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Blood.
So much fucking blood.
None of it was real. Frank hoped that was the case, at least. He knew, realistically, that it was all fake. All a part of the elaborate storytelling that spewed from the twisted mind of Gerard Way. Still, even though he knew the story, and he knew the technical bits, like the blood capsules that Gerard had slipped into his cheek and the packets underneath his coat, it was a sight that sent a chill down his spine.
The frontman of the Black Parade was dying.
This happened every show. Every night, as the final chords were played and lyrics sung, Gerard was stabbed by The Clown and left to die on the floor. Every night was a new piece of a puzzle; a new string in the complex web of a narrative that Gerard had created surrounding the resurrected “Black Parade”. Though he’d explained it to Frank many times, even he felt that he barely had a grasp on what was really happening. The fans had their theories, of course, regarding time loops and prison cells and mind control routines...
Gerard counted on that. He reveled in it.
So tonight, when he’d talked through the show with Frank and explained that things were going to change, Frank felt a vivid sense of excitement. This story that Gerard had crafted so carefully, so particularly, was nearing an end. Or an intermission, at the very least. Boston was the second to last stop on the North American leg of the tour. And that meant things were going to change.
The first part, Frank knew all about. Gerard had decided that he would be the first of the band to outwardly protest The Clerk, and that he would intervene during one of their interactions early on in the show. He’d practiced his moves, planned how he would taunt and jeer at the man and draw a killer reaction from the crowd. He loved that he got to be involved, and do something new.
Frank didn’t expect this, though. He didn’t expect to look on from the wings as Gerard’s limp body was handled like a poorly strung marionette, flopping around and bending to the will of The Clown while they sang along to Blood like it was all some sick comedy routine.
Charlie, his name was fucking Charlie. Frank knew that it was just Charlie, doing his job, playing his role. None of this was real. He wasn’t actually a killer clown, and Gerard wasn’t actually dead. So why did Frank feel a chill so deep that it rocked his core, and made his knees feel like jelly?
It was more than fear that had overtaken him. As heavy shudders wracked his bones, Frank realized he was hopelessly turned on by the performance Gerard was giving. It was weird, and unsettling, and captivating in a sort of way that made Frank want to scream. He’d handed off his guitar to the stage hands a few moments ago, and would normally beeline for the dressing rooms so he could have a quick shower before they had to be on the B-stage. Tonight, though, he couldn’t look away.
He didn’t know what it meant for the story, or the lore, and he certainly didn’t know what sort of message Gerard was trying to convey. But he didn’t particularly care, either. What he cared about, as he watched the other man’s pliant body move in tandem with Charlie’s demanding arms, was being the first person that Gerard saw when he left that stage.
The crowd was wild, with the usual adoring cheers being accompanied for the first time by screams of genuine terror. Frank could feel the difference, and he didn’t blame them. Gerard looked like something straight from a slasher film. Blood was spilling from his cheeks, and his eyes were rolled so far back that all you could see was white. Charlie had dipped his fingers into Gerard’s mouth and swiped excess blood across his skin, as if more was necessary.
Gerard was a mess, both disturbing and vulgar. Frank knew he was enjoying every bit of it. He might have even preferred the screams of terror to the screams of adoration. He knew for a fact that Gerard’s highest highs of performing tended to come from making the audience clutch their peals and squirm in their seats.
And they were certainly squirming tonight. Frank heard a collective outcry from the crowd as Gerard’s lifeless body was dropped to the floor, collapsing limply like he didn’t care about the bruises that would inevitably form the next day. He could have just as easily broken his fall with his hands, or lowered himself gently onto his knees, but that was never Gerard’s style. No, if he was going to do something, he was going to do it. No half measures. Even if it meant spending the next few days with achy joints and blood stained skin.
While the second half of Blood played on, Frank made his way backstage. He’d exited on stage right, and he knew Gerard would be coming off at stage left.
They didn’t have a lot of time in between sets, and Frank intended to use every second.
***
Gerard liked being played with.
He liked being held, and groped, and maneuvered with such a bruising intensity that his skin would certainly bear the marks of his entanglements for days to come. He liked feeling weak, and helpless, and entirely loose in the arms of another.
He liked putting on a show, too.
It wasn’t often that these things could all come together, and Gerard could give the sort of performance that would challenge him and excite him all the same. But here he was, bloody and battered at the end of their first set of the night, and all of the little bits of and pieces of his story had led him to this: Playing a corpse marionette for a crowd of over 30,000 people.
He and Charlie had practiced this before the show, run through the motions and laid out something of a routine. But he knew no amount of practice would prepare for this.
He was on the ground. Dead, as far as the crowd knew. If they’d been following the tour at all, they would assume that was it for the Lead Singer of the Black parade. He’d done his part, played his role, and was nothing but a corpse waiting to be dragged into the wings.
There were cries of confusion, then fear, then shock as The Clown slowly pulled Gerard upright. He felt Charlie’s fingers dip beyond his lips in search of excess liquid to smear across his face, painting something of a demented smile over his lips. As the piano track played, Gerard had to fight every instinct in his body to move with the music, or look onto the crowd. Any little movement would give it away. Every flinch or offhand glance would break the illusion, would put the crowd at ease. No, he didn’t want them at ease. He wanted them to think he was fucking dead.
