If It Wasn't Dignity (It Was Love At First Sight)
A couple weeks ago airgiodslv declared February to be "Gabe/William Month" and told the world to write and post fic on the 28th. Conveniently, that is also her birthday. :D :D :D Happy Birthday!
If It Wasn't Dignity (It Was Love At First Sight) [Gabe/William, 1555, g]
Set in the Desolation Row video/au! You know when that guy jumps off the balcony? In my head that was totally Gabe Saporta. This was going to be longer but then, no. Maybe someday? Thanks hatoyona for the beta!
“Oh baby,” he says, enchanted.
“Oof,” says the man
“I’m gonna jump!” says Gabe. He’s not even that drunk.
“Don’t,” says Rob, but he’s not paying attention. He’s watching the stage. Actually, he’s watching Mikey Way, which Gabe is what would be doing except he’s bored, thus - “I’m gonna jump!”
“Do it, Casanova!” says Tyler. He grabs Rob’s beer and tosses it on Gabe’s chest. The beer is warm and runs down in his bare chest to streak his jeans like he’s pissed all over himself. He got his shirt ripped off mid-set, which sucks because now Gabe actually has to wash himself sometime in the next twenty-four hours or get fired on Monday morning. Even though that cheap beer is probably cleaner than whatever shit he was rolling in on the stage.
Tyler smacks him. “Do it, you pansy!” His mohawk looks stupid. Gabe finds it inspiring.
Gabe punches the air, and then Tyler, and then the air again. “Desolation forever!” he says. He sneers, tongue out. “Yay!”
Then he grabs the bar with both hands and vaults over it, legs splayed.
“Dammit, Tyler,” says Rob, above and behind him while Gabe barrels down, feeling, for the first time all evening, alive. “My beer.”
Gabe lands in the arms of his many adoring fans who happen to be sticking around for My Chem’s set. They shriek and scream and pinch him, and toss him back into the air. Gerard waves. Gabe throws both hands up in the air and falls into the arms of the most beautiful man he has ever seen.
“Oh baby,” he says, enchanted.
“Oof,” says the man, and falls backwards into the mosh pit. Between Gabe’s legs and the man’s complete lack of grace, they take down about six or seven angry punks with them. It is, without a doubt, the smoothest move Gabe’s made all night, show included. For a moment he’s stunned, enamored when the man’s eyes flutter against the boot of some felled punk. His wrist kind of hurts, and his cheek grazes the floor next to the man’s neck.
He climbs off the guy and stands. “Oh baby,” he says again, staring at the young man lying, as if shell-shocked, on the floor.
“My head,” says his sweetheart, sitting up slowly.
“Get the fuck up, bitches,” shouts a girl with pink hair who doesn’t pause for an answer, just barrels right between them and leaps into the crowd.
It’s so romantic, especially the way one of her boots catches Gabe’s young man in the knee as she flies. He looks dazed by everything around him. He’s got a bandana tied around his knee, so maybe it’s his lucky knee. Gabe would be pissed if some punk bitch kicked his lucky knee. He works up as much spit as he can into his dry mouth and hocks a good one in her direction. She’s long gone, but it hits some tall good-lookin’ dude with an afro in the back of the neck. Gabe counts this as a win, especially when the guy turns around and growls. Gabe takes the man’s hand and pulls him up. He doesn’t let go. He elbows his way out of the crowd and shoves people around. There’s more than enough space; the crowd gives him a lot of room, because he’s Gabe Saporta, and he opened for My Chemical Romance, but mostly because he’s Gabe Saporta.
“Can you breathe?” Gabe asks, playing a concerned hand on the man’s arm.
“I think so,” he says, looking dazed. “What the fuck were you- ”
“Yes,” says Gabe, and grabs his face, and mashes their lips together.
The man kind of flails and hits Gabe on the head. Gabe leans back. He’s in love. It’s written in the stars in this guy’s eyes and the empty, rushing feeling in his own head. “Come home with me,” he tells the man. “It’ll be magic.”
The man looks amused, but also like he wants to hit Gabe. Gabe’s cool with that. Whatever makes this boy feel good. “I’m Gabe Saporta,” Gabe says, putting a hand on the man’s cheek.
“William, and I know,” says William, trying to shake him off but only succeeding in stepping closer. He smacks Gabe’s arm. “I like your band. How did you - ” he looks up “ - did you jump?”
