MCR FIC: the easiest of things bear the most repeating [a short]
Title: the easiest of things bear the most repeating
Rating: PG
Pairing: Gerard/Frank Bob/Ray
A/N: This is a vignette, a small interlude in a larger story that I'm planning to write in this deaf!verse. Please note, I have no actual specialization in sign language beyond the (very) rudimentary basics, and did not attempt to learn more for this piece. I will be more knowledgeable for the actual story.
x-posted to gerardxfrankie; slowbirds; frankxgerard
Summary: Gerard loses his hearing. The guys still talk to him.
________
Bob picks it up quickest, and shrugs when people mention his proficiency. "I have talented hands," he says once, on an MTV special, and Gerard is surprised by all the people who don't notice Ray flush.
Toro tangles with the vocabulary of sign, "It's like learning a foreign language," he laughs. Yet he is, by far, the fastest with his fingers, and hardly needs to know minor phrases when he can gun through the alphabet as perfectly as he can play a riff on stage.
Mikey doesn't learn it, really. Their communication reverts to what Mrs. Way calls the brother-speak they used when they were toddlers and Mikey was too young to talk. Most of the time, Frank misses the exchanges entirely, because they seem to go on without any outward signals. He swears to God a whole conversation passes in a look over breakfast as Mikey's face is suddenly lit by a sly smile. "I never knew you had a thing for silk, Frank."
The reality is that Frank has the most trouble. His signing is sloppy, stuttering, and sixty percent of what he learns today can't be remembered tomorrow. Gerard doesn't ever mention it, however, because he does wake up in the dead of night once to find Frank curled on his side next to him, shifting frequently.
Gerard raises his head, moving to touch Frank's shoulder, and stops. Frank holds a cheap, stupidly dim key-chain flashlight over an open book, his face inches away from the paper as he squints to see without glasses. His right hand curls and twists, diligently translating the illustrations into reality.
"Car," his lips move. He repeats the gesture, and the tensing in his chest tells Gerard he's saying it aloud to himself. "Restaurant. Employee. How are you? How are you? I am impressed. I am impressed by car--restaurant--employee--dildo." Gerard blinks and looks down at the illustration; the next picture in the sequence is definitely not a dildo. "Dildo. Dildo. Dildo." He studies Frank's mouth, visibly incongruent with what his hands are saying, and wants to laugh as the man practices it over and over again, oblivious as he perverts the completely G-rated sign into the signal for a sex toy. He holds onto his giggles, though, as Frank turns the page, thankfully moving on to the next chapter. He hopes the book doesn't show anything too difficult: Gerard isn't sure he could keep himself from exploding.
It doesn't. And instead of needing to restrain his chuckles, Gerard abruptly needs to remember how to breath. "Child," Frank says, and the world fades away until the only things that matter are Frank's lips and Frank's fingers. "Boy. Girl. Fam--F--Family. Family. Wife. Husband." The guitarist's body stills. "...Husband. Spouse. I understand. Husband. Boy. Girl--husband. Husband. Family." His eyes trail down the page, and Gerard feels Frank's breath hitch. "I love you. I love you--lover. Loverloverlover. I love you. Lover, I love you."
I love you is the easiest of signs.
Frank keeps repeating it.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Gerard/Frank Bob/Ray
A/N: This is a vignette, a small interlude in a larger story that I'm planning to write in this deaf!verse. Please note, I have no actual specialization in sign language beyond the (very) rudimentary basics, and did not attempt to learn more for this piece. I will be more knowledgeable for the actual story.
x-posted to gerardxfrankie; slowbirds; frankxgerard
Summary: Gerard loses his hearing. The guys still talk to him.
________
Bob picks it up quickest, and shrugs when people mention his proficiency. "I have talented hands," he says once, on an MTV special, and Gerard is surprised by all the people who don't notice Ray flush.
Toro tangles with the vocabulary of sign, "It's like learning a foreign language," he laughs. Yet he is, by far, the fastest with his fingers, and hardly needs to know minor phrases when he can gun through the alphabet as perfectly as he can play a riff on stage.
Mikey doesn't learn it, really. Their communication reverts to what Mrs. Way calls the brother-speak they used when they were toddlers and Mikey was too young to talk. Most of the time, Frank misses the exchanges entirely, because they seem to go on without any outward signals. He swears to God a whole conversation passes in a look over breakfast as Mikey's face is suddenly lit by a sly smile. "I never knew you had a thing for silk, Frank."
The reality is that Frank has the most trouble. His signing is sloppy, stuttering, and sixty percent of what he learns today can't be remembered tomorrow. Gerard doesn't ever mention it, however, because he does wake up in the dead of night once to find Frank curled on his side next to him, shifting frequently.
Gerard raises his head, moving to touch Frank's shoulder, and stops. Frank holds a cheap, stupidly dim key-chain flashlight over an open book, his face inches away from the paper as he squints to see without glasses. His right hand curls and twists, diligently translating the illustrations into reality.
"Car," his lips move. He repeats the gesture, and the tensing in his chest tells Gerard he's saying it aloud to himself. "Restaurant. Employee. How are you? How are you? I am impressed. I am impressed by car--restaurant--employee--dildo." Gerard blinks and looks down at the illustration; the next picture in the sequence is definitely not a dildo. "Dildo. Dildo. Dildo." He studies Frank's mouth, visibly incongruent with what his hands are saying, and wants to laugh as the man practices it over and over again, oblivious as he perverts the completely G-rated sign into the signal for a sex toy. He holds onto his giggles, though, as Frank turns the page, thankfully moving on to the next chapter. He hopes the book doesn't show anything too difficult: Gerard isn't sure he could keep himself from exploding.
It doesn't. And instead of needing to restrain his chuckles, Gerard abruptly needs to remember how to breath. "Child," Frank says, and the world fades away until the only things that matter are Frank's lips and Frank's fingers. "Boy. Girl. Fam--F--Family. Family. Wife. Husband." The guitarist's body stills. "...Husband. Spouse. I understand. Husband. Boy. Girl--husband. Husband. Family." His eyes trail down the page, and Gerard feels Frank's breath hitch. "I love you. I love you--lover. Loverloverlover. I love you. Lover, I love you."
I love you is the easiest of signs.
Frank keeps repeating it.