Lovebites and Razorlines
Title: Lovebites and Razorlines
Authors: kamisra_star and ___ruin
Pairing: Frank (My Chemical Romance) / Daryl (GlassJAw/Head Automatica)
Disclaimer: We don't own them, but we wish we did. This never happened, apart from in our dreams.
Summary: Tequila. Dancing. Crying.
The music changes suddenly, and the bass of the new song seems louder than all the songs that previously spurted out from the jukebox in the corner of the bar. You know the song, but you can’t remember it properly, like a hazy dream you can’t quite recall when you wake from it. You watch as ripples swim across the surface of the water, in the dirty glass in front of you, like tiny invisible rocks are being thrown in causing the miniscule shockwaves.
Your head hurts and your eyes are stinging from all the smoke. And god you’re so tired. The past few shows have taken it out of you, and not one to hold back on anything, you’ve been giving it your all, every night ending up a screaming, sweaty heap on the stage floor. Tonight Bob had to pick you up and carry you off the stage you were that exhausted.
Mikey appears at the side of your table, clumsily slamming two tiny shot glasses onto the wood in front of you.
“Tequila!” Mikey yells at you.
“No, thank you…” You look up at him, and see his huge grin turn into a frown. He looks upset. And he’s wasted, great.
“Pleaaaaaase, Frankie!” He pleads, tugging gently on the corner of your sleeve. You can’t resist his big, sad eyes so you grab the glass, tip your head back and drain the glass of its contents.
It tastes sweet, but once you swallow it burns and stings your throat so much that you grab the other dirty glass and down the rippling water that was in it.
“Yay!” Mikey exclaims, before turning on his heel and bounding back onto the dance floor where everyone is rocking out like there’s no tomorrow. They all do this every night onstage, then we come to a bar after and they do the same thing. I have no energy for this.
Baby is this love for reeeeeeeeeeeeeal…
You finally recognise the song, and you look across and spot Gerard, singing along to every word, then you spot Daryl, arms around Gerard’s neck dancing close to him. Very close to him. This upsets you, and you don’t know why.
Mikey runs back over and grabs your arm, and you’re too tired to fight him as he pulls you up and drags you across the room to join in. Gerard sees you and grins as he pulls away from Daryl, wrapping his arms around your waist. Daryl’s grin is even wider as his arms wrap around your neck, his eyes staring intently into your own…and holy fuck he’s grinding against your leg.
“This is my song you know,” he says proudly.
“Umm, yeah I know.” You reply, trying not to think about the fact that you’re sandwiched between two beautiful men, one of who is humping your leg.
The song draws to a close, and Gerard releases his grip on your waist. Suddenly, Daryl collapses to the floor and just sits there, legs crossed, laughing and giggling to himself.
“He’s really drunk.” Gerard states, matter-of-factly, before shrugging his shoulders and bounding off to dance with Bert and the rest of the guys.
Daryl is still sitting in the middle of the dance floor, but his tears seem to have turned to quiet, gentle sobs. He’s fucked.
“Come on D, I’ll take you home, OK?” You smile sweetly, reaching down to help him up.
He throws his arms around your neck again, and nods gently, allowing you to reach under his arms and pull him off the dirty floor. You reach round and brush him off, and he giggles when your hand hits his ass.
Sighing, you turn to look back at your friends, dancing and laughing, as you make your way across the floor to the door of the bar.
Okay, you think to yourself. So maybe this wasn't the best idea in the world.
You really should've obtained some help from one of your stronger, albeit, drunker friends. Helping a drunk Daryl walk Dragging Daryl back to his room on your own is not an easy task.
His arm is draped over your shoulder and his head is rolling around on your shoulder. You've got both your arms securely around his waist, trying desperately to keep him from falling and you think that it really would be a shame if he were to fall and mess up his pretty face.
Your right shoulder lost all feeling about fifteen minutes ago, as you struggled across the barren parking lot into the hotel lobby, so it really is a weight off your shoulders when you finally prop Daryl up against the wall so you can open the door.
You lift his chin slightly so he's facing you, and you speak softly, like you would to a small child
"D? Daryl? Do you know where you key is?"
He raises his hand as if to impart some words of great importance to you, before he slumps forward against your body.
