Fic: Any Way You Want
For genderbendbb
Any Way You Want
MCR; girl!Gerard/Frank
~18,200; R
Frank shifts a little on the bar stool and passes his beer from his left hand to his right. He’s here alone, and waiting for the stage to be occupied is starting to get tedious. There’s some new band in town, he doesn’t know their name. All he knows is that Bob - this guy from back when he used to go to college - said they were pretty good, and urged him to check them out. And so here he is, hanging out in some shitty bar while the band finally get themselves comfortable on stage, each of them looking a little awkward and more than a little drunk.
They’re missing a singer, Frank notices. The drummer is settled, and there’s two guys fiddling with guitars and amps, but the microphone in the middle of the stage stands alone. Frank wonders if he’s planning some big dramatic entrance, and wants to laugh. At a gig like this, where the majority of the crowd are too fucked to even remember the show tomorrow morning, dramatic entrances are snort-worthy. They want to get up there, play hard, scream the name of their band and hope that it sticks in someone’s mind. They need to put on a hard and fast show that even if it doesn’t keep everyone’s attention, leaves them enjoying it enough that they don’t walk out the door. Frank knows this place inside out, knows the sort of bands that usually play here. He’s not expecting anything ground-breaking. He thinks, watching the band, that in the state they’re in, they’ll be lucky to even find their instruments with their hands. He wonders how many beers they knocked back in an attempt to expel the nerves, and grins.
It’s when the singer finally appears that Frank has to turn away. It’s a chick. Frank has nothing against chicks in bands, really, but he knows how they’ll be received. They’re playing some shitty grunge bar, trying to entertain a crowd of drunk, lonely and pathetic men. Frank can already see the interest perking, but it’s not due to anything the band has done. If they get an audience out of this, it will be because their singer has a good ass, rather than any musical talent.
“Fancy a ride home, sugar?” some drunk bastard yells from the bar stool closest to the stage, and Frank sort of wants to kick him.
To her credit, the singer just looks at him and flips him off, turning her back on him and whispering something to one of the guitarists. It’s when she turns around and grins again, that Frank sits up and takes fucking notice. There’s this... glint in her eyes. This hunger to do something, a wildness that forces Frank to look up, to watch and know that he’s about to see a fucking show. His beer stays forgotten on the bar as he slides off the stool and closer to the stage, pushing his way through the crowd to reach the front of the tiny pit. There’s a couple of girls standing there with matching grins and matching t-shirts that read My Chemical Romance. Frank can tell at a glance the shirts are homemade, and he wonders how good this band is that they’ve already acquired fans like these.
And then the vocalist speaks.
“All right you motherfuckers. We’re My Chemical Romance, and we’re about to fuck you up!” she screams into her microphone, and Frank can’t help but grin back at her, marvelling at the wild abandon in her eyes. She’s drunk, yes, he can see it in the sloppy movements, the slur of the words and the reckless grin, but there’s something more. He waits, captivated, and they begin to play.
As the first verse breaks forth, Frank thinks that perhaps ‘play’ isn’t a very good word to describe what he’s witnessing. This is scream in your face, kick you in the balls, turn that shit up louder. This is something he’s never seen before, something that leaves him wanting more more more, forces him to move his feet and his arms and his head and feel. This, is what it feels like to be touched by something so intense it leaves you reeling. He still can’t quite grasp the raw passion behind it, even as he feels himself being thrown about, battered and bruised and loving every minute. He can hardly tell whenwhere one song fades into the other, and he just keeps moving, moving, feeling as though to stop would be to die.
She makes eye contact with him, and she winks and flips him the finger at the same time, and he has this crazy urge to live his life for her, for this band. It’s insane what she does to him with those eyes, carried away in a sea of music, sweat and sex. Because that’s what this fucking band feels like, he realises. Hot, hard, fast, sweaty sex. They radiate it, seeping through his pores and leaving him panting, sweating, desperate. He’s turned on beyond belief and he doesn’t even know why. He can feel the beat in his veins, feels the thrumming of guitars and the thud of drums and leading it all, the powerful and gripping voice coming from such a small girl. This is music. This is fucking rock.
It’s over much quicker than he’s ready for it. He wants to stay for hours, wants to feel the music in his bones long after the band finish the last notes. He wants, and he needs, and he knows he’s not going to get, and that kills.
“You guys have been fucking incredible. Thank you so much,” she says, out of breath and exhausted, her hair dripping with sweat and her cheeks flushed, but she’s grinning so hard Frank thinks her face might crack. This is her dream, he realises, as if he didn’t know it before. He hopes that he sees them around, hopes that they get far enough to see this dream unfold into reality. He knows that the second an album hits the stores, he’ll be first in line, even though he knows it can’t possibly compare to the thrill of seeing them live. The band stumble offstage, arms flung around each other, hugging and panting and laughing.
My Chemical Romance. Frank feels as though he will never forget the name.
Ten minutes later, Frank is at the bar, trying to get his breath back, and still unable to fight the smile off his face. He orders another beer and settles back onto his stool. The same guy is sitting beside him, and he nudges Frank when he sits down.
“That chick was really something, huh? Incredible ass.” His voice is a drawl, and Frank glares at the sleaze, wishing that he could punch him in the face without being kicked out of the bar. “Nice tits, too, though a little small,” the bastard continues, and this time, Frank can’t hold himself in check. He doesn’t really understand it - he doesn’t even know the girl - but for some reason he feels this rage bubbling up inside him, and he lands his fist in the guy’s nose before he even realises he’s done it. There’s a shout of pain and blood trickling between the fingers the guy holds up to his face, even as he lifts his other fist to fight back. Frank doesn’t even feel the punch at first, and then there’s a splitting pain down one side of his head and he swears. He’s getting ready to fight back, he’ll knock the fucker out if need be, and then he doesn’t have to, because someone else has beaten him to it. There’s a crack and the guy slumps forward, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. Frank’s eyes follow him to the floor before he remembers that this is probably going to lead to trouble, and he looks up. And there’s the girl, staring at the limp form on the floor with a mixture of disgust and triumph.
“You’ll never lay a finger on me, motherfucker,” she snarls, and Frank can appreciate a girl who knows how to stand up for herself. Security though, are apparently not quite as impressed. Frank groans as a hand fists the sleeve of his shirt.
“No fighting in my bar,” a gruff voice tells him, before he’s kicked out. He doesn’t bother to argue; really, he doesn’t want to stay any more. He would have liked to tell the girl how much he enjoyed the show, but oh well, maybe he can catch her at the next gig. He shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets and is about to walk home - it’s only a few blocks away - when a hand on his shoulder stops him.
“Thanks, for, you know. In there. Sorry about your head.” She gestures her thumb behind her to the bar, and there’s this wry smirk on her lips that holds Frank in shock for a moment until he remembers his voice.
“Oh. Right. Well, he was being an asshole, so.” Frank shifts his weight from one foot to the other, trying to ignore the dull ache in his head and wondering whether she’s expecting more of a conversation, or whether he should just go. As awkward as it is, he figures that he might as well take his chance. “That was a really incredible set, by the way. You guys really have something.”
She smiles then, all bright eyes and tiny teeth, dimples forming and cheekbones accentuating, and Frank has to hold himself in check. She’s sobering up - he supposes being kicked out would have helped that along - and there’s none of the drunk lopsidedness to her grin now.
“I saw you, in the front,” she says. “You looked like you got it.”
Frank wants to tell her that he did, he gets it, he understands the energy, the power, the need, the message, but he can’t find the words. His tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth and it’s really fucking inconvenient, the way she keeps smiling at him. How’s he supposed to form a sentence when she’s looking at him like that? He catches himself, realising that right now he’s probably no better than the asshole from the bar.
“Yeah. I’ll be keeping an eye out,” he says instead, and doesn’t have to explain what he’ll be looking for. She already knows.
She fixes sharp eyes on him and shakes her hair out of her eyes. It’s still damp with sweat, hanging just past her shoulders, messy and tangled from the show, framing her pale face. He notices a tiny pink blemish on her right cheek and he knows he’s staring, but he can’t help it. She’s hot.
There’s a yell from behind them, and Frank looks up to see the rest of her band waving and trying to get her attention.
“Coming, you impatient fucks!” she yells back, and Frank cracks a grin despite himself. When she turns back to him, she’s pulling a sharpie out of her pocket nonchalantly, as if it’s totally normal for her to carry around markers in her clothing. Without saying a word, she reaches out and snatches his arm. Her tongue pokes out the side of her lips as she scribbles on his forearm - luckily, the arm not completely covered in tattoos - and when she’s done, she caps the marker with a flourish.
When he looks down, he smiles at how endearingly messy her rushed handwriting is. A phone number, accompanied by a quick G xoxo. Abruptly, he realises he doesn’t know her name.
“Frank,” he offers, holding out the same arm to shake her hand. She laughs and shakes it with an air of mocking. Maybe it is a little weird to be shaking her hand, but whatever.
“Gee,” she answers in kind, and then another cheerful shout from her band kicks her back into gear. “Call me, Frank,” she says, and then she’s gone.
-
Frank sits in front of the phone, and suddenly he understands what people bitch and moan about. How many times has he rolled his eyes and told some poor sucker to just call her already? How many times has he laughed at the idea of being too scared to call some girl? And now he is, and okay, it’s harder than he thought. Pathetic, Frank, pathetic, he scolds himself, picking up the phone and hitting himself in the forehead with it. It leaves a dull ache, a casual reminder that he’s a fucking idiot, and maybe he’ll even get a nice bruise so that when he spots himself in the mirror he’ll remember what a pussy he is.
“Oh, get a grip,” he groans out loud, and dials the number. Really, he doesn’t know what he was so worried about; this is easy, this is awesome, this is--
“Hello?”
-- a total fucking mistake.
“Um, hi?”
There’s a pause, silence on the other end, until, “Sorry, who is this?”
If he wasn’t holding it to his ear, Frank would probably try and knock himself out with the damn phone this time.
“It’s Frank. Um. From the show the other night?” He’s rather proud of the way he keeps the stutter out of his tone.
“Oh! The guy who heroically got himself beat up for me. I remember.”
Frank scrunches his nose and is glad that she’s not here to watch him going red. “It wasn’t. I didn’t - Okay, fine. Yes, that’s me.”
She giggles, this breathy little laugh, and Frank can practically see her eyes shining, lips twitching. And oh, now he remembers why he called.
“Anyway, so I was wondering whether. Whether you might want to go for a drink?”
This time there’s no hesitation, and Frank takes it as a good sign.
“I’d love to! My brother wants to check out this new club. You want to come with?”
He’d been aiming for something maybe a little more... Private, without little brothers hanging around and waiting to condemn him, but he’s not about to throw away his chance.
“Great,” he says instead, and she tells him the time and the place in an excited rush. Frank wonders whether she gets this excited and earnest about everything in her life, and he feels a smile twitch its way onto his lips.
“So we’ll pick you up around eight?” she asks, and Frank grins. He feels like he should be picking her up.
Instead, he says, “Eight it is,” and rattles off his address before he says his goodbyes. When he hangs up the phone, his grin is still etched on his face. Catching sight of himself in the mirror on the wall in front of him, Frank groans at himself and scrubs his hands over his face, as though that will dispose of the dopey smile. It doesn’t.
-
At 8:30, Frank is seriously considering picking up his phone and finding out where the hell Gee is. He’s been checking his watch obsessively every five minutes, sometimes more, and he’s starting to wonder where she is. It’s ridiculous, really. He doesn’t know what he’d been expecting. Here she is, gorgeous, raw, intense, and fronting a fucking rock band, and he expected her to actually like him?