When he could feel that Charlie had a solid grip on his body and didn’t need extra support, Gerard allowed himself to become dead weight. He hung his jaw slack and relented to the man behind him, focusing on the feeling of tough fingers gripping his skin to keep him in this sort of puppet-like state of mind. It felt euphoric to give up control, like anything could happen to him and he’d be a lost cause to stop it.
Then there was the performance of it all. He was a doll, a limp little thing being toyed with and thrust around as though his body was nothing but sticks and joints. And the crowd cheered, and they cried. They hid their eyes, and they whipped out their cameras. He’d done what he so desperately sought to do; he shocked them.
His eyes were beginning to throb in his skull from being rolled back so dramatically. He finally released his pupils and swung them from side to side while Charlie maneuvered his body and his jaw. And, as he did that, he was finally able to catch a glimpse of the crowd. God, the looks on their faces. No matter how long he’d been doing this, how many times he’d gotten such a reaction, it still hit like nothing else to see the raw emotion that he’d garnered from the people in front of him.
Then, in a fleeting second, Gerard caught Frank watching him from the wings. His silhouette stood very politely, with his hands clasped in front of him and his face engulfed in a shadow, but Gerard swore they locked eyes. Though he wouldn’t let it show on his face - he was far too good of a performer for that - Gerard’s stomach fluttered with excitement.
For the rest of the song, he let the character consume him. He pictured himself as this disgusting, all-but-dead thing and allowed his mind to wander to how the audience might interpret this particular performance. Would they notice the way Charlie seemed to handle him like a child with a doll? Would they see the gentle kiss planted on his head before he was discarded to the floor? What would they make of it all?
Really, though, there was one person’s opinion that he cared about far more than the rest. As he lay, dead and dumped on the floor like a broken toy, he couldn’t help but wonder if Frank would be waiting for him when he finally made it off stage.
***
When the final pyrotechnics were done, and the stage was dark, Frank watched with shaking hands as Gerard was dragged off the stage. There was normally a stage hand waiting in the wings to help him off and get him to the dressing room, but Frank had waved him off and was standing in his place.
Nobody was going to get between him and ten minutes alone with Gerard.
“Hey, Frankie.” The other man mumbled while Frank dragged him to his feet. A smile had stretched across his bloody lips, somehow making him look even creepier than he had on stage. Somehow, though, creepy and sexy seemed to be one and the same for Frank, because he found himself at a loss for words as he stared at the other man. He gripped both of Gerard’s shoulders and just stared, allowing his eyes to drag across his costumed body.
“Jesus, you’re a wreck.” He finally said as his gaze settled on Gerard’s mouth. When the other man smiled, Frank could see that the dye in the blood had stained his teeth a dirty maroon.
“Am I a pretty wreck?”
“No, Gee, you’re fucking terrifying.”
Frank didn’t hold back, because he knew Gerard would love it either way. He loved being pretty, but he also loved being sickening. Sure enough, Frank swore he could see a flush of pink peeking underneath the cakey white makeup that coated Gerard’s face.
“Good.”
Gerard smacked his lips together dramatically, letting the blood form long, sticky strands as he moved his jaw up and down.
“This fake blood tastes weirdly good.” He remarked, looking down at Frank with half-lidded eyes and a crooked smile. He flicked his tongue between his parted lips, catching the strands.
“Wanna try?”
Frank just nodded and reached for Gerard’s face, smearing blood on his palm as he brought their lips together. Gerard tasted sweet, like sugar and a little bit of plastic. It made him even more addictive than usual. They had almost no time, but Frank wasn’t going to be stopped. Not with Gerard acting like this.
Before their lips could even come apart, Frank was dragging Gerard to the dressing rooms. The taller man complied with no protest - maybe a residual effect of being so pliant on stage, or maybe just his ever-present willingness to follow Frank wherever he led.
Only when the two were in Frank’s dressing room, with the door shut and locked, did Gerard finally speak. The older backed Frank against the wall and leaned into him, bringing his lips to the shell of Frank’s ear and certainly staining his skin with sticky liquid.
“You have two minutes to use my mouth however you’d like.”
Gerard was a fucking mind reader. Frank felt shockwaves in his hips at the man’s words and wondered how one earth he got so lucky.
Before he could stutter a reply, Gerard dropped sharply to his knees. Frank would have been concerned for his safety, were it not for the pads he wore under his costume.
Fuck, he was still wearing his costume. Frank would be lying if he said he hadn’t pictured this exact scenario tens of times since they’d started rehearsals. His jacket was wrinkled and bloody, with the tassels that adorned his shoulders hanging defeatedly, like they were a breath away from falling off.
Not wanting to waste another second, Frank fumbled with the fastenings of his pants and pulled his rapidly-stiffening cock free, groaning as his hot fingers grazed needy skin. Gerard looked up at him with dinner plate eyes and reached into his pocket, seemingly looking for something.
Frank gave him a confused look, but Gerard just held menacing eye contact as he slipped whatever he had grabbed into his mouth and closed his lips. Frank could hear a faint pop as the other man clenched his jaw.
Blood capsule.
When he reopened his mouth, it was full of bright red liquid. Frank gasped and felt his cock twitch in his hand as Gerard let his dripping tongue fall from his lips, all while burning into him with unblinking eyes. He leaned forward and took Frank’s tip in between his lips, wrapping his tongue around it and covering it in the gooey blood. Frank bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from crying out as his shaft was engulfed in a warm, wet embrace.
Gerard closed his eyes and took a deep breath