The force of his body nearly causes your own to fall, but you steady yourself in time to stop you both from going down. Daryl's head has found what seems to be a comfy spot between your neck and shoulder blade, and is now mumbling incoherently to you? To himself? Whatever, you can't understand a word. You'll just have to find the key yourself. You really hope he didn't leave it behind, you don't exactly think it would be the brightest of ideas to leave him alone right now if you had to go back for it, you’re exhausted anyway and there’s no way your dragging his drunk ass back to get it.
Holding one arm tightly round his waist you start to feel through the pockets of his dark blue hoodie. No luck. You pad the pockets of his jeans. You can feel something in his back pocket and attempt to pull it out. It’s just your luck that Daryl’s decided to wear jeans that could almost rival Mikey's in the skintight department. The fabric is burning your skin as it rubs against the fingers you are trying to get into the incredibly tight pocket. And Daryl pushing him self against you is not making things any easier.
"Mmmm Frank..."
"D, I need to get your key outta your pocket. Do you want to sleep in the hallway?"
"Mmmm, you’re so sweet"
You manage to slide the key out of his back pocket
"And you’re so drunk.” You sigh, softly. “Come on lets get you in to bed"
You slide the electronic key through the reader and the door pops open.
"Hmm bed’s good"
"Yes bed’s good. You can sleep it off and have a killer hangover to remember it by in the morning"
"Hmm sleep's good"
You pull him over to the bed and his tiny frame collapses on in immediately. He's laying flat on his back with his arms outstretched, and it occurs to you just how fragile he looks.
You lift his legs off the ground and swing them round so his whole body is in bed. Reaching over him you pull the blankets over his tired body and kneel down beside the bed
"D, do you want anything before I go? You gonna be ok"
He rolls to face you with his eyes still closed, wrapping a limp arm around your shoulder he presses his lips to yours. He's all smoke and whiskey, and you are frozen in shock. It takes you a moment to register, and then he's pulling his lips away, and you really wish he'd just put them back; you kinda like them, they’re so soft.
He lays his head back down on the pillow
"Mmm, night Frankie"
You pull the door shut gently behind you, and make your way down the empty hallway to your own room.
Authors: kamisra_star and ___ruin
Pairing: Frank (My Chemical Romance) / Daryl (GlassJAw/Head Automatica)
Disclaimer: We don't own them, but we wish we did. This never happened, apart from in our dreams.
Summary: Tequila. Dancing. Crying.
The music changes suddenly, and the bass of the new song seems louder than all the songs that previously spurted out from the jukebox in the corner of the bar. You know the song, but you can’t remember it properly, like a hazy dream you can’t quite recall when you wake from it. You watch as ripples swim across the surface of the water, in the dirty glass in front of you, like tiny invisible rocks are being thrown in causing the miniscule shockwaves.
Your head hurts and your eyes are stinging from all the smoke. And god you’re so tired. The past few shows have taken it out of you, and not one to hold back on anything, you’ve been giving it your all, every night ending up a screaming, sweaty heap on the stage floor. Tonight Bob had to pick you up and carry you off the stage you were that exhausted.
Mikey appears at the side of your table, clumsily slamming two tiny shot glasses onto the wood in front of you.
“Tequila!” Mikey yells at you.
“No, thank you…” You look up at him, and see his huge grin turn into a frown. He looks upset. And he’s wasted, great.
“Pleaaaaaase, Frankie!” He pleads, tugging gently on the corner of your sleeve. You can’t resist his big, sad eyes so you grab the glass, tip your head back and drain the glass of its contents.
It tastes sweet, but once you swallow it burns and stings your throat so much that you grab the other dirty glass and down the rippling water that was in it.
“Yay!” Mikey exclaims, before turning on his heel and bounding back onto the dance floor where everyone is rocking out like there’s no tomorrow. They all do this every night onstage, then we come to a bar after and they do the same thing. I have no energy for this.
Baby is this love for reeeeeeeeeeeeeal…
You finally recognise the song, and you look across and spot Gerard, singing along to every word, then you spot Daryl, arms around Gerard’s neck dancing close to him. Very close to him. This upsets you, and you don’t know why.
