In The Beginning
Part One of One.
They’re riding in the van somewhere in the Midwest at midday, the sun hanging lazily behind clouds as the stench of sweat and vomit floats around. Ray in the drivers seat and Otter in the passenger, Mikey and Frank in the middle row and Gerard in the back by himself. It’s fun, Gerard thinks, when they’re driving down a cracked, two-lane highway and nobody has anything to say because they’ve run out of things to talk about.
He grins a little and sees Frank staring at him, and mumbles, “What?”
Frank grins wide and says, “Your pretty fuckin’ face, that’s what,” then starts laughing.
Gerard grumbles out, “Fuck you,” but smiles nonetheless because, yeah.
*
In the very, very beginning, Gerard remembers, he didn’t like that tiny, punk-kid Frank Iero or his dreads that smelt like pot, but now. Now that they’re on stage, just like this, with Frank thrashing against the disgusting stage floor and himself singing in slurred, broken vocals from too much cheap vodka, he doesn’t know why he didn’t like him.
He doesn’t remember whether he was threatened or scared of falling too hard.
Near the end of ‘Vampires Will Never Hurt You’ he decides that he really doesn’t give a fuck, because he likes him now, and right before the ending chorus starts, he grins down at Frank, winks at Ray and forms a gun with his free hand before shooting into the crowd and yelling, “Scream motherfuckers.”
*
After everything is packed up and everyone else is beyond exhausted, it’s just him and Frank leant against the side of the van, a beer nestled between his legs as Frank roles a joint on top of a Steinbeck book beside him. They sit there in silence, the occasional noise of Frank’s fingers working against the paper or the sound of gravel crunching when one of them shifts.
Gerard wait’s a little while, tilts his head back so it’s resting against the rusted metal, takes a drink of his beer, smiles and says, “Y’know Frankie, you’re the only who can keep up with me.” He can see Frank grin out of the corner of his eye, quick and fox-like while the moonlight catches against his lip ring and causes it to glint. He sniffs lightly and itches where his hair curls right behind his ear before continuing, “And I mean, that might not be a good thing, but,” another sniff and he shifts his gaze so he’s watching Frank’s fingers do their work, “it’s definitely nice not to be doing this shit alone.”
Frank nods, lights the joint and takes two small tokes. “Man, you know you’re never doing this shit alone,” he holds the smoke in his lungs for a few seconds and then exhales smooth and slow, “Jesus is always with you.” They both laugh somewhat hysterically at that and Gerard shoves at Frank lightly while mumbling something about “fuckin’ bible bullshit” before Frank goes, “Asshole you’re gonna make me drop it,” and they laugh some more. Though, when somebody bangs on the van from the inside (probably Otter, Gerard thinks), yelling about how some people actually need some fucking sleep, both men jump and Frank yells, “Go back to fucking sleep then dickface,” with a smirk in his voice when the whole ordeal is over with.
They grin at each other again when movement inside of the van has settled down and Gerard goes back to sipping at his beer and Frank takes three more tokes from the jay.
That’s how things continue for a while, Frank occasionally trading the joint for Gerard’s beer, back and forth telling lame jokes that usually end with, “Your mom,” or, “Dude, I don’t even fuckin’ know,” until the doobie is put out on the van tire and the beer’s completely drained.
Gerard waits a few minutes, waits until Franks small chuckles die down before he turns to face him, eyes bloodshot and half lidded when he smiles, and says, “Hey.” And then, just like that they’re both laughing again because, yeah, that’s kind of what happens, but Gerard says, “Dude, seriously, seriously,” and Frank’s eyes goes kind of wide and he scoots closer.
It falls into routine from there, Frank’s left shoulder pressing right under Gerard’s armpit and Gerard dipping down slightly so his mouth’s right beside Frank’s ear. “Y’know,” he says in a whisper and licks his bottom lip lightly when Frank exhales against his jaw, “I was thinking earlier today. Thinkin’ about how I didn’t like you when I first met you.”
