the dotted line (b/g for slashfic25)
Gerard/Bert
Standalone
R (swearing)
written September-October 2007
Notes: For slashfic25 prompt 15, forget.
He's been waiting for hours.
It's a warm, early autumn day -- about lunchtime -- and he's one of about a hundred fans lining up for the signing. Most of the fans are female; giggling girls in their late teens and early twenties, clutching posters and CDs to their chests as they gossip about the band. As a result, he feels slightly out of place, with his moustache and goatee, his round glasses. His shortish, scruffy black hair sticks out in several directions from underneath a baseball cap; he's wearing one of the band's t-shirts under his jacket, like many of the other fans, but unlike them, he's not chatting happily to the people around him. If anything, he looks slightly troubled, staring straight ahead with a frown furrowing the space between his brows, but he turns and smiles faintly whenever someone elbows him or tells him to move forward.
This is a stupid idea, he thinks -- but stupidity's never stopped him before. Especially not when it's allied with stubbornness.
When the band comes out to sign, he cheers with the rest, although his voice is drowned out by the high-pitched female screams from behind him. He's ushered towards the line and, when he finally comes face to face with Dan, he slides the insert out of his CD cover, handing it over to be signed.
"How's it going, man?" Dan mumbles as he glances up, the lid of his marker pen wedged in the corner of his mouth.
"Yeah, great. Thanks," the fan says with a smile and takes a step to his left. Dan slides the insert across the table to Quinn, who grunts a hello and signs mechanically. After a second, he looks up and blinks, screwing his nose up slightly as they go through the motions of saying hello. There's something familiar about the guy, with his greenish eyes and pale, fluttering hands. Almost reminds him of -- Nah. It couldn't be. But he can't stop himself from asking.
"Hey, do I know you from somewhere?"
The fan shakes his head. "Don't think so. I mean, I've been to a few of your shows and shit ... " He trails off, stroking his moustache absent-mindedly until a plausible story springs to mind. "Oh, wait. I tried to get backstage one time and got nailed by your security dudes. Does that count?"
Quinn laughs and his shoulders slump as he relaxes. "That must be it."
"Yeah."
"Thanks for coming out."
"No problem. Thanks, man."
Jeph knows better. He takes one look at the fan and bursts into a huge shit-eating grin. Their eyes meet and the fan can't help smiling back. Not a word is spoken until Jeph turns his attention to the album cover and starts scribbling.
"Lookin' good, Gee," he murmurs.
Bert, sitting at the end of the table on Jeph's right, turns sharply when he hears Jeph's words. He stares at the fan and he's not sure whether to laugh or cry. Because yeah, it's him. It's Gerard. That stupid fake moustache moves strangely on his face and the glasses emphasise his eyes rather than hiding them ... No, it's the hands. The fingers running along the smooth plastic CD cover, nails bitten down to slivers, but no less artistic and elegant for that. And then he smiles, a tiny, hopeful smile in a face that starts to colour with embarrassment; those little off-white teeth shine in his face like pearls and his eyes are ridiculously alive.
"Dude, move your ass," the guy behind him in line snaps. "I haven't got all fucking day."
The fan snaps out of his trance with a quick "Sorry", while Bert shakes his head and screws his eyes shut. When he opens them, there's a CD booklet in front of him and he signs it without a second thought.
"Anything else you want me to sign?" he says, eyes fixed on the cover, with its vivid pink background and photo of Chadam. The question is so heavy with meaning that the fan pauses for a minute before pulling a folded piece of paper out of his jacket pocket.
"Yeah. Could you sign this?" he asks, placing it on the table.
Calmly, Bert opens the note and reads the handwritten message -- I need to see you. Can we talk? -- before uncapping his pen and scrawling his hotel room number on it. "There you go, man," he says as he hands the paper back, making sure their eyes meet and their fingers touch as he does so.
Gerard's smile is wider as he walks away.
***
"What the fuck were you trying to prove out there, dickhead?" Bert grumbles, grabbing Gerard by the arm and pulling him into his hotel room before slamming the door.
