Frank Iero: P.A.

When I got inside after my little swim, I headed straight for the shower. Gerard must have retreated to his room, because I didn’t pass him at all on my way in. As the warm water hits my shoulders my whole body comes back to life. Actually, too much of my body has come back to life I notice as I look downward and see not-so-little Frank standing to attention. I take hold of myself and start stroking absentmindedly.

My mind wanders to Gerard. After he dared me to do what I did, it’s strange that he suddenly doesn’t seem to be comfortable around me. Maybe he just wanted to warm up – it’s pretty windy out there – but it doesn’t seem to be that simple. Nothing with Gerard is simple. I swear I caught him looking at my dick out there, and not just before my swim either. When he was holding out the towel for me, I’m almost certain his eyes drifted downward... more than once, trying to see what my hands were covering. He had to have been checking me out, I couldn’t have imagined that. But I must have! This is Gerard Way we’re talking about – why would he want to look at me? He barely looked at his boyfriend.

Toby... I let out a laugh as I remember the catalyst of this little mountain getaway. I feel bad that Gerard’s relationship ended because he was cheated on, but he’s much better off without Toby. God, that dickhead really lost out though. Gerard is hot – to a gay man, I mean, not me. He has those mesmerising hazel eyes that can be cold and distant one moment, and soft and caring the next. His hair, long and black, falls over his eyes all cute and boyish. Then there’s that body; tall (although, everyone seems tall to me), not skinny, not fat, not average, just simply unique with his smooth, pale skin left untainted by ink, and flat, cuddly stomach. That smirk that he does when he teases you. The small smile that can be coaxed out of him on occasion when you compliment him or reassure him. I imagine a gay guy would find it sexy when he talks out the side of his mouth as well, in that way that only those from the east coast seem to be able to do. Toby can no longer look at all that and claim it all as his own – suck shit, asshole. Gerard also has the personality to go with that body, you know, once you dig through all the arrogance, sarcasm, and general moodiness. He’s incredibly selfless, loyal, caring, kind, sweet, humorous (when he’s not mocking me, that is), a talented artist and cook, hardworking, and spontaneous. Why would Toby need anybody else?

I shudder, my head lolling to the side as I come fiercely. I continue to pump myself as I come down from my pleasurable high. It’s been a while since I’ve masturbated, and even longer since the release has been as satisfying as this. I don’t even know what inspired me to pleasure myself so thoroughly, but whatever it was guiding my hand must have been pretty damn amazing.

Once I clean myself off, I twist the taps until the flow of water ceases. I grab a fresh towel, dry off, and tie it around my hips before heading back to my room. On my way past the living room archway, I catch sight of Gerard; he’s fiddling with the old fashioned record player. He seems to spot me out of the corner of his eyes, turning his head a little, but then it snaps right back to the record player. What is his problem? I think of confronting him about it, but when all I’m wearing is a towel, I don’t think it’s the best idea.

Inside my room, I remove the towel and toss it onto the bed. At least little Frank has settled down after his show in the shower. I grab another pair of jeans and a fresh t-shirt from the gym bag and put them on following a much less embarrassing pair of boxers than the personalised ones I had on before. Seriously, Mother, what the hell were you thinking when you bought them?

I take my time dressing, deodorising, and dealing with my dirty clothing to prolong my facing Gerard again. It’s not that I’m afraid to see him, but rather that I think he’s afraid to see me. What I’ve done still eludes me, but it doesn’t elude me nearly as much as the ridiculous idea that Gerard Way was checking me out. I’ve really got to stop thinking about this.



The cottage is extremely quiet with Gerard hidden away upstairs. I haven’t seen him since our very brief encounter after my shower. By time I’d finally emerged from my bedroom he had vanished. I casually checked all the rooms down here, and cast my eye out over the lake without seeing him, so he’d have to be upstairs... avoiding me. So, with only myself to keep me company, I do something I haven’t done since high school – read a book. The shelves in the living room house a large number of novels, all tattered with yellowing pages; who knows how many people have read them before me.

