
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/291418.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Bandom, My_Chemical_Romance, The_Used
  Relationship:
      Frank_Iero/Mikey_Way, Frank_Iero/Gerard_Way
  Character:
      Michael_Pedicone, Bert_McCracken, Ray_Toro, Bob_Bryar, Pete_Wentz, Joe
      Trohman
  Additional Tags:
      Vampires, accusations_of_dub-con, Infidelity, Polyamory
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-12-10 Words: 19716
****** A State Of Orange ******
by gala_apples
Summary
     Being a halfling in a red state can sometimes cause issues for Frank
     Iero. He’s the weakest at Jett Clement High School, and probably the
     entire state (not counting the meal plans). His moods are oddly
     stable, as much as he tries to be mercurial. And being able to
     withstand the sun for up to twenty minutes only allows him more time
     to be forced into chores.
     Still, his parents are insane if they think he’s going to be happy
     about their decision. Frank doesn’t want to move to a Mixed state.
     How is he supposed to get great friends? How is he supposed to find
     great food? How is he supposed to have great sex? But Frank doesn’t
     have a choice. He’s New Jersey bound for the next year, if not
     longer. He’ll be surrounded by tame vampires who have been nagged out
     of a sex drive, and humans he’s not allowed to eat. Mixed states
     suck.
     Lucky for him, not every person in Jersey sucks.
Notes
     Written for vampire big bang. The Masterpost art and mix are linked
     to is here.
     While the main pairings are Frank/Mikey and Frank/Gerard, please note
     there are brief but graphic scenes of Frank/Pedicone and Frank/Ray,
     and at the beginning of the story the pairings are Mikey/Pete/Joe and
     Gerard/Bert.
The beginning of the end comes when his dad shouts his name from the ground
floor. Not that Frank knows it at the time. He just scowls, logs out of his
MMORPG, and shouts back ‘what’ without closing the browser. If there’s
something they need to get into then it’s better he’s not distracted, he worked
too long to power up his shaman to let thirty seconds of his dad asking him
where the scratch on the car came from to enable someone sneaking up and
slaughtering him. If it’s just ‘do the fucking dishes’, he can log back in
without having to spend five minutes waiting for the disc to reload.
It’s neither. It’s “come downstairs, family meeting!”
Frank tromps down the stairs, hands in his pockets. Something is going down.
There has to be something wrong, no question about it. The Ieros are not the
kind of family that have group meetings. Frank can’t even remember the last
time one happened. Maybe in fifth grade when Jessica Kinde convinced him
because he was a halfling it was her right to feed on him. For sure nothing
more recent, he’d remember it.
When he walks into the living room Frank’s already raised suspicions hit the
ceiling. They’re holding hands. Maybe Dad has hemophilia.
“What’s going on?”
“We have to talk to you about something,” his dad starts.
“Yeah, no shit. What?” Padding whatever it is probably won’t make it better, so
Mom might as well just tell him. Whatever it is, she’ll tell him. It’s not a
control thing, even though she’s a vamp and Dad isn’t. His father is just no
good at conflict. Frank would bet anything Dad’s the one that reached for a
hand as he came down the stairs.
“I know you’re not going to be happy, but I want you to promise you’re not gong
to do anything stupid.”
That cannot possibly mean anything good. While he considers any past reactions
he’s ever had equal to the news or event preceding them, not acting stupid, the
fact that she’s saying it means there’s something to get supposedly stupid
about. Frank crosses his arms and waits.
“We’re moving, Frank. To New Jersey.”
“I don’t wanna go,” he replies immediately.
“It’s not a choice Frank.”
“But I don’t.” So maybe it’s not the best argument. He can hardly be expected
to be working on all cylinders.
“We don’t care. We’re going and it’s not a choice.” It’s her ‘tough shit’
voice, the one he should know better than to battle against.
She’s got her tone, he’s got his. “How did this even happen!” His tone involves
a lot more volume.
“At the last company briefing, my boss revealed we’re expanding again, and
asked who would be willing to transfer. I volunteered.”
Frank could maybe understand if she had a prophetic dream of the apocalypse, if
she wanted to be out of Virginia when the car sized hail started plummeting
down. But to fucking ask to leave when any of the hundred employees could have
done it? It’s a betrayal. “What the hell! Why!”
Her voice is even. She always fights his frustration and rage with vocal
cement; planed flat, cold, hard. “Because outside of this house your father and
my husband is considered my meal plan. I’ve done this for fifteen years, I’m
done with it.”
She did that on purpose. She made it personal, so any kind of argument he’d
have would be reduced to ‘don’t you love your dad?’ and it makes him want to
punch both of them in the fucking face. Never mind that it would hurt his dad,
never mind that his mom would barely notice, never mind that he probably
actually never would. He wants to, and he can’t, so he stands and storms out of
the house.
He runs. He runs because it’s not fair, because he has no fucking control and
nothing he will say will make it fair. Frank’s not running with intent, but
when he takes a second to curl into himself and pant and notice his
surroundings he’s at the corner of Rior Street and Farstone Bay. He only thinks
about it a second before turning and running down Farstone. The sidewalk he
stops at is broken, each square at least three pieces, but Frank’s been
visiting for a decade. He doesn’t need to look down to know where it’s safe to
step, and where his sneaker will catch and he’ll faceplant.
When Mike opens the door he lunges. Mike doesn’t ask questions, just goes with
it. He clamps both hands on Frank’s ass. Mike’s strong even for a vampire,
Frank doesn’t hesitate for a second before bringing his legs up to curl around
his back. Mike’s got him.
“My sister is upstairs. Do you wanna go to my room or just do it here?”
Frank did not come to Mike’s so he could be forced to make decisions. Instead
of saying anything he bites down just under Mike’s earlobe. He’s got control of
himself, his fangs stay retracted, but Mike groans like he put them in an inch
deep.
“Fine. Legs down.”
It’s an order, but Frank follows it. At least with his friends if people are
telling him what to do it’s something he wants to do.
Once he’s standing on his own two feet Mike pushes Frank away and with one hand
on his shoulder turns him until he’s facing the stairs. Mike shoves him forward
until his face hits the thick mahogany spindles, a hand on the small of his
back keeping him forced in position. Mike holds him for a count of ten breaths,
a odd thing to base action off of considering neither of them need to breathe.
The breathing and the wait both help to get Frank focused. It’s not something
he always needs, and when he doesn’t he’s got James or Matt or Mattie. But
nights like these, where everything is heaving at him and he can’t stop moving
out under the pressure, Mike makes him be still.
When Mike finally moves his hands it’s to rip the back of Frank’s belt apart.
Frank liked that belt, but he doesn’t complain, doesn’t say a word. No longer
cinched, his jeans are easily tugged down his thighs.
The foyer is silent, only the faintest of noises coming from the T.V. in the
living room down the hall. He can hear the rustle of fabric, and then a packet
being ripped open. A second later there are two fingers pushing into his ass.
The lube is lukewarm, the packet must have been sitting in Mike’s pocket a
while.
It’s as much prep as he gets. He doesn’t want more, not tonight. It’s a few
strokes of his fingers stretching inside him, and then Mike’s pulling them out
and replacing them with his cock. Frank grabs on to the railing as Mike fucks
him fast, face sweaty against a varnished spindle. He’s a halfling so the wood
doesn’t splinter, but his hands are turning white from the pressure. “Fucking
know you love this. Like my cock best.” Frank groans. It’s not like it’s not
true.
“Always want you.” It’s not like he’s in love - and good thing he isn’t, since
he’s leaving forever. But there’s a truth to it, and it’s the kind of thing
that will goad Mike on.
Mike takes care of shit after they’ve both come. He pulls Frank’s ruined belt
from the loops and tosses it in the garbage, then goes upstairs. He comes down
with a new belt and a box of tissues, and helps Frank clean the jizz off his
stomach and shirt and stairs. Then he leads him to the living room at the back
of the house and disappears for three minutes. He’s got a mug in both hands
when he sits down. Mike takes a sip of his immediately, but the blood is still
steaming and Frank likes his more body temp so he puts his mug on the coffee
table.
“So why did you pick me?”
“Your house was closest.” Frank can say it because he knows Mike knows it’s not
true.
“Sure. And I had to fuck the emotion away this time because...”
“We’re fucking moving and they didn’t even ask!” It bursts out of him, but he
doesn’t feel as full of rage as he did when he was running.
“That sucks.”
“Yeah, it really fucking does.”
“When?”
“I dunno. I sort of ran out of the house before they said too many details.”
Mike pauses for a second, and then inhales so he can sigh. “Well, lemme know,
man.”
                                      ***
There’s not much of a group gathered around when they leave. Frank probably
shouldn’t have expected it, should have realised wanting a goodbye party was
only getting his hopes up. When you live on average two centuries, friendships
that last less than a decade aren’t much to blog about. Still it sucks, only
having Mike and James to wave at out the window as the car slowly picks up
speed. And it’s not like even they will email him after he’s gone. Frank’s
value system is different than everyone he knows, thanks to his father’s
influence. Nostalgia isn’t a big thing for vampires.
It takes about an hour and a half to drive through Virginia. Frank keeps his
headphones on, and purposely spins up the volume each time either of them try
to talk to him. They can make him go, they can’t make him be happy about it.
He’s not going to listen to any bullshit attempted consolation. He’s not even
going to look at them, if he can help it.
That’s why he almost misses it. They’re driving through a small town. Frank’s
not about to ask, but the map app he has tracking their journey says Diggum.
The population can’t be more than four thousand, or at least Frank guesses.
He’s not a census, but they appear to only have one main street. It should be
his first clue, but all he can think about is how his new school won’t have a
Mike or a James. The second is when Dad suddenly reaches to his feet to grab a
helmet, complete with eye visor. Frank doesn’t really pick up on that either,
though to be fair he doesn’t have much time. One minute they’re driving, the
next jagged bits of glass are going everywhere.
A windshield can be made of necroglass or laminated safety glass. It can’t be
made of both, the compositions are incompatible. For most people, the
convenience of being able to drive at any time is a lot more relevant than the
possibility of a car crash pushing in a piece of glass at the exact right angle
to stake you. Besides, statistics show if a vampire gets into a car crash
they’re eleven times more likely to die of sun exposure than accidental
staking. As long as Frank’s been around, the family cars have had necroglass,
and if he can ever afford his own car it’s what he’ll request.
Few shards make it to the back seat. Frank isn’t really worrying about the
possibility of being pierced anyway. There is a guy in the front seat trying to
pry off Dad’s seatbelt. Frank’s not a wuss when it comes to violence in eating
scenes in movies, but this is his father. His ‘no’ is probably closer to a
scream than a manly bellow. He grabs for his own seat belt, no real plan
besides launching himself into the front. By the time it’s unclipped Mom is
staking the man. A cloud of ash settles over everything and Frank starts to
cough as his mom drops the stake back into the cup holder.
It takes Frank a minute to add up actions and come up with the truth. “You know
this was going to happen!”
“Don’t sound so betrayed Frankie. We lived in a big city. We used the prison
system to our advantage, we were never at a loss for food. Smaller towns don’t
get murderers and rapists shipped in. They get hungry, and they smelled human.
They might have even given you a go, once they were done with him.”
Dad adds “if it makes you feel better, the yellow state we have to pass through
isn’t going to be much fun either.”
Frank wants to know how the fuck that’s supposed to make him feel better, but
doesn’t want to be angry at his dad, who was just nearly eaten. Except for he
fucking does, and he fucking is, because this wouldn’t have happened if they
hadn’t decided to move. In the end he just puts his headphones back on.
They stop at the next hotel in a decent sized city. It wasn’t in the original
plan -at least not from what he knows, but then he wasn’t informed of his dad’s
role in an imminent buffet either- but they have no choice now. They can’t keep
driving without necroglass. The manager promises to set them up with a twenty-
four hour car service, and commends Frank and Mrs Iero on having their own meal
plan. Frank scowls and refuses to acknowledge the dick again.
Unfortunately being too pissed off at his parents to want to talk to them, and
being too pissed off at the manager to ask for suggestions of town attractions
leaves Frank with pretty much nothing to do. He’s so bored he goes to bed early
and sleeps through half the night. The problem is he’s not really sleep
deprived, and that has him waking up around dawn, sleep schedule totally fucked
for the next day. His parents aren’t even asleep in the next bed. Thank fuck
for small miracles, they’re not fucking, just talking. Frank scowls, grabs a
hoodie and his iPod and leaves the hotel room.