Frowning, Frank puts down the phone and throws himself onto the couch, toeing off his shoes. He’d been stupid to get his hopes up. Sighing loudly and deeply, Frank settles back into the couch and switches on the TV to discover that they’re running a Will & Grace marathon tonight. Firmly, he tells himself that this is good. Who needs rock star potential-girlfriends when he can have ridiculous sitcoms?
The knock at his door ten minutes later startles him so much he almost falls off the couch, but then he’s up in a flash and wrenching the door off its hinges. And there she is, dressed in low-cut jeans and a ripped Madonna shirt, hair everywhere and eyes rimmed dark with liner, and Frank forgets any resentment towards her he may have felt in the past half hour.
“Hi!” she says, in the same kind of breathless, excited way that she seems to say everything, and Frank finds himself unable to stop smiling at her.
“Hey,” he says, forcing the words past his lips, “it’s 8:40.” He’s not sure exactly what he means by this; some sort of inquiry into why she was so late, without trying to sound accusing. In the end, he just comes off sort of dumbstruck.
Her eyes widen ridiculously, the green made all the more intense by the darkness surrounding them, and she gasps. “Oh! Is it really? I’m sorry, I’m hopeless with time and we were jamming and we just got caught up and that’s just how it is with music, you know?” she says all in one breath, and Frank laughs and nods.
“Yeah, it’s fine. Just let me get my shoes, yeah?”
She nods, stays put - thank god - while he goes to retrieve his previously abandoned shoes, and then as quick as he can he’s grabbing his wallet and his keys and is following her out the door. If he chances a glance at her ass in those jeans it’s not his fault, he swears.
She’s driving the same van she had at the show, this beat up old thing that hardly even looks road-worthy, and when she opens the passenger side door for him, it squeaks so loud he grimaces. She just pats the thing fondly, and gestures for him to get in. To his surprise, there are three other guys in the back of the van who wave at Frank enthusiastically.
“Oh!” Gee exclaims again, and Frank is beginning to think that everything in her life is exciting to her. “This is Otter, Ray, and my little brother, Mikey.” Frank greets them all, and tries not to ask out loud when this turned into a group activity.
“So you guys are My Chemical Romance, huh?” he asks while Gee drives them to some new club in town.
“You guys, I’m sold. He remembered our name!” Mikey laughs, and Frank grins.
“I play guitar,” Ray says, “Otter is on drums and Mikey’s our bassist. Gee sings, obviously.” Frank remembers their show, remembers the rush in his veins and the tingle in his fingers, and he grins. All of a sudden the radio is turned up full-ball and Gee yells over the top of Journey’s ‘Don’t Stop Believin’’.
“You guys!” she shouts, and they seem to catch on immediately, belting out “she took a midnight train going anywhere” altogether. Frank laughs loud, looking across the console to where Gee has her head thrown back, grinning through the words as she sings, and when she turns to catch his eye she grins wider, nudges him to join in, and Frank adds his voice to the chorus with wild abandon. This is how things should be, he thinks, and he’s already decided that he’s never letting this band get away from him.
They pull up to the club not long after, and by the time everyone is pouring out of the van, Frank doesn’t even care that he didn’t get to bring Gee out alone. The club is packed full with people, and Frank finds himself behind Otter, using him as a way to push through the crowd so that they can get to the bar. He orders a drink for himself, then spins around to take everyone else’s order as well.
When everyone has a drink in their hand, Ray directs them to a corner where there’s a small table unoccupied, and this time Frank finds himself squished up against Gee in order to fit them all around the table. She smiles at him, and he returns it, desperately trying to keep his hands away from her thighs or something else ridiculously inappropriate. Instead, he takes a large gulp of beer and tries to focus on what Mikey is saying about the guy who runs the place, or something.
“Wentz is totally fucking crazy man, but he’s cool,” Mikey’s saying, and then he grins at Gee wildly. “In fact, I think I’ll go say hello,” he says, and then he disappears around the corner with his drink in hand. Gee groans loudly, throws back the rest of her glass and looks at Ray helplessly.
“I refuse. I won’t do it this time. You can, you’re the designated driver,” she says, and Ray sighs and nods.
“Do what?” Frank asks before he can help himself.
“Look after Mikey when he comes home blind and smelling of sex.” She screws her nose up in distaste. “No sister should have to smell that on their baby brother.”
“Do you want to get out there?” Frank asks her on a whim, gesturing to the mass of moving bodies. She cocks her head a little bit to the side, and Frank wishes she’d stop being so fucking adorable or else he’s going to do something he’ll regret. Finally, she smiles and nods, and Frank takes her hand and leads her out onto the floor.
And then it’s almost cruel the way the bodies press in from all sides, and he has no choice but to shove right up against Gee, feel her hips and her thighs brushing his, and oh god his life is made of hell and torment. This needs to stop, and it needs to stop now. He forces himself to get a grip, because he barely even knows the poor girl and he’s never going to if he can’t get his damn hormones under control.
“A Journey fan, then?” he shouts into her ear over the music, and she grins and nods enthusiastically.
“Aren’t you?” she yells back, as though it’s blasphemy to disagree, and Frank just laughs.
Frank’s beginning to lose track of how many drinks he’s had by now, and judging by the fact that he buys Gee one every time as well, she’s not doing any better. She’s smiling constantly, drunk, relaxed and carefree, and she slumps against Otter with a giggle.
“Gonna hang out with us again, Frank?” she slurs at him, “we haven’t scared you off yet?”
He just shakes his head, and Otter settles Gee into a chair before she falls over. “Ready to head off yet, sweetheart?” he laughs, nudging her foot, and Gee flips him off lazily. It’s around then that Mikey wanders back out into view, hair in disarray and half the buttons on his shirt still undone, and Gee groans loudly and waves her hands in front of her eyes.
“My innocent eyes! And my innocent little brother! Mikey, Mikey, you fiend!”
Ray rolls his eyes. “Okay, okay. I’m the sober one, all of you have to do what I say. Let’s head off before Mikey disappears to find Wentz again, shall we?”
Frank helps Gee to her feet, and she leans on his arm as he directs her out of the club and into the back of the van. Mikey takes shotgun, and Otter ends up sitting between Frank and Gee. Frank kind of regrets that he didn’t get to sit next to her this time as she slumps her head onto Otter’s shoulder and starts to drift asleep.
When Ray pulls up outside Frank’s, Gee wakes up and smiles all dopey at him, and Frank gives her a wave as he jumps out of the van. “Don’t miss the next show, Frank,” she calls to him, and picks up a flyer off the ground and throws it out for him to catch. And then with a wink, the door shuts again, and Ray pulls out of Frank’s driveway.
Frank watches them go and then lumbers back into his house, smiling when he hears Mama barking for him. The flyer immediately gets tacked up on his fridge, right next to his pizza coupons, and then he drags himself to bed to await the next morning’s hangover.
-
It’s mornings like these that Frank thanks the higher powers that he dropped out of college to play with Pencey. While that may have not entirely worked out (more like went to hell in a fucking handbasket, but that’s neither here nor there), it still means that when his alarm clock goes off at seven in the morning, and his head throbs in protest, he can roll over and go back to sleep.
Twenty minutes later, he wakes up again and realises that it’s Monday. Fuck damn! He topples out of bed and his hip collides painfully with his dresser, but there’s no time for that. Damn Gee for taking him out on a Sunday night. Just because they’re busy making money from music and don’t have proper jobs, doesn’t mean they have any right to make him lose his. Man, Patrick is going to fucking kill him if he’s late again.
He tears a shirt over his head in a rush, pulling his jeans up while simultaneously trying to hop out the door. Eventually he manages to make it to the kitchen, button and fly still undone and hair a mess, and smears some jam onto a piece of bread. No time for toast, he tells himself as he puts the slice between his teeth and buttons his jeans, racing into the bathroom to try and make his hair halfway towards decent.
By the time he makes it out the door, he’s already half an hour late. Luckily, the record store is just around the corner. Small graces. Patrick greets him with a raised eyebrow and a glance at his watch when Frank stumbles in the door, and he quickly rushes out an apology.
“You’re so hungover it’s ridiculous,” Patrick laughs when Frank sinks behind the counter and tries to hide his face in his hands. His head is still fucking throbbing, and his stomach is beginning to feel queasy, verging on the need to disappear to the bathroom and spill his guts. He ignores it though, and smiles for Patrick.
“Trick, I am perfectly healthy. I had an early night last night, you know me. Quiet.”
Patrick just shakes his head and disappears out the back, probably to continue sorting the new orders. Frank puts his head back down on the counter, and hopes to god that nobody feels like buying a record today.
To his relief, he gets released for his lunch break around noon, and Frank thanks Patrick and rushes out the door before he can change his mind. His feet automatically begin to lead him towards the cafe he usually goes to for lunch. Greta is behind the counter as per usual, and she beams at him when he walks in and the bell tinkles to announce his arrival.
“Frankie! The usual, yeah?” she asks, and when Frank nods, she busies herself with making his sandwich while he lowers himself gently into a seat at the closest table. Absently, he drums his fingers on the tabletop and glances around the cafe, and that’s when he notices Mikey and Gee sitting in a booth a few tables over. Mikey looks up and spots him, and when Frank waves, Mikey grins back and nudges Gee, who’s sitting with her back to Frank. She turns around, and the smile she gives him when she sees him sends his stomach churning for a whole new reason.
They get up and make their way over, Gee clutching a mug of coffee protectively between her small hands. “Hey Frank!” she says when she slides into the seat across from him, and Mikey takes the one on her right. The weather is beginning to cool around this time of year, and there’s a bite in the air that leaves her cheeks a little flushed even though she’s inside. There’s multiple scarves wrapped around her neck and she’s wearing the same jeans she wore last night, with a grey cardigan reaching down to her waist. Her hair is windswept and wild, falling in messy tangles about her shoulders, and Frank thinks she looks adorable even when she’s apparently freezing her ass off.
“How’s your head?” Mikey asks with a wry smile, and Frank rolls his eyes. He’s saved from answering when Greta arrives at their table and hands Frank his sandwich, ruffling his hair and telling him to eat up before she goes back to her counter.
“Come here often then?” Gee asks with a hesitant smile, and Frank nods as he takes a bite of his food, chews and swallows before answering.
“Yeah. I work at the record store just down the street, so.”
“Oh Patrick’s? Wicked.” Her eyes shine at the mention of the store, and Frank counts it as a win.
When Mikey nudges her and looks at the clock, Gee startles in her chair. “Oh!” she exclaims, and Mikey nods. “I’m really sorry, Frankie, we’re going to have to head off. Band practice started ten minutes ago,” she says, looking sheepish.
“Oh, yeah, of course. I’ll see you ‘round?” he asks, just for something to say, and she nods happily as Mikey drags her out of the cafe, waving to him brightly before the door shuts behind her.
When Frank looks away from the door, Greta is sitting in front of him. “You totally have a crush on that girl,” she says, eyes sparkling.
Frank just laughs and finishes his food, pushing his plate away. “Look who just can’t keep her nose out.”
“It’s all part of my charm,” she counters, but she picks up his plate and walks away, and doesn’t ask any more questions. “See you tomorrow Frank,” she calls as he heads for the door.
