Fic: Fair is Fair
Aug. 15th, 2009 06:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
silentdescanttitle: Fair is Fair
pairing: Frank/Gerard
rating: NC-17
words: ~1890
summary: Frank is an angel. Problem is, nobody believes him.
disclaimer: Not true at all; I'm not connected to any members of MCR and I'm making no money from this.
a/n: I'm thinking of maaaaybe expanding this universe and writing another ficlet or two with Ray and Mikey involved. Not sure yet, though. By the way, here is a quick little pen & ink illustration I did for this back when I wrote it. This is also unbetaed.
It’s not fair. It’s not fair at all, Frank thinks, and pouts, because seriously, it is not fair.
If he tells people he’s sent by God to influence people into making good choices, he gets laughed at. Everyone thinks he’s lying. But then Gerard turns around and does the same exact thing, and everyone loves him. And he’s the one lying!
“It’s not fucking fair,” Frank says grumpily, crossing his arms over his chest. He wants to stamp his foot, but as they’re currently in the void between reality and their respective homes, such an act wouldn’t have the audible, violent impact he’s after.
Gerard appears at his shoulder, smiling in the way that makes absolutely everyone weak at the knees. Including Frank. It’s a good thing he’s not actually standing.
“Oh, Frankie,” he begins, and places one hand gently on Frank’s bicep. Frank spins away from him.
“Come on, Gee, can’t I work with Mikey? Just for a little while? I want to win sometimes. I want to have a chance.”
“You’ve won before!” Gerard objects shrilly.
“Not in two hundred fucking years,” Frank cries back. “It’s not fair! Nobody can resist you!”
“That’s the point,” Gerard says. “Why Mikey, anyway?”
“Because he doesn’t even try. If people swing his way, fine, but if they don’t, he doesn’t, like, I don’t know, do whatever you do. Smile and lie and fucking cheat.”
Gerard wraps his arms around Frank’s waist from behind and hooks his chin over Frank’s shoulder. “Do you want me to let you win once in a while?”
“I want to actually win.”
“You’ll just have to try harder, then,” Gerard whispers.
He lifts his hands to Frank’s shoulders and massages them gently until Frank relaxes and leans back into his touch. His thumbs dig in harder in reply, and Frank tilts his head back, eyes blinking closed.
“Ohh,” he sighs. “Feels good…”
“It feels good to let loose,” Gerard says silkily. “You’re so tense, Frankie. Just give in.” His fingers press into a sore spot and Frank arches back, head falling onto Gerard’s shoulder. “Give in, Frankie. C’mon. Give in.”
“Yes,” Frank breathes. Gerard’s hands slide down to Frank’s hips, fingers pressing in hard enough to leave a mark.
“Say it. Give in.”
“Yeah, I… I give in,” Frank finally acquiesces. Gerard moves one hand to Frank’s jaw and turns him so that they can kiss over Frank’s shoulder, Frank arching back against Gerard’s chest and melting into his arms.
After a moment, Gerard turns him around fully and starts undressing him: t-shirt swiftly yanked over his head, belt slid out of its loops, jeans unbuttoned, unzipped, pushed down along with his boxers. Frank is completely naked before Gerard even touches his own clothes. He pushes Frank back and strips for him, teasing Frank with the buttons on his shirt, revealing tantalizing inches of smooth, pale skin at a painstaking pace. Frank wants to grab at him, rip the black shirt apart, but that’s against the rules.
Once Frank gives in, Gerard’s in control.
“I don’t know how you do it, how you seduce everybody,” Frank says quietly, not taking his eyes off the space below Gerard’s clavicle, the bite mark there peeking out between the pieces of dark fabric.
“You know exactly how I do it,” Gerard scoffs. He rids himself of his shirt in a smooth, practiced motion and Frank reaches for him instantly. He rubs his open mouth, lips wet and tongue darting out to taste, over the bruise, the only thing marring Gerard’s perfect skin. Frank ends with a slippery kiss rather than a bite; that portion of the evening will come soon enough.
Frank looks up at Gerard and grazes his teeth over the edge of the mark. He can almost feel where they line up with the bruise, like a puzzle piece slotting into place. Gerard’s chest and Frank’s teeth: made for each other. Frank grins and leans back again.
“You should show me again,” Frank replies.
Gerard flattens his palms against Frank’s shoulders and pushes him down onto his back. He lowers himself down on top, slowly, too slowly for Frank’s taste. With their lips only an inch or so apart, Gerard stops and smiles.