He only gets as far as the lobby. As a halfling he could go outside during the
day if he wanted to. It would take about eight hours of sunlight to kill him,
so short of being tied to a flagpole for a school day, he’d be fine. The
blisters don’t even start to crop up for about fifteen minutes, more than long
enough for a cigarette or four. But there’s nothing out there that interests
him. Being stuck here is the cruelest of purgatories. He just wants to get to
Jersey and figure out how to deal with life in a Mixed state.
A tracklist into waiting, a woman comes down the hallway. Unlike him, she’s not
in pyjama pants and a toothpaste stained hoodie. She’s actually completely
dressed, knee length skirt and a blouse, hair pulled into a bun. Since it’s the
middle of the day Frank could almost think she’s a human, but she gives off a
proper predatory air that his dad completely lacks. She’s moving with focus,
and for a lack of anything better Frank follows her.
They end up at a tiny room. There’s a coffee maker and a microwave, and a
fridge with a few packets of blood, all O+. Continental breakfast, apparently.
“Seriously, they don’t even have doughnuts?”
Her face is wrinkled in disgust when she turns to look at him. “They probably
don’t get enough halflings to make it worth their while. And it’s not like the
walking meals are paying customers.”
Frank decides this woman would be better off not talking. Gender doesn’t
matter, it’s not like he wants all women to shut up. He actually wants anyone
that talks shit about humans to shut up. Still she’s company, and his parents
won’t be ready to leave for hours. He leans to the side, on his tiptoes, to
bite her the nape of her neck. The noise she makes it a downright growl. It
makes Frank grin and get hard at the same instant.
                                      ***
Frank’s only been asleep a few minutes when he’s shaken awake. Or at least
that’s how he feels. When he manages to crack an eye open in the direction of
the alarm clock it’s actually been four hours. “Go away.”
“It’s time to get up for school.”
With monumental effort, Frank opens an eye to check again. It still says eight
am. “You’re sending me to a human school?”
“Don’t be stupid, it’s Mixed. Full features for any vampire or halfling.
Necroglass, full range of blood types in the cafeteria. I’ll drive you, at
least this week. Once I get a job it may or may not work.”
Frank doesn’t understand vampires that want to work or go to school during the
day. Even with all the safeguards to prevent accidental but immediate death,
it’s just not the natural circadian rhythm for vampires. Just like everything
else in the last week though, it’s apparently not his choice.
Dad pats him on the head before he leaves. Frank scowls at the world for a
minute or five before forcing himself to get up for breakfast. One of the nice
things about this house is it’s all one floor. He’s done a header down the
staircase back at home more than once when he’s exhausted or drunk or stoned.
Heading to the kitchen here means walking into the wall a few times, but no
cartwheeling down a flight of stairs. Still, he’d fall down stairs every day of
his life if he could go back home.
The drive is silent. Frank doesn’t have much to say after being woken up at the
best of times, and he’s still not pleased with the shitty decision making of
his parents. He scrapes his tongue against the bits of bloody toast that remain
on his teeth and considers brushing his teeth before leaving the house
tomorrow. Not that he really cares about first impressions. If someone really
doesn’t want to be his friend because he’s got blood breath, they’d probably be
a crap friend anyway.
Eventually he can see the school out his window. Broadfoot doesn’t look much
different than the one in Richmond. Jett Clement didn’t have any windows. This
one has a few, probably to placate the humans. And it’s morning, which means he
can actually see the brick colour. Three years at Jett and he can only guess
what the shade was. It comes with being a halfling, he has the night vision of
a human.
“Have a good day,” his dad says, coming to a stop. Easy for him to say. He’s
not a halfling going to a school with humans. Frank’s not a bigot, it’s hard to
think humans are vermin when the person that cooks you meals and read you
stories as a kid is human. But some of his friends were. It’s the default
attitude in Richmond, probably all of Virginia. And while at least he’s not a
halfling going to a pure human school, it would be just naive to think all
humans will accept him.
Things are pretty much as Frank expected, in that they suck. The classes suck,
the students suck, the bloodbags in the cafeteria taste like they've been
sitting there a week. To top it off, between fourth and fifth period he meets
his first bully. Part of him had hoped it was a vampire tendency, thanks to
being predatory. It was a stupid hope, when you remember that the humans he
drunk every day at home were murderers and assaulters.
“A Swirled Lines shirt? You have got to be kidding me Adam.” The bigger guys
throws a shoulder over the skinny guy’s shoulder, but everyone in the hall can
see it’s not a friendly move. “I knew you were fucked up. But I didn’t know it
was that bad. Listening to that blood sucking faggot? Now what does that make
you?”
Frank doesn’t like bullies. Maybe it’s not his place to step in, but no one
else is doing shit so it’ll have to be him. “Dunno. Know it makes you a whiny
little bitch.”
He’s able to get two hits in before the asshole’s friends join in. It’s hard to
combat six guys at once. James could probably do it, James and Mike together
could take down an army. Frank alone isn’t doing extremely well. It only breaks
up when a teacher comes through and gives all seven of them detention.
Afternoon classes continue to suck, culminating in Frank’s least favourite. Gym
class sucks intensely. At Jett he was the lone halfling in an all vampire
school. Here gym seems to be segregated, and he’s in an all human class. Frank
would be relieved he doesn’t have to match weigh room stats with guys double
his strength, except it means they consider him as weak as a human. When he
misses four baskets in a row, he considers the administration might have a
point.
Frank doesn’t particularly want to shower after class. At Jett he had to out of
courtesy for sensitive senses; he sweats, his friends don’t. Here, if the
short-shorts wearing man is to be believed, hygiene is a part of what they mark
you on. Frank’s not failing and repeating phys. ed. because he won’t shower. So
he gets it done as quickly as he can. If he was showering with a friend or at a
bathhouse life would be great, right now Frank just wants to be dressed.
Tomorrow he’ll bring his own soap so he smells like citrus or oatmeal instead
of mold.
When he steps out of the stall and all his clothes are gone he’s hardly even
surprised. One of the jocks from the hall was in his class. It’s entirely
possible Frank’s shit is stashed in one of the lockers, the vast majority of
which don’t even have locks. Unfortunately there’s no time to open each one. He
has detention, and according to the student handbook his mom went over,
skipping or arriving late to detention means a two day suspension. Not exactly
the way to start a new school.
Luckily -the word drips with contempt in his head- there’s a lost and found
box. There’s a shirt his size with the school logo on it that barely smells.
There are also shorts with snaps up the side, no wonder someone lost them.
Frank slides them on and tries not to think about what his balls are rubbing
against. At least they left his backpack and shoes.
Aside from detention being, well, detention, it’s really not that bad. Ten or
fifteen kids are sitting in desks scattered around the room. No one even lifts
their head when he walks in, never mind mocks him for his borrowed clothes. The
problem that comes next is when he leaves after the demanded hour and there are
no cars in front of the school. If his dad ever was waiting, he’s long gone
now. Though it’s unlikely, Frank hopes he wasn’t at all. If he was waiting and
Frank didn’t show they’ll expect to hear a reason. If he can sneak inside the
house without anyone inquiring on the other hand, he won’t have to say shit.
His bruises will be healed by morning.
Without his dad, Frank can see two options for getting home. He can call home
and beg one of them to pick him up. It goes against his not wanting to talk
policy, but has the benefits of not frying in the sun. Or he can suck it up,
deal with the pain, and not get bitched at for things that aren’t even his
fault.
Frank jams his hand into his pocket, presses his fingers against the plastic of
his cell, then sighs and pulls out his hand. He’s not in the goddamn mood for a
lecture.
Walking sucks. Walking sucks with the intensity normally only known to
supernovas and prostitutes. His skin is slowly turning black and it fucking
hurts and it fucking smells. The emergency shelters at the end of the street
mock him with their sun sheildingness. But if he waits in one he'll have to
wait until six fucking thirty for the sun to go down. Fuck those assholes, he's
going home and drinking. His skin will be better by the morning. Bullies aren't
gonna make him miss after school cartoons. If Mixed states even have after
school cartoons. If there aren’t there will be hell to pay. He will fucking
bomb the network with a hundred megaton nuke.
Without any other choice, Frank's walking and swearing with each step and
goddamn it he really hates this smell. It’s a good thing they moved in the
fall. Dad has told him about barbecues and smelling that will no doubt bring
all sorts of shitty flashbacks.
He’s only a couple of blocks away from the school when some kid walks up behind
him. “You want my hoodie?”
The answer should be yes. A quick glance behind him proves it's even a Freddy
Kreuger hoodie, nothing embarrassing. But Frank grates out ‘what do you want?’
because who the fuck is this kid, and why does he give a shit? Everyone else
has been a dick. He doesn't want to believe in stereotypes, but eight hours of
experience have taught him humans are all dicks. Even the bullied kid he
rescued didn’t as much as thank him.
“Uh. To give you my hoodie?”
“You have spare pants too?”
He’s being sarcastic. The guy answers him sincerely. “No. Wish I did.”
Frank scowls. Fuck charity. They’re not looking at each other, the kid is still
walking behind him. But somehow he senses the expression because his voice
turns more insistent. “Just fucking take it. But drop it off in Mr Ellison's
class tomorrow because my brother will punch me in the face if it's lost
forever.”
Frank turns around to tell the guy to fuck off as he hears the zipper whir. The
guy's wearing sunglasses, his hair is all over his face, and under the zip up
he's got a long sleeved shirt. Clearly he's another halfling, so the kindness
makes sense. It makes it easier to take the hoodie. The guy turns the other way
at the light before Frank can ask who the hell he is.
                                      ***
Frank considers keeping it. It’s a cool hoodie. It would be compensation for
the Ribcage merch shirt he’s never gonna get back. If he does though, it’s
really just passing on the theft. Random guy was nice when he didn’t have to
be. Fucking him over would be shitty karma. So after he gets inside he goes to
the office. The secretary has poorly caked makeup on his neck bites. Frank
wonders if that’s a thing here, if humans are supposed to be ashamed of being
bitten. It’s probably not okay to ask though.
“Uh. Where’s Mr Ellison’s room?”
“The art room is on the first floor, take the left hall and go down to one
seventeen. Though you should be able to find it without numbers, the hallway is
covered in framed artwork.”
It figures the nice halfling is an art kid. Frank hitches his backpack more
comfortably on his shoulders and starts the walk there. The secretary is right,
by the time he’s halfway down the walls are covered in different drawings and
paintings. He wonders which ones belong to his halfling, then reminds himself
that’s creepy and no one is his. He doesn’t even know the guy’s name yet.
His guy. Fuck. The guy isn’t in first period. Or if he is, he doesn’t come to
class early. There’s a handful of students already at their stools, and of
course Mr Ellison is at his desk. He’s got a braided beard, it’s kind of epic.
Unfortunately he doesn’t seem to give a flying fuck about Frank’s existence. He
asks if he’s new to Broadfoot and first period, Frank has to tell him he’s not
in his class. He asks if he’s planning on taking it as an extra curricular and
Frank has to admit that he’s not an artist. At that he ceases to exist, Frank
can practically see the guy’s eyes glaze over. So he just drops the hoodie on
his pastel covered desk and leaves.
Morning classes still suck.
Before he gets to experience the suckage that is the cafeteria food Frank has
to go to his locker. They’re all in banks, a group of twenty or so broken up by
a classroom door, then another group. A bank down from his yesterday’s bully
douchebag is also at his locker. Frank’s not about to hide, but he takes a
second to mentally cross his fingers that he’s not seen. Life would be easier
if he wasn’t noticed.
When the fucking douchebag slams him into his locker it becomes pretty clear
that Frank’s made an enemy. It barely hurts but that’s not the point. “You
realise I’m a vampire and I could drain you in seconds, right?”
He sneers. “You realise you’d go to jail, right? They won’t care if you get
sunburnt.” Frank fucking hates when assholes are right. His state treats
prisoners exceptionally shittily in retrospect, hunting them for food and
sport. A Mixed state probably wouldn’t do the same thing, but whatever they do
will be bad. “So eat metal, halfsize.”
It’s another shove into the locker and the guy cackles before walking off.