The rest of work drags on and on with only a few customers coming through the door, and slowly, Frank starts to feel the effects of his hangover dissipating. At five o’clock, he’s free to leave, and he walks home with the image of Gee’s flushed cheeks and warm smile in his head.
-
The weeks fly by before Frank even really realises where he is. He goes to work, talks to Patrick about music and the scene, and when My Chemical Romance come up in conversation, Frank tells him how awesome they are and doesn’t mention anything about having a girly high school crush on their lead singer.
He still gets hassled by Greta whenever he goes on his lunch break, but he’s beginning to threaten that he’ll go somewhere else if she keeps it up. It’ll never happen though. Greta makes the best sandwiches in the fucking world, and Frank is willing to put up with her questioning for half an hour each day if it means she’ll keep making him food with outrageous discounts.
Ian normally just shakes his head pityingly at Frank whenever he comes out into the front of the shop, his apron and hands covered in flour and an apologetic smile on his lips. Today, he places his hands on Greta’s hips and leans in to kiss the back of her neck while she prepares Frank’s lunch. It’s probably the best place in the world, Greta and Ian’s little bakery/cafe.
“You asked that poor girl on a date yet, Iero?” Ian asks him, and Frank realises that Greta has been feeding him updates.
“Haven’t seen her in a few weeks,” Frank says with a shrug, and tries to pretend that he’s not maybe just a little bit confused. Greta makes cooing noises and gives him a muffin for free. He rolls his eyes at her, but he eats the muffin anyway, and when she turns on her sympathetic eyes, he settles in at his usual table with her across from him.
“What if she doesn’t like me?” he blurts out before he can stop himself.
“Aw, honey,” Greta laughs and shakes her head, and pats Frank’s hand where it rests on the tabletop. “Of course she does. You need to call her, Frankie.”
“But I haven’t heard from her in weeks, Greta. She’s probably forgotten who I am.”
Greta snorts, stands up, and lashes out at his shoulder with the tea-towel in her hands. “Ow!” he protests, but she just rolls her eyes and ignores him.
“Call her, Frank. Before some other lucky guy snatches her up,” Greta warns, sending a new bolt of uncertainty and nerves into his stomach. She has a point, she really does. If Frank were some other guy, he’d be trying to snatch Gee up for sure. He has to get a move on, because he’s pretty sure he’ll kill himself if he passes her up.
“Go get her, Frankie!” Ian calls as Frank heads out of the cafe, and Frank puts on his best game face and strides home.
-
In the end, Frank finds himself on his couch at home, the phone clutched in his hands and Gee’s number dialled in. All he has to do is press ‘talk’ but he really can’t seem to get it together. And it’s stupid. He’s never been this ridiculous over a girl, since when did Frank Iero lose any shred of manliness he ever had?
His thumb hovers over the button, and at the last second, he presses down on ‘end’. Frank frowns and mentally berates himself for being such a pussy, and then he calls Bob instead.
Bob is waiting for him at the bar when Frank goes to meet him that night, flanked by his roommate Brian. Frank greets them both and sinks into the stool beside Bob, ordering himself a beer. He hasn’t seen Bob properly since he dropped out, really, and it’s something he’s been meaning to rectify. Or it was, until he got caught up in the whirl-wind of Gee and My Chemical Romance, and forgot that anything else even existed. But this is good. He’s going to have some drinks with Bob and Brian, manly stuff, probably stumble home and pass out fully clothed, and maybe in the morning, he’ll have some balls to go with his hangover.
They talk about all the things they used to talk about; movies and comics and the latest x-box games, and Frank remembers why Bob and Brian are the best people in the world. He kind of misses college sometimes, if only because he misses the friends that he doesn’t see nearly enough anymore.
“You look sad, Frankie,” Bob comments, and Frank sighs, long and drawn out, before swivelling his eyes up to meet Bob’s, more than a little drunk.
“I met a girl,” he says slowly, seriously, and Bob nods and makes an ‘ah’ noise, all very solemn.
“We need another round then,” Brian declares, and shoves another beer between Frank’s hands. He takes a swig gratefully, and Bob makes a toast to Frank And His Probably Doomed Love. Frank takes it all back. He doesn’t miss Bob at all.
-
Frank manages to keep it up for another week or so before he tells himself that he’s being utterly ridiculous (Bob wholeheartedly agrees) and that it’s time to rediscover his manhood. This time, when he picks up the phone, he forces himself to dial all the way through, but his stomach still flops uneasily when she answers the phone.
“Talk to me,” she says, kind of offhand like she’s busy doing something else.
“Hey, it’s Frank.”
She brightens up immediately, and he can hear her attention being diverted to him. “Frank, hi! What’ve you been up to?”
“Nothing, really, you know, working, whatever. I was just wondering, if you maybe wanted to hang out tonight, or something?” His foot taps against the ground, and he tries not to follow it up with some lame addition offering her a way out if she wants to take it.
Instead, he hears her answering laugh. “We have a show tonight, Frankie, I thought you were coming?”
It hits him then with sudden clarity, and he lets out an “Oh!” and jumps up and runs to his bedroom, rummaging through his bedside drawers until he finds the flyer she handed him when they dropped him off. And there it is, tonight’s date staring out at him. “Oh!” he says again, and she just laughs harder.
“You forgot, didn’t you?” she says, and he can hear the teasing in her voice over the phone.
“I... if I say no, is there any chance of you believing me?”
“None. None at all.”
He laughs, lets himself relax, and remembers that she’s actually kind of really awesome and he doesn’t need to be quite so ridiculous all of the time. “Okay, well. I will be there, I promise.”
“I’m gonna hold you to that, Frank. Sorry, I’m going to have to let you go. We’re rehearsing and Ray is going to kick my ass if I don’t get off the phone and start singing,” she says in a rush, but he can hear the smile in her voice.
“Okay, I’ll see you tonight then,” he says, and hangs up after she says goodbye. Then he calls Bob and begs him to go to the gig with him, because damned if Frank is going to make an idiot out of himself when her whole band is there again.
-
When Bob offers to pick Frank up and be the designated driver, Frank jumps at the chance. The only downside is that it means he doesn’t get to see the band before the show. It’s not long however before he and Bob can cram inside the club, only the tiniest step up from the place they played in last time, but at least it’s something. Frank grabs a drink first so that he has something to do with his hands while he talks to Bob about the band, because despite the fact that it was on Bob’s suggestion to go and see them, apparently he hasn’t heard them himself. Frank smiles and thinks he’s in for a surprise, and then he turns around when he hears a familiar voice take the stage.
“We’re My Chemical Romance!” Gee shouts into her microphone, and then with the first powerful strum of the guitar, and her first headbang, the show is underway.
The good thing about being on the short side is that it’s relatively easy for Frank to squish to the front of the crowd to watch, and he drags Bob along with him. They’re playing what he recognises from the last set he saw as ‘Headfirst for Halos’ and Frank throws himself around with them, loving every minute of hearing them again.
It’s not until half way through the third song that Gee snaps herself out of whatever kind of trance she goes into when she’s singing, and looks down and sees Frank and Bob squished up in front of her. The grin that crawls slowly across her lips is teasing, sexy, wonderful, this half smirk that makes Frank want to climb up on the stage and kiss her in front of everyone. She becomes this entirely different person on stage, it’s almost insane. Here she is, strutting across the stage like she fucking owns it, smirking at him like she knows exactly what he’d like to do right now, and it’s such a 180 turn from the excitable, fumbling Gee he’s met since. He doesn’t know how, or why, but it’s a fucking turn on.
She blows him a kiss nearing the end of the song, and Frank grins back at her before the song finishes, and she swaggers off to whisper something in Mikey’s ear, and then back across to Ray, who relays it to Matt. They’re switching up for something different, he can tell, something they didn’t prepare for, and he finds himself on the tip of his toes waiting for it.
And then she looks down at him again, and the grin that takes over her face this time is wild with joyous abandon, less seductive and more like she’s about to start laughing, and then she throws her head back, hair flicking over her face and down across her back, and she bursts forth with the beginning lyrics, and Frank finds himself rooted to the spot as Journey’s ‘Any Way You Want It’ fills the club.
It’s probably the best thing he’s ever heard. The crowd are momentarily dumbstruck, but they catch on pretty quickly, and it helps that Gee has begun strutting around the stage again, half-laughing half giving it her all, and Frank decides that if he’s ever going to marry anyone, it will be her. He grins at Bob and starts to move, and the next time she catches his eyes, she doesn’t look away.
With a sashay of her hips and the quirk of red lips against pale skin, dark hair falling into her eyes while she sings loud and full of abandon, she sings her song to him, and Frank doesn’t even know what to do with himself. It’s in the way he can tell how much she’s enjoying herself up there. It’s in the sudden change between the aggressive singer she was two minutes ago during their own songs, to this playful and teasing persona, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen something so simultaneously adorable and sexy.
Bob nudges him and laughs, and Frank realises that he probably looks kind of stupid, staring at her like she just fell from fucking heaven or something. She’s belting out the last chorus with everything she has in her, eyes closed and head tipped back to the ceiling, exposing the column of her pale throat. He’s never seen anything so perfect.
And then the song finishes, and she smiles at him like she’s herself again, before the band are launching back into their own songs behind her, and she’s back to working the audience, as if the smile was for Frank alone.
When the band tumble offstage ten minutes later, Frank is met with a sudden armful of Gee. She’s grinning like her face is about to break, her eyes shining the same way he remembers from the last time he saw her come off a stage, the adrenaline quite obviously still pumping through her veins and the excitement alight on her skin.
“You guys were incredible,” he tells them, but he’s looking at her when he says it, and she seems to get it. He has her at more or less arms’ length now, less all up in his personal space like she was when she threw herself at him in a hug, but enough that he can really look at her, the smudges of eyeliner where she’d rubbed at her eye during the set, the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she breathes hard out of parted lips. He wants to kiss her, wants to keep her this breathless for as long as possible, wants to tuck her under his arm and go somewhere where it’s just the two of them.
Instead, he just grins back at her, congratulates them all again, and then, because he can’t help himself, “Fucking Journey?” he asks, still kind of amazed, and she laughs, free and easy like she’s still caught halfway between Stage Gee and Normal Gee.
“I thought you’d figured it out by now, Frankie!” she grins, nudging his shoulder lightly.
Frank looks at her a little blankly, not entirely sure what he’s supposed to have figured out until Mikey pops in with a helpful, “She’s a fucking whore for Journey,” and Frank understands. He remembers singing in their van, remembers the way her eyes had lit up and she had thrown back her head and sung. There’s still that rush behind her eyes now.
“I love that song,” he says, and he means it. He had loved it before, but now he thinks he’ll always associate it with that image of her on that stage, head tipped back and red lips smirking, and suddenly the song is that much better. “You were amazing up there,” he adds, lower, so that only she can hear, and she smiles that same soft smile again, the stage persona vanished.
“I’m glad you had fun, Frankie,” she says, and then she reaches a hand down to brush against his when she says, “You guys should totally come to our post-show party tonight.”
If it means he gets to spend a little more time around her in this state, where she’s show-high and exhilarated, emboldened and invigorated by the thing she loves, then Frank won’t pass it up for the world. He nods his head immediately, and turns to Bob, who agrees with a smile.
“I’ll pick you up in a few hours, if you want to go home and get changed, so you’re not so sweaty?” she asks, and this time she’s only talking to him. Frank nods, throat seizing up and itching to hold onto the hand that’s still teasingly touching his just barely. In the end it’s her who laces their fingers together, squeezes once and then twirls away to talk to her band about the set.