“Not fair,” Frank whispers.
“You want me.”
“Yes.”
“This is how I do it, Frankie.” Gerard slants his lips over Frank’s and Frank opens his mouth to him, letting Gerard suck and bite and manipulate Frank into submission. If he had any portion of his brain left for logical thought, Frank would be taking notes.
Frank lifts his hands to Gerard’s hair and feels individual strands slide against his fingertips. It’s weird and intoxicating, and Gerard really shouldn’t have that much control over his fucking hair. Frank pushes his fingers through it and holds tight while Gerard kisses him into oblivion.
***
“It’s not fucking fair.”
Frank sits with his head in his hands, elbows on his knees, eyes closed. Gerard is in front of him, naked and tempting, and he should really not be allowed to look so fucking good.
“I’ve told you,” Gerard says wearily. It’s the five-million-two-hundred-and-thirty-six-thousand—well, it’s over five million, and Frank stopped counting how many times they’ve had this conversation about fifty years ago. “Humans naturally tend towards the good,” he continues. “I have to be persuasive. You have a natural advantage. Really, it’s perfectly fair.”
“Give me my fucking clothes,” Frank snaps. “We have work to do.”
Gerard hands him his t-shirt with an earnest smile. “Do you want me to let you win this one? I could give you one. A freebie. If you ask nicely.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
***
“You go first,” Frank whispers. He pokes Gerard’s arm.
“No, you,” Gerard says, poking him back.
Frank gives him the pitiful puppy-dog eyes. Gerard almost always falls for to that; Frank perfected the look a decade ago. “Please?”
“Fuck you,” Gerard mutters. “Fine.” He disappears.
When he reappears on Bob’s left shoulder, he’s wearing a clean white shirt and a pair of tight jeans that make his ass look amazing. His hair is swept back away from his face, and he’s got his trademark earnest smile plastered on. Frank rolls his eyes. That smile is not fair at all.
“Hi,” he says casually. “I’m Gerard.”
“Uh… hi?” Bob replies.
“I’m here to guide you. Advise you. Lead you down the right path,” Gerard explains.
“The right path?”
“I’m a guardian angel. Kind of like your conscience, steering you away from moral evils,” he lies smoothly. Frank’s hands tighten into fists.
“Oh,” Bob says. “Okay, sure.” Frank knows his type. A skeptic, superficially agreeing with whatever they say because he honestly doesn’t believe they’re even real. People like Bob make Frank’s job a little bit easier, because they usually follow their heart, and their heart is usually right.
“In my experience—and I’m not bragging or anything, but I’ve had a lot of experience; I’ve been around a long time—it’s best to really think about what you want. What you crave. If it gives you satisfaction, that’s the way to go.”
Frank decides it’s time to intervene. He makes himself appear on Bob’s right shoulder, dressed as conservatively as he can manage in a pair of clean slacks, a white button-down, and even a tie. There’s not much he can do about his hair, as it curls into his face no matter what he does to fix it, and there’s no way to cover up his tattoos or piercings, but Frank does the best he can.
“Bob,” he says sincerely, “Gerard is lying to you.”
“Who’re you?”
“My name’s Frank, and I’m your actual angel. Don’t listen to Gerard, he’s a liar and he’s not as nice as he seems.”
“Oh, Bob, come on!” Gerard cuts in, poking Bob’s chin. “Look at him. Does he look like an angel to you?”
“He’s lying, Bob.”
“Would an angel really have tattoos? Look, you can see them through his shirt—”
“Fuck you, Gee—”
“And would an angel use language like that? Frankie’s just a punk kid trying to make you believe he’s an angel, but Bob, listen to me,” Gerard says, and his voice slips into this melodic, hypnotic tone that Frank finds highly irritating, “Frank is lying to you. He’s trying to lead you down a path of corruption, and you must resist.”
“Fuck you, Gerard,” Frank cries. “Bob, Bob, listen, Bob, listen to me: I’m not allowed to lie. Everything I say is absolutely true. I cannot lie, I just can’t. Gee’s talking out of his ass. He’s a fucking devil, that’s what he does, okay, don’t let him seduce you.”
“Not allowed to lie,” Gerard mocks. “Look at Frankie’s hands, Bob. See what those tattoos say? Hold ‘em up, Frankie, let’s see ‘em. What do they say, Frank?”