Frank doesn’t even know his fucking name to curse him out. It seems unfair, he
should at least be able to think Jesse/Dustin/Anthony is a jerkoff. Fuck he
hates this bullshit. He punches his locker a few times. It doesn’t crumple like
it would have for his friends, but it dents a bit.
A vamp kid approaches him. At least Frank’s pretty sure, long sleeves in fall
and sunglasses are a give away. “You know, it's not because you're a vampire.
Jersey's integrated pretty good. Not like Michigan where they claim Mixed
status but they have vamp schools and human schools.”
Frank crosses his arms. “Really.”
The guy nods. “Yeah. It's cause you're a loser.”
Great, so now even weird looking crosses between stoner and chess geek think
he’s a target. “Fucking thanks for that consolation.”
“Whatever though, right? Losers have more fun. I read comic books. I fucking
love comic books. You think quarterback can even look at an Uncanny X-Men
without getting shit?” Frank is maybe willing to give this french pirate
vampire a point.
“I’ve got some with me if you want to read and avoid the caf. You can’t eat in
the library though. Bite sized bits of human food are easy to smuggle, drinking
a blood bag is impossible.”
Frank shrugs. Humans need to eat more often than halflings, and halflings more
often than vampires. Vampires just like to feed frequently. “Let’s go.”
It’s after a half hour of reading and snarking that Frank decides to give the
guy his friendship litmus test. Friends need to be compatible for sex, for when
the urges are up. According to Dad a lot of humans won’t understand that, or
even the inherently bisexual thing. It’s possible being raised around humans
has corrupted the guy. Frank needs to make sure it hasn’t.
“Want a blowjob? Well, I probably shouldn’t do it here. But we could find a
bathroom?”
The guy plucks the comic out of his hand. “I can show you.”
Thanks to his father’s warning speech to not grope the first hot person that
interested him, Frank had been worried about the possibility that no one in
Jersey liked orgasms. It’s a theory proven wrong. The guy is interested enough
that he’s pushing Frank to his knees before the stall door is even locked. Not
that Frank minds the impatience. It’s been four days since he’s had sex, one of
the longest times he’s gone without. French Pirate’s cock feels good in his
mouth. Needed, like water for a human in the desert, or an emergency shelter
for a vampire in the same predicament.
Frank keeps his fangs in as he’s going to town. Not every guy likes a bloody
blow. They can talk about it later, whenever kinks and that sort of stuff comes
up. For now it’s safer to keep it simple. That the guy keeps his too in
reinforces Frank’s beliefs. Time enough for fluid exchange later.
By the time French Pirate is done, the end of lunch bell is ringing. They part
ways and Frank heads off to go suffer through afternoon classes. After the last
is over he pulls his hood up and slides sunglasses on, and waits outside. He
wants to see if he can run into the Krueger guy again.
It takes an hour, but he does. Thankfully there’s an awning, otherwise Frank’d
be crispy. He’s not even blistered. Still, if he does this tomorrow he’ll
probably stay in the library until it’s around four thirty.
“Hey,” he calls out as the guy starts walking down the sidewalk in the
distance. It’s the exit nearest the art class, the guy probably does the extra-
curricular thing. “I’m Frank!”
The guy waits until Frank runs across the lawn to introduce himself, hand
running through his greasy black hair. “Uh. Hi? I’m Gerard. I got it back, you
don’t have to worry or anything, I-”
“Yeah, I gave it to the art teacher first thing. It’s a really great hoodie, I
almost didn’t give it back. I love that movie.”
Gerard looks first startled, then excited by his enthusiasm. Gerard’s
definitely exceeds it when he starts talking though. “The thing I love the most
about Freddy is the makeup. I mean the kill you in your dreams thing is
interesting, but the makeup is really cool.”
“That’s the kind of thing I want to do in college.” They’re walking slowly now,
so they can look at each other. Frank can feel the skin on his hands and face
starting to itch and Gerard’s surely having the same problem, but he doesn’t
suggest moving faster. He wants this conversation.
“Horror makeup?”
Gerard’s look is hard to decipher, Frank hopes he’s not some gender rigid
asshat. That would ruin the whole on the verge of friendship thing they have
going. “Hell yeah! You can get really creative. I have a bunch of horror movies
that have this great look, they’re all from the same production company. I
dunno if you would have seen them though. It’s a vamp only company, I’m not
sure they ship to Mixed states. Everything that team makes looks great. I’d
love to work with them, but they don’t accept halflings.”
“That’s douchy.”
“Yeah, I guess. But they’re still good movies, with kick ass costuming. You
wanna come watch?”
It’s a quick walk to his house. Frank kicks off his shoes and leads Gerard to
his room, not concerned about how much noise he’s making. It’s only four pm,
Mom won’t be up for hours yet. It’s her fault that he’s not working in her time
zone any longer, so it’s too fucking bad if she wakes up.
Gerard seems to fall into a state of shock upon entering his room.“Where is
everything?”
“What do you mean?”
“What do you mean what do I mean? Where’s everything? There are no action
figures, or posters, or colour or black or books or movies or paints or
anything. Anywhere!”
“Oh. Yeah, I haven’t decorated yet.”
“I know you're a vampire, but are you a fucking robot too? How can you stand
this? You want to be a make up artist, you were wearing purple shoes, I know
you’re creative.”
Frank grins at the mention of the shoes. He’s got some great memories
associated with those things, thank fuck the bully’s friend didn’t snatch them
with his band shirt and jeans.
“You know what? This weekend we’re going to have a painting party. I'll bring
my brother and my friends, and we'll make your room livable.”
Even though he's known Gerard for about half an hour Frank decides to go with
it and let him invite his friends over. Gerard seems like the kind of guy that
it's easier to just let them do shit than argue with it.
“I'm seriously tempted to draw on the walls just to tide you over.”
“Uh. I wouldn’t be against it, but I don't have any markers.”
“What? How can a person not own markers?”
“I dunno. You came from art club, use yours.”
“I’m not using coptics on a wall!”
“Relax, living in whiteness for three days won't kill me.”
“It will kill your soul! But we don’t really have any other choice for now, so
you’ll have to close your eyes and imagine.”
Frank laughs. Gerard is a fucking crackhead. It’s awesome.
                                      ***
The rest of the week happens the same way. He goes to class because he has to,
and by Friday he’s figured out what classes he can sneak in print offs of
ebooks so he can read. He gets shoved around by Anderson Lee because apparently
he has to, and by Friday Frank is about ready to tear him apart, jail or not.
He reads comics and has sex with comic book guy -who either has multiple french
pirate shirts or anti-laundry morals- because there has to be some joy in his
life, and by Friday still hasn’t remembered to ask the guy his name. And he
walks partially home with Gerard each day, because Gerard is his, even if he
doesn’t know it yet.
Saturday mid-day the doorbell rings. Frank’s dozing, a week of following a
human schedule making him awake at noon but not particularly interested in
getting up. Dad is at work though, and even if Mom wasn’t in the middle of a
deep sleep, she would get burned just opening the door. Besides, it pretty much
has to be Gerard and company. Their neighbours don’t seem to give a shit one
way or the other about their presence, they certainly wouldn’t go as far as to
knock on their door. Still, Frank’s not entirely sure what to expect when he
hurries to the front door, shucking on a pair of jeans on the way. Gerard, of
course, but who else? Maybe there will be fifteen or twenty people, the entire
art club. Gerard’s pretty awesome, he deserves to be popular.
It’s Gerard and two guys. One of the guys has a huge bulge at the zipper of his
jeans and Frank thinks for a second about dropping to his knees before he
mentally shakes his head. Time for that when hot guys aren’t standing on the
step in the sun. The other guy is pretty decent looking too, though the hoodie
he’s wearing is multiple sizes too big and goes almost down to his knees. He
must be human though, his face isn’t shielded from the sun like Gerard’s.
“Hey. I’m Frank.”
“Sorry,” Gerard says by means of introduction. “My stupid brother got really
fucked up with Pete and Joe last night-”
“Really fucked,” Big Dick mutters and Viking sniggers. Gerard ignores them.
“And apparently the smell of paint will make him vomit everywhere. Copiously.
But this is Ray and Bob.”
Ray -Frank will do his best to call him that out loud, but ‘big dick’ is still
a title relevant to his interests- smiles and Frank finds himself wanting to
smile back. It’s a contagious smile. “Can you show me where we’re going?
They’re cutting off my circulation like a bastard.”
Frank looks at the four cans of paint in each hand and starts walking to his
bedroom. He calls over his shoulder, “how much do I owe you?”
“Not much, they’re all off-tints. And if we don’t use one I’ll just save it.”
It’s good of Gerard to say, because he has no idea what the hell he would do
with five cans of paint. He opens his door and silently says goodbye to his
pristine white walls. If Frank goes by Gerard’s wardrobe, in a matter of hours
he’ll have four black walls.
“You don’t have a coffin.”
Frank can’t really tell if that’s a question or a statement but either way he
doesn’t want to answer him. If he gets mad at Gerard’s best friend, Gerard
might not want to be around him anymore. That would suck, epically. Luckily Ray
does it for him.
“Jesus fucking Christ Bob." Ray turns to Frank. “Don’t mind him, he’s new too.
Came in the summer, but this summer. He’s from Chicago.”
Illinois is a yellow state, so that makes sense. Frank finds it hard to trust
people from yellow states, considering when they were crossing the border into
Maryland the toll booth woman threw holy water on everyone in the car before
letting them drive through. But he’s going to have to give it a go, for
Gerard’s sake.
“I guess I should have asked before. What’s your favourite colour?”
Frank had been under the impression that Gerard would do whatever he wanted to
do. It seems a bit late to ask now, when Ray’s already settling the cans onto
the carpet with a muffled thud. “Green. I don’t hate anything, except maybe
brown, but green’s the best.”
Ray grins and again Frank finds himself grinning back. It’s impossible not to.
Ray could probably suck two cocks at once, mouth accommodating as well as
beautiful. “ICI Paints had two greens and an aqua. I guess fate intervened.”
“Let’s crack that shit open!”
Bob shakes his head. “First we need to move all the shit into the middle of the
room and cover it with a ratty sheet.”
Gerard waves his arm impatiently. “You get on that.”
“And while I’m moving shit for a guy I don’t know, what are you doing?” Bob
says it with an air of someone that knew full well coming over meant being
delegated mover.
Sure enough, Gerard answers with “I’ll be over here ideaing.”
He’s in the middle of painting out the first yellow narwhal in a green sea when
Frank notices. Gerard’s hard. For a second he thinks it might be a trick of
shadows, but then Gerard turns to re-dunk his brush in the can and it’s
impossible to mistake it for anything else. Gerard apparently senses Frank’s
staring, he looks down to track his gaze. His face turns a bit red. “Sometimes
when I get really into what I’m doing. Well. Uh. Can we not talk about my
awkward random boners?”
That plan might be okay for Bob and Ray, but Frank is a halfling raised in a
red state. He has vampire sensibilities. Their moral code is his moral code,
and their moral code says sexual interest leads to sexual performance. So he
takes the few steps forward and grabs Gerard. Ray and Bob are the ones staring
now. Frank’s not entirely sure why. He’s not doing much, his hand isn’t even
down his underwear.
Cupping his dick might not be much, but it’s enough for a teenager. Gerard
groans instead of pushing him away. If he did Frank would have asked if he
meant it before stopping -some vamps like the struggle-, but he doesn’t so
Frank just tightens his grip a bit.
“You joking?”
“No? You two wanna join?” Frank hasn’t had a foursome in a few months, it would
be nice to give it a go. Especially if Ray’s fucking him with his huge dick or
sucking him with his huge mouth.
“We’re gonna go get some Slurpees.”
“Or McDonalds.”
“Or mow your lawn.”
“Something.” That’s Bob’s last word before they rush out. Well, all the more
for him then. Bob and Ray are cool, and more cocks and cunts are always better
than less, but Gerard’s enough to satisfy him.
                                      ***
Monday morning Frank comes into Broadfoot to see a guy leaning against his
locker. Frank crosses his arms instinctively though he doesn’t stop walking
forward. He’s not a coward. Still, if whatever is about to happen is bad, Frank
is just going to stop going near his locker. He can start carrying around all
his shit at all times. Even humans can manage a full backpack.
The guy shakes his long black hair out of his face when Frank stops a few feet
away, or at least attempts to. It all settles back down in greasy lanks over
his cheeks. “Did you fuck around with Gerard Way?”