-
Gee picks him up at eleven, actually on time this time around, and Frank climbs into the passenger seat this time to find that he's her only passenger. Bob had said he would get there himself, under directions from Ray, and Frank guesses that the others are already at the party.
"Hi," he says to Gee, and she beams at him from the driver's seat, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel to whatever tune is coming from the radio.
"Hey Frankie," she answers, and then she puts her foot down and begins the drive back to the party, which Frank has gathered is being hosted at Gee and Mikey's place. There's already plenty of cars parked outside by the time they pull up, and when Frank steps out of the van he finds Gee coming around to his side of the car to lead him up the drive. They bypass the front door; Gee takes Frank's hand and tugs him through a side-gate which leads straight into the backyard, where Frank can already see a large bonfire lighting up the night without any need for lights. He recognises the band, and Bob, sitting around the fire, but there are plenty of other guests he doesn't know, friends of the band who Frank hasn't ever met.
Gee doesn't let go of his hand as she pulls him over to sit with everyone. As he settles down on a log in between Gee and Bob, he allows himself to relax. Gee makes sure she says hello to everybody before she turns to him and shuffles a tiny bit closer. "So, Frank. I feel like I still barely know you."
Which is true, he supposes. And all he knows about her is that she fronts a kickass rock band, is really fucking gorgeous, and also kind of a dork in this adorable way. But he wants to get to know her, wants to know her like he hasn't tried to do with anyone in a long time. He wants to know what makes her smile, what makes her sad, her dreams and her ambitions, her background and her future. Frank wants to know what makes her tick.
"There's not much to know, really," he starts, and she rolls her eyes good-naturedly at his feeble attempts, but allows him to continue. "I defied my family and dropped out of college to play in this band called Pencey Prep, right? And we were totally fucking awesome, only then everything just sort of fell apart, and now mostly I work at Patrick's record store and go to gigs."
She frowns at the mention of Pencey's collapse, and Frank just shrugs. It was inevitable, really, and he doesn't like to dwell on the 'what-ifs' because that would just drive him crazy. "That must have sucked pretty hard, huh," she says, her eyes serious even as she opens the beer Otter hands her, passing another to Frank.
Frank sighs, runs his fingers through the condensation on the bottle and shrugs before taking a swig. "We deal, you know? Shit happens, you move on. What about you?"
Gee wrinkles her nose up, and then laughs loudly and shakes her head, like she's sharing some private joke with herself. "Okay, so, I kind of draw. I always wanted to be an artist, I was so fucking intent on doing it. And then I went to New York to study, and it was awesome, but there was just... I don't know, it felt like I was missing something, and I thought I knew what, so I gave Otter here a call, and well, here we are." She spreads her arms wide, indicating to the band, referring to the amazing set they just played where they actually have real, honest to god fans, and Frank knows they're only going to get bigger from here.
Somehow, the conversation diverts to the sort of topics Frank normally reserves for his discussions with Bob; the things he can really get going on - comics, books, movies, and whether or not Superman or Batman is the better superhero. To his surprise, Gee is right there with him, her eyes wide with excitement and her hands flying everywhere as she gestures (Frank guesses she's got to be part-Italian, there is no way she's not). When they disagree, it's okay, because she sits and listens to him, and then calmly presents her own view. Sometimes it changes what Frank had been thinking, and sometimes it doesn't, but she doesn't appear to have any interest in turning it into a full-blown fight like some people would, and he loves it. That she can sit here, and have a civil conversation, and respect his opinions just as much as she respects her own. In the middle of telling him about how excited she is to draw the coverart for their first album, her hand shoots out and before he can react, she hooks him in the jaw and sends him reeling. Frank almost falls off the log he's sitting on, it takes him that much by surprise.
"Oh my god I just punched you!" Gee exclaims, reaching out a hand to touch Frank's shoulder gently and steady him. "Oh shit, Frankie, I'm so sorry, I just get so, you know, and I'm so sorry, let me have a look at it," she rushes, and Frank laughs and assures her that he's fine. He is careful to keep an eye out for when she starts getting really animated again though.
To his right, Ray and Bob are talking a mile a minute about something or other, leaning towards each other to hear better, and Frank smiles, glad to see that Bob is fitting in just fine and making friends.
Mikey hands around another round of drinks and then throws himself down next to the fire lazily and pulls his sidekick out of the pocket of his jeans. His fingers move rapidly over the keys, and Frank turns to Gee with one eyebrow raised. "Who's he texting, Wentz?"
Gee glances over to look at her brother, shakes her head and laughs. "No, that will be Alicia," she says, and when Frank still awaits an explanation, "she's sort of his girlfriend, I guess. But then they're both kind of fucking Pete Wentz at the same time? I don't know, I don't pretend to understand. Nor do I really want to." She gives Mikey another exasperated look and then places her hand on Frank's knee, all casual as if she doesn't even know she's doing it. Frank smiles back at her, and gets lost in conversation once more.
-
Frank is more than a little drunk. His head feels kind of fuzzy in a good way, where he doesn't have to think about anything all that much. His limbs are satisfyingly heavy, keeping him rooted to the ground. At some stage of the night, they must have relocated to the grass, because now Frank is lying on his back in the middle of the yard, the fire much smaller than it once was but still burning brightly behind him. Beside him, Gee is lying down as well, her eyes closed and a soft smile on her lips. Her hand is just inches from his, and it would be so easy to reach over and hold her hand. He really wants to. And apparently, in this alcohol-induced haze, he thinks that yes, that's a perfect idea, and doesn't wait to rationalise before he reaches over and laces their fingers together. Slowly, Gee rolls her head and opens her eyes to look at him, and her smile becomes more firm, more real and less like a ghost of a feeling on her face.
"Hey, Frankie," she slurs, and his name rolls off her tongue like something molten, thick and smooth and gorgeous. He really shouldn't have drank so much. Gee moves, forcing herself to sit upright, and then she crawls over so that she's leaning over him, her hair falling into her face and her eyes wide and earnest. "Frankie," she says, and then stops. She takes his hand again, and this time she tugs his hand up until he's cupping her cheek, leaning into the touch as he strokes his thumb across her smooth skin. Nobody else is watching them, he realises suddenly. Mikey is curled up by the fire, his phone to his ear while he talks to Alicia, having forsaken text messaging for an actual phone call as his fingers get sloppier. Bob and Ray, Frank sees with a shock, are curled up on the sofa inside - he can see them through the window. He sort of really wants to go and investigate, because it looks awfully like they're kissing, but he knows that Bob will kick his ass if he goes over there. Otter is passed out by the fire, and most of the other guests appear to have left, the last few lazing around drinking and talking quietly.
Gee is staring at him still, and she's so close that he can feel her breath fanning across his face, her eyes so fucking pretty and her lips just parted. She's not saying anything, but she still hasn't moved. "Gee?" he questions, just to sort of make sure she's all there, and he strokes his thumb across her cheek again. She trembles, fucking trembles at his touch, and Frank is going to kiss her. He has to, he can't stand this anymore, the way she's looking at him, and the silence, and the way everything feels like it's balancing on a fucking string. He lifts a hand to rest it on her hip, hears her answering gasp of breath, and that's it. He definitely can't stand it anymore. He tugs her down, gentle but firm, and when she's close enough he kisses her, prying her lips open and pulling her hips down to his. She makes this fucking sound against his lips and shifts against him. His mind is moving a little slower than his body, but that hardly matters. He keeps kissing her, doesn't ever want to stop, wants her skin under his fingers and her lips against his for as long as he can possibly keep her there. He arches up, can't help himself really, and she pushes down, and it's probably the best thing of his fucking life. A groan tears its way out of his mouth. He can feel himself getting hard, and struggles to remind himself that this is probably not a good idea, that there are other people around, that they're outside lying in the fucking grass and nowhere near a bed of any kind, that they're both so drunk they probably won't remember shit in the morning. But then there's this niggling feeling that this could be his only chance, and he needs her. He wants her, has ever since he saw her on that stage the first night, wild and raw and so intense. And it's only been eating away at him ever since, propelled even more by her red lips and sashaying hips at the concert earlier tonight.
And then she's pulling away, pupils dilated and breathing heavy, and Frank curls his fingers around her wrist, silently begging her not to go. When she stands up though, she pulls him with her. Their hands stay locked together, which Frank guesses is as good a sign as any, and when she sways on her feet a little she giggles, pressing her face into his shoulder to stifle the sound. His arm goes around her waist automatically, trying to help her stay upright even though he's not exactly sober himself., and She just laughs again, and then presses a finger to his lips as though he's the one making noise. "Come inside, please?" she asks, and it's so quiet Frank almost thinks he's imagining it, but she's staring at him intently, expectantly, and so he nods.
She grins then, grabbing his hand and dragging him inside. He doesn't really even get to see much of the house; she’s pulling him past the living room where Bob and Ray are still tangled on the couch, past the kitchen and down the hall. And then he's being pushed inside what he assumes is her bedroom. There's a giant fucking poster of Journey on the wall and he laughs before she's stepping closer again, pulling him towards the bed. He goes down, and he can't even think when she crawls on top of him, taking his bottom lip between hers and kissing him hard. She's pressing up against him and she can probably feel how hard he's getting but he doesn't care. Instead, he just kisses her back, hard as he can. His hands are on her hips, keeping her against him and they're pressed together so tightly he feels like he's going to melt into her. And he wants to, so bad. He wants to get in under her skin, wants to put himself in her hands and let her do whatever. His skin is burning hot, so hot. Desperately, he slips his hands under the hem of her shirt, feels the bare skin on her hips, her waist, and he groans again, pushing his hips up towards her, practically begging. And she seems to get it, because she kisses him once more before she sits up, straddling him, and tears off his shirt. Then she's back again, this time with lips trailing across his jaw and down to his neck, nipping at the skin there before moving up to suck on his earlobe. She's everywhere, and he can't help but moan, running his hands up her back, her shirt dragging upwards until it bunches around her chest. She laughs and pulls away again, and Frank takes the hint, pulling her shirt up over her head and letting it fall through his fingers and onto the floor. And then there's bare skin covering his, expanses of soft, cream-coloured flesh for him to stroke and caress, and she whimpers against his throat.
"Gee, Gee," he pants as her fingers fumble for his jeans. She's not shy by any means. He's learnt that already, and it's all he can do to keep up while she touches, explores with fingers, lips and tongue, working him up until he thinks he's going to die. He wants her like he's never wanted anything in his life, and he's burning for it. He rolls them so that he can hover over her, jeans undone but still up around his hips, and he kisses her again, feels her moan into his mouth. He moves down to suck on the tender skin at her neck before tracing her collarbone with his lips, kissing in between her breasts. She's breathing hard, gasping, but she's beginning to slow down, and it's less urgent. She closes her eyes and rolls her head back, exposing her throat, and Frank can't help but move back up to kiss it. And then her breathing starts to even out again, and her eyes open just barely as she smiles lazily, drunkenly.
"Frankie," she whispers, and then her eyes slip closed again. Frank kisses her, runs his hand up her side and cups under her breast, and then he realises that she's falling asleep, the alcohol finally catching up with her. It's all he can do not to laugh.
"Night, Gee," he whispers into her ear, and then he kisses her cheek before pulling the blanket up over both of them. His arm snakes around her waist and he holds her to him, not wanting to let her go. Automatically, she snuggles in, tucking her face into his neck and breathing out heavily, and Frank kisses her hair before closing his own eyes.