“Tyler called me a pansy,” says Gabe, with a shrug. He looks up. Tyler and Heath give him the finger from their perch in that shitty VIP balcony. He salutes the assholes.
“Oh,” says William. He looks around, as if for help, or recognition. “Oh, of course.”
“You don’t get out much,” says Gabe. He eyes William. William’s wearing a sweater. Of course he’s wearing a sweater, and clean blue jeans, and nice leather boots, and -- Gabe should have known. William’s wearing a sweater. He’s wearing a sweater, and he’s at a My Chemical Romance show. The guy is probably, like chaste, and shit. Maybe even a virgin, oh Christ. Gabe runs his tongue on his teeth. He’s never kissed a virgin before.
“I’ve never been fallen on before,” says William, dryly. He rubs the back of his head. “Are you hurt?”
“Oh baby,” says Gabe, giddy. “You don’t have to say it - heaven’s in your arms.” He snaps. Too bad Tyler didn’t hear that one. “Let’s go back to mine.”
“That’s it?” says William. “That’s all you’ve got? You do something disgusting to my face and you expect me to go home with you?”
Gabe takes a step back. He eyes William. “What - you want me to seduce you?” William’d be worth the effort, but Gabe’s kind of shocked that people still bother with romance in a shitty world like the one they’re in.
“No,” says William. “Yes. Maybe,” he laughs, almost sneering. “It was the weakest proposition I’ve ever heard.”
Gabe also wants to know when his fan base got so goddamn dignified, anyway. “Why waste time?” he suggests, rubbing his swollen wrist, “When we know we’re meant to be?”
William doesn’t even answer. William just laughs at him. And that just pisses Gabe off. It’s not like any part of Gabe is genuine, but William’s laughter sounds a lot like he, Gabe Saporta, is dismissible. Gabe doesn’t think he wants to hit the guy - his wrist hurts too much to waste time with that - but he thinks that he wants to prove William wrong.
Someone shoves past them at a run, knocking Gabe out of his thoughts and a step closer to William. “I’ll see you,” says William, with a pitying smile. He turns to go.
Gabe grabs William’s elbow. “Hey,” he says. “Hey.”
“What,” says William, unimpressed.
Gabe pulls him in, gentle tugs that have William stepping closer with a wary smile. Gabe tucks him in close, sweater aligned with his beer-sticky chest. It’s a well-worn sweater, and it makes Gabe feel safe. He’s glad he lost his vest in the fall. He holds tight to William’s elbow, helped by the crowd that surges forward from the back. The noise in the room is deafening. “I don’t believe in soul mates,” he says, inches from William’s face, “and I don’t know your full name.”
William opens his mouth to speak, eyebrow raised. Gabe leans closer until they’re nose to nose and Gabe can just about taste the sweater-wearing alcohol on William’s lips. “I don’t give a shit about your hopes and dreams,” he says, a breath away from William’s mouth, “and you don’t care about mine.” He hangs his injured wrist around William’s neck and tries not to wince. “But -“
“But?” says William, softly, carefully, eyes half-closed.
“But I think we could have a good time tonight,” says Gabe. He lifts a hand to wipe at the blood - his own blood - on William’s cheekbone.
William smiles under his hand. “That was pretty good.”
“I know,” says Gabe. The sincerity is killing him. He just wants to go home and fuck. Or maybe fuck people up. Everyone’s getting really pushy. He starts to shout for people back the hell up, and instead watches as the doors in the back of the theater are broken down. A police squad in full riot gear jumps through the frame, backed by some brilliant, blinding white light. Gabe is reminded suddenly why he hates the police.
“Fuck,” he says, and William turns too, cheeks and lips flushed pale in the sudden light. The crowd scatters around them, some forward to the squad, some back to the band. Gabe bends William over backwards with his bad wrist still cupped around William’s neck and the other at William’s back. He says, seriously, “It would have been magic.” His wrist burns and William is caught off-balance but both his hands are tight on Gabe’s forearms. He looks at ease.
“Hmm,” says William. His voice is warm, and right against Gabe’s. “I’d like to hope.”
Gabe kisses him. It’s dirty and biting and quick, but for a moment everything around him is clear and silent except for the noise William makes when Gabe pulls away. He’s hard and wanting, and so is William, he hopes, and everything sucks.
He hears Tyler, distantly, shouting “Gabe, stop fucking around! We need you!” Gabe rights William and says, and actually means it, “Sorry. I gotta run.”