“Yeah?” and Gerard can feel Frank speak; Franks chest vibrating against his own while his lips graze against his neck.
“Yeah,” a pause, “And when we were on stage, with you doing all that, all that fuckin’ thrashing and shit, and I don’t remember why I didn‘t like you. Think I was threatened by you or some shit.” He chuckles then and kisses Franks earlobe before they both shift, Franks fingers tucking under the hem of Gerard’s shirt while Gerard’s arm curls around Franks neck.
“Good that you like me now then, yeah?” and they grin at each other, a small flash of teeth before Gerard’s hovering his lips over Franks, a small, “Mm,” coming from Frank’s mouth before he presses their mouths together. And it’s just how it always is, Frank tonguing at the seams of Gerard’s mouth before Gerard sucks gently on Franks tongue, Franks fingers just barely touching at Gerard’s jaw line as they make-out against the side of the van, tattered jeans covered with small bits of gravel and rock dust.
There’s a pause where they both smile, eyes closed and when Franks fingers stutter against Gerard‘s jaw. “Hey,” Gerard says for what feels like the twentieth time that night.
Frank cracks open his heavy eyes and mumbles, “Hi,” back. Gerard grins again, kisses the corner of Franks mouth, and then kisses and licks his way down Franks jaw line, down towards his neck and he mumbles, “Oh,” and tangles his fingers in Gerard’s hair.
*
The next day, they’re driving towards Iowa and Ray and Otter are still in the front seats and Mikey and Frank are still in the middle row and Gerard’s still in the very back. This time though, it’s raining outside and there’s a hickey the size of a silver dollar on Frank’s neck and he himself is a little hungover.
He stares at Frank and lights up a cigarette. After a few minutes, Frank shifts a little awkwardly and asks, “What?”
Gerard grins, says, “Your pretty fuckin’ face, that’s what.”
Frank really smiles then, bright and wide, soon followed by a chuckle and a playful, “Fuck you,” and Gerard laughs with him.
It’s kind of fun, Gerard thinks, traveling on the road and knowing that there’s always one person that’ll have his back. Knowing that later on tonight, when everyone else is asleep, there’ll be a cold beer calling his name and a certain pair of lips pressed to his own.
He grins a little and sees Frank staring at him, and mumbles, “What?”
Frank grins wide and says, “Your pretty fuckin’ face, that’s what,” then starts laughing.
Gerard grumbles out, “Fuck you,” but smiles nonetheless because, yeah.
*
In the very, very beginning, Gerard remembers, he didn’t like that tiny, punk-kid Frank Iero or his dreads that smelt like pot, but now. Now that they’re on stage, just like this, with Frank thrashing against the disgusting stage floor and himself singing in slurred, broken vocals from too much cheap vodka, he doesn’t know why he didn’t like him.
He doesn’t remember whether he was threatened or scared of falling too hard.
Near the end of ‘Vampires Will Never Hurt You’ he decides that he really doesn’t give a fuck, because he likes him now, and right before the ending chorus starts, he grins down at Frank, winks at Ray and forms a gun with his free hand before shooting into the crowd and yelling, “Scream motherfuckers.”
*
After everything is packed up and everyone else is beyond exhausted, it’s just him and Frank leant against the side of the van, a beer nestled between his legs as Frank roles a joint on top of a Steinbeck book beside him. They sit there in silence, the occasional noise of Frank’s fingers working against the paper or the sound of gravel crunching when one of them shifts.
Gerard wait’s a little while, tilts his head back so it’s resting against the rusted metal, takes a drink of his beer, smiles and says, “Y’know Frankie, you’re the only who can keep up with me.” He can see Frank grin out of the corner of his eye, quick and fox-like while the moonlight catches against his lip ring and causes it to glint. He sniffs lightly and itches where his hair curls right behind his ear before continuing, “And I mean, that might not be a good thing, but,” another sniff and he shifts his gaze so he’s watching Frank’s fingers do their work, “it’s definitely nice not to be doing this shit alone.”