Part Two
Any Way You Want
MCR; girl!Gerard/Frank
~18,200; R
Frank shifts a little on the bar stool and passes his beer from his left hand to his right. He’s here alone, and waiting for the stage to be occupied is starting to get tedious. There’s some new band in town, he doesn’t know their name. All he knows is that Bob - this guy from back when he used to go to college - said they were pretty good, and urged him to check them out. And so here he is, hanging out in some shitty bar while the band finally get themselves comfortable on stage, each of them looking a little awkward and more than a little drunk.
They’re missing a singer, Frank notices. The drummer is settled, and there’s two guys fiddling with guitars and amps, but the microphone in the middle of the stage stands alone. Frank wonders if he’s planning some big dramatic entrance, and wants to laugh. At a gig like this, where the majority of the crowd are too fucked to even remember the show tomorrow morning, dramatic entrances are snort-worthy. They want to get up there, play hard, scream the name of their band and hope that it sticks in someone’s mind. They need to put on a hard and fast show that even if it doesn’t keep everyone’s attention, leaves them enjoying it enough that they don’t walk out the door. Frank knows this place inside out, knows the sort of bands that usually play here. He’s not expecting anything ground-breaking. He thinks, watching the band, that in the state they’re in, they’ll be lucky to even find their instruments with their hands. He wonders how many beers they knocked back in an attempt to expel the nerves, and grins.
It’s when the singer finally appears that Frank has to turn away. It’s a chick. Frank has nothing against chicks in bands, really, but he knows how they’ll be received. They’re playing some shitty grunge bar, trying to entertain a crowd of drunk, lonely and pathetic men. Frank can already see the interest perking, but it’s not due to anything the band has done. If they get an audience out of this, it will be because their singer has a good ass, rather than any musical talent.
“Fancy a ride home, sugar?” some drunk bastard yells from the bar stool closest to the stage, and Frank sort of wants to kick him.
To her credit, the singer just looks at him and flips him off, turning her back on him and whispering something to one of the guitarists. It’s when she turns around and grins again, that Frank sits up and takes fucking notice. There’s this... glint in her eyes. This hunger to do something, a wildness that forces Frank to look up, to watch and know that he’s about to see a fucking show. His beer stays forgotten on the bar as he slides off the stool and closer to the stage, pushing his way through the crowd to reach the front of the tiny pit. There’s a couple of girls standing there with matching grins and matching t-shirts that read My Chemical Romance. Frank can tell at a glance the shirts are homemade, and he wonders how good this band is that they’ve already acquired fans like these.
And then the vocalist speaks.
“All right you motherfuckers. We’re My Chemical Romance, and we’re about to fuck you up!” she screams into her microphone, and Frank can’t help but grin back at her, marvelling at the wild abandon in her eyes. She’s drunk, yes, he can see it in the sloppy movements, the slur of the words and the reckless grin, but there’s something more. He waits, captivated, and they begin to play.
As the first verse breaks forth, Frank thinks that perhaps ‘play’ isn’t a very good word to describe what he’s witnessing. This is scream in your face, kick you in the balls, turn that shit up louder. This is something he’s never seen before, something that leaves him wanting more more more, forces him to move his feet and his arms and his head and feel. This, is what it feels like to be touched by something so intense it leaves you reeling. He still can’t quite grasp the raw passion behind it, even as he feels himself being thrown about, battered and bruised and loving every minute. He can hardly tell whenwhere one song fades into the other, and he just keeps moving, moving, feeling as though to stop would be to die.
She makes eye contact with him, and she winks and flips him the finger at the same time, and he has this crazy urge to live his life for her, for this band. It’s insane what she does to him with those eyes, carried away in a sea of music, sweat and sex. Because that’s what this fucking band feels like, he realises. Hot, hard, fast, sweaty sex. They radiate it, seeping through his pores and leaving him panting, sweating, desperate. He’s turned on beyond belief and he doesn’t even know why. He can feel the beat in his veins, feels the thrumming of guitars and the thud of drums and leading it all, the powerful and gripping voice coming from such a small girl. This is music. This is fucking rock.
It’s over much quicker than he’s ready for it. He wants to stay for hours, wants to feel the music in his bones long after the band finish the last notes. He wants, and he needs, and he knows he’s not going to get, and that kills.
“You guys have been fucking incredible. Thank you so much,” she says, out of breath and exhausted, her hair dripping with sweat and her cheeks flushed, but she’s grinning so hard Frank thinks her face might crack. This is her dream, he realises, as if he didn’t know it before. He hopes that he sees them around, hopes that they get far enough to see this dream unfold into reality. He knows that the second an album hits the stores, he’ll be first in line, even though he knows it can’t possibly compare to the thrill of seeing them live. The band stumble offstage, arms flung around each other, hugging and panting and laughing.
My Chemical Romance. Frank feels as though he will never forget the name.
Ten minutes later, Frank is at the bar, trying to get his breath back, and still unable to fight the smile off his face. He orders another beer and settles back onto his stool. The same guy is sitting beside him, and he nudges Frank when he sits down.
“That chick was really something, huh? Incredible ass.” His voice is a drawl, and Frank glares at the sleaze, wishing that he could punch him in the face without being kicked out of the bar. “Nice tits, too, though a little small,” the bastard continues, and this time, Frank can’t hold himself in check. He doesn’t really understand it - he doesn’t even know the girl - but for some reason he feels this rage bubbling up inside him, and he lands his fist in the guy’s nose before he even realises he’s done it. There’s a shout of pain and blood trickling between the fingers the guy holds up to his face, even as he lifts his other fist to fight back. Frank doesn’t even feel the punch at first, and then there’s a splitting pain down one side of his head and he swears. He’s getting ready to fight back, he’ll knock the fucker out if need be, and then he doesn’t have to, because someone else has beaten him to it. There’s a crack and the guy slumps forward, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. Frank’s eyes follow him to the floor before he remembers that this is probably going to lead to trouble, and he looks up. And there’s the girl, staring at the limp form on the floor with a mixture of disgust and triumph.
“You’ll never lay a finger on me, motherfucker,” she snarls, and Frank can appreciate a girl who knows how to stand up for herself. Security though, are apparently not quite as impressed. Frank groans as a hand fists the sleeve of his shirt.
“No fighting in my bar,” a gruff voice tells him, before he’s kicked out. He doesn’t bother to argue; really, he doesn’t want to stay any more. He would have liked to tell the girl how much he enjoyed the show, but oh well, maybe he can catch her at the next gig. He shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets and is about to walk home - it’s only a few blocks away - when a hand on his shoulder stops him.
“Thanks, for, you know. In there. Sorry about your head.” She gestures her thumb behind her to the bar, and there’s this wry smirk on her lips that holds Frank in shock for a moment until he remembers his voice.
“Oh. Right. Well, he was being an asshole, so.” Frank shifts his weight from one foot to the other, trying to ignore the dull ache in his head and wondering whether she’s expecting more of a conversation, or whether he should just go. As awkward as it is, he figures that he might as well take his chance. “That was a really incredible set, by the way. You guys really have something.”
She smiles then, all bright eyes and tiny teeth, dimples forming and cheekbones accentuating, and Frank has to hold himself in check. She’s sobering up - he supposes being kicked out would have helped that along - and there’s none of the drunk lopsidedness to her grin now.
“I saw you, in the front,” she says. “You looked like you got it.”
Frank wants to tell her that he did, he gets it, he understands the energy, the power, the need, the message, but he can’t find the words. His tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth and it’s really fucking inconvenient, the way she keeps smiling at him. How’s he supposed to form a sentence when she’s looking at him like that? He catches himself, realising that right now he’s probably no better than the asshole from the bar.
“Yeah. I’ll be keeping an eye out,” he says instead, and doesn’t have to explain what he’ll be looking for. She already knows.
She fixes sharp eyes on him and shakes her hair out of her eyes. It’s still damp with sweat, hanging just past her shoulders, messy and tangled from the show, framing her pale face. He notices a tiny pink blemish on her right cheek and he knows he’s staring, but he can’t help it. She’s hot.
There’s a yell from behind them, and Frank looks up to see the rest of her band waving and trying to get her attention.
“Coming, you impatient fucks!” she yells back, and Frank cracks a grin despite himself. When she turns back to him, she’s pulling a sharpie out of her pocket nonchalantly, as if it’s totally normal for her to carry around markers in her clothing. Without saying a word, she reaches out and snatches his arm. Her tongue pokes out the side of her lips as she scribbles on his forearm - luckily, the arm not completely covered in tattoos - and when she’s done, she caps the marker with a flourish.
When he looks down, he smiles at how endearingly messy her rushed handwriting is. A phone number, accompanied by a quick G xoxo. Abruptly, he realises he doesn’t know her name.
“Frank,” he offers, holding out the same arm to shake her hand. She laughs and shakes it with an air of mocking. Maybe it is a little weird to be shaking her hand, but whatever.
“Gee,” she answers in kind, and then another cheerful shout from her band kicks her back into gear. “Call me, Frank,” she says, and then she’s gone.
-
Frank sits in front of the phone, and suddenly he understands what people bitch and moan about. How many times has he rolled his eyes and told some poor sucker to just call her already? How many times has he laughed at the idea of being too scared to call some girl? And now he is, and okay, it’s harder than he thought. Pathetic, Frank, pathetic, he scolds himself, picking up the phone and hitting himself in the forehead with it. It leaves a dull ache, a casual reminder that he’s a fucking idiot, and maybe he’ll even get a nice bruise so that when he spots himself in the mirror he’ll remember what a pussy he is.
“Oh, get a grip,” he groans out loud, and dials the number. Really, he doesn’t know what he was so worried about; this is easy, this is awesome, this is--
“Hello?”
-- a total fucking mistake.
“Um, hi?”
There’s a pause, silence on the other end, until, “Sorry, who is this?”
If he wasn’t holding it to his ear, Frank would probably try and knock himself out with the damn phone this time.
“It’s Frank. Um. From the show the other night?” He’s rather proud of the way he keeps the stutter out of his tone.
“Oh! The guy who heroically got himself beat up for me. I remember.”
Frank scrunches his nose and is glad that she’s not here to watch him going red. “It wasn’t. I didn’t - Okay, fine. Yes, that’s me.”
She giggles, this breathy little laugh, and Frank can practically see her eyes shining, lips twitching. And oh, now he remembers why he called.
“Anyway, so I was wondering whether. Whether you might want to go for a drink?”
This time there’s no hesitation, and Frank takes it as a good sign.
“I’d love to! My brother wants to check out this new club. You want to come with?”
He’d been aiming for something maybe a little more... Private, without little brothers hanging around and waiting to condemn him, but he’s not about to throw away his chance.
“Great,” he says instead, and she tells him the time and the place in an excited rush. Frank wonders whether she gets this excited and earnest about everything in her life, and he feels a smile twitch its way onto his lips.
“So we’ll pick you up around eight?” she asks, and Frank grins. He feels like he should be picking her up.
Instead, he says, “Eight it is,” and rattles off his address before he says his goodbyes. When he hangs up the phone, his grin is still etched on his face. Catching sight of himself in the mirror on the wall in front of him, Frank groans at himself and scrubs his hands over his face, as though that will dispose of the dopey smile. It doesn’t.
-
At 8:30, Frank is seriously considering picking up his phone and finding out where the hell Gee is. He’s been checking his watch obsessively every five minutes, sometimes more, and he’s starting to wonder where she is. It’s ridiculous, really. He doesn’t know what he’d been expecting. Here she is, gorgeous, raw, intense, and fronting a fucking rock band, and he expected her to actually like him?