“They say Halloween,” Frank mumbles under his breath.
Gerard leans in close to Bob’s ear and whispers, “Frankie was born on the very first Halloween. It’s his holiday. Think about that, Bob. Would an angel be born on Halloween, or would a devil?”
“Shit, Gee, that was a low fucking blow,” Frank says miserably.
“Hey,” Bob breaks in. He looks a little freaked, and he glances back and forth between them for a few seconds. “If you’re an angel, why are you cursing like that? He’s not cursing.”
Frank perks up. He has a chance to make his case. “Do you think God cares about a word like ‘fuck’? It’s just a word, it’s meaningless. God’s into free speech and voicing opinions and all that. I can’t lie to you, Bob. I can’t lie at all. Don’t believe Gerard, he’s just trying to trick you.”
“Bob,” Gerard says. “Look at him. Take a good, long look. Now, look at me.” Bob turns his head obediently, and Frank sighs. “Which of us,” Gerard continues, slipping back into that hypnotic, sexy tone, “looks more like an angel? Which of us looks like the one to lead you down the right moral path?”
“How ‘bout the one sitting on your right shoulder, you idiot,” Frank mutters, but Bob’s not listening. Gerard’s turned his sex appeal up a notch. He’s practically glowing.
“Think about what you’re doing,” Gerard whispers. “Think about what you want, how amazingly good you’ll feel when you get it. Think about what the man upstairs would want. He would want you to be happy, right? Follow your heart. Make me proud, Bob. Make Him proud. You know what to do.”
Gerard pops out of existence, reappears in the next instant to grab Frank’s arm, and they go back to the void together.
“You fucker,” Frank spits. “You fucking had him, why the fuck did you do that?”
“You wanted to win,” Gerard replies, shrugging.
“That wasn’t winning! That was you sabotaging yourself right at the end.”
Gerard pulls Frank in and ducks his head to plant a gentle kiss on the scorpion tattooed on Frank’s neck. “Think of it as a present, then,” he murmurs. “A gift from me to you.”
“A bribe, more like,” Frank grumbles.
Gerard kisses him on the mouth, then, trying to hold back a smile. “Whatever.”
Frank meets Gerard’s eyes when they break apart. “I give in,” he says softly, and falls into Gerard’s waiting arms.
fin.
pairing: Frank/Gerard
rating: NC-17
words: ~1890
summary: Frank is an angel. Problem is, nobody believes him.
disclaimer: Not true at all; I'm not connected to any members of MCR and I'm making no money from this.
a/n: I'm thinking of maaaaybe expanding this universe and writing another ficlet or two with Ray and Mikey involved. Not sure yet, though. By the way, here is a quick little pen & ink illustration I did for this back when I wrote it. This is also unbetaed.
It’s not fair. It’s not fair at all, Frank thinks, and pouts, because seriously, it is not fair.
If he tells people he’s sent by God to influence people into making good choices, he gets laughed at. Everyone thinks he’s lying. But then Gerard turns around and does the same exact thing, and everyone loves him. And he’s the one lying!
“It’s not fucking fair,” Frank says grumpily, crossing his arms over his chest. He wants to stamp his foot, but as they’re currently in the void between reality and their respective homes, such an act wouldn’t have the audible, violent impact he’s after.
Gerard appears at his shoulder, smiling in the way that makes absolutely everyone weak at the knees. Including Frank. It’s a good thing he’s not actually standing.
“Oh, Frankie,” he begins, and places one hand gently on Frank’s bicep. Frank spins away from him.
“Come on, Gee, can’t I work with Mikey? Just for a little while? I want to win sometimes. I want to have a chance.”
“You’ve won before!” Gerard objects shrilly.
“Not in two hundred fucking years,” Frank cries back. “It’s not fair! Nobody can resist you!”
“That’s the point,” Gerard says. “Why Mikey, anyway?”
“Because he doesn’t even try. If people swing his way, fine, but if they don’t, he doesn’t, like, I don’t know, do whatever you do. Smile and lie and fucking cheat.”
Gerard wraps his arms around Frank’s waist from behind and hooks his chin over Frank’s shoulder. “Do you want me to let you win once in a while?”
“I want to actually win.”
“You’ll just have to try harder, then,” Gerard whispers.
He lifts his hands to Frank’s shoulders and massages them gently until Frank relaxes and leans back into his touch. His thumbs dig in harder in reply, and Frank tilts his head back, eyes blinking closed.