Frank nods, lights the joint and takes two small tokes. “Man, you know you’re never doing this shit alone,” he holds the smoke in his lungs for a few seconds and then exhales smooth and slow, “Jesus is always with you.” They both laugh somewhat hysterically at that and Gerard shoves at Frank lightly while mumbling something about “fuckin’ bible bullshit” before Frank goes, “Asshole you’re gonna make me drop it,” and they laugh some more. Though, when somebody bangs on the van from the inside (probably Otter, Gerard thinks), yelling about how some people actually need some fucking sleep, both men jump and Frank yells, “Go back to fucking sleep then dickface,” with a smirk in his voice when the whole ordeal is over with.
They grin at each other again when movement inside of the van has settled down and Gerard goes back to sipping at his beer and Frank takes three more tokes from the jay.
That’s how things continue for a while, Frank occasionally trading the joint for Gerard’s beer, back and forth telling lame jokes that usually end with, “Your mom,” or, “Dude, I don’t even fuckin’ know,” until the doobie is put out on the van tire and the beer’s completely drained.
Gerard waits a few minutes, waits until Franks small chuckles die down before he turns to face him, eyes bloodshot and half lidded when he smiles, and says, “Hey.” And then, just like that they’re both laughing again because, yeah, that’s kind of what happens, but Gerard says, “Dude, seriously, seriously,” and Frank’s eyes goes kind of wide and he scoots closer.
It falls into routine from there, Frank’s left shoulder pressing right under Gerard’s armpit and Gerard dipping down slightly so his mouth’s right beside Frank’s ear. “Y’know,” he says in a whisper and licks his bottom lip lightly when Frank exhales against his jaw, “I was thinking earlier today. Thinkin’ about how I didn’t like you when I first met you.”
“Yeah?” and Gerard can feel Frank speak; Franks chest vibrating against his own while his lips graze against his neck.
“Yeah,” a pause, “And when we were on stage, with you doing all that, all that fuckin’ thrashing and shit, and I don’t remember why I didn‘t like you. Think I was threatened by you or some shit.” He chuckles then and kisses Franks earlobe before they both shift, Franks fingers tucking under the hem of Gerard’s shirt while Gerard’s arm curls around Franks neck.
“Good that you like me now then, yeah?” and they grin at each other, a small flash of teeth before Gerard’s hovering his lips over Franks, a small, “Mm,” coming from Frank’s mouth before he presses their mouths together. And it’s just how it always is, Frank tonguing at the seams of Gerard’s mouth before Gerard sucks gently on Franks tongue, Franks fingers just barely touching at Gerard’s jaw line as they make-out against the side of the van, tattered jeans covered with small bits of gravel and rock dust.
There’s a pause where they both smile, eyes closed and when Franks fingers stutter against Gerard‘s jaw. “Hey,” Gerard says for what feels like the twentieth time that night.
Frank cracks open his heavy eyes and mumbles, “Hi,” back. Gerard grins again, kisses the corner of Franks mouth, and then kisses and licks his way down Franks jaw line, down towards his neck and he mumbles, “Oh,” and tangles his fingers in Gerard’s hair.
*
The next day, they’re driving towards Iowa and Ray and Otter are still in the front seats and Mikey and Frank are still in the middle row and Gerard’s still in the very back. This time though, it’s raining outside and there’s a hickey the size of a silver dollar on Frank’s neck and he himself is a little hungover.
He stares at Frank and lights up a cigarette. After a few minutes, Frank shifts a little awkwardly and asks, “What?”
Gerard grins, says, “Your pretty fuckin’ face, that’s what.”
Frank really smiles then, bright and wide, soon followed by a chuckle and a playful, “Fuck you,” and Gerard laughs with him.
It’s kind of fun, Gerard thinks, traveling on the road and knowing that there’s always one person that’ll have his back. Knowing that later on tonight, when everyone else is asleep, there’ll be a cold beer calling his name and a certain pair of lips pressed to his own.