Frowning, Frank puts down the phone and throws himself onto the couch, toeing off his shoes. He’d been stupid to get his hopes up. Sighing loudly and deeply, Frank settles back into the couch and switches on the TV to discover that they’re running a Will & Grace marathon tonight. Firmly, he tells himself that this is good. Who needs rock star potential-girlfriends when he can have ridiculous sitcoms?
The knock at his door ten minutes later startles him so much he almost falls off the couch, but then he’s up in a flash and wrenching the door off its hinges. And there she is, dressed in low-cut jeans and a ripped Madonna shirt, hair everywhere and eyes rimmed dark with liner, and Frank forgets any resentment towards her he may have felt in the past half hour.
“Hi!” she says, in the same kind of breathless, excited way that she seems to say everything, and Frank finds himself unable to stop smiling at her.
“Hey,” he says, forcing the words past his lips, “it’s 8:40.” He’s not sure exactly what he means by this; some sort of inquiry into why she was so late, without trying to sound accusing. In the end, he just comes off sort of dumbstruck.
Her eyes widen ridiculously, the green made all the more intense by the darkness surrounding them, and she gasps. “Oh! Is it really? I’m sorry, I’m hopeless with time and we were jamming and we just got caught up and that’s just how it is with music, you know?” she says all in one breath, and Frank laughs and nods.
“Yeah, it’s fine. Just let me get my shoes, yeah?”
She nods, stays put - thank god - while he goes to retrieve his previously abandoned shoes, and then as quick as he can he’s grabbing his wallet and his keys and is following her out the door. If he chances a glance at her ass in those jeans it’s not his fault, he swears.
She’s driving the same van she had at the show, this beat up old thing that hardly even looks road-worthy, and when she opens the passenger side door for him, it squeaks so loud he grimaces. She just pats the thing fondly, and gestures for him to get in. To his surprise, there are three other guys in the back of the van who wave at Frank enthusiastically.
“Oh!” Gee exclaims again, and Frank is beginning to think that everything in her life is exciting to her. “This is Otter, Ray, and my little brother, Mikey.” Frank greets them all, and tries not to ask out loud when this turned into a group activity.
“So you guys are My Chemical Romance, huh?” he asks while Gee drives them to some new club in town.
“You guys, I’m sold. He remembered our name!” Mikey laughs, and Frank grins.
“I play guitar,” Ray says, “Otter is on drums and Mikey’s our bassist. Gee sings, obviously.” Frank remembers their show, remembers the rush in his veins and the tingle in his fingers, and he grins. All of a sudden the radio is turned up full-ball and Gee yells over the top of Journey’s ‘Don’t Stop Believin’’.
“You guys!” she shouts, and they seem to catch on immediately, belting out “she took a midnight train going anywhere” altogether. Frank laughs loud, looking across the console to where Gee has her head thrown back, grinning through the words as she sings, and when she turns to catch his eye she grins wider, nudges him to join in, and Frank adds his voice to the chorus with wild abandon. This is how things should be, he thinks, and he’s already decided that he’s never letting this band get away from him.
They pull up to the club not long after, and by the time everyone is pouring out of the van, Frank doesn’t even care that he didn’t get to bring Gee out alone. The club is packed full with people, and Frank finds himself behind Otter, using him as a way to push through the crowd so that they can get to the bar. He orders a drink for himself, then spins around to take everyone else’s order as well.
When everyone has a drink in their hand, Ray directs them to a corner where there’s a small table unoccupied, and this time Frank finds himself squished up against Gee in order to fit them all around the table. She smiles at him, and he returns it, desperately trying to keep his hands away from her thighs or something else ridiculously inappropriate. Instead, he takes a large gulp of beer and tries to focus on what Mikey is saying about the guy who runs the place, or something.
“Wentz is totally fucking crazy man, but he’s cool,” Mikey’s saying, and then he grins at Gee wildly. “In fact, I think I’ll go say hello,” he says, and then he disappears around the corner with his drink in hand. Gee groans loudly, throws back the rest of her glass and looks at Ray helplessly.
“I refuse. I won’t do it this time. You can, you’re the designated driver,” she says, and Ray sighs and nods.
“Do what?” Frank asks before he can help himself.
“Look after Mikey when he comes home blind and smelling of sex.” She screws her nose up in distaste. “No sister should have to smell that on their baby brother.”
“Do you want to get out there?” Frank asks her on a whim, gesturing to the mass of moving bodies. She cocks her head a little bit to the side, and Frank wishes she’d stop being so fucking adorable or else he’s going to do something he’ll regret. Finally, she smiles and nods, and Frank takes her hand and leads her out onto the floor.
And then it’s almost cruel the way the bodies press in from all sides, and he has no choice but to shove right up against Gee, feel her hips and her thighs brushing his, and oh god his life is made of hell and torment. This needs to stop, and it needs to stop now. He forces himself to get a grip, because he barely even knows the poor girl and he’s never going to if he can’t get his damn hormones under control.
“A Journey fan, then?” he shouts into her ear over the music, and she grins and nods enthusiastically.
“Aren’t you?” she yells back, as though it’s blasphemy to disagree, and Frank just laughs.
Frank’s beginning to lose track of how many drinks he’s had by now, and judging by the fact that he buys Gee one every time as well, she’s not doing any better. She’s smiling constantly, drunk, relaxed and carefree, and she slumps against Otter with a giggle.
“Gonna hang out with us again, Frank?” she slurs at him, “we haven’t scared you off yet?”
He just shakes his head, and Otter settles Gee into a chair before she falls over. “Ready to head off yet, sweetheart?” he laughs, nudging her foot, and Gee flips him off lazily. It’s around then that Mikey wanders back out into view, hair in disarray and half the buttons on his shirt still undone, and Gee groans loudly and waves her hands in front of her eyes.
“My innocent eyes! And my innocent little brother! Mikey, Mikey, you fiend!”
Ray rolls his eyes. “Okay, okay. I’m the sober one, all of you have to do what I say. Let’s head off before Mikey disappears to find Wentz again, shall we?”
Frank helps Gee to her feet, and she leans on his arm as he directs her out of the club and into the back of the van. Mikey takes shotgun, and Otter ends up sitting between Frank and Gee. Frank kind of regrets that he didn’t get to sit next to her this time as she slumps her head onto Otter’s shoulder and starts to drift asleep.
When Ray pulls up outside Frank’s, Gee wakes up and smiles all dopey at him, and Frank gives her a wave as he jumps out of the van. “Don’t miss the next show, Frank,” she calls to him, and picks up a flyer off the ground and throws it out for him to catch. And then with a wink, the door shuts again, and Ray pulls out of Frank’s driveway.
Frank watches them go and then lumbers back into his house, smiling when he hears Mama barking for him. The flyer immediately gets tacked up on his fridge, right next to his pizza coupons, and then he drags himself to bed to await the next morning’s hangover.
-
It’s mornings like these that Frank thanks the higher powers that he dropped out of college to play with Pencey. While that may have not entirely worked out (more like went to hell in a fucking handbasket, but that’s neither here nor there), it still means that when his alarm clock goes off at seven in the morning, and his head throbs in protest, he can roll over and go back to sleep.
Twenty minutes later, he wakes up again and realises that it’s Monday. Fuck damn! He topples out of bed and his hip collides painfully with his dresser, but there’s no time for that. Damn Gee for taking him out on a Sunday night. Just because they’re busy making money from music and don’t have proper jobs, doesn’t mean they have any right to make him lose his. Man, Patrick is going to fucking kill him if he’s late again.
He tears a shirt over his head in a rush, pulling his jeans up while simultaneously trying to hop out the door. Eventually he manages to make it to the kitchen, button and fly still undone and hair a mess, and smears some jam onto a piece of bread. No time for toast, he tells himself as he puts the slice between his teeth and buttons his jeans, racing into the bathroom to try and make his hair halfway towards decent.
By the time he makes it out the door, he’s already half an hour late. Luckily, the record store is just around the corner. Small graces. Patrick greets him with a raised eyebrow and a glance at his watch when Frank stumbles in the door, and he quickly rushes out an apology.
“You’re so hungover it’s ridiculous,” Patrick laughs when Frank sinks behind the counter and tries to hide his face in his hands. His head is still fucking throbbing, and his stomach is beginning to feel queasy, verging on the need to disappear to the bathroom and spill his guts. He ignores it though, and smiles for Patrick.
“Trick, I am perfectly healthy. I had an early night last night, you know me. Quiet.”
Patrick just shakes his head and disappears out the back, probably to continue sorting the new orders. Frank puts his head back down on the counter, and hopes to god that nobody feels like buying a record today.
To his relief, he gets released for his lunch break around noon, and Frank thanks Patrick and rushes out the door before he can change his mind. His feet automatically begin to lead him towards the cafe he usually goes to for lunch. Greta is behind the counter as per usual, and she beams at him when he walks in and the bell tinkles to announce his arrival.
“Frankie! The usual, yeah?” she asks, and when Frank nods, she busies herself with making his sandwich while he lowers himself gently into a seat at the closest table. Absently, he drums his fingers on the tabletop and glances around the cafe, and that’s when he notices Mikey and Gee sitting in a booth a few tables over. Mikey looks up and spots him, and when Frank waves, Mikey grins back and nudges Gee, who’s sitting with her back to Frank. She turns around, and the smile she gives him when she sees him sends his stomach churning for a whole new reason.
They get up and make their way over, Gee clutching a mug of coffee protectively between her small hands. “Hey Frank!” she says when she slides into the seat across from him, and Mikey takes the one on her right. The weather is beginning to cool around this time of year, and there’s a bite in the air that leaves her cheeks a little flushed even though she’s inside. There’s multiple scarves wrapped around her neck and she’s wearing the same jeans she wore last night, with a grey cardigan reaching down to her waist. Her hair is windswept and wild, falling in messy tangles about her shoulders, and Frank thinks she looks adorable even when she’s apparently freezing her ass off.
“How’s your head?” Mikey asks with a wry smile, and Frank rolls his eyes. He’s saved from answering when Greta arrives at their table and hands Frank his sandwich, ruffling his hair and telling him to eat up before she goes back to her counter.
“Come here often then?” Gee asks with a hesitant smile, and Frank nods as he takes a bite of his food, chews and swallows before answering.
“Yeah. I work at the record store just down the street, so.”
“Oh Patrick’s? Wicked.” Her eyes shine at the mention of the store, and Frank counts it as a win.
When Mikey nudges her and looks at the clock, Gee startles in her chair. “Oh!” she exclaims, and Mikey nods. “I’m really sorry, Frankie, we’re going to have to head off. Band practice started ten minutes ago,” she says, looking sheepish.
“Oh, yeah, of course. I’ll see you ‘round?” he asks, just for something to say, and she nods happily as Mikey drags her out of the cafe, waving to him brightly before the door shuts behind her.
When Frank looks away from the door, Greta is sitting in front of him. “You totally have a crush on that girl,” she says, eyes sparkling.
Frank just laughs and finishes his food, pushing his plate away. “Look who just can’t keep her nose out.”
“It’s all part of my charm,” she counters, but she picks up his plate and walks away, and doesn’t ask any more questions. “See you tomorrow Frank,” she calls as he heads for the door.