“I assume? I don’t know his last name but Gerard isn’t exactly Jason or Chris.
Why?”
Scraggy guy shrugs. “Gerard’s my boyfriend.”
Something in Frank’s soul starts snarling or spitting. The next time he sees
Ray or Bob he’s going to ask if they do the same possessive thing around their
crushes, or if it’s a vamp thing.
“I’ve got one question. I had more but now I’m pretty sure that you didn’t know
he was dating me so I don’t have to ask why you’re fucking with me.” The
sentence ends with a snarl. Frank’s fangs slide down a fraction against the
perceived threat before he regains control and thinks them back into his gums.
Fights can be heady experiences, but he doesn’t want to be suspended or
expelled. He likes comic book guy, and Ray and Bob seem decent even if Bob is
ignorant, and Gerard is his, and he can’t be around any of them if he gets
expelled.
“What’s that?” he replies instead.
“Did you bite him.”
“I didn't even stick my hand down his pants. Like he came, not gonna lie. But
there was nothing intimate. I could have been a shrubbery for as much
interaction as there was.”
“Fuck him or have him fuck you, whatever. Fill every fucking orifice with his
come, I don’t care. But drink from him and I'll strand you on the roof, and
you'll either burn up or have to jump off and break both your legs.”
“No blood. Got it.” It rankles a bit to think he’s sharing Gerard, but sharing
is better than some bullshit about giving him up or fighting for him.
                                      ***
They’re reading, as per usual. Mikey’s got the newest edition of New Avengers,
Frank’s got an old Age of Apocalypse. It’s impossible to keep XMen canon
straight, but as long as you go into it not expecting things to make sense, or
be related to each other at all, most of the offshoots are pretty interesting.
Frank’s only a few pages into the issue when Gerard of all people storms into
the library. Rather than say hi to him though, he turns straight to the left
side of the couch. “Mikey, I put that in my backpack because I was going to
smuggle it into American history class! What the hell?”
Mikey doesn’t look up from his comic, just rattles off his explanation. Not
that it explains everything for Frank. “A, you're almost failing American
history. B, I needed it for gym, I forgot to bring a change again.”
“You mean you decided you didn’t feel like running laps!”
“Those phrases are synonyms.”
“It’s the newest issue of New Avengers, that I bought with my money, so I don’t
know why you think you get to read it first.”
‘If you were that concerned about first dibs, you should have read it when you
bought it last night. It’s a well known rule that after twelve hours it’s
anyone’s game, right Frank?”
“I’ve never actually bought comic books?” And he probably wouldn’t get in the
middle of this, even if he had.
“Fucking assholey thief little brothers.”
“Right, because you’ve never read my issues.”
“After you get first read, Mikey. There’s a difference!”
That’s when it hits Frank he’s fucking brothers. It’s pretty cool, at home none
of his friends or acquaintances had siblings. The realisation settles over his
lap, and makes him want a threesome. He doesn’t ask though. He’s known Gerard a
week, and that’s long enough to know angry sex wouldn’t work for him. Mikey
doesn’t seem to have moods in which handjobs or blowjobs aren’t wanted, which
Frank can appreciate, but Gerard needs to be willing for it to be a threesome.
Besides, there’s the fact of Mikey and Gerard not knowing about each other yet.
He’ll tell them as soon as he can make sure they know it’s normal for vampires
to have multiple partners. Gerard should already know, at least, thanks to
Bert.
“I’m gonna get Mom to make you mow the lawn when we get home.”
Frank’s eyebrow raise into his hairline. It seems really harsh just for comics.
He knows Mikey likes them, and apparently Gerard does too, but still. “You’re
giving him a death sentence over a comic book?”
“What?”
“I like reading them too, but that seems harsh.” If Frank had a brother he’d
probably never try to kill him, even when emotions got high.
“Nothing is too harsh for comic book usurpers. But, uh,”
Mikey finishes for Gerard. “We still have no idea what you mean.”
Frank’s never seen a vamp so stupid. It’s enough to make him wonder if living
in an orange state is dangerous for vampires and halflings. It cannot possibly
be safe to forget your nature. “If Mikey has to mow the lawn he’ll die.”
“I agree.” He pauses. “Uh, why though?”
“The sun will burn you to charcoal?” Seriously, how does he have to explain
this?
“Uh, no? I might get a sunburn, but only vampires crisp in the sun.”
Frank thinks back to all their conversations. Mikey never actually said he was,
even though the clues are obvious. He better ask. “Wait, you’re not a vampire?”
“No, he’s not.”
“Then who did your mom cheat on your dad with? Do you know him?” As the silence
lengthens he realises it’s maybe a sensitive topic. At home when strangers
asked if his mom really fucked her meal plan, Frank would have to brawl in the
name of his parents’ honour. “Sorry. You don’t have to say.”
“Our mom never cheated.”
Really, that’s pretty naive. He knows he’s being a jerk, but he doesn’t like
being lied to, so he presses. “The stork doesn’t just deliver a halfling to
human parents.”
Mikey shakes his head, finger tucked into the spine of his -or Gerard’s,
apparently- comic book. “Dude, he’s full human too.”
It doesn’t make any sense. It’s not like Frank monitors them 24/7. Sitting
inside their rooms and watching them sleep would be creepy. But as far as he
can see they’re always in hoodies, Mikey doesn’t eat, Gerard covers every inch
he can before he goes outside, and they have decent sex drives. “Not even a
quarter? Like a grandparent?”
“Nope, sorry.”
“Trust me, we think it sucks too. As soon as we actually like the way we look
we’ll find a papa or a mama. No sense in changing now when I’m fat and he’s
zitty.”
Frank looks them over. The assessment is hardly fair. Gerard’s not fat, he
doesn’t have three chins or moobs. And Mikey’s skin isn’t that bad, no worse
than the average teenager.
“Bert wouldn’t do it anyway. He’s a dick.”
“He’s not a dick. He’s gonna be forever sixteen, and he doesn’t want to cause
that for others. Plus he’s not the parental type. That’s not being a dick.”
“Okay, so he’s not a dick for that. He’s still a dick, and you know it.”
“I gotta get back to Ray and Bob. Gimme my comic.” Gerard thrusts a hand out.
Mikey’s response is to snort. “Fine. I’ll be back at the end of lunch. Read
quickly.”
Frank nods his goodbye, and waits until he’s out of the library to turn to
Mikey and ask. “Why don’t you eat with them? Do you think they’re dicks too?”
Frank doesn’t. The longer they hung out with him two days ago, the more he
liked them. But maybe Mikey knows a different side of them.
“No, it’s not that. The inside of my head can get pretty loud. There are always
people. In classes, and the guys come over most nights. But there aren’t a lot
of people in the library.” Mikey finishes with a shrug. It’s still not a lot of
an explanation, but it’s enough for Frank. He doesn’t like his people easily
understandable anyway. He’s never thought of himself as particularly quiet, but
if he’s not an intrusion for Mikey he’s happy to be on the same couch with him
each lunch hour. He can always talk to Gerard and Ray and Bob online.
                                      ***
Frank’s about to light a cigarette when a hand comes down on his shoulder. He
jolts, almost setting his bangs on fire. The flame flickers out in the slight
breeze and Frank turns his torso to look behind himself. It’s Mikey. Mikey’s
got a green hood pulled over his hair, glasses the only thing sticking out.
Even knowing the truth, he still looks like a halfling to Frank.
“What are you doing?”
“Waiting for Gerard. We walk home together.” He’s still got a while yet, and
the library would be safer, but you can’t smoke indoors at Broadfoot.
“I didn’t know you lived by us.”
Frank shrugs. He doesn’t actually know where Gerard and Mikey live. When Gerard
turns in one direction and he turns in the other he doesn’t backtrack to
follow. He’s not a stalker. “Close enough.”
“You won’t char?”
“No.”
“Cool. I’m waiting for Bob,” he explains without provocation. “He’s posing for
the art club. Before you get excited, no nudes. Just him picking up crates and
shit so they can sketch muscles or whatever. He’s coming over after, you should
too.”
There’s no reason not to, so he does. It’s a bit of a wait but eventually
Gerard and Bob come out together, and he follows in line behind them. They
don’t make condescending efforts to include him in the conversation, and Frank
doesn’t talk as much as he might have at home -maybe because no one is
discussing sex or meals- but it’s still a friendly vibe. At least until they
stop in front of a house about ten blocks away from Frank’s.
Gerard unlocks the door and the three of them pile in, taking up the entire
landing as they slide off their shoes. Frank’s waiting for one of them to move
when Gerard turns to him and says “come in.”
“Fuck you!”
“What?” Gerard seems gobsmacked. He’s lucky he’s not Franksmacked.
“You heard me, fucking asshole.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Is this a you came from a red state thing?”
That they don’t even know how it’s offensive makes it that much worse.
“Inviting me in like I’m some bullshit mythological creature. Like I don’t
fucking exist.”
“Okay, definitely a red state thing. I’m guessing no one invites anyone inside
in Richmond?”
“Yeah. And no one turns into fucking bats either, does that come as a shock
too?”
“Don’t be a dick. We didn’t know. If there’s anything else we do that offends
you, feel free to bitch loudly.” Mikey rolls his eyes and walks further inside
the house. Frank considers storming off. Anyone at home would, if not for the
insult than because storming off is what vampires do. But the truth is Gerard
and Mikey and Bob and Ray are the most likely candidates for best friends. He
doesn’t want to ruin that now over one ignorant remark.
As soon as Frank moves past the foyer of the Way house he understands why
Gerard was stricken dumb by the emptiness of his room. The Way house is like
four homes worth of stuff in one house. There’s stuff everywhere. It’s
cluttered on every flat surface, and on shelves mounted in between mismatched
paintings and pictures of Mikey and Gerard when they were young. There are
three adults in a living room off the kitchen, but only Bob pauses to say
hello, both brothers clatter down a wooden set of stairs.
The tiny basement is half a rec room, with three doors lining one wall. One is
half open and a khaki green toilet is visible. A constant rumbling comes from
the left, the bass noise of a washer or dryer. Frank doesn’t have a chance to
guess the third. The couch is a three seater, but there are four of them and
the only other seating is a rocking chair. Frank dives at the same instant that
Bob does, leaving Gerard to sit on the carpet.
It’s a nice evening, though towards the end Frank can see what Mikey meant
yesterday. When Bob’s mom shows up to pick him up, she ends up coming in and
having dessert with everyone else. Maybe twenty minutes later some kid with
another weird G name comes in and he and Bob’s mom talk about salads for at
least a quarter of an hour. When he thinks about trying to cram Gerard’s
boyfriend or Mikey’s other friends in the house Frank nearly gets
claustrophobic.
Eventually everyone else leaves or heads to bed. Even Mikey and Gerard go to
theirs for a minute, although it’s just to change into the comfort of worn t-
shirts and pyjama pants. When they offer him, he agrees. Comfort is always a
good thing. After comparing both pairs, Frank takes Gerard’s as the lesser of
two evils. They’re looser, but Mikey’s are about three feet too long. He
changes in their room, not because he’s modest in any form, just because he
wants to spy.
The first thing Frank thinks when he enters the Way bedroom -besides how much
stuff they own too, hoarding must be genetic- is how difficult a threesome
would be. They share a bedroom, the only siblings Frank’s ever known to do so.
Both beds are singles, and there’s not a square inch of visible carpet on the
floor, never mind enough room for all of them to be down together. But it’s
probably a good thing, a deterrent from asking. His dad’s pretty much certain
that if they find out he’s with both, he’ll suddenly be with neither. It seems
stupid to him, another case of human morals being weird, but he really doesn’t
want to lose either of them.
They watch two episodes of Alfred Hitchcock Presents before Gerard starts
yawning. Ten minutes into the first he stands, wiping the back of his hand over
his mouth. “I gotta crash. Frank, you gonna go home now?”
“I’ll sleep over. My mom’s been at work for hours so she won’t notice and my
dad will be happy I’m making friends.”
“K. I’ll make your bed, then I’m sleeping.”
Their process of cleaning up is interesting. Mikey deftly plucks the comics off
the floor and puts them in a neat stack on one of the dressers before he starts
kicking the remaining debris under both beds. Gerard joins in the kicking for a
minute before wandering away. The way the rest of the evening has gone, Frank
half expects to find him in half an hour, three quarters done a drawing.