"Maybe next time you'll answer your goddamn phone and I won't have to do this," Gerard replies, shrugging off Bert's grip and folding his arms.
"Answer my fucking question, will ya? And take that stupid piece of shit off your face. You look like a retard."
"Go to hell."
Quickly, Bert lunges forward and rips the false moustache and goatee away. Gerard whimpers and doubles over, covering his nose and mouth, but it's mostly for effect. Bert scoffs as he drops the disguise in the nearest trash can.
"Fucking pussy."
"Shut up." Gerard straightens, pulls off his hat, and scratches the back of his head ruefully. "Um ... d'you think we could skip the fighting and get to the sex already? Just this once?"
"Not when you look like that, Harry Potter."
Gerard removes the glasses. "Better?"
"Hmm. Worse, I think."
"Oh God! What the fuck have I gotta do now?"
Bert clears his throat. "Taking your wedding ring off might be a good start," he mumbles, turning and heading for the French doors that lead to the hotel balcony.
***
A few minutes later, Gerard wanders onto the balcony, hands in his pockets, and watches the small hunched figure leaning against the side, smoking and flicking the ash of his cigarette down to the streets below.
"Why the hell are you here, Gerard?" Bert's voice is quiet, tired.
"I needed to see you."
"Here I am." Bert shrugs and flicks the end of his cigarette over the balcony. He turns around. "Anything else I can do for ya?"
"You can forgive me."
"Should be saying that to your wife, dude."
"Jesus, would you shut up about that?"
Bert purses his lips. "Lemme see ... so you got married -- what, a month ago? -- and you came here today to get me to fuck you, but you think it's not an issue? I think you need to up your meds, Gee."
"It was a mistake -- "
"What was? Getting married? Does she know that?"
There's a long pause before Gerard speaks again. "I think about you all the time."
"Yeah, well, you didn't marry me, did ya?"
"I should have."
"What makes you think I'd want you?"
He looks at his shoes. "Dunno ... just a feeling, I guess."
"Mmm. That's called delusion. Your shrink should help you with that."
"For fuck's sake, Bert ... can't you give me a break here?"
"I'd like to break your fucking neck," he snaps. "Seriously, you are such a dumbass. What the fuck are you thinking?"
"I-I'm not really thinking, I guess. I just wanna be happy, but I can't. I try, but nothing changes, you know?" Gerard's voice drops to a whisper. "I want to forget you, but I can't."
"Bullshit."
"Don't fucking tell me how I feel -- "
"If you wanted to forget me, you wouldn't be here." Bert shakes his head and pushes past Gerard on his way back into the hotel room.
***
After the show -- and he was at his angry, snarling best -- Bert stumbles back to his hotel room, exhausted and a little bit drunk, to find Gerard sitting beside the door. He's leaning against the wall, hugging his knees and looking ridiculously vulnerable. Bert looks down at him; Gerard glances up. After a moment, Gerard raises his left hand and Bert's eyes gravitate towards it.
No ring.
Bert's voice is hoarse. "Did you -- "
"Does it matter?"
"Yeah, it does."
"Then the answer is yes."
Bert shakes his head. "Fucking liar."
"You don't know that."
"I know you," Bert sneers, entering the room with a swipe of his keycard. He leaves the door ajar and Gerard gets to his feet slowly to follow him inside.
Bert's sitting on the bed, kicking off his shoes, when Gerard pulls his cellphone out of his pocket and drops it on the mattress.
"Call her."
"Huh?"
"Call her if you don't believe me."
Bert stands up, pushing his hands into his pockets. "What did you tell her?"
"The same thing I told you today."
"You didn't."
Gerard closes his eyes. "I had to break it to her easy -- "
"What did you say?"
"I-- What do you care?"
"I care because you're throwing away your marriage for a fuck," he spits.
"Bert, you've always been more than a fuck. You know that."
"Could've fooled me," he murmurs, stripping off his shirt and heading for the bathroom. "I'm gonna take a shower. You'd better be gone when I get back."
"I'm not going anywhere."