William licks his lips and says, “Go.”
Gabe turns away and throws himself straight into the riot.
If It Wasn't Dignity (It Was Love At First Sight) [Gabe/William, 1555, g]
Set in the Desolation Row video/au! You know when that guy jumps off the balcony? In my head that was totally Gabe Saporta. This was going to be longer but then, no. Maybe someday? Thanks hatoyona for the beta!
“Oh baby,” he says, enchanted.
“Oof,” says the man
“I’m gonna jump!” says Gabe. He’s not even that drunk.
“Don’t,” says Rob, but he’s not paying attention. He’s watching the stage. Actually, he’s watching Mikey Way, which Gabe is what would be doing except he’s bored, thus - “I’m gonna jump!”
“Do it, Casanova!” says Tyler. He grabs Rob’s beer and tosses it on Gabe’s chest. The beer is warm and runs down in his bare chest to streak his jeans like he’s pissed all over himself. He got his shirt ripped off mid-set, which sucks because now Gabe actually has to wash himself sometime in the next twenty-four hours or get fired on Monday morning. Even though that cheap beer is probably cleaner than whatever shit he was rolling in on the stage.
Tyler smacks him. “Do it, you pansy!” His mohawk looks stupid. Gabe finds it inspiring.
Gabe punches the air, and then Tyler, and then the air again. “Desolation forever!” he says. He sneers, tongue out. “Yay!”
Then he grabs the bar with both hands and vaults over it, legs splayed.
“Dammit, Tyler,” says Rob, above and behind him while Gabe barrels down, feeling, for the first time all evening, alive. “My beer.”
Gabe lands in the arms of his many adoring fans who happen to be sticking around for My Chem’s set. They shriek and scream and pinch him, and toss him back into the air. Gerard waves. Gabe throws both hands up in the air and falls into the arms of the most beautiful man he has ever seen.
“Oh baby,” he says, enchanted.
“Oof,” says the man, and falls backwards into the mosh pit. Between Gabe’s legs and the man’s complete lack of grace, they take down about six or seven angry punks with them. It is, without a doubt, the smoothest move Gabe’s made all night, show included. For a moment he’s stunned, enamored when the man’s eyes flutter against the boot of some felled punk. His wrist kind of hurts, and his cheek grazes the floor next to the man’s neck.
He climbs off the guy and stands. “Oh baby,” he says again, staring at the young man lying, as if shell-shocked, on the floor.
“My head,” says his sweetheart, sitting up slowly.
“Get the fuck up, bitches,” shouts a girl with pink hair who doesn’t pause for an answer, just barrels right between them and leaps into the crowd.
It’s so romantic, especially the way one of her boots catches Gabe’s young man in the knee as she flies. He looks dazed by everything around him. He’s got a bandana tied around his knee, so maybe it’s his lucky knee. Gabe would be pissed if some punk bitch kicked his lucky knee. He works up as much spit as he can into his dry mouth and hocks a good one in her direction. She’s long gone, but it hits some tall good-lookin’ dude with an afro in the back of the neck. Gabe counts this as a win, especially when the guy turns around and growls. Gabe takes the man’s hand and pulls him up. He doesn’t let go. He elbows his way out of the crowd and shoves people around. There’s more than enough space; the crowd gives him a lot of room, because he’s Gabe Saporta, and he opened for My Chemical Romance, but mostly because he’s Gabe Saporta.
“Can you breathe?” Gabe asks, playing a concerned hand on the man’s arm.
“I think so,” he says, looking dazed. “What the fuck were you- ”
“Yes,” says Gabe, and grabs his face, and mashes their lips together.
The man kind of flails and hits Gabe on the head. Gabe leans back. He’s in love. It’s written in the stars in this guy’s eyes and the empty, rushing feeling in his own head. “Come home with me,” he tells the man. “It’ll be magic.”
The man looks amused, but also like he wants to hit Gabe. Gabe’s cool with that. Whatever makes this boy feel good. “I’m Gabe Saporta,” Gabe says, putting a hand on the man’s cheek.
“William, and I know,” says William, trying to shake him off but only succeeding in stepping closer. He smacks Gabe’s arm. “I like your band. How did you - ” he looks up “ - did you jump?”
“Tyler called me a pansy,” says Gabe, with a shrug. He looks up. Tyler and Heath give him the finger from their perch in that shitty VIP balcony. He salutes the assholes.