Instead he comes back with a pile of blankets higher than his head in his arms.
“We don’t have any sleeping bags. We’re not really the camping type.” His voice
is muffled by the blankets, but loud enough that Frank can understand. Rather
than drop them all at once, he stands as Mikey untangles one and a time and
begins to make a nest. Frank smiles. In their own way, they’re really sort of
domestic.
“You tired? Or you wanna watch more Hitchcock?”
Frank isn’t actually that tired, it takes more than two weeks to get a
vampire’s body clock in a different time zone. However, he would like being in
Gerard’s room with the door closed. “I think I’m gonna try to sleep.”
Mikey shrugs at him and leaves, flicking the light off as he does. Frank lets
Gerard get into his bed first, it’ll lower the probability of being stepped on
in the dark. Only when the springs stop squeaking does Frank pull back the top
layer of blankets and lay down. The nest is surprisingly comfortable, and he’ll
easily be able to sleep later. For now though, all he wants is to devise a
foolproof strategy. He doesn’t have long, Gerard’s obviously near sleep. In the
end he goes with what’s simple. He sits up and sneaks his hand under Gerard’s
blankets to put a hand on his thigh. This time there’s no Ray or Bob to
distract.
Gerard just asks. “So you want to have sex then? Move over.”
Frank only has an instant to shift before Gerard is rolling himself off the bed
and landing with a ‘oomph’ beside him. It doesn’t even stretch the elastic of
his loose pyjamas when Gerard pushes a hand down them. Frank hurries to return
the favour. It’s still not as much as he’d like, but if it’s as far as Gerard
will go he’ll take it.
“If you bite me I’m not biting you back,” Gerard whispers. Frank imagines he
looks serious, though with their noses touching it’s impossible to tell.
“Uh, duh?” It should go without saying. “You couldn’t even, you don’t have
fangs.”
“Bert cuts somewhere so I can drink. I’m getting sick of it though.”
“So not with me then.” Frank made his promise to Bert, he won’t betray that.
It’s the last thing they say, after they just grip at each other and work their
own rhythms. Gerard doesn’t kiss him, and Frank doesn’t start anything.
Breathing each other’s exhalations is almost the same anyway. He wants to bite
him, he wants Gerard to be his, but he can’t cross that line.
After they’re done they wipe their hands off on one of the fleece blankets and
toss it to the side. Gerard smiles at him and kisses his cheek before standing
and falling into his own bed. He falls asleep pretty much immediately, Frank
can hear his breathing pattern slow. Frank’s not as lucky. He might not be able
sense things as well as Mattie could back home, but he still can. Gerard’s
strong heartbeat when he’s trying to rest is disconcerting. Frank’s not sure he
can sleep with the accompaniment, at least not until the exhaustion weighs out
the distraction. So after breathing in tune with him for a long enough time to
officially be a creeper, he quietly stands and leaves the room.
Mikey’s watching a movie with his headphones plugged in. As Frank sits beside
him he tugs on the cords going to the buds and lets them fall to his neck. His
finger is still working the trackpad to make the movie stop when he asks “you
wanna fuck?”
Hell yes is Frank’s first answer, but what comes out of his moth is somehow
edited into something more sympathetic. “I thought you didn’t.”
“I only fuck one person at a time. Consider it my personal mantra of the
ethical slut.”
“I haven’t read that.” If it’s even a book. Frank thinks it is though, Mikey’s
side of the room and the shared middle had a bunch of books scattered around.
“Yeah, I don’t think a red state worries about that kind of thing.”
Frank could have the red Vs orange state conversation. If Bob was still here
they could even get some yellow laws and opinions into the debate. But he’d
really rather have the ‘who’s cock, who’s ass’ conversation. The first time
might not require working out Mikey’s headspace, but he won’t do it again if he
felt pressured into it, and Frank doesn’t really want to be that asshole
anyway. Rape isn’t unknown in red states, but there are better ways to show
power, and most don’t do it through sexual activity.
“But you’re done with whoever?”
“It just took Pete and Joe a few circlejerks they didn’t want the third body.”
Frank’s not sure he could imagine a situation where a third body wouldn’t spice
things up, but each to their own. Or, if he’s going on with cliched phrases,
more for him.
“You said fuck you? I don’t care either way but you seemed specific.”
“If you don’t care then yeah, I’d rather. Been a while since I bottomed.”
Mikey puts his laptop on the middle cushion, then stands and move around the
side of the couch. The main piece of furniture in the room is smack in the
middle, facing the T.V. that’s mounted on the wall. It must be a hazard when
you’re drunk and prone to walking into things, but for now it’s helpful. Mikey
loosens the drawstring on his Southpark pants, which is enough to make them
drop to the carpet. Taking a step to the side frees him of them, letting him
spread his legs and brace himself against the couch’s corduroy back. Tall,
thin, and hard, he’s fucking beautiful.
A bit less than two weeks in a new city isn’t enough time to figure out where
to buy all the brands the Ieros liked, or even their equivalents. Mom still
can’t find a decent source for anemic blood, which is delightfully sour, and
there are half a dozen different shampoos in the shower they’re trying out. But
some things are important. Frank ran out of the remnants of the box of
individual packets of lube before he even started at Broadfoot, he had to find
a place to get more. Thankfully after the nearest sex shop kicked him out for
being underage Googling around informed him the vampire needs store in the mall
had no such age restrictions, only the ability to drop fangs and show you
belonged inside.
It’s thanks to the Vamp Essentials -creative name, really- that Frank is able
to go to where his backpack is leaning against the stairs and pull a packet out
of the front pocket instead of Mikey having to sneak into the bedroom and
fumble around his nightstand. There’s a packet in his jeans too, but those are
in a heap in their room.
“You said it’s been a while so I’m gonna do the whole fingering thing, okay?”
Frank doesn’t wait for an answer. He just tears at the slit in the package so
it leaks onto his fingers and tosses it to the carpet when it’s contents are
expunged. It starts to drip so he curls one hand around himself and the other
against Mikey’s crack. It would suck if it dried to stickiness before he got a
chance to put it to use.
Mikey gasps, but he arches backward trying to get more. Frank wants to give him
that. He adds a third finger.
“This is great,” he mutters a minute later. It’s true, not just because it’s
been a while since he’s fucked someone. Having sex with Mikey specifically is
good. Better than it would be with a random person from class.
“Yeah.” It’s not a moan, but it should be. Frank picks up the pace until Mikey
is repeating it over and over again, quickly, like he’s hyperventilating. He
can hear all the air leave his lungs each H. Frank wants to eat the sound from
his lips.
Bert didn’t say anything about Mikey. If Frank had to guess, he’d probably say
the dislike was mutual. Vampires are too emotional to do anything but loathe
anyone who as much as raises an eyebrow at them. Still, Frank doesn’t bite down
when he comes. Mikey knows he’s a halfling. If he wanted it, he’d ask.
Mikey uses a sock to wipe his come off the back of the couch. Frank feels bad
for a moment about not catching it, but Mikey seems to have things under
control.
“You wanna watch Nailface, or you wanna try to sleep again?”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
Mikey shoots him an astonished look. “Okay, you definitely have to stay up
then. And I’ll print off a list of human producer movies and you tell me if
you’ve seen any of them. We’ll fix your horror education by the end of the
school year. I promise.”
Frank grins and throws himself over the back of the couch, narrowly avoiding
crunching the laptop. He can stay up until dawn, if it’s for horror movies.
                                      ***
Friday morning Bert is at his locker again. Frank doesn’t know what that’s
about, but his concern takes a back seat when Anderson Lee spots him and
glares. The jock takes a menacing few steps towards him and Frank curls his
hands into fists as he waits. He won’t make the first move, and he won’t drain
him of blood, but he can at least defend himself.
Luckily- or at least it seems that way for a moment- Bert intervenes. Anderson
makes it about five feet towards him before Bert shoves him with full vampire
strength and he flies down the hall before crumpling when he hits a bank of
lockers. Only when Anderson is dispatched and Bert is still glaring does it
occur to Frank that there’s no reason for Bert to give a shit if a jock beats
him up. Considering how well he knows vampire nature, it’s pretty clear Bert
just didn’t want another person to interrupt his confrontation. Frank braces
himself for a brawl, knowing he’s about to get his ass handed to him. Mike or
James would be great right about now.
The hallway is silent, or at least Frank’s instincts have moved past catching
idle conversation. It’s maybe not the smartest thing but Frank’s never been a
wimp, or a especially planned out thinker. He breaks the stillness with a ‘hi’.
“Gerard broke up with me last night.” Bert’s moving full speed down the hallway
at him. In an instant he’s face to face. “Why.” Bert is taller than him, but no
taller than Gerard, and there’s not a single muscle on his frame. That doesn’t
make him less frightening.
“I dunno.” It’s not like he told Gerard to break up with his boyfriend.
“I know you didn’t bite him. What did you do?”
“I don’t know.” He and Gerard haven’t even had sex since Tuesday. It’s highly
fucking unlikely that Gerard broke up with Bert due to his own sexual prowess.
“It’s what he didn’t.”
It’s Mikey’s voice. Frank doesn’t turn to check, he can’t afford to. In an
unmatched fight like this, every instant he has to react is the moment that
might save him from being disemboweled. There’s only so much his healing can
take care of, as a halfling some things can kill him before he can fix them.
That’s the problem entirely. He’s a halfling and he’s gonna get hurt, at the
very least. Mikey could easily die, depending on how enraged Bert gets. Even
thinking it makes Frank’s fangs drop. “Mikey, go away.”
Mikey speaks again, clearly ignoring Frank and the danger of goading a pissed
off vamp. “Gerard hates fishnet bars, and that’s all you do. You, Quinn, Jepha
and Dan go to a fishnet bar before you take him to the car to fuck. Six nights
a week.”
“He likes that.”
Frank finds Bert’s perplexed tone and look sort of sad. Mikey doesn’t have the
same sympathy. He says coldly “no, he really doesn’t.”
“What’s a fishnet bar?”
“Humans that get off on it get put in these bondage net things that are chained
to the ceiling above a round table. Vampires chill and drink as interests them.
Or in Gerard’s case, cuts the human and sucks from the wound. It’s all
consensual, but it’s not very interesting.”
“I dunno. Sounds kinda awesome. We didn’t have that at home, it was all either
free range hunting or meal plans.”
He can practically feel Mikey’s glare heating the back of his head. Mikey’s
probably got a point. This isn’t about him. Of course he thinks it’s good,
blood is natural for him. There’s no nutritional value in it for Gerard.
“How do you know?”
Mikey snorts. “He told me.” The word come out sounding a lot like duh.
Bert frowns. Frank braces himself, prepared to give Mikey an extra thirty
seconds to run. It won’t be enough to save himself, but there’s always hope.
Instead Bert turns and stalks off.
Frank calms for all of two seconds. Then he realises what that means. “We need
to find Gerard and tell him to hide. Would he have his phone on him right now?”
Mikey shakes his head. “He’s not gonna go after him Sappelstien style.”
“Look, I know a lot about vampires and-”
“I know Bert. They’ve been together almost two years. He’s gonna go see Quinn
and Jepha and Dan, and they’re going to blow off school for a few days. It’ll-”
the five minute warning bell goes off, cutting him off for a second. When it
stops, Mikey continues. “It’ll be fine. Bert wouldn’t hurt him, he’s just
fucking blind to shit sometimes. Go to class.”
The incident doesn’t so much fade from his mind as other things climb on top of
the attention span hierarchy. The pop quiz in geography takes his mind off
anything except soil conditions, which, unfortunately he doesn’t remember much
about. At the end of the period Frank’s pretty certain he bombed the whole
thing. Multiple choice leaves a seventy five percent chance of being wrong.
Thankfully Mom and Dad don’t care about individual assignment failure, only
overall passing of courses. Next class is chemistry. Balancing chemical
equations is like math with possible hypothetical horrible death. It’s
distracting.
It’s not until lunch that Frank remembers Gerard’s life has fallen apart, and
even then it takes a visual prompt. Mikey is standing outside the library,
loose backpack straps letting the bag hang low on his ass. Frank knows the
backpack has to have beautiful, stunning comics in it, but when Frank walks
forward arms outstretched parodying a zombie going for brains, Mikey shakes his
head.