Mikey runs back over and grabs your arm, and you’re too tired to fight him as he pulls you up and drags you across the room to join in. Gerard sees you and grins as he pulls away from Daryl, wrapping his arms around your waist. Daryl’s grin is even wider as his arms wrap around your neck, his eyes staring intently into your own…and holy fuck he’s grinding against your leg.
“This is my song you know,” he says proudly.
“Umm, yeah I know.” You reply, trying not to think about the fact that you’re sandwiched between two beautiful men, one of who is humping your leg.
The song draws to a close, and Gerard releases his grip on your waist. Suddenly, Daryl collapses to the floor and just sits there, legs crossed, laughing and giggling to himself.
“He’s really drunk.” Gerard states, matter-of-factly, before shrugging his shoulders and bounding off to dance with Bert and the rest of the guys.
Daryl is still sitting in the middle of the dance floor, but his tears seem to have turned to quiet, gentle sobs. He’s fucked.
“Come on D, I’ll take you home, OK?” You smile sweetly, reaching down to help him up.
He throws his arms around your neck again, and nods gently, allowing you to reach under his arms and pull him off the dirty floor. You reach round and brush him off, and he giggles when your hand hits his ass.
Sighing, you turn to look back at your friends, dancing and laughing, as you make your way across the floor to the door of the bar.
Okay, you think to yourself. So maybe this wasn't the best idea in the world.
You really should've obtained some help from one of your stronger, albeit, drunker friends. Helping a drunk Daryl walk Dragging Daryl back to his room on your own is not an easy task.
His arm is draped over your shoulder and his head is rolling around on your shoulder. You've got both your arms securely around his waist, trying desperately to keep him from falling and you think that it really would be a shame if he were to fall and mess up his pretty face.
Your right shoulder lost all feeling about fifteen minutes ago, as you struggled across the barren parking lot into the hotel lobby, so it really is a weight off your shoulders when you finally prop Daryl up against the wall so you can open the door.
You lift his chin slightly so he's facing you, and you speak softly, like you would to a small child
"D? Daryl? Do you know where you key is?"
He raises his hand as if to impart some words of great importance to you, before he slumps forward against your body.
The force of his body nearly causes your own to fall, but you steady yourself in time to stop you both from going down. Daryl's head has found what seems to be a comfy spot between your neck and shoulder blade, and is now mumbling incoherently to you? To himself? Whatever, you can't understand a word. You'll just have to find the key yourself. You really hope he didn't leave it behind, you don't exactly think it would be the brightest of ideas to leave him alone right now if you had to go back for it, you’re exhausted anyway and there’s no way your dragging his drunk ass back to get it.
Holding one arm tightly round his waist you start to feel through the pockets of his dark blue hoodie. No luck. You pad the pockets of his jeans. You can feel something in his back pocket and attempt to pull it out. It’s just your luck that Daryl’s decided to wear jeans that could almost rival Mikey's in the skintight department. The fabric is burning your skin as it rubs against the fingers you are trying to get into the incredibly tight pocket. And Daryl pushing him self against you is not making things any easier.
"Mmmm Frank..."
"D, I need to get your key outta your pocket. Do you want to sleep in the hallway?"
"Mmmm, you’re so sweet"
You manage to slide the key out of his back pocket
"And you’re so drunk.” You sigh, softly. “Come on lets get you in to bed"
You slide the electronic key through the reader and the door pops open.
"Hmm bed’s good"
"Yes bed’s good. You can sleep it off and have a killer hangover to remember it by in the morning"
"Hmm sleep's good"
You pull him over to the bed and his tiny frame collapses on in immediately. He's laying flat on his back with his arms outstretched, and it occurs to you just how fragile he looks.
You lift his legs off the ground and swing them round so his whole body is in bed. Reaching over him you pull the blankets over his tired body and kneel down beside the bed
"D, do you want anything before I go? You gonna be ok"
He rolls to face you with his eyes still closed, wrapping a limp arm around your shoulder he presses his lips to yours. He's all smoke and whiskey, and you are frozen in shock. It takes you a moment to register, and then he's pulling his lips away, and you really wish he'd just put them back; you kinda like them, they’re so soft.
He lays his head back down on the pillow
"Mmm, night Frankie"
You pull the door shut gently behind you, and make your way down the empty hallway to your own room.