Fic: Punk Kid
May. 25th, 2009 12:04 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
silentdescanttitle: Punk Kid
pairing: none (gen)
rating: PG
words: 400+
summary: The boys get ready for their Desolation Row video shoot.
disclaimer: All fiction, don't Google yourself.
a/n: I wrote this back when the video first came out. Dunno why I never posted it. I'll stop spamming for a while, I think that's all the finished fic I have at the moment.
Frank stared at the rack of cosutmes. It was all punk clothes: torn sleeves and distressed leather, jeans barely hanging together by threads (or, in Gerard's case, not even together at all), bright reds and greying blacks, dirty whites and metalic silver in the form of chains and belt buckles.
"This is fucking awesome," he said reverently, taking down the jacket with his name on the hanger. He slipped it on and admired the sleeves. "This is so fucking awesome, Gee. This is gonna be like, the greatest video ever."
Gerard laughed. "Yeah, well. I figured you'd like this."
"Can I keep this jacket? I think I'm in love."
"Looks like you're not the only jacket slut in this band," Mikey said to Gerard, grinning. They all knew that wasn't true; Gerard was a self-confessed jacket slut, yes, but Mikey had his own fair share, and Frank certainly had several favorites hanging in his closet at home.
"You look like you're into bondage or something, dude," Frank shot back at him. Mikey was putting a choke chain around his neck. "Can I pull it?"
"Fuck no." Mikey batted his hands away, craning his neck to get away from Frank's flailing. "Leave me alone, dude."
Frank bounced away from him and toward Gerard, whose hair he could actually reach to ruffle. "Don't mess with the 'do, Frank," Gerard laughed. He pushed Frank away with a hand to his face. "Finish getting dressed, let's go rehearse."
Bob was already outside, practically fondling his kit, and Ray appeared a few minutes later with his guitar in hand. "This is fucking awesome!" Frank told them, as they hadn't been privy to this opinion in the dressing room. Ray nodded his agreement and played an impromptu riff, though his guitar wasn't plugged into anything and it just sounded like tinny, quiet strumming. Frank watched his fingers fly on the frets. So fucking awesome, they said through the strings.
Bob whacked his drumsticks on Frank's thigh. "Dude. You look like a punk kid."
"I am a punk kid," Frank said.
"You're totally a punk kid."
"We're all punk kids," Mikey said. "Let's get started."
Gerard took his place behind the microphone, ripping apart and redoing the velcro on his fingerless gloves, then bending to do the same on his kneepad. "Alright," he said when he stood up. "Let's do this thing."
fin.
pairing: none (gen)
rating: PG
words: 400+
summary: The boys get ready for their Desolation Row video shoot.
disclaimer: All fiction, don't Google yourself.
a/n: I wrote this back when the video first came out. Dunno why I never posted it. I'll stop spamming for a while, I think that's all the finished fic I have at the moment.
Frank stared at the rack of cosutmes. It was all punk clothes: torn sleeves and distressed leather, jeans barely hanging together by threads (or, in Gerard's case, not even together at all), bright reds and greying blacks, dirty whites and metalic silver in the form of chains and belt buckles.
"This is fucking awesome," he said reverently, taking down the jacket with his name on the hanger. He slipped it on and admired the sleeves. "This is so fucking awesome, Gee. This is gonna be like, the greatest video ever."
Gerard laughed. "Yeah, well. I figured you'd like this."
"Can I keep this jacket? I think I'm in love."
"Looks like you're not the only jacket slut in this band," Mikey said to Gerard, grinning. They all knew that wasn't true; Gerard was a self-confessed jacket slut, yes, but Mikey had his own fair share, and Frank certainly had several favorites hanging in his closet at home.
"You look like you're into bondage or something, dude," Frank shot back at him. Mikey was putting a choke chain around his neck. "Can I pull it?"
"Fuck no." Mikey batted his hands away, craning his neck to get away from Frank's flailing. "Leave me alone, dude."
Frank bounced away from him and toward Gerard, whose hair he could actually reach to ruffle. "Don't mess with the 'do, Frank," Gerard laughed. He pushed Frank away with a hand to his face. "Finish getting dressed, let's go rehearse."
Bob was already outside, practically fondling his kit, and Ray appeared a few minutes later with his guitar in hand. "This is fucking awesome!" Frank told them, as they hadn't been privy to this opinion in the dressing room. Ray nodded his agreement and played an impromptu riff, though his guitar wasn't plugged into anything and it just sounded like tinny, quiet strumming. Frank watched his fingers fly on the frets. So fucking awesome, they said through the strings.
Bob whacked his drumsticks on Frank's thigh. "Dude. You look like a punk kid."
"I am a punk kid," Frank said.
"You're totally a punk kid."
"We're all punk kids," Mikey said. "Let's get started."
Gerard took his place behind the microphone, ripping apart and redoing the velcro on his fingerless gloves, then bending to do the same on his kneepad. "Alright," he said when he stood up. "Let's do this thing."
fin.