was any little tattoo either. Frank had put his name, his name on him in bold, proud print, tagging him like a brick wall, claiming ownership like he was a dog or something, with Gerard having no say in the matter. The selfishness of this was mind-blowing.
Gerard buried his face deeper into the soft, worn fabric of his hoodie sleeves, closing his eyes, his sigh warm on his face. In a minute, he was asleep.

************

When Gerard awoke, rubbing his eyes, his back aching from falling asleep hunched over his desk, his watch read 1:47. He realized he’d been asleep for several hours. His dream was fading out every second he was more awake, but it came back to him before it was completely out of reach –

He’d been looking down on himself, lying asleep and shirtless on the bed he and Frank shared, and Frank had come into the room, wearing for some reason, all white, and holding something. As he walked over to the bed, he’d smiled, and Gerard saw that it was a tattoo gun in his hand. Silently, Frank had run one hand over Gerard’s chest before turning on the gun and carving his name freehand into Gerard’s skin with the ink-filled needle. And Gerard had watched, looking down on this scene, trying to wake his sleeping form on the bed but unable to speak, or come closer, as Frank laughed.

Disturbed by this, Gerard lifted his shirt cautiously, just making sure nothing like this had actually happened while he slept, reassuring himself that it was just a dream. Then he stood and stretched the cramps from his back. He smoothed down his hair and opened the door that led from his studio into the kitchen. The apartment was mostly dark, a few small lights on throughout, as Frank always left them when Gerard worked in his studio late, so he could find his way to the bedroom when he was ready to come to bed.
Now, Gerard considered whether or not he should go into the bedroom at all. He wasn’t going to be the one to sleep on the couch- no way, Frank was in the wrong here, not him. He could go to Mikey’s, only two streets over, but he didn’t want to bother Mikey when Ray had just come back from a three-week-long trip, however much they claimed to be only ‘roommates’ and ‘friends’… Gerard didn’t believe a word of it.
He could sleep in the car, which wouldn’t be bad, he and Frank had done it dozens of times, but that would be admitting defeat, like being the one to take the couch.
Dammit.
That bed was half his. He was going to sleep in it whether Frank was there or not.
Maybe he should be afraid to go to sleep, but after seeing Frank’s face when Gerard had yelled at him earlier in the day, he didn’t think Frank would do anything else tonight.

Gerard started down the hallway, seeing a glow coming from the half-open bedroom door. Frank was sitting cross-legged on the bed in loose skull-printed pajama pants and a thin white t-shirt, watching a Digrassi rerun with the volume down. Waiting for him? Gerard wondered.
Frank looked up as he came into the room, eyes following him, though neither spoke. Gerard didn’t look at him, just crossed over to the dresser and took out his soft black trackpants and a green t-shirt with a dilapidated-looking robot on it, and left the room again.
Frank turned the volume on the TV lower, listening to the water go on as Gerard washed his face and brushed his teeth, the rustle of clothing as he changed. After a few minutes, Gerard returned, dressed for bed. He crossed over to the bed and pulled back the covers on his side, though Frank was sitting on them on his side, and got in the bed, turned away from Frank.
Frank hesitated, then got under the covers beside him. He let the show run till it was over, then reached for the remote, clicking the TV off. The room fell into a silent darkness, which wouldn’t have bothered Frank at all, but it lacked the usual “Goodnight I love you” talk that usually followed, and especially how Gerard always put an arm around him, pulling him up against his chest. Frank would rest his head in the hollow of Gerard’s shoulder and together they would fall asleep.