“Ohh,” he sighs. “Feels good…”
“It feels good to let loose,” Gerard says silkily. “You’re so tense, Frankie. Just give in.” His fingers press into a sore spot and Frank arches back, head falling onto Gerard’s shoulder. “Give in, Frankie. C’mon. Give in.”
“Yes,” Frank breathes. Gerard’s hands slide down to Frank’s hips, fingers pressing in hard enough to leave a mark.
“Say it. Give in.”
“Yeah, I… I give in,” Frank finally acquiesces. Gerard moves one hand to Frank’s jaw and turns him so that they can kiss over Frank’s shoulder, Frank arching back against Gerard’s chest and melting into his arms.
After a moment, Gerard turns him around fully and starts undressing him: t-shirt swiftly yanked over his head, belt slid out of its loops, jeans unbuttoned, unzipped, pushed down along with his boxers. Frank is completely naked before Gerard even touches his own clothes. He pushes Frank back and strips for him, teasing Frank with the buttons on his shirt, revealing tantalizing inches of smooth, pale skin at a painstaking pace. Frank wants to grab at him, rip the black shirt apart, but that’s against the rules.
Once Frank gives in, Gerard’s in control.
“I don’t know how you do it, how you seduce everybody,” Frank says quietly, not taking his eyes off the space below Gerard’s clavicle, the bite mark there peeking out between the pieces of dark fabric.
“You know exactly how I do it,” Gerard scoffs. He rids himself of his shirt in a smooth, practiced motion and Frank reaches for him instantly. He rubs his open mouth, lips wet and tongue darting out to taste, over the bruise, the only thing marring Gerard’s perfect skin. Frank ends with a slippery kiss rather than a bite; that portion of the evening will come soon enough.
Frank looks up at Gerard and grazes his teeth over the edge of the mark. He can almost feel where they line up with the bruise, like a puzzle piece slotting into place. Gerard’s chest and Frank’s teeth: made for each other. Frank grins and leans back again.
“You should show me again,” Frank replies.
Gerard flattens his palms against Frank’s shoulders and pushes him down onto his back. He lowers himself down on top, slowly, too slowly for Frank’s taste. With their lips only an inch or so apart, Gerard stops and smiles.
“Not fair,” Frank whispers.
“You want me.”
“Yes.”
“This is how I do it, Frankie.” Gerard slants his lips over Frank’s and Frank opens his mouth to him, letting Gerard suck and bite and manipulate Frank into submission. If he had any portion of his brain left for logical thought, Frank would be taking notes.
Frank lifts his hands to Gerard’s hair and feels individual strands slide against his fingertips. It’s weird and intoxicating, and Gerard really shouldn’t have that much control over his fucking hair. Frank pushes his fingers through it and holds tight while Gerard kisses him into oblivion.
***
“It’s not fucking fair.”
Frank sits with his head in his hands, elbows on his knees, eyes closed. Gerard is in front of him, naked and tempting, and he should really not be allowed to look so fucking good.
“I’ve told you,” Gerard says wearily. It’s the five-million-two-hundred-and-thirty-six-thousand—well, it’s over five million, and Frank stopped counting how many times they’ve had this conversation about fifty years ago. “Humans naturally tend towards the good,” he continues. “I have to be persuasive. You have a natural advantage. Really, it’s perfectly fair.”
“Give me my fucking clothes,” Frank snaps. “We have work to do.”
Gerard hands him his t-shirt with an earnest smile. “Do you want me to let you win this one? I could give you one. A freebie. If you ask nicely.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
***
“You go first,” Frank whispers. He pokes Gerard’s arm.
“No, you,” Gerard says, poking him back.
Frank gives him the pitiful puppy-dog eyes. Gerard almost always falls for to that; Frank perfected the look a decade ago. “Please?”
“Fuck you,” Gerard mutters. “Fine.” He disappears.
When he reappears on Bob’s left shoulder, he’s wearing a clean white shirt and a pair of tight jeans that make his ass look amazing. His hair is swept back away from his face, and he’s got his trademark earnest smile plastered on. Frank rolls his eyes. That smile is not fair at all.
“Hi,” he says casually. “I’m Gerard.”
“Uh… hi?” Bob replies.
“I’m here to guide you. Advise you. Lead you down the right path,” Gerard explains.
“The right path?”
“I’m a guardian angel. Kind of like your conscience, steering you away from moral evils,” he lies smoothly. Frank’s hands tighten into fists.