I select the kind of book most people would be ashamed to pick up: a Mills and Boon. I pick one not because I’m a sucker for a good, potentially smutty, romance, but because they remind me of my childhood. Much like Gerard, my fondest memories come from a place of my childhood. For me, it’s my grandmother’s house. Whenever I see a Mills and Boon in a store, or a doctor’s office, or a cottage in the middle of nowhere, I’m reminded of my grandmother. She was a stocky, Italian woman with thick cropped hair, warm brown eyes, and a broad smile. There was always a floral apron tied below her bust, and a paisley bandana in her hair. She spent her days either cooking up a storm in her kitchen, or reclining in her favourite chair reading a Mills and Boon. On occasion, when I’d spend the night at her place while my mother worked late, she’d tuck me into her side on the overstuffed arm chair and read them to me, never bothering to hide the sex scenes for me – ‘One day you’ll have someone to love, Frankie, and I want you to treat them like a heroine in a Mills and Boon in every possible way’.

I flip the book over in my hands so I can read the blurb on the back.



Great, I think to myself, a book about someone in an isolated location with their boss, just what I want to read about. Even with that disturbing thought in mind, I turn the book back over and flick through the worn pages until I reach the first chapter. I make myself comfortable on the sofa, with my feet tucked up beneath me and a cushion supporting my back; I could be here for a while.



“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Gerard says, suddenly appearing in the living room. “Mills and Boon, Frank, really? You’re a grown man – next thing I know, you’ll be sending me out to the store to buy you tampons.”

I lift my head up and scowl at him. “Listen here, Gee-baby,” I chastise, “you’re the man that prefers to have dicks shoved in you instead of wanting to stick them into other people – female people, so don’t come in here acting like you don’t defy gender stereotypes.”

“Firstly,” he says with a twinkle in his eye and a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, “I always do the shoving. And secondly, even women find it pathetic for anyone under the age of sixty to read Mills and Boon books.”

Bad mental images! Bad mental images! Fuck you, Gerard, fuck you! Why can’t I stop envisioning you on top of some guy?! I hate my brain!

My mouth drops open, then closes again; I’m quite literally speechless. There are no words to respond to an admission like that. And he called me pathetic! I manage to drag my eyes away from him – I’ve been staring – and avert them back to the book in my hands. I read the same sentence over and over, none of it making sense. Have I suddenly become dyslexic? Is that possible?

“No comeback?” he asks, mock innocently.

I flick my eyes up to his face momentarily in a warning glance, and then return them to the page of nonsensical drabble.

“I notice you’re not ignoring me now that I have my clothes on,” I say. When he doesn’t respond immediately, I risk a glance at him. He looks awkward. Good. “What, no comeback?” I say, using the same innocent tone as he had done.

He pushes off the wall he’s been leaning up against and heads back into the hallway toward the kitchen. It seems I’ve pissed him off once again. I should probably go after him, apologise for pushing the boundaries of our banter, but I’m not really all that sorry. Gerard was the one that started all this awkwardness after all – who dares someone to jump into a freezing lake naked?

With Gerard’s absence, the words on the page before me once again make sense. I force myself to become engrossed with the story again; I’m done thinking about Gerard Way.

When Gerard calls out my name from the kitchen I realise that I’ve been reading for almost two hours. Not only that, but I’m almost at the end of my Mills and Boon. In fact, I was so enthralled that I’d almost forgotten where I was, and who I was with. I cast my eyes toward the hallway, then back down to the open book; I really want to finish it. Well, fuck Gerard, he can wait five minutes while I read the last few pages.

Jeb was standing by the sink trying to decide if he should grill hamburgers for himself and Slim for lunch, when he realized he would have to break the news to his foreman that–

“Frank!” Gerard yells again. “Get in here!”

Damn impatient cock-sucker... I close the book forcefully and throw it down onto the sofa as I get to my feet. I march into the kitchen, not bothering to hide my irritation when I come face to face with Gerard. He has his arms folded across his chest, his body rigid; it seems he’s not bothering to hide his irritation either.

“Early dinner,” he says, then takes a seat at the breakfast bar.