"Do you want me to call security?"
"You wouldn't do that."
"Try me."
"Try me."
"Fuck you."
Gerard shakes his head. "I love you, Bert."
"No. You love your wife."
***
Fifteen minutes later, Bert walks out of the bathroom, naked and rubbing at his wet hair with a towel. The room is dark and he sighs deeply, relieved by the silence. He drops the towel on the floor -- that's what maids are for, after all -- and heads in the direction of the bed. Clumsily, he reaches for the covers and turns them down before climbing in and settling his damp head on the pillows.
He closes his eyes. "You're still here, aren't you?"
"Yeah."
Bert's leg sweeps across the mattress and brushes against Gerard's foot. He grunts and rolls over, only to feel warm, equally bare arms wrapping around him. It feels good -- damn good, actually -- and it takes all his stubborn strength not to relax and sigh happily.
"Tell me you forgive me," Gerard whispers.
"How can I? You married her."
"And I can divorce her."
Bert takes a deep breath. "You're a fucking idiot," he says, turning over and trying to make out Gerard's features in the dark. "Why did you come here today? You know, all that meet and greet shit."
"Honestly?"
"Yeah."
Gerard rolls on to his back. "I've been fucked up, Bert," he says gently, tapping his temple. "In here. And I realised the last time I was happy -- really, genuinely happy -- was when I was with you. Because you loved me and you got me, you didn't give a shit about the money and the fame and all that shit. We were just us, you know? I was never scared. I didn't have to live up to any media bullshit. I could tell you anything ... " He sighs. "Things were getting really bad, and I needed to see you. To see if you still made me feel -- normal. Happy. I needed to see if I still loved you. To see if we had a chance."
"You're married, Gerard."
"I know. But the second I saw you today -- it was like a rush, a high. It felt like I was floating. And you looked at me and you smiled and I-I knew. It's not even a choice anymore. It's just something I have to do."
"What makes you think I want you?" Bert says warily, sliding an arm around Gerard's shoulders. He can see him smiling in the dark.
"You haven't called security yet."
.
Standalone
R (swearing)
written September-October 2007
Notes: For slashfic25 prompt 15, forget.
He's been waiting for hours.
It's a warm, early autumn day -- about lunchtime -- and he's one of about a hundred fans lining up for the signing. Most of the fans are female; giggling girls in their late teens and early twenties, clutching posters and CDs to their chests as they gossip about the band. As a result, he feels slightly out of place, with his moustache and goatee, his round glasses. His shortish, scruffy black hair sticks out in several directions from underneath a baseball cap; he's wearing one of the band's t-shirts under his jacket, like many of the other fans, but unlike them, he's not chatting happily to the people around him. If anything, he looks slightly troubled, staring straight ahead with a frown furrowing the space between his brows, but he turns and smiles faintly whenever someone elbows him or tells him to move forward.
This is a stupid idea, he thinks -- but stupidity's never stopped him before. Especially not when it's allied with stubbornness.
When the band comes out to sign, he cheers with the rest, although his voice is drowned out by the high-pitched female screams from behind him. He's ushered towards the line and, when he finally comes face to face with Dan, he slides the insert out of his CD cover, handing it over to be signed.
"How's it going, man?" Dan mumbles as he glances up, the lid of his marker pen wedged in the corner of his mouth.
"Yeah, great. Thanks," the fan says with a smile and takes a step to his left. Dan slides the insert across the table to Quinn, who grunts a hello and signs mechanically. After a second, he looks up and blinks, screwing his nose up slightly as they go through the motions of saying hello. There's something familiar about the guy, with his greenish eyes and pale, fluttering hands. Almost reminds him of -- Nah. It couldn't be. But he can't stop himself from asking.
"Hey, do I know you from somewhere?"
The fan shakes his head. "Don't think so. I mean, I've been to a few of your shows and shit ... " He trails off, stroking his moustache absent-mindedly until a plausible story springs to mind. "Oh, wait. I tried to get backstage one time and got nailed by your security dudes. Does that count?"