But not tonight.
Tonight Gerard was cold, silent, turning his back on Frank to make it clear that he wanted nothing to do with him. This made Frank feel even worse about what he’d done. Maybe he could make it up to him. He scooted closer and whispered, “Gerard?”
This was greeted by a I-hear-you-but-I’m-not-going-to-acknowledge-that-you-spoke-to-me silence, initializing the silent treatment.
Frank cringed a little in the dark and tried again, “I know it was wrong to not ask you, but I thought-”
“If you’d thought,” Gerard’s voice came low, “You would’ve never done this, Frank. I don’t want to talk about it. Just let me sleep. And please, try not to do anything stupid while I’m not awake to stop you.”
Frank cringed again, shrinking back as Gerard moved away from him another inch or so.
“Gerard?”
Silence. Frank sighed quietly and lay down, pulling the blanket up over his shoulders.
Good, Gerard thought, I hope he feels like shit. There was no trace of guilt after he thought this, not one bit.
Frank wrecked havoc regularly wherever he went, but there was a fine line between crazy pranks/accidentally hurting people/being a showoff-troublemaker-uncontrollable-bordering-on-insane-person, and actually damaging someone carelessly, with no thought to their feelings. And if no one else was going to make that fine line visible to Frank, Gerard was.

***********

Gerard stood at the window, watching the stars drown in the twilight as a faint blue light showed at the edges of the sky. He sighed, resting his forehead against the cool window pane. He was angry at Frank, and in disbelief at his lack of consideration, but he was more hurt than anything. Had he given himself to Frank too much? Enough that he thought it was okay to do something like this?
He didn’t even hear footsteps before he felt an arm curling around his waist from behind, a hand slipping up to rest on his chest.
“Gerard,” Frank’s voice was soft, as if speaking too loud would break the early-hours spell, or maybe he was just trying to soothe his boyfriend as he was already pulling away.
“Gerard, please, listen to me,” Frank gripped a handful of Gerard’s shirt as Gerard tried to free himself from Frank’s grips. “Listen to me,” Frank repeated.

“Frank,” Gerard said angrily, turning and stepping back against the window so that the feathery tips of his slept-on hair turned silver with the pre-dawn light.
Frank held out to him what he was holding in his other hand, and Gerard saw that it was the calendar that was usually magneted to the refrigerator, the tear-off kind, with a page for each day.
Frank always made a big deal of tearing off the previous day’s page in the morning with a flourish…
now, Gerard didn’t know why he had it in the bedroom at 4:30 AM, offering to let him tear off the page.
Was this how crazy people tried to make up for inexcusable offenses?
“Gerard,” Frank said again, pushing it towards him a little more. Gerard almost turned away, but something intense about Frank’s expression told him that this was more than just Frank offering to let him have a turn at his morning ritual of page-tearing-off.
He reached for the calendar and lifted the page, ripping it off. Underneath, on the orange page, was a large 1 under the word April, and scrawled across it, in a fine-tipped black henna pen, was one word:

Frank

*********************

Epilogue
(Because stopping there is totally unfair)

“Just you wait, Frank,” Gerard growled in Frank’s ear that night as they lay tangled beneath the sheets, Frank’s hand traveling slowly over Gerard’s chest as he kissed his neck, “Next year, April fool’s day, you’re going down.”

“Gerard you’re spoiling the mood, would you shut up about it already,” Frank complained, more of an order than a request as he paused in kissing over Gerard’s chest and looked up, “If you were dumb enough to not wonder why it didn’t hurt like all fuck or was scabbing or anything, you completely deserved it.”

“I was kind of pre-occupied with the fact that my boyfriend had decided to engrave me with his name like a…
a headstone,” Gerard replied, sounding as annoyed as he could manage with Frank beneath him, one hand at Gerard’s side, stroking the marked hipbone soothingly with his thumb, the other wandering over him lightly, and his lips all over Gerard’s chest and shoulders and neck, kissing and leaving small marks that would hurt like a bitch the next day.

Frank giggled, liking this metaphor. “Here lies Frank…the sex was amazing.”

“Murdered in his sleep, the little brat,” Gerard added, finding Frank’s mouth with his own in the darkness and hovering there, not quite touching, but so that Frank could feel him, just out of reach.
“Just you wait till next year,” he said darkly, before Frank pulled him down into a kiss, laughing as he did.
And yes, in case you were wondering, the sex was amazing.