There are two plates of food laid out on the titled surface. Considering the mood Gerard and I are both in, I’m surprised that he didn’t opt to eat outside. If he won’t, then I will. I pick up my plate and head for the sliding door.

Fucking hell!

Now I know why we’re eating together – it’s raining. And why wouldn’t it be? It seems the universe wants nothing more than for Gerard and I to be meshed together. Well, the universe is not getting its way tonight; I’ll eat in the living room.

“Sit down, Frank,” Gerard commands as I walk behind him.

Fucking universe.

I begrudgingly place my dinner back down and pull out the bar stool. This is going to be one long, awkward, silent dinner – and it’s all Gerard’s fault.

“One night during the first vacation we took here, my parents went to be really early; it was something Mikey and I had never done before – being awake when they weren’t,” Gerard says unexpectedly, his voice barely higher than a whisper. It immediately commands my attention; I listen intently, but keep my eyes focused on my food. “We were so excited to be able to do whatever we wanted without their watchful eye over us. So we built a fort in the living room and decided to stay up all night and tell each other ghost stories. Mikey wanted popcorn, so we came in here – as you can see, there’s no microwave, which meant traditional methods only.” I feel his eyes burning into the side of my head, which forces me to look at him. Although his lips are pressed together in a thin line, his eyes are smiling. Seriously, he says, “It didn’t end well.”

I try to think how he could have fucked up popcorn, but nothing comes to mind.

“I was only eight years old; the whole concept of pans and their lids hadn’t occurred to me, nor had the concept of appropriate portion sizes.” He smirks. “The kernels popped everywhere, flying out of the pan at high speed. It was like popcorn dodge ball – Mikey and I running all over the place trying to avoid being hit by the flying kernels. We were so loud that we woke our parents, and by time they made it down the stairs, the kitchen floor was covered in popcorn.” He laughs out loud, causing me to laugh, too. “We got in so much trouble and spent the rest of the night cleaning it all up, but it’s one of my favourite memories of this place.”

He smiles at me, then returns to eating his dinner as if nothing had been said at all.

“Thanks for telling me,” I say to him after a moment. I’m glad he still wants to share his memories with me, even though we’re technically fighting right now.

“So,” he swallows a mouthful of vegetarian lasagne, “are we friends again?”

I think about it for a second. “That depends,” I say, “are you done being an asshole?”

“Yeah, I think so,” he replies.

“Then, yeah, I think we’re friends again.”

We smile at each other, then turn our attention back to our dinner. The silence from earlier resumes, but this time it’s much more comfortable. I can now appreciate another delicious dish cooked by Gerard Way.

“It's good to see you've forgotten about Toby,” I tell him earnestly as I take our empty plates to the sink a few minutes later.

There's a heavy sigh behind me; I turn off the running tap and look over my shoulder. The grinning Gerard from thirty seconds ago is gone, replaced by a sad eyed, slumped over figure. My heart skips a beat as it occurs to me that I have caused this.

“Gerard, I–”

“Don't," he says sternly. He casts his eyes up to meet mine. “Not thinking about him has been easy - too easy. It's not permanent, though.” He rises to his feet and walks from the kitchen. “It seems I'm getting what I deserve.”

His words paralyse me. They're so self depreciating, so full of self hate and completely void of pity. How can he blame this on himself and on fate or destiny? Why is he letting an asshole like Toby control him this way?

I collect the last of the utensils and throw them into the sink. Should I go after him? Smart Frank says no, he needs time to collect his thoughts. Stupid Frank says don't leave him alone in this frame of mind. Well, last time I listened to smart Frank, I ended up swimming naked in a freezing lake in the mountains. Stupid Frank's suggestion it is then.

As I expected, Gerard's in the living room. The rug has been folded back, exposing the ink stain. He's sitting Indian style on the floor, rubbing his hand in circular motions over the spot. Seeing him look so helpless causes a sharp bout of pain to my gut, as if I've just been punched.

I perch myself on the arm of the couch, just observing him. I feel like for me to be able to help him he has to be the first one to speak. It's a long wait; at least ten minutes pass before any sound leaves his mouth.