“Oh,” Bob says. “Okay, sure.” Frank knows his type. A skeptic, superficially agreeing with whatever they say because he honestly doesn’t believe they’re even real. People like Bob make Frank’s job a little bit easier, because they usually follow their heart, and their heart is usually right.
“In my experience—and I’m not bragging or anything, but I’ve had a lot of experience; I’ve been around a long time—it’s best to really think about what you want. What you crave. If it gives you satisfaction, that’s the way to go.”
Frank decides it’s time to intervene. He makes himself appear on Bob’s right shoulder, dressed as conservatively as he can manage in a pair of clean slacks, a white button-down, and even a tie. There’s not much he can do about his hair, as it curls into his face no matter what he does to fix it, and there’s no way to cover up his tattoos or piercings, but Frank does the best he can.
“Bob,” he says sincerely, “Gerard is lying to you.”
“Who’re you?”
“My name’s Frank, and I’m your actual angel. Don’t listen to Gerard, he’s a liar and he’s not as nice as he seems.”
“Oh, Bob, come on!” Gerard cuts in, poking Bob’s chin. “Look at him. Does he look like an angel to you?”
“He’s lying, Bob.”
“Would an angel really have tattoos? Look, you can see them through his shirt—”
“Fuck you, Gee—”
“And would an angel use language like that? Frankie’s just a punk kid trying to make you believe he’s an angel, but Bob, listen to me,” Gerard says, and his voice slips into this melodic, hypnotic tone that Frank finds highly irritating, “Frank is lying to you. He’s trying to lead you down a path of corruption, and you must resist.”
“Fuck you, Gerard,” Frank cries. “Bob, Bob, listen, Bob, listen to me: I’m not allowed to lie. Everything I say is absolutely true. I cannot lie, I just can’t. Gee’s talking out of his ass. He’s a fucking devil, that’s what he does, okay, don’t let him seduce you.”
“Not allowed to lie,” Gerard mocks. “Look at Frankie’s hands, Bob. See what those tattoos say? Hold ‘em up, Frankie, let’s see ‘em. What do they say, Frank?”
“They say Halloween,” Frank mumbles under his breath.
Gerard leans in close to Bob’s ear and whispers, “Frankie was born on the very first Halloween. It’s his holiday. Think about that, Bob. Would an angel be born on Halloween, or would a devil?”
“Shit, Gee, that was a low fucking blow,” Frank says miserably.
“Hey,” Bob breaks in. He looks a little freaked, and he glances back and forth between them for a few seconds. “If you’re an angel, why are you cursing like that? He’s not cursing.”
Frank perks up. He has a chance to make his case. “Do you think God cares about a word like ‘fuck’? It’s just a word, it’s meaningless. God’s into free speech and voicing opinions and all that. I can’t lie to you, Bob. I can’t lie at all. Don’t believe Gerard, he’s just trying to trick you.”
“Bob,” Gerard says. “Look at him. Take a good, long look. Now, look at me.” Bob turns his head obediently, and Frank sighs. “Which of us,” Gerard continues, slipping back into that hypnotic, sexy tone, “looks more like an angel? Which of us looks like the one to lead you down the right moral path?”
“How ‘bout the one sitting on your right shoulder, you idiot,” Frank mutters, but Bob’s not listening. Gerard’s turned his sex appeal up a notch. He’s practically glowing.
“Think about what you’re doing,” Gerard whispers. “Think about what you want, how amazingly good you’ll feel when you get it. Think about what the man upstairs would want. He would want you to be happy, right? Follow your heart. Make me proud, Bob. Make Him proud. You know what to do.”
Gerard pops out of existence, reappears in the next instant to grab Frank’s arm, and they go back to the void together.
“You fucker,” Frank spits. “You fucking had him, why the fuck did you do that?”
“You wanted to win,” Gerard replies, shrugging.
“That wasn’t winning! That was you sabotaging yourself right at the end.”
Gerard pulls Frank in and ducks his head to plant a gentle kiss on the scorpion tattooed on Frank’s neck. “Think of it as a present, then,” he murmurs. “A gift from me to you.”
“A bribe, more like,” Frank grumbles.
Gerard kisses him on the mouth, then, trying to hold back a smile. “Whatever.”
Frank meets Gerard’s eyes when they break apart. “I give in,” he says softly, and falls into Gerard’s waiting arms.
fin.