The rest of work drags on and on with only a few customers coming through the door, and slowly, Frank starts to feel the effects of his hangover dissipating. At five o’clock, he’s free to leave, and he walks home with the image of Gee’s flushed cheeks and warm smile in his head.
-
The weeks fly by before Frank even really realises where he is. He goes to work, talks to Patrick about music and the scene, and when My Chemical Romance come up in conversation, Frank tells him how awesome they are and doesn’t mention anything about having a girly high school crush on their lead singer.
He still gets hassled by Greta whenever he goes on his lunch break, but he’s beginning to threaten that he’ll go somewhere else if she keeps it up. It’ll never happen though. Greta makes the best sandwiches in the fucking world, and Frank is willing to put up with her questioning for half an hour each day if it means she’ll keep making him food with outrageous discounts.
Ian normally just shakes his head pityingly at Frank whenever he comes out into the front of the shop, his apron and hands covered in flour and an apologetic smile on his lips. Today, he places his hands on Greta’s hips and leans in to kiss the back of her neck while she prepares Frank’s lunch. It’s probably the best place in the world, Greta and Ian’s little bakery/cafe.
“You asked that poor girl on a date yet, Iero?” Ian asks him, and Frank realises that Greta has been feeding him updates.
“Haven’t seen her in a few weeks,” Frank says with a shrug, and tries to pretend that he’s not maybe just a little bit confused. Greta makes cooing noises and gives him a muffin for free. He rolls his eyes at her, but he eats the muffin anyway, and when she turns on her sympathetic eyes, he settles in at his usual table with her across from him.
“What if she doesn’t like me?” he blurts out before he can stop himself.
“Aw, honey,” Greta laughs and shakes her head, and pats Frank’s hand where it rests on the tabletop. “Of course she does. You need to call her, Frankie.”
“But I haven’t heard from her in weeks, Greta. She’s probably forgotten who I am.”
Greta snorts, stands up, and lashes out at his shoulder with the tea-towel in her hands. “Ow!” he protests, but she just rolls her eyes and ignores him.
“Call her, Frank. Before some other lucky guy snatches her up,” Greta warns, sending a new bolt of uncertainty and nerves into his stomach. She has a point, she really does. If Frank were some other guy, he’d be trying to snatch Gee up for sure. He has to get a move on, because he’s pretty sure he’ll kill himself if he passes her up.
“Go get her, Frankie!” Ian calls as Frank heads out of the cafe, and Frank puts on his best game face and strides home.
-
In the end, Frank finds himself on his couch at home, the phone clutched in his hands and Gee’s number dialled in. All he has to do is press ‘talk’ but he really can’t seem to get it together. And it’s stupid. He’s never been this ridiculous over a girl, since when did Frank Iero lose any shred of manliness he ever had?
His thumb hovers over the button, and at the last second, he presses down on ‘end’. Frank frowns and mentally berates himself for being such a pussy, and then he calls Bob instead.
Bob is waiting for him at the bar when Frank goes to meet him that night, flanked by his roommate Brian. Frank greets them both and sinks into the stool beside Bob, ordering himself a beer. He hasn’t seen Bob properly since he dropped out, really, and it’s something he’s been meaning to rectify. Or it was, until he got caught up in the whirl-wind of Gee and My Chemical Romance, and forgot that anything else even existed. But this is good. He’s going to have some drinks with Bob and Brian, manly stuff, probably stumble home and pass out fully clothed, and maybe in the morning, he’ll have some balls to go with his hangover.
They talk about all the things they used to talk about; movies and comics and the latest x-box games, and Frank remembers why Bob and Brian are the best people in the world. He kind of misses college sometimes, if only because he misses the friends that he doesn’t see nearly enough anymore.
“You look sad, Frankie,” Bob comments, and Frank sighs, long and drawn out, before swivelling his eyes up to meet Bob’s, more than a little drunk.
“I met a girl,” he says slowly, seriously, and Bob nods and makes an ‘ah’ noise, all very solemn.
“We need another round then,” Brian declares, and shoves another beer between Frank’s hands. He takes a swig gratefully, and Bob makes a toast to Frank And His Probably Doomed Love. Frank takes it all back. He doesn’t miss Bob at all.
-
Frank manages to keep it up for another week or so before he tells himself that he’s being utterly ridiculous (Bob wholeheartedly agrees) and that it’s time to rediscover his manhood. This time, when he picks up the phone, he forces himself to dial all the way through, but his stomach still flops uneasily when she answers the phone.
“Talk to me,” she says, kind of offhand like she’s busy doing something else.
“Hey, it’s Frank.”
She brightens up immediately, and he can hear her attention being diverted to him. “Frank, hi! What’ve you been up to?”
“Nothing, really, you know, working, whatever. I was just wondering, if you maybe wanted to hang out tonight, or something?” His foot taps against the ground, and he tries not to follow it up with some lame addition offering her a way out if she wants to take it.
Instead, he hears her answering laugh. “We have a show tonight, Frankie, I thought you were coming?”
It hits him then with sudden clarity, and he lets out an “Oh!” and jumps up and runs to his bedroom, rummaging through his bedside drawers until he finds the flyer she handed him when they dropped him off. And there it is, tonight’s date staring out at him. “Oh!” he says again, and she just laughs harder.
“You forgot, didn’t you?” she says, and he can hear the teasing in her voice over the phone.
“I... if I say no, is there any chance of you believing me?”
“None. None at all.”
He laughs, lets himself relax, and remembers that she’s actually kind of really awesome and he doesn’t need to be quite so ridiculous all of the time. “Okay, well. I will be there, I promise.”
“I’m gonna hold you to that, Frank. Sorry, I’m going to have to let you go. We’re rehearsing and Ray is going to kick my ass if I don’t get off the phone and start singing,” she says in a rush, but he can hear the smile in her voice.
“Okay, I’ll see you tonight then,” he says, and hangs up after she says goodbye. Then he calls Bob and begs him to go to the gig with him, because damned if Frank is going to make an idiot out of himself when her whole band is there again.
-
When Bob offers to pick Frank up and be the designated driver, Frank jumps at the chance. The only downside is that it means he doesn’t get to see the band before the show. It’s not long however before he and Bob can cram inside the club, only the tiniest step up from the place they played in last time, but at least it’s something. Frank grabs a drink first so that he has something to do with his hands while he talks to Bob about the band, because despite the fact that it was on Bob’s suggestion to go and see them, apparently he hasn’t heard them himself. Frank smiles and thinks he’s in for a surprise, and then he turns around when he hears a familiar voice take the stage.
“We’re My Chemical Romance!” Gee shouts into her microphone, and then with the first powerful strum of the guitar, and her first headbang, the show is underway.
The good thing about being on the short side is that it’s relatively easy for Frank to squish to the front of the crowd to watch, and he drags Bob along with him. They’re playing what he recognises from the last set he saw as ‘Headfirst for Halos’ and Frank throws himself around with them, loving every minute of hearing them again.
It’s not until half way through the third song that Gee snaps herself out of whatever kind of trance she goes into when she’s singing, and looks down and sees Frank and Bob squished up in front of her. The grin that crawls slowly across her lips is teasing, sexy, wonderful, this half smirk that makes Frank want to climb up on the stage and kiss her in front of everyone. She becomes this entirely different person on stage, it’s almost insane. Here she is, strutting across the stage like she fucking owns it, smirking at him like she knows exactly what he’d like to do right now, and it’s such a 180 turn from the excitable, fumbling Gee he’s met since. He doesn’t know how, or why, but it’s a fucking turn on.
She blows him a kiss nearing the end of the song, and Frank grins back at her before the song finishes, and she swaggers off to whisper something in Mikey’s ear, and then back across to Ray, who relays it to Matt. They’re switching up for something different, he can tell, something they didn’t prepare for, and he finds himself on the tip of his toes waiting for it.
And then she looks down at him again, and the grin that takes over her face this time is wild with joyous abandon, less seductive and more like she’s about to start laughing, and then she throws her head back, hair flicking over her face and down across her back, and she bursts forth with the beginning lyrics, and Frank finds himself rooted to the spot as Journey’s ‘Any Way You Want It’ fills the club.
It’s probably the best thing he’s ever heard. The crowd are momentarily dumbstruck, but they catch on pretty quickly, and it helps that Gee has begun strutting around the stage again, half-laughing half giving it her all, and Frank decides that if he’s ever going to marry anyone, it will be her. He grins at Bob and starts to move, and the next time she catches his eyes, she doesn’t look away.
With a sashay of her hips and the quirk of red lips against pale skin, dark hair falling into her eyes while she sings loud and full of abandon, she sings her song to him, and Frank doesn’t even know what to do with himself. It’s in the way he can tell how much she’s enjoying herself up there. It’s in the sudden change between the aggressive singer she was two minutes ago during their own songs, to this playful and teasing persona, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen something so simultaneously adorable and sexy.
Bob nudges him and laughs, and Frank realises that he probably looks kind of stupid, staring at her like she just fell from fucking heaven or something. She’s belting out the last chorus with everything she has in her, eyes closed and head tipped back to the ceiling, exposing the column of her pale throat. He’s never seen anything so perfect.
And then the song finishes, and she smiles at him like she’s herself again, before the band are launching back into their own songs behind her, and she’s back to working the audience, as if the smile was for Frank alone.
When the band tumble offstage ten minutes later, Frank is met with a sudden armful of Gee. She’s grinning like her face is about to break, her eyes shining the same way he remembers from the last time he saw her come off a stage, the adrenaline quite obviously still pumping through her veins and the excitement alight on her skin.
“You guys were incredible,” he tells them, but he’s looking at her when he says it, and she seems to get it. He has her at more or less arms’ length now, less all up in his personal space like she was when she threw herself at him in a hug, but enough that he can really look at her, the smudges of eyeliner where she’d rubbed at her eye during the set, the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she breathes hard out of parted lips. He wants to kiss her, wants to keep her this breathless for as long as possible, wants to tuck her under his arm and go somewhere where it’s just the two of them.
Instead, he just grins back at her, congratulates them all again, and then, because he can’t help himself, “Fucking Journey?” he asks, still kind of amazed, and she laughs, free and easy like she’s still caught halfway between Stage Gee and Normal Gee.
“I thought you’d figured it out by now, Frankie!” she grins, nudging his shoulder lightly.
Frank looks at her a little blankly, not entirely sure what he’s supposed to have figured out until Mikey pops in with a helpful, “She’s a fucking whore for Journey,” and Frank understands. He remembers singing in their van, remembers the way her eyes had lit up and she had thrown back her head and sung. There’s still that rush behind her eyes now.
“I love that song,” he says, and he means it. He had loved it before, but now he thinks he’ll always associate it with that image of her on that stage, head tipped back and red lips smirking, and suddenly the song is that much better. “You were amazing up there,” he adds, lower, so that only she can hear, and she smiles that same soft smile again, the stage persona vanished.
“I’m glad you had fun, Frankie,” she says, and then she reaches a hand down to brush against his when she says, “You guys should totally come to our post-show party tonight.”
If it means he gets to spend a little more time around her in this state, where she’s show-high and exhilarated, emboldened and invigorated by the thing she loves, then Frank won’t pass it up for the world. He nods his head immediately, and turns to Bob, who agrees with a smile.
“I’ll pick you up in a few hours, if you want to go home and get changed, so you’re not so sweaty?” she asks, and this time she’s only talking to him. Frank nods, throat seizing up and itching to hold onto the hand that’s still teasingly touching his just barely. In the end it’s her who laces their fingers together, squeezes once and then twirls away to talk to her band about the set.