“I shouldn't be so upset over this...” Maybe I won't need to fix anything. “I deserved to have him cheat on me.” Damn.

“No one deserves to be cheated on, Gerard. What makes you think that?”

He turns his eyes on me in an intense stare. “It's true, Frank.” Looking back to the stain, he says, “I couldn't even tell him that I loved him. I strung him along, telling him to have faith in my feelings for him – feelings that were only lukewarm... it wasn't love for me like it was for him.”

“But was it love for him?” I question aloud. Gerard looks up at me, defeated, but still a little curious to know what I’m getting at. “I mean, if he was able to cheat on you so easily, could it have truly been love?”

“That doesn't excuse what I did to him. I constantly ignored him, I kept our relationship a secret, I used him for sex... This is my punishment for that.”

“Gerard, get up here,” I command, giving him a look that I hope tells him not to argue. He heaves himself up and sits next to me on the couch as I slide down from the arm to the cushion. “Stop believing that all this is your fate – it’s not! You’re just going through a rough patch.”

“Rough patches don’t last for eleven years, Frank,” he rebuts.

How am I meant to respond to that? He’s making it very hard to dispute his claims when his arguments are so thorough.

I sigh, deflated. “Gerard, I don’t know what to say to you right now that’ll make you see sense.”

“Just listen then,” he replies. I turn my head toward him so he can see that I’ll do as he says. “It’s not just Toby that’s making me think like this, it’s everything. Losing my parents, becoming an alcoholic, all this stuff with Mikey... it’s fate’s way of knocking me down. Every time I feel like I’m getting somewhere with my life, fate deals me out the unimaginable. I finally get to kiss the guy I’d liked for years, and as a result I lose my parents. I get into art school, and then get involved with the wrong kind of people. I become a notable artist, and Mikey is diagnosed with cancer... I start to let people in, and I’m cheated on. My life is just one cruel joke.”

He sighs long and hard, telling me that he’s not ready for me to talk yet, that he just needs a moment to collect his thoughts. I wait for him to continue.

“Why is it, that no matter how much of myself I give to people, fate always finds a way to push me down and them away?” he says, looking down to the clasped hands in his lap so I can’t see the tears in his eyes. “I just want to know why...”

The look on his face makes me want to hug him and force his pain to go away, so I pull him gently into my arms. He responds immediately, wrapping his arms around my torso softly. Warm tears fall onto my neck, but I feel his body relax a little in my arms – we’re getting somewhere.

“You deserve so much better than what life is dealing you out, Gerard,” I whisper into his ear. “If I could, I would take all this pain away from you so you could be as happy as you’ve made the people around you.”

He leans back from the embrace, but his arms remain wrapped around me. His hazel eyes scan my face, pausing at my lips before he locks his eyes with mine. Not one thing I’ve said is a lie; I smile so he knows I’m being sincere.

Suddenly, I’m being lowered down onto the sofa so I’m lying on my back. Gerard is above me, still with his arms around me, still holding my eyes with his. My smile fades... I don’t understand what is happening.

And then his lips are covering mine.

Gerard Way is kissing me!

He is needy, desperate, yet his kisses are soft. He climbs further on top me, inserts his tongue into my mouth, stroking my tongue while his left hand ghosts down my side until it rests on the bare flesh of my hip that has become exposed. This needs to stop. But I am paralysed. I don’t move, don’t kiss him back; I just lie there and take it. My arms won’t push him away no matter how much my brain calls for it. This is all too weird and I have no idea how to make it stop. How long has he been kissing me? It feels like forever, but surely it can’t have been more than a few seconds... Why won’t my body stop him?

Finally, he sits up, straddling my waist. He looks down at me, his mouth morphing from a smile into a perfect O. Still I do nothing.

“I’m sorry...” he gasps, climbing off me much faster than he had climbed on. “I’m so fucking sorry...”

Now he’s walking from the room, shaking his head. I stare after his retreating form, just one question circulating in my mind from the events of the past couple of minutes.

Why didn’t I stop him?