Quinn laughs and his shoulders slump as he relaxes. "That must be it."
"Yeah."
"Thanks for coming out."
"No problem. Thanks, man."
Jeph knows better. He takes one look at the fan and bursts into a huge shit-eating grin. Their eyes meet and the fan can't help smiling back. Not a word is spoken until Jeph turns his attention to the album cover and starts scribbling.
"Lookin' good, Gee," he murmurs.
Bert, sitting at the end of the table on Jeph's right, turns sharply when he hears Jeph's words. He stares at the fan and he's not sure whether to laugh or cry. Because yeah, it's him. It's Gerard. That stupid fake moustache moves strangely on his face and the glasses emphasise his eyes rather than hiding them ... No, it's the hands. The fingers running along the smooth plastic CD cover, nails bitten down to slivers, but no less artistic and elegant for that. And then he smiles, a tiny, hopeful smile in a face that starts to colour with embarrassment; those little off-white teeth shine in his face like pearls and his eyes are ridiculously alive.
"Dude, move your ass," the guy behind him in line snaps. "I haven't got all fucking day."
The fan snaps out of his trance with a quick "Sorry", while Bert shakes his head and screws his eyes shut. When he opens them, there's a CD booklet in front of him and he signs it without a second thought.
"Anything else you want me to sign?" he says, eyes fixed on the cover, with its vivid pink background and photo of Chadam. The question is so heavy with meaning that the fan pauses for a minute before pulling a folded piece of paper out of his jacket pocket.
"Yeah. Could you sign this?" he asks, placing it on the table.
Calmly, Bert opens the note and reads the handwritten message -- I need to see you. Can we talk? -- before uncapping his pen and scrawling his hotel room number on it. "There you go, man," he says as he hands the paper back, making sure their eyes meet and their fingers touch as he does so.
Gerard's smile is wider as he walks away.
***
"What the fuck were you trying to prove out there, dickhead?" Bert grumbles, grabbing Gerard by the arm and pulling him into his hotel room before slamming the door.
"Maybe next time you'll answer your goddamn phone and I won't have to do this," Gerard replies, shrugging off Bert's grip and folding his arms.
"Answer my fucking question, will ya? And take that stupid piece of shit off your face. You look like a retard."
"Go to hell."
Quickly, Bert lunges forward and rips the false moustache and goatee away. Gerard whimpers and doubles over, covering his nose and mouth, but it's mostly for effect. Bert scoffs as he drops the disguise in the nearest trash can.
"Fucking pussy."
"Shut up." Gerard straightens, pulls off his hat, and scratches the back of his head ruefully. "Um ... d'you think we could skip the fighting and get to the sex already? Just this once?"
"Not when you look like that, Harry Potter."
Gerard removes the glasses. "Better?"
"Hmm. Worse, I think."
"Oh God! What the fuck have I gotta do now?"
Bert clears his throat. "Taking your wedding ring off might be a good start," he mumbles, turning and heading for the French doors that lead to the hotel balcony.
***
A few minutes later, Gerard wanders onto the balcony, hands in his pockets, and watches the small hunched figure leaning against the side, smoking and flicking the ash of his cigarette down to the streets below.
"Why the hell are you here, Gerard?" Bert's voice is quiet, tired.
"I needed to see you."
"Here I am." Bert shrugs and flicks the end of his cigarette over the balcony. He turns around. "Anything else I can do for ya?"
"You can forgive me."
"Should be saying that to your wife, dude."
"Jesus, would you shut up about that?"
Bert purses his lips. "Lemme see ... so you got married -- what, a month ago? -- and you came here today to get me to fuck you, but you think it's not an issue? I think you need to up your meds, Gee."
"It was a mistake -- "
"What was? Getting married? Does she know that?"
There's a long pause before Gerard speaks again. "I think about you all the time."
"Yeah, well, you didn't marry me, did ya?"
"I should have."
"What makes you think I'd want you?"
He looks at his shoes. "Dunno ... just a feeling, I guess."
"Mmm. That's called delusion. Your shrink should help you with that."