-
Gee picks him up at eleven, actually on time this time around, and Frank climbs into the passenger seat this time to find that he's her only passenger. Bob had said he would get there himself, under directions from Ray, and Frank guesses that the others are already at the party.
"Hi," he says to Gee, and she beams at him from the driver's seat, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel to whatever tune is coming from the radio.
"Hey Frankie," she answers, and then she puts her foot down and begins the drive back to the party, which Frank has gathered is being hosted at Gee and Mikey's place. There's already plenty of cars parked outside by the time they pull up, and when Frank steps out of the van he finds Gee coming around to his side of the car to lead him up the drive. They bypass the front door; Gee takes Frank's hand and tugs him through a side-gate which leads straight into the backyard, where Frank can already see a large bonfire lighting up the night without any need for lights. He recognises the band, and Bob, sitting around the fire, but there are plenty of other guests he doesn't know, friends of the band who Frank hasn't ever met.
Gee doesn't let go of his hand as she pulls him over to sit with everyone. As he settles down on a log in between Gee and Bob, he allows himself to relax. Gee makes sure she says hello to everybody before she turns to him and shuffles a tiny bit closer. "So, Frank. I feel like I still barely know you."
Which is true, he supposes. And all he knows about her is that she fronts a kickass rock band, is really fucking gorgeous, and also kind of a dork in this adorable way. But he wants to get to know her, wants to know her like he hasn't tried to do with anyone in a long time. He wants to know what makes her smile, what makes her sad, her dreams and her ambitions, her background and her future. Frank wants to know what makes her tick.
"There's not much to know, really," he starts, and she rolls her eyes good-naturedly at his feeble attempts, but allows him to continue. "I defied my family and dropped out of college to play in this band called Pencey Prep, right? And we were totally fucking awesome, only then everything just sort of fell apart, and now mostly I work at Patrick's record store and go to gigs."
She frowns at the mention of Pencey's collapse, and Frank just shrugs. It was inevitable, really, and he doesn't like to dwell on the 'what-ifs' because that would just drive him crazy. "That must have sucked pretty hard, huh," she says, her eyes serious even as she opens the beer Otter hands her, passing another to Frank.
Frank sighs, runs his fingers through the condensation on the bottle and shrugs before taking a swig. "We deal, you know? Shit happens, you move on. What about you?"
Gee wrinkles her nose up, and then laughs loudly and shakes her head, like she's sharing some private joke with herself. "Okay, so, I kind of draw. I always wanted to be an artist, I was so fucking intent on doing it. And then I went to New York to study, and it was awesome, but there was just... I don't know, it felt like I was missing something, and I thought I knew what, so I gave Otter here a call, and well, here we are." She spreads her arms wide, indicating to the band, referring to the amazing set they just played where they actually have real, honest to god fans, and Frank knows they're only going to get bigger from here.
Somehow, the conversation diverts to the sort of topics Frank normally reserves for his discussions with Bob; the things he can really get going on - comics, books, movies, and whether or not Superman or Batman is the better superhero. To his surprise, Gee is right there with him, her eyes wide with excitement and her hands flying everywhere as she gestures (Frank guesses she's got to be part-Italian, there is no way she's not). When they disagree, it's okay, because she sits and listens to him, and then calmly presents her own view. Sometimes it changes what Frank had been thinking, and sometimes it doesn't, but she doesn't appear to have any interest in turning it into a full-blown fight like some people would, and he loves it. That she can sit here, and have a civil conversation, and respect his opinions just as much as she respects her own. In the middle of telling him about how excited she is to draw the coverart for their first album, her hand shoots out and before he can react, she hooks him in the jaw and sends him reeling. Frank almost falls off the log he's sitting on, it takes him that much by surprise.
"Oh my god I just punched you!" Gee exclaims, reaching out a hand to touch Frank's shoulder gently and steady him. "Oh shit, Frankie, I'm so sorry, I just get so, you know, and I'm so sorry, let me have a look at it," she rushes, and Frank laughs and assures her that he's fine. He is careful to keep an eye out for when she starts getting really animated again though.
To his right, Ray and Bob are talking a mile a minute about something or other, leaning towards each other to hear better, and Frank smiles, glad to see that Bob is fitting in just fine and making friends.
Mikey hands around another round of drinks and then throws himself down next to the fire lazily and pulls his sidekick out of the pocket of his jeans. His fingers move rapidly over the keys, and Frank turns to Gee with one eyebrow raised. "Who's he texting, Wentz?"
Gee glances over to look at her brother, shakes her head and laughs. "No, that will be Alicia," she says, and when Frank still awaits an explanation, "she's sort of his girlfriend, I guess. But then they're both kind of fucking Pete Wentz at the same time? I don't know, I don't pretend to understand. Nor do I really want to." She gives Mikey another exasperated look and then places her hand on Frank's knee, all casual as if she doesn't even know she's doing it. Frank smiles back at her, and gets lost in conversation once more.
-
Frank is more than a little drunk. His head feels kind of fuzzy in a good way, where he doesn't have to think about anything all that much. His limbs are satisfyingly heavy, keeping him rooted to the ground. At some stage of the night, they must have relocated to the grass, because now Frank is lying on his back in the middle of the yard, the fire much smaller than it once was but still burning brightly behind him. Beside him, Gee is lying down as well, her eyes closed and a soft smile on her lips. Her hand is just inches from his, and it would be so easy to reach over and hold her hand. He really wants to. And apparently, in this alcohol-induced haze, he thinks that yes, that's a perfect idea, and doesn't wait to rationalise before he reaches over and laces their fingers together. Slowly, Gee rolls her head and opens her eyes to look at him, and her smile becomes more firm, more real and less like a ghost of a feeling on her face.
"Hey, Frankie," she slurs, and his name rolls off her tongue like something molten, thick and smooth and gorgeous. He really shouldn't have drank so much. Gee moves, forcing herself to sit upright, and then she crawls over so that she's leaning over him, her hair falling into her face and her eyes wide and earnest. "Frankie," she says, and then stops. She takes his hand again, and this time she tugs his hand up until he's cupping her cheek, leaning into the touch as he strokes his thumb across her smooth skin. Nobody else is watching them, he realises suddenly. Mikey is curled up by the fire, his phone to his ear while he talks to Alicia, having forsaken text messaging for an actual phone call as his fingers get sloppier. Bob and Ray, Frank sees with a shock, are curled up on the sofa inside - he can see them through the window. He sort of really wants to go and investigate, because it looks awfully like they're kissing, but he knows that Bob will kick his ass if he goes over there. Otter is passed out by the fire, and most of the other guests appear to have left, the last few lazing around drinking and talking quietly.
Gee is staring at him still, and she's so close that he can feel her breath fanning across his face, her eyes so fucking pretty and her lips just parted. She's not saying anything, but she still hasn't moved. "Gee?" he questions, just to sort of make sure she's all there, and he strokes his thumb across her cheek again. She trembles, fucking trembles at his touch, and Frank is going to kiss her. He has to, he can't stand this anymore, the way she's looking at him, and the silence, and the way everything feels like it's balancing on a fucking string. He lifts a hand to rest it on her hip, hears her answering gasp of breath, and that's it. He definitely can't stand it anymore. He tugs her down, gentle but firm, and when she's close enough he kisses her, prying her lips open and pulling her hips down to his. She makes this fucking sound against his lips and shifts against him. His mind is moving a little slower than his body, but that hardly matters. He keeps kissing her, doesn't ever want to stop, wants her skin under his fingers and her lips against his for as long as he can possibly keep her there. He arches up, can't help himself really, and she pushes down, and it's probably the best thing of his fucking life. A groan tears its way out of his mouth. He can feel himself getting hard, and struggles to remind himself that this is probably not a good idea, that there are other people around, that they're outside lying in the fucking grass and nowhere near a bed of any kind, that they're both so drunk they probably won't remember shit in the morning. But then there's this niggling feeling that this could be his only chance, and he needs her. He wants her, has ever since he saw her on that stage the first night, wild and raw and so intense. And it's only been eating away at him ever since, propelled even more by her red lips and sashaying hips at the concert earlier tonight.
And then she's pulling away, pupils dilated and breathing heavy, and Frank curls his fingers around her wrist, silently begging her not to go. When she stands up though, she pulls him with her. Their hands stay locked together, which Frank guesses is as good a sign as any, and when she sways on her feet a little she giggles, pressing her face into his shoulder to stifle the sound. His arm goes around her waist automatically, trying to help her stay upright even though he's not exactly sober himself., and She just laughs again, and then presses a finger to his lips as though he's the one making noise. "Come inside, please?" she asks, and it's so quiet Frank almost thinks he's imagining it, but she's staring at him intently, expectantly, and so he nods.
She grins then, grabbing his hand and dragging him inside. He doesn't really even get to see much of the house; she’s pulling him past the living room where Bob and Ray are still tangled on the couch, past the kitchen and down the hall. And then he's being pushed inside what he assumes is her bedroom. There's a giant fucking poster of Journey on the wall and he laughs before she's stepping closer again, pulling him towards the bed. He goes down, and he can't even think when she crawls on top of him, taking his bottom lip between hers and kissing him hard. She's pressing up against him and she can probably feel how hard he's getting but he doesn't care. Instead, he just kisses her back, hard as he can. His hands are on her hips, keeping her against him and they're pressed together so tightly he feels like he's going to melt into her. And he wants to, so bad. He wants to get in under her skin, wants to put himself in her hands and let her do whatever. His skin is burning hot, so hot. Desperately, he slips his hands under the hem of her shirt, feels the bare skin on her hips, her waist, and he groans again, pushing his hips up towards her, practically begging. And she seems to get it, because she kisses him once more before she sits up, straddling him, and tears off his shirt. Then she's back again, this time with lips trailing across his jaw and down to his neck, nipping at the skin there before moving up to suck on his earlobe. She's everywhere, and he can't help but moan, running his hands up her back, her shirt dragging upwards until it bunches around her chest. She laughs and pulls away again, and Frank takes the hint, pulling her shirt up over her head and letting it fall through his fingers and onto the floor. And then there's bare skin covering his, expanses of soft, cream-coloured flesh for him to stroke and caress, and she whimpers against his throat.
"Gee, Gee," he pants as her fingers fumble for his jeans. She's not shy by any means. He's learnt that already, and it's all he can do to keep up while she touches, explores with fingers, lips and tongue, working him up until he thinks he's going to die. He wants her like he's never wanted anything in his life, and he's burning for it. He rolls them so that he can hover over her, jeans undone but still up around his hips, and he kisses her again, feels her moan into his mouth. He moves down to suck on the tender skin at her neck before tracing her collarbone with his lips, kissing in between her breasts. She's breathing hard, gasping, but she's beginning to slow down, and it's less urgent. She closes her eyes and rolls her head back, exposing her throat, and Frank can't help but move back up to kiss it. And then her breathing starts to even out again, and her eyes open just barely as she smiles lazily, drunkenly.
"Frankie," she whispers, and then her eyes slip closed again. Frank kisses her, runs his hand up her side and cups under her breast, and then he realises that she's falling asleep, the alcohol finally catching up with her. It's all he can do not to laugh.
"Night, Gee," he whispers into her ear, and then he kisses her cheek before pulling the blanket up over both of them. His arm snakes around her waist and he holds her to him, not wanting to let her go. Automatically, she snuggles in, tucking her face into his neck and breathing out heavily, and Frank kisses her hair before closing his own eyes.
Part Two