“Oh,” says William. He looks around, as if for help, or recognition. “Oh, of course.”
“You don’t get out much,” says Gabe. He eyes William. William’s wearing a sweater. Of course he’s wearing a sweater, and clean blue jeans, and nice leather boots, and -- Gabe should have known. William’s wearing a sweater. He’s wearing a sweater, and he’s at a My Chemical Romance show. The guy is probably, like chaste, and shit. Maybe even a virgin, oh Christ. Gabe runs his tongue on his teeth. He’s never kissed a virgin before.
“I’ve never been fallen on before,” says William, dryly. He rubs the back of his head. “Are you hurt?”
“Oh baby,” says Gabe, giddy. “You don’t have to say it - heaven’s in your arms.” He snaps. Too bad Tyler didn’t hear that one. “Let’s go back to mine.”
“That’s it?” says William. “That’s all you’ve got? You do something disgusting to my face and you expect me to go home with you?”
Gabe takes a step back. He eyes William. “What - you want me to seduce you?” William’d be worth the effort, but Gabe’s kind of shocked that people still bother with romance in a shitty world like the one they’re in.
“No,” says William. “Yes. Maybe,” he laughs, almost sneering. “It was the weakest proposition I’ve ever heard.”
Gabe also wants to know when his fan base got so goddamn dignified, anyway. “Why waste time?” he suggests, rubbing his swollen wrist, “When we know we’re meant to be?”
William doesn’t even answer. William just laughs at him. And that just pisses Gabe off. It’s not like any part of Gabe is genuine, but William’s laughter sounds a lot like he, Gabe Saporta, is dismissible. Gabe doesn’t think he wants to hit the guy - his wrist hurts too much to waste time with that - but he thinks that he wants to prove William wrong.
Someone shoves past them at a run, knocking Gabe out of his thoughts and a step closer to William. “I’ll see you,” says William, with a pitying smile. He turns to go.
Gabe grabs William’s elbow. “Hey,” he says. “Hey.”
“What,” says William, unimpressed.
Gabe pulls him in, gentle tugs that have William stepping closer with a wary smile. Gabe tucks him in close, sweater aligned with his beer-sticky chest. It’s a well-worn sweater, and it makes Gabe feel safe. He’s glad he lost his vest in the fall. He holds tight to William’s elbow, helped by the crowd that surges forward from the back. The noise in the room is deafening. “I don’t believe in soul mates,” he says, inches from William’s face, “and I don’t know your full name.”
William opens his mouth to speak, eyebrow raised. Gabe leans closer until they’re nose to nose and Gabe can just about taste the sweater-wearing alcohol on William’s lips. “I don’t give a shit about your hopes and dreams,” he says, a breath away from William’s mouth, “and you don’t care about mine.” He hangs his injured wrist around William’s neck and tries not to wince. “But -“
“But?” says William, softly, carefully, eyes half-closed.
“But I think we could have a good time tonight,” says Gabe. He lifts a hand to wipe at the blood - his own blood - on William’s cheekbone.
William smiles under his hand. “That was pretty good.”
“I know,” says Gabe. The sincerity is killing him. He just wants to go home and fuck. Or maybe fuck people up. Everyone’s getting really pushy. He starts to shout for people back the hell up, and instead watches as the doors in the back of the theater are broken down. A police squad in full riot gear jumps through the frame, backed by some brilliant, blinding white light. Gabe is reminded suddenly why he hates the police.
“Fuck,” he says, and William turns too, cheeks and lips flushed pale in the sudden light. The crowd scatters around them, some forward to the squad, some back to the band. Gabe bends William over backwards with his bad wrist still cupped around William’s neck and the other at William’s back. He says, seriously, “It would have been magic.” His wrist burns and William is caught off-balance but both his hands are tight on Gabe’s forearms. He looks at ease.
“Hmm,” says William. His voice is warm, and right against Gabe’s. “I’d like to hope.”
Gabe kisses him. It’s dirty and biting and quick, but for a moment everything around him is clear and silent except for the noise William makes when Gabe pulls away. He’s hard and wanting, and so is William, he hopes, and everything sucks.
He hears Tyler, distantly, shouting “Gabe, stop fucking around! We need you!” Gabe rights William and says, and actually means it, “Sorry. I gotta run.”
William licks his lips and says, “Go.”
Gabe turns away and throws himself straight into the riot.