“We’re going to the caf today. Gerard’s gonna be nuts.”
Honestly, Frank would like to see Gerard going nuts. Any human, really.
Compared to Richmond everyone’s been so calm and sedate he’d almost think they
were stationary. He always got shit for being emotionless, but everyone here is
drywall compared to hm. On the other hand, the cafeteria doesn’t really mesh
with Mikey using lunch for breathing room. “You sure? It’ll be noisy.”
“Gerard needs me.”
And that’s that, apparently.
Frank follows Mikey through the labyrinth of tables. He hasn’t been in here
since the first day of school, and looking around he’s pretty happy for it.
It’s hard to blame Mikey for hiding with comics, when comics are so much better
than the people arm wrestling over ketchup packets at the table he’s passing.
For someone that never lunches with his friends, Mikey knows exactly where they
are. It’s probably a homing beacon thing, like how Gerard knew he’d be in the
library. Mikey’s sliding onto the bench before Frank even spots Ray’s hair
pulled into the hood of a sweatshirt. He sits across from Bob and listens in.
It’s clearly mid-conversation, Ray telling Gerard he can’t make Bert’s
decisions for him.
Mikey whispers an explanation for the sweater to Frank -apparently Ray pulls on
his hair when he’s aggravated, and talking Gerard off a ledge is frustrating as
hell- before speaking over them loudly. “What happened?”
Ray rolls his eyes and tugs on the cotton cords of his hoodie as Bob studiously
eats his pita. Mikey keeps looking and after an odd hiccupy-wail Gerard bursts
into arm waving motion. “Bert and Quinn dropped out!”
“And of course it’s all Gerard’s fault,” Ray tosses in.
“It is! I broke up with him.”
“Most people don’t move out of state when they break up.” Ray answers. Bob
takes another bite of his pita.
“Out of the state?”
He answers miserably “They’re gonna take their band to Virginia. They’re good,
but they could have been good here. If it wasn’t for me.”
Frank looks at Mikey and Ray and decides to join in the conversation. It’s not
like he can make things worse. “Gerard Way, are you a groupie? Because I know
guitar, if it’ll get you out of your jeans and into your bed.”
“What?”
“Sex makes everything better. In Richmond after every long stint of monogamy
there was a ‘congratulations on being free’ orgy.”
“Yeah, we don’t really do orgies here.”
“I don’t want sex, I want to find Bert and apologise.”
“You do not need to apologise for not wanting to drink other people’s blood.”
Frank thinks his next statement is actually a lot more helpful. Or at least
better suited to the delicate sensibilities of humans. “You can’t find him
anyway. If you try to go into Virginia you’re literally volunteering as a meal
plan.”
“That mean what it sounds like it means??”
Bob doesn’t look like he’s joking so Frank explains without being sarcastic.
“You know how you have arranged marriages?”
“Well, I don’t think North America does.”
“But you get the concept, right? Well, our state has arranged meal plans. I
think most red states do. You commit yourself to a single human and take the
vast majority of your meals from them, but it’s your responsibility to take
care of all their needs. It’s why we left, actually. My mom and dad met and
fell in love, but that’s not okay in red states.
“Why didn’t your mom just turn him? I don’t understand.”
“It’s none of your damn business,” Frank answers, trying to keep the calm that
this state is smothered with. It’s not even his business, really, never mind
Bob’s.
“Okay, so let’s recap. Not your fault, Bert makes his own life choices, can’t
go find him because everyone in Virginia will eat you. Anything else you’d like
to say?”
“I’m gonna miss him.” It’s not histrionic, it’s low and sad. Frank lifts his
leg and rubs his foot against Gerard’s knee as Ray pulls him in for a hug.
                                      ***
Eating popcorn during movies is a tradition Frank’s dad taught him. His mom
couldn’t join in, of course, she would have hurled all over the movie theatre.
Not that Frank saw many movies in theatres. With friends it was easier to
download, and going to a theatre with his parents would have made a scene. His
dad wasn’t specifically banned from the theatre, but bringing meal plans to
entertainment events was considered rude. All the sneers would have made Mom
start a fight. So they watched movies at home, he and his dad with buttered
popcorn, his mom with a heated mug of common O.
This theatre has a halfling option; blood topping. It looks like synthetic
blood to Frank, thicker like it’s half clotted, and more red than it should be.
It’s not the first blood flavoured product he’s found grocery shopping in
Jersey, which is pretty awesome. Blood ice cream is delicious, there are two
cartons in the freezer now. After Ray warns him that Mikey is a snack thief
Frank pays the extra quarter for the topping. One nice thing about human
friends; they’re not going to try to snag a sip from your lunch bag.
“Where do you like to sit Frank?”
“Dunno. Where ever.” Frank’s not like James, who races up and down the aisle
until he can find the seat that gives him the perfect view. As long as he can
see the whole screen he doesn’t care. Since they’re the only five in the
theatre, he doesn’t really have to worry about sitting behind some six foot
fucker.
“I’m not being anal about it, it’s legitly important. Ask Gerard.”
He chimes in after Bob without actually being asked. “It’s true. Seating is a
production.”
“Mikey texts the whole movie so whoever feels the least likely to be distracted
by glowing screens sits beside him. Gerard likes to talk. Over the dialogue.”
Judging by Ray’s frown, that’s not acceptable movie behaviour. “So he gets
either the most capable of tuning him out, or the most interested in sharing
opinions. Sometimes we have to sit in different rows. So where do you wanna
sit?”
“I’ll go a few rows up, with Mikey.” That way he’s got some privacy. If Bob and
Ray’s reactions last weekend were anything to go by, he’ll need it.
Frank has full intentions of initiating eventually mutual handjobs as soon as
it’s convenient. Basically as soon as he’s finished his popcorn and Mikey is
done his Milk Duds. No reason to waste concession food, not when it’s so
fucking expensive. The problem is that the opening scene is a man being held
spread eagle by branches as leaves start cramming themselves into his open
screaming mouth. After a drawn out scene of struggling and suffering he
suffocates and the opening credits of Opplethorpe start to roll. Frank can’t
look away from the screen. He didn’t have the chance to Google the series
before they left the Way house, and the guys refused to tell him what it was
about, just that the full day marathon was well worth the thirty bucks. With a
surname sounding title it’s probably not a pissed off Mother Nature, but it
seems a bit outdoorsy for a possession. He can’t jerk Mikey off, he needs to
watch for clues as to what’s going on.
There’s a half an hour intermission between the first and second film. Frank
doesn’t use that for sex either. Instead he takes a leak, and then pesters the
guys for information about Amanda, and why exactly did Robin take off halfway
through the movie and is he going to be in the sequel. They tell him exactly
nothing, and then the lights dim. Frank races a few rows away, head slightly
raised to look at the screen instead of at his feet, even though the aisle is
steep. Nagging or not, he doesn’t actually want Gerard to spoil anything by
blabbing to him.
By Saturday evening his head is full of gore and horror. He gets off the bus a
stop before the guys so he only has to walk three minutes instead of twenty.
His dick considers it a wasted night, but his imagination is happy. And
according to Gerard there are two left in the series. It’s good enough.
                                      ***
He hears the footsteps before he sees anything. The couch in the library is
against the side of the circulation desk, a sort of awkward placement for
scoping out everything, and on top of that Mikey has the outer cushion. Frank
strains to see anyway. It’s not often people stomp and crash their way into the
library, if only because Mr Zylack would probably bar their entrance. He’s a
vampire that takes the sanctity of his library very seriously. When the steps
get closer allowing him to see it’s Gerard storming towards them he tightens
the pinch of his fingers. Gerard can take this comic back over his entirely
dead, much colder body.
But he doesn’t swear at either of them for reading filched comics. Instead he
bursts out “Ray’s missing!”
“What?” Mikey says it in the tone of someone that’s put up with a lot of panic.
Knowing Gerard, he isn’t much surprised Mikey’s got that persona handy.
“He’s missing. He hasn’t been to class. He’s not answering texts, or calls. And
Roohi Thind said there was no activity in the house this morning! Bob is asking
the principal if she knows anything, like maybe he’s in the hospital and didn’t
tell us because it was appendicitis and he would have died if they hadn’t
rushed off immediately.”
“Why Bob?”
“He’s less prone to-”
“Hysterics?” Frank suggests, not unkindly. Hysterical people make him feel
comfortably at home, especially when it’s not an enraged hysteria and he
doesn’t have to worry about his life and limbs.
“Enthusiasm.”
The rest of lunch is spent with Gerard. For a good ten minutes he paces in
front of Gerard, as Mr Zylack’s glares get more and more jagged. Then, likely
milliseconds before Zylack decides to kicks him out Bob comes in and sits on
one of the plastic chairs at the table nearest the couch. Gerard sits opposite
him, and Frank and Mikey know well enough to relocate rather than shout across
the gap.
“She doesn’t know where he is.”
“Or she won’t tell us! Uh, you.”
“I’m pretty sure she was telling the truth, Gee. She has a shit poker face.”
Bob says it with full confidence. It makes Frank wonder how often Bob’s been in
the principal’s office, and what possibly for. He doesn’t seem like a hell
raiser.
Frank’s not a horrible friend. He logs on to Yahoo as soon as he gets home and
messages Ray. When there’s no answer he waits a few minutes and types something
new. He ends up attempting to start a conversation every twenty minutes until
he goes to bed. Only a few are interesting links, most are variations of hey
and back yet, but unlike Mattie, Ray doesn’t seem to need to be entertained.
For the short time Frank’s been talking to Ray he’s been good at replying
quickly. If he’s not answering it’s probably because he’s away from the
computer, not because there’s something more interesting in another tab.
                                      ***
If anything, the next day is worse. By second period everyone is talking about
it. Ray Toro is in a readjustment facility. It’s hardly the first time in
Broadfoot history. Hell, it’s not even the first this calender year. That
doesn’t mean it’s not interesting to talk about. Frank doesn’t think Ray will
be worse off for the sudden change, merely different. Still, it’ll take
everyone used to his old style of being a bit to adjust.
Frank’s fully expecting to be accosted at lunch by a frantic Gerard. When he
passes through the library doors without Mikey waiting grimly he considers
himself off the hook. His assurance of another lunch hour of quiet and comics
is shattered when he sees two guys sitting with Mikey. He doesn’t know either
of them, but it’s obvious they know Mikey.
One thing that can be said for them is they have manners. The teenager with the
curly hair nudges the one with the bangs when he sees Frank. Without discussing
it, the one with the bangs sits on the curly haired guy’s lap, leaving the end
seat free. Bangs pats the cushion. “siddown, we’ll only be a minute.”
Frank shrugs to himself and sits. They’re both warm against him, halflings at
least. Probably human, if the long sleeve test has any accuracy at all.
“Come on Mikey. Are you honestly gonna say you feel in any way educatable right
now?”
Curly hair adds, “are you gonna go to any classes this afternoon?”
“No, you’re not. We fucking know you, dude. We know you’re not. So if you’re
not going to classes, you might as well not go to classes outside of the
school, right? I’m pretty sure the theatre you like is playing Transformers.”
The last Bangs says as a lure, and Frank’s pretty unsurprised to see that it
works. “We should go get Gerard too.”
“And Bob, yeah, sure. Might as well. What about you?”
Frank shrugs again. Might as well go, if everyone else is going. It’s not like
anything he’ll be learning this afternoon is life or death.
They end up in Bangs’s -or at it turns out, Pete’s- van. It’s a good thing he
has one, considering there’s six of them. It’s not necroglass, so he’s
obviously human. Still, Frank’s not too worried about it. There’s a roll of
duct tape in Pete’s glove compartment. Pete tosses it into the backseat and he
and Bob take five minutes to tape everyone’s hoodies over the big side windows.
Frank might have to crouch if they’re driving directly into the sun, but it’s a
lot better than nothing.
Once he knows Bangs is Pete he takes another, harder look at him. He can see
Mikey and Pete and Curly -who is obviously Joe- clearly in his mind, jerking
off together. Frank wonders what the dynamics in bed are, especially now that
Mikey isn’t around. Pete looks like he’d just take it all and moan for more.
But Mikey said that they’re not interested in threesomes, so whatever. He can
respect that and not ask to join in for an evening.
From Frank’s best guess, he’d say they’re about halfway to the theatre when
Gerard bursts into speech. “Look, I’m just gonna ask! There’s a elephant the
size of a mack truck in the room, so I’m just gonna ask.”