"For fuck's sake, Bert ... can't you give me a break here?"
"I'd like to break your fucking neck," he snaps. "Seriously, you are such a dumbass. What the fuck are you thinking?"
"I-I'm not really thinking, I guess. I just wanna be happy, but I can't. I try, but nothing changes, you know?" Gerard's voice drops to a whisper. "I want to forget you, but I can't."
"Bullshit."
"Don't fucking tell me how I feel -- "
"If you wanted to forget me, you wouldn't be here." Bert shakes his head and pushes past Gerard on his way back into the hotel room.
***
After the show -- and he was at his angry, snarling best -- Bert stumbles back to his hotel room, exhausted and a little bit drunk, to find Gerard sitting beside the door. He's leaning against the wall, hugging his knees and looking ridiculously vulnerable. Bert looks down at him; Gerard glances up. After a moment, Gerard raises his left hand and Bert's eyes gravitate towards it.
No ring.
Bert's voice is hoarse. "Did you -- "
"Does it matter?"
"Yeah, it does."
"Then the answer is yes."
Bert shakes his head. "Fucking liar."
"You don't know that."
"I know you," Bert sneers, entering the room with a swipe of his keycard. He leaves the door ajar and Gerard gets to his feet slowly to follow him inside.
Bert's sitting on the bed, kicking off his shoes, when Gerard pulls his cellphone out of his pocket and drops it on the mattress.
"Call her."
"Huh?"
"Call her if you don't believe me."
Bert stands up, pushing his hands into his pockets. "What did you tell her?"
"The same thing I told you today."
"You didn't."
Gerard closes his eyes. "I had to break it to her easy -- "
"What did you say?"
"I-- What do you care?"
"I care because you're throwing away your marriage for a fuck," he spits.
"Bert, you've always been more than a fuck. You know that."
"Could've fooled me," he murmurs, stripping off his shirt and heading for the bathroom. "I'm gonna take a shower. You'd better be gone when I get back."
"I'm not going anywhere."
"Do you want me to call security?"
"You wouldn't do that."
"Try me."
"Try me."
"Fuck you."
Gerard shakes his head. "I love you, Bert."
"No. You love your wife."
***
Fifteen minutes later, Bert walks out of the bathroom, naked and rubbing at his wet hair with a towel. The room is dark and he sighs deeply, relieved by the silence. He drops the towel on the floor -- that's what maids are for, after all -- and heads in the direction of the bed. Clumsily, he reaches for the covers and turns them down before climbing in and settling his damp head on the pillows.
He closes his eyes. "You're still here, aren't you?"
"Yeah."
Bert's leg sweeps across the mattress and brushes against Gerard's foot. He grunts and rolls over, only to feel warm, equally bare arms wrapping around him. It feels good -- damn good, actually -- and it takes all his stubborn strength not to relax and sigh happily.
"Tell me you forgive me," Gerard whispers.
"How can I? You married her."
"And I can divorce her."
Bert takes a deep breath. "You're a fucking idiot," he says, turning over and trying to make out Gerard's features in the dark. "Why did you come here today? You know, all that meet and greet shit."
"Honestly?"
"Yeah."
Gerard rolls on to his back. "I've been fucked up, Bert," he says gently, tapping his temple. "In here. And I realised the last time I was happy -- really, genuinely happy -- was when I was with you. Because you loved me and you got me, you didn't give a shit about the money and the fame and all that shit. We were just us, you know? I was never scared. I didn't have to live up to any media bullshit. I could tell you anything ... " He sighs. "Things were getting really bad, and I needed to see you. To see if you still made me feel -- normal. Happy. I needed to see if I still loved you. To see if we had a chance."
"You're married, Gerard."
"I know. But the second I saw you today -- it was like a rush, a high. It felt like I was floating. And you looked at me and you smiled and I-I knew. It's not even a choice anymore. It's just something I have to do."
"What makes you think I want you?" Bert says warily, sliding an arm around Gerard's shoulders. He can see him smiling in the dark.
"You haven't called security yet."
.