Behind The Front
Title: Behind the Front
Pairing: Frank Iero/Gerard Way, Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie
Rating: PG
Content: One instance of f-ck, a platonic kiss
Disclaimer: I don't own them, no matter how many times I wish on 11:11, and these events are, as far as I know, the work of fiction. If Google abuse brought you here, and you know and/or are those involved, please don't read.
Summary: MCR was invited to the cabin, and the two frontmen bond over being just that - fronts.
Challenge Number: picturethis_mcr 's Challenge Number 6
Author's Note: behindthec's PCCF has ruined me for vacations, because every time I see an image of a lake with a dock, even more so if sepia-toned, I'm gonna picture Panic!'s cabin. This is no exception.
Gerard sits at the end of the dock, exhaling carcinogens into the night. It's not that he doesn't enjoy being at the cabin - quite the opposite, in fact, it's fucking insane. It's just that he needs a break. From the noise, from the people, from the pillow fight going on back inside. From everything.
He thinks about Frank - his Frank, he tells himself. He can say that now. Out loud.
Because he has been saying it. Forever and ever. Every song, every word, every note, had Frank written all over it, written into it. All those people who said he was the frontman, the creative mastermind, the inspiration for the music? Yeah, they were only one-third right.
He hears the far-off creak of the back door, given away by the accompanying increase in volume of the laughter and squealing - okay, Mikey should not squeal. Ever. Footsteps pad down the path to the lake, and he'd be unable to guess who if it weren't for the fact that they're clad in a pair of White Rabbit slippers, gold pocketwatch and all.
Brendon sits down next to him, leaning his head onto Gerard's shoulder. "You up to anything interesting?"
"Just thinking."
"Okay." They sit in silence like that for a bit, heads touching, deep in thought, before Brendon speaks again. "About what?"
"My music." Suddenly, all Gerard wants to do is talk. To admit that everything is inspired by someone else, and that every interview has been a lie. "Like, even though I'm the frontman, I'm not the real creator behind it. It's pretty much all inspired by or influenced by someone else."
"Frank?" he asks, turning towards Gerard. Of course Brendon would get it. He's like that himself.
"Yeah," he responds, exhaling more smoke into the early summer sky. "Most of your songs are about Ryan's life, right?"
"Well, in a different way; they're written by Ryan, so they're what his life was like, for him." He shrugs, saying, "I just sing the words," before smirking and continuing, "but I don't know what they mean."
Gerard laughs - giggles, really - before sighing. "Oh, well, it's weird. It's like, is it my music, or his."
Brendon stands up then, looking at Gerard, before leaning down and pressing a gentle, chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. "It's your music. Together. And that's what matters. Now, I need to get back inside before your boyfriend smothers mine with a pillow."
After a moment, Gerard follows, the taste of Pixy Stix still lingering on his lips.
Pairing: Frank Iero/Gerard Way, Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie
Rating: PG
Content: One instance of f-ck, a platonic kiss
Disclaimer: I don't own them, no matter how many times I wish on 11:11, and these events are, as far as I know, the work of fiction. If Google abuse brought you here, and you know and/or are those involved, please don't read.
Summary: MCR was invited to the cabin, and the two frontmen bond over being just that - fronts.
Challenge Number: picturethis_mcr 's Challenge Number 6
Author's Note: behindthec's PCCF has ruined me for vacations, because every time I see an image of a lake with a dock, even more so if sepia-toned, I'm gonna picture Panic!'s cabin. This is no exception.
Gerard sits at the end of the dock, exhaling carcinogens into the night. It's not that he doesn't enjoy being at the cabin - quite the opposite, in fact, it's fucking insane. It's just that he needs a break. From the noise, from the people, from the pillow fight going on back inside. From everything.
He thinks about Frank - his Frank, he tells himself. He can say that now. Out loud.
Because he has been saying it. Forever and ever. Every song, every word, every note, had Frank written all over it, written into it. All those people who said he was the frontman, the creative mastermind, the inspiration for the music? Yeah, they were only one-third right.
He hears the far-off creak of the back door, given away by the accompanying increase in volume of the laughter and squealing - okay, Mikey should not squeal. Ever. Footsteps pad down the path to the lake, and he'd be unable to guess who if it weren't for the fact that they're clad in a pair of White Rabbit slippers, gold pocketwatch and all.
Brendon sits down next to him, leaning his head onto Gerard's shoulder. "You up to anything interesting?"
"Just thinking."
"Okay." They sit in silence like that for a bit, heads touching, deep in thought, before Brendon speaks again. "About what?"
"My music." Suddenly, all Gerard wants to do is talk. To admit that everything is inspired by someone else, and that every interview has been a lie. "Like, even though I'm the frontman, I'm not the real creator behind it. It's pretty much all inspired by or influenced by someone else."
"Frank?" he asks, turning towards Gerard. Of course Brendon would get it. He's like that himself.
"Yeah," he responds, exhaling more smoke into the early summer sky. "Most of your songs are about Ryan's life, right?"
"Well, in a different way; they're written by Ryan, so they're what his life was like, for him." He shrugs, saying, "I just sing the words," before smirking and continuing, "but I don't know what they mean."
Gerard laughs - giggles, really - before sighing. "Oh, well, it's weird. It's like, is it my music, or his."
Brendon stands up then, looking at Gerard, before leaning down and pressing a gentle, chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. "It's your music. Together. And that's what matters. Now, I need to get back inside before your boyfriend smothers mine with a pillow."
After a moment, Gerard follows, the taste of Pixy Stix still lingering on his lips.