Frank wasn’t aware that there was something obvious and unsaid, so it can’t be
as obvious as Gerard thinks. Still if there’s something it would explain why
Gerard is scowling at him. “What?”
“Why did you turn Ray?”
The fuck kind of question is that? “I didn’t. I’ve never turned anyone. They
didn’t even have humans where I’m from, just thralls and meal plans.”
“So? You’ve had sex with both of us,” Mikey points out. Frank’s not entirely
sure what he’s pointing out, all his brainpower is going into trying to figure
out when Mikey and Gerard found out about each other, and how.
Instead of a brilliant and unarguable denial, all that comes out is a weak
“what?”
“Yeah, we know.”
Gerard seems scandalised at the idea that Frank might think they don’t. “We’re
brothers, of course we told each other. But the point is, if you can fuck us
both and we still like you enough to be your friend, you can fuck Ray and make
him worship you enough that he wants the bite.”
“I didn’t!”
“We just wanna know why. He never really seemed that into the idea, not like me
and Mikey wanting it some day. Did he change his mind? Or does he have
something terminal and he told you first? Please tell us there’s a reason. That
he agreed to it and it wasn’t just you doing it.”
“Fuck you guys! I wouldn’t!” Mikey and Gerard and Bob are just staring at him,
waiting for a confession. He can almost take it from Bob, he’s from a yellow
state, he’s been raised to think poorly of vampires and halflings. But from
Mikey and Gerard? He’s had sex with them. How can they think he’d neck-rape
Ray? “Screw this. I’m going home.”
“Where do you live? We can drop you off,” Pete asks calmly. Whatever this
ambush was, Pete doesn’t seem to be a part of it.
“Fuck that. I’m not spending another minute with people that think I attacked
Ray and turned him against his will! I’d rather char! I’m walking home. Now.”
He tugs his hood up and pulls the cuffs of his sleeves as far down his fingers
as he can.
Pete attempts to defuse the situation. “So you’re pissed at them, they’re
pissed at you. Why does that mean you have to kill yourself?”
“I’m not. I’m gonna walk home just fucking dandily.”
Joe pitches in “Frank, I don’t-”
“Stop the car, Pete.”
Pete sighs, but does as he’s told. Frank considers spitting in their faces as
he climbs out, but in the end he doesn’t. Let them enjoy their movie and their
bigoted assumptions, they can all go to hell enjoying themselves. He crashes
the van door closed and moves quickly to the side of the road as the vehicle
takes off.
The walk home is long. It’s not even one yet, the sun is still high in the sky,
scorching puddles, metal, and halflings everywhere. His eyes are protected by
sunglasses and most of the side of his skin is protected by thin fleece or
denim. The coverings work for their fifteen minutes and then his skin starts to
blister. Protruding bits first; his nose, his fingertips. Then the rest of the
expanse, sun working it’s way through Frank’s clothes to make his body regret
daring to combat it’s natural enemy. The only thing that can help him now is
getting indoors.
His stubbornness keeps him going for a time. Frank’s a halfling. If he’s not
dead then he can keep walking. His vampire genes will heal it soon enough. But
it gets worse and worse. It’s the longest Frank’s ever been out in unfiltered,
unshaded sun. With each step he can hear his feet crunching in his shoes. It
hurts more than anything has ever hurt. Only the idea of a cool bath and more
pot than he can smoke makes him take another step.
When the pain makes him bend in the middle of the street to vomit dark brown -
a combination of blood and only slightly digested hamburger from Pete’s fast
food run- Frank decides it’s enough. He heads for the nearest emergency
blackout shelter and collapses into the beautiful darkness. Part of his hand
sheers off in chunky ash when he twists the doorknob shut. He doesn’t scream,
just reminds himself he’s a halfling and it’ll grow back. He sits on the
concrete. He screams then, pressure of cold concrete agonising against his
charred thighs. Sunset should be just after seven, he can go home then.
                                      ***
Both parents look at him when someone rings the doorbell. Spending a weekend in
with his parents has proven ridiculously boring. Next weekend he has to do
something, even if it’s volunteer at a donation bank or animal shelter. Frank
cannot handle another fifty odd hours indoors, playing his MMORPG and watching
them love each other. It’s a sad state of events when being his parents’ bitch
and going to answer the door is the most excitement he’s had in two days.
It’s not a salesperson he can mock, or a religious person he can draw into
debate for kicks. It’s just Ray Toro, looking nearly identical to his past
self. Only a slight difference in expression makes it clear that he’s no longer
Ray Toro-human, he’s Ray Toro-predator. Not that he wears it well. Frank’s
hardly surprised when he runs his fingers through his hair and asks if he can
come in.
Frank sighs. He doesn’t need this right now, life is aggravating enough
already. If Ray has that kind of question he should still be at the facility.
“You don’t need to ask because that myth is fucking bullshit. Vampires don’t
need to ask.”
“No. Polite people need to ask. Can I fucking come in.”
Frank doesn’t answer, just steps aside so Ray can come in. He doesn’t bother to
introduce Ray to his parents, they just go to his room. Ray’s a few steps ahead
of him, and by the time Frank’s crashing onto one end of his bed Ray’s cross
legged on the other side, picking up a half eaten Hershey’s Blood Bites megabar
from the nightstand. Frank sighs and snatches it out of his hand.
“Really? That stingy? I woulda owed you.”
“You can’t eat that shit.”
“Blood filled chocolate seems pretty fucking good right now.”
Jesus, what a noob. “You’re full vamp. You can’t eat any human food, it’ll make
you yak. I like my room better when it doesn’t smell like puke. There’s no way
they didn’t tell you this. And the fucking stupid door thing too. Did you not
listen to anything they told you there?”
“Dude, I was pretty fucking distracted! What with being a fucking vampire and
all!” He’s clenching his fingers into fists hard enough that Frank can smell
blood welling in the tiny crescents. It’s interesting to see Ray with vampire
levels of emotion. He’d rather see exuberantly happy Ray though, and that’s not
gonna happen until he knows who he is.
“That’s what they were trying to talk to you about. I really think you need to
go back to the readjustment place and actually listen to the shit they tell
you.”
“No, it’s cool. I’ll figure it out,” he says, calm, like he wasn’t self
mutilating seconds ago.
Frank sighs and mentally assigns himself the role of mentor. It’s probably a
little better than Bob’s schlepper role for Gerard, at least his is likely to
end. Not that he cares about Bob or Gerard anymore. They haven’t talked to him
for a week. The last contact was Bob asking him on Yahoo if he survived walking
home. Sending him a goatse link got Frank’s thoughts across, at least in his
opinion.
“You know what? Let’s go to the car.” The television is muted, which is a very
unsubtle way of his parents eavesdropping. They don’t need the silence, his mom
could listen and repeat it all to his dad. Frank levers himself off the bed and
heads for the kitchen, taking the keys off the hook as he passes by.
The one defect of the house is that they have a carport rather than an attached
garage. It’s just a matter of time until his parents get one built. For now
though, Frank just walks down the sidewalk, toes instinctively curling against
the cold cement squares. He presses the unlock button twice so it gets all the
doors, not just the driver’s, and sits in the back seat. Ray looks at him a
seconds before circling the car.
“You have seatbelts.”
“Duh?”
It doesn’t seem to be as obvious to Ray. “But you can’t be hurt.”
Vamp myth one thousand and five; you are now indestructible. “We can heal if we
break a bone bouncing around the seats, yeah. But if we launch out a window
during the day? Dead in minutes. Kept tight against the seat with the belt
there’s a slightly higher chance the sun won’t hit. Besides, my dad’s human,
remember?”
“Right. Yeah, I guess. Any other fascinating tidbits?”
Might as well match sarcasm with attitude. Frank slides his hand over to Ray’s
dick. It takes him all of an instant to get hard. “This is the best part of
being a vampire. Fucking is awesome, everyone young and old alike likes it. And
vampires fuck all the time.”
“Can I fuck you?”
For some reason Gerard and Mikey flash through his head. Frank doesn’t know
why. If they wouldn’t want a threesome they really wouldn’t want a foursome.
Plus there’s the whole part about them not talking to him anymore. “Sure.”
There’s lubricant in the glove compartment. Frank isn’t surprised to see it
when he stretches over the armrest to get it, he just tries his best to not
think about what especially kinky act his mom might need it for and is happy
the corresponding toy isn’t laying beside it. Ray’s hand on his ass pins him
and keeps him from toppling into the front. Frank would be grateful, except
Ray’s fingers are pressing against the seam of his pyjama pants, trying to
finger him through the fabric. It’s impatient, and distracting, and hot as
hell. As soon as he’s got the phallic container in hand he thrusts his hips
back to press harder against the fingers.
The elastic makes it easy for his ass to be bared, and Frank wastes no time in
stretching his arm back to blindly pass Ray the lube. Ray is overeager, barely
taking the time to get his ass slick before thrusting in. Frank doesn’t mind,
he’s used to that kind of fucking from guys back in Richmond. He takes a
breath, reminds himself his body can get used to anything, and waits until the
pain transmutes to pleasure.
It doesn’t take long, the process helped along when Ray bites down. It’s shitty
placement, Frank can tell the skin will rip when he pulls out, but it doesn’t
matter when Ray is drawing blood from him. He groans at the sensation for
minutes before the voice nagging him to be a mentor can be heard over the
mental ‘oh fuck’ mantra. “Ask before you bite. Not everyone wants it.”
Ray has enough remnants of himself under the vampiric need to pull his fangs
out and ask in an almost worried tone “but you do?”
“Fuck yes.”
Ray doesn’t bother to answer, just starts thrusting again at an even faster
pace. The velvety upholstery is a tease to the skin rubbing against it where
his shirt is lifted up, luxurious and soft. Frank clenches onto the fronts of
the seats, knowing it’ll provide no relief from the feelings building up in his
gut.
“Harder!”
Mercifully, Ray obliges. He pulls his fangs out a second time, Frank can feel
the blood pooling around the torn skin. It’s better that he does though. If
Ray’s teeth were on his back when he starts bucking enough to repeatedly shove
Frank’s face into the cupholders his fangs would carve valleys into him. As it
is Frank just has to worry about his own not chipping against the plastic mold.
Frank comes first, by a few seconds. It smears between the armrest and his
stomach and he’s only just beginning to think about clean up when Ray’s bloody
fingernails curl into ribcage and a rush of warmth enters him.
“Can you drive?” He’s pretty sure there are old yellowed napkins in the glove
compartment.
“Can I go through the motions? Yes. Do I have a licence? No.”
“Just so you know, as a vampire you wouldn’t care. You’d be caught in the
moment.”
“Okay. Lemme pull out and we’ll go for a drive.”
                                      ***
“Frank, you can’t come in. And before you start I mean that in a fuck off way,
not a I’m oppressing a mythical creature way.”
Gerard sound cranky, and from what Frank can see through the basement window
his eyes are closed. Frank attempts to suppress the part of him that finds that
adorable. Gerard pretty clearly made his opinion on him known last week. This
is an effort to clear his name, not get back together with Gerard or Mikey.
He adjusts his crouch on the grass, hitching his pyjamas up his shins until
they’re bunched at the knees. He’d rather not get his pants soaked with dew,
they’re already a bit comey. “Too bad. Ray’s here and he’s gonna tell you all
about how I didn’t turn him.”
“Wait. Ray?”
“No shit you didn’t. It was my dumb ass brother.” His tone isn’t disgust, it’s
barely even aggravation. Frank thinks you’d really have to love someone to not
hate them for turning you against your will.
Gerard presses his face to the screen, trying to see beyond Frank to the source
of the voice. “Holy shit, Ray? Mikey! Ray!”
What comes next is a series of thuds. Frank can’t see much of the room through
the window a few inches above the grass, even squatting he’s got a bad angle.
But it’s easy to guess what the progression is; Mikey tossing down a video game
controller, Mikey stumbling against the wall in his rush, the door getting
caught on some of their clutter. And finally, as Gerard’s face drops out of
sight and Mikey’s replaces it, pushing your older brother off a chair.
“Frank, move your damn knees. Ray?”
It’s easier to see more of Mikey, unlike Gerard he’s not standing on his
tiptoes to look out. Mikey looks good, hair still sprayed into the same place
it was on Friday. Frank wonders if Mikey’s showered since then, wonders why
he’s surprised at the lack of hygiene, then reminds himself he’s not sleeping
with or friends with Mikey anymore and it doesn’t matter. He awkwardly
sidesteps, giving Ray the space to kneel.
As Ray says hello, there’s a flurry of sound from the Way bedroom. First
another thud with a distinct crunch. Gerard’s head appears beside Mikey’s,
which obviously means he smacked down a chair from somewhere without looking
what he was putting it on. This is followed with Bob grumbling “what the fuck,
Gerard?”
“Bob, say hello to Ray. He’s standing outside the window, he can probably hear
you, it’s on speaker.”
Bob does not say hello. Instead he screams “what the fuck happened!” Frank
snorts. Ray wasn’t a vampire, then he was. The process seems pretty basic to
him.
“Basically Lou got turned without his consent. He was freaking out, so he
didn’t report it, or turn himself in to the readjustment facility. But then he
got hungry enough that he went after me and Armando. Manny’s still in, but they
thought I was adjusting well, so-”
“Bullshit. You didn’t even know you couldn’t eat chocolate.”
“So they let me go home,” Ray finishes.
“So Frank had nothing to do with it?” Frank stares at Gerard, hurt for the
hundredth time this week. That’s what Ray just said, Gerard must not believe
him if he’s questioning it already.
“Fucking no, man. The last time I saw him was last Saturday, during the
Opplethorpe marathon. You really thought he did it?”
Mikey breaks first. “Sorry, Frank.” Gerard and Bob chime in with the same a
second later. Frank doesn’t tell them it’s okay. It isn’t.
                                      ***
Sleep is impossible. It would be difficult enough if he was just laying in the
silent darkness, thinking about shit, but his room is neither dark nor quiet.
Every few minutes his cell phone rings with a call or a text, and the screen
lights up, casting a glow up to the ceiling. It switches between Gerard, Mikey,
and Bob, with the occasional ringtone that stands for Ray. Frank doesn’t answer
those either. He wouldn’t put it past them to be sharing their phones. He
doesn’t want to answer Ray only to be bombarded by Gerard.
He’s still awake -and the texts are still coming- when his dad opens the door
to wake him up for the day. That in itself is a shitty event. Dad’s got
entirely the wrong impression of last night, he starts going on about how he
doesn’t care what drug he and his buddy did last night, he’s going to school,
even if he’s still tripping balls. Frank’s miserable enough that even hearing
his father use the phrase ‘tripping balls’ doesn’t make him smirk. He leaves
his phone on his dresser.
Mikey and Gerard are waiting by his locker. Using every last ounce of vampiric
ability, Frank turns and runs in the other direction, hoping they don’t see
him. He automatically heads to the smoking doors to inhale the stress away.
Through the necroglass he can see a black hoodie and a blond buzz cut standing
in the shade. It might not be Bob, but there’s a high enough chance that he
doesn’t risk it. Frank ends up hiding in the bathroom nearest his first period
class for ten minutes, until the last possible instant he can before he’s late
and will get a detention.
They don’t share his classes, the first piece of good luck in the situation.
The biggest problem is going to be finding a place spend lunch. Last week he
sat in the cafeteria with his headphones on and his back to Gerard and Bob
because the library was Mikey’s first, but that didn’t mean he had to watch
Gerard and Bob be happy without him. It’s clear mutual avoidance is no longer
on the agenda. Until he decides he wants to see them, he’ll have to actively
hide. And right now Frank really doesn’t want to see them. If he does, he’ll
accept their apology, and they don’t deserve that. They accused him of some
combination of raping and murdering Ray. It shouldn’t be something you can just
apologise for.
There’s no doubt that one of them will patrol the smoking doors, considering
all three smoke. Frank would like to inhale some sweet beautiful nicotine, but
he doesn’t need it. Nowhere else outside is safe. There are few shady corners,
and those few are occupied by halfling cliques. Frank doesn’t want to be
friends with people just because they’re a certain type. The library is still
Mikey’s, and the cafeteria is too obvious. In the end he spends the whole time
in the same stall he used before first period.
As he’s walking to fourth period he literally walks into Ray. It seems a bit
soon for him to be back, but Frank’s not his fucking mother. Ray opens his
mouth to say something, maybe something about earlier this morning. Knowing
him, probably. Frank heads him off at the pass with an observation. “You’re
hard.”
“No shit.”
Frank remembers telling him about having awesome sex, a minute or two before
they had awesome sex. Clearly the lesson didn’t take, as Ray frowned when he
pointed it out, and replied like he’d been sucking rat blood. Frank takes pity
on him and jumps into mentor role again. “Go jerk off in the bathroom. Then at
lunch tomorrow look at who’s eating a bloodbag and make friends. You’re not
ditching Bob and Gerard and Mikey and the rest of your friends, you’re just
finding someone that’ll say yes when you text them about sex.”
Ray nods, rubbing the heel of his hand over his dick absentmindedly. “They’re
your friends too.”
“Ray, go jerk off now.” Frank understands siding with the people you’ve known
forever, even if they’re in the wrong. And to be fair, Ray seemed horrified at
the Ways thinking he did it. That doesn’t mean he wants to hear Ray make patchy
attempts at keeping their friendship together.
It’s not until Ray leaves that Frank realises he’s implied he isn’t available
for texting for sex. He walks a few steps in the direction Ray went before
coming to a stop. He doesn’t want to have sex with Ray. What the hell is wrong
with him? A sneaking suspicion floats in the back of his head but he does his
best to ignore it. He can’t think himself into mad spirals, he needs to talk
this out with someone. It can’t be Ray because as a vampire he’ll never again
know what not wanting to fuck is like, and it can’t be the Ways because this is
all their goddamn fault. It leaves Frank with few options, and only one he even
remotely likes.
The bell rings for class and the afternoon announcements go on. Instead of
standing to listen like expected, or dashing to class to avoid being marked
late, Frank races off to the office. Over the prerecorded crackle of the
principal he shouts “you need to page Bob Bryar!”
The secretary raises an artfully plucked eyebrow. It’s beyond obvious that she
has no intention of paging anyone, or in fact doing anything more than putting
the occasional call through to Wembuo and playing spider solitaire on her old
school computer. Normally Frank would congratulate that kind of person on their
healthy avoidance of work, and one day wishes to have a nine to five that he
does an hour or two of work at. But right now he needs Bob.
Frank drops his fangs. “I need to talk to him!”
“That’s considered an act of aggression.”
Oh, shit. Still, he needs them out to make the point. “I’m not mad, I’m not
going to hurt him. I’m just freaking out. I need Bob. You need to get him.
Please.”
Evidently she isn’t used to hysterical vampires having manners. With a subtle
movement of her eyebrows she presses the button that allows her to speak
through the PA system and requests Bob.
When he shows up, moving slowly from only having an hour or two of sleep, Frank
thanks the woman and intercepts him. “I need to talk to you.”
“Since when? We’ve been trying to talk to you for half a fucking day, Iero.”
“This isn’t about that. Well it is, kinda. But not really. It’s about my broken
junk!”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m a bit brain dead. I haven’t
slept.”
Frank’s not in the mood for feeling sorry for Bob. He didn’t sleep either, and
he’s not bitching at everyone. “My junk,” he repeats, this time gesturing. “I
think it’s broken. I don’t want to have sex with people!”
“Why are you talking to me? I am the least qualified person to have this
conversation with. Go talk to Mikey or Gerard about your weird polygamy, or Ray
about your vampire stamina.”
“But it’s monogamy! I had sex last night with Ray and I barely enjoyed it! And
I didn’t have it at all ten minutes ago, when he wanted to!”
“No, seriously. This is not my fucking conversation. You need to go do this
with Mikey and Gerard. They’re in the library, they’ve been skipping the whole
morning.” Bob raises a hand and points in the direction of the library.
Frank grabs the extended limb and shakes it. “You’re not listening. I had a
chance to have fun sex with a friend. And I passed it up. Because I was
thinking about my drama with Mikey and Gerard. I am a vampire, or at least half
a one. That shit does not happen to vampires. Some guy could be balls deep in
me when the zombie apocalypse happened, and as long as no green skinned fucker
bit off my dick I wouldn’t care. I passed up sex for, like, fucking longing.
Bob, I think I love the assholes!”
Bob sighs, uses his free hand to rub his face. “Again, this is shit you should
be telling them. Not me. You’re not in love with me, are you?”
“No. I haven’t even had sex with you.” And now he might not ever, since his
brain and dick have apparently combined to cockblock him.
“You go to the library. I’m going back to class.” Bob wrenches out of Frank’s
hold and starts walking in the direction he came. Frank probably could have
held him in place, but maybe he has a point.
Mikey and Gerard don’t look much worse for having stayed up all night to text
him. Mikey’s hair is a shade darker from not washing it, Gerard’s wearing the
same shirt he wore to bed. Their pale skin makes the bags under their eyes
stand out more than the same would on a normally tanned human. But it’s easy to
look past all of that. Or at least it is for Frank, which is probably more
proof.
“Oh, Frank. Thank fuck. I-”
“We-” Mikey interrupts.
Frank talks over both of them. “I was really hurt, and really really pissed. I
don’t know if I can explain the equivalent. It’s kinda like me asking you if
you had fun cutting out your mom’s eye and fucking the hole. Like, some stuff
is just fucked up, and non-consensual turning is one of them. I’m not gonna say
no vampires do it, but humans have serial killers too.”
“We get that now. We Googled. I talked to this vampire I know, Nate, he lives
in my friend’s basement. He explained how fucked up that was. We really want to
apologise.”
“Seriously, Frank. We’re-”
“Okay, but the thing is the reason I was avoiding you is because I knew I’d
accept your apology as soon as I heard it. And I do, I’m not saying I don’t,
even though it was fucked up on your part. But I was way less mad at Bob than
you guys, and way less sad. And it took me until like fifteen minutes ago to
figure out why.”
“Thanks for accepting the apology. Even though you technically didn’t hear it
yet. We are-”
For the second time, Frank has to cut off Gerard. “That’s not the point. My
point is I was overly hurt, maybe, because it was you two. I like you both. A
lot. I like you to the point that I only want to have sex with both of you. Do
you want to be my boyfriends again?”
Gerard tugs on a hoodie sleeve. “What, both of us?”
“Oh, come on Gee. It was working fine before. And it’s not like Bert wasn’t
doing Quinn and Jepha and a handful of others. It’s how they work, like
biologically.”
Frank blushes, maybe, a bit, as he says his next bit. “I love you guys, I
think. And I can guarantee this monogamy thing is entirely new for me. I’ve
never only had sex with two people since I started having sex. Do you guys love
me?”
“Yeah.” Mikey’s blushing a bit too. It makes Frank want to drink the blood out
of his cheeks. He doesn’t say that out loud though. It’s not the kind of thing
most humans want to hear.
“I do. I just don’t want to get caught in the exact same shit I just got out
of. You can understand that, right?”
Frank doesn’t want to bash Bert. From the little he knows, the guy was pretty
cool, if the stereotypical vampire entirely in tune with his nature. But he
doesn’t want to be lumped in with him either. “I don’t drink from live people,
Gerard. And I can go out in the sun, I’m probably in it more than you are. And
most of all, I’ll listen when you say you don’t want to do something. So can we
just try this? Have shit like it was before? I really missed you guys.”
Gerard’s answer is to stand up and kiss him. Frank’s really missed the smell of
unwashed Way, both variations. Gerard always has a twinge of paint, Mikey has
an undercurrent of a half a bottle of Axe to mask his funk. It’s still present
as Gerard backs off and Mikey uses his blunt human teeth to suck a hickey onto
his neck.
When Mikey finally lets go of his skin -Frank mourning his healing abilities
for the first time because the mark’s not going to last more than five minutes-
they both sit back on the couch. Frank looks at the bit of space between them
and then grabs the closest plastic chair so he can sit facing them. “Okay,
cool. So you guys kiss now?”
Mikey shakes his head. “No.”
“No threesome then.”
“Really no, Frank,” Gerard answers, reaching over Mikey to grab an unopened
Doom Patrol. It shows how much they cared, that they brought a stack large
enough that they could skip the whole day and only got a few pages in.
Oh well. He tried. He’s got either of them whenever he wants, and they’re
pretty codependant. That’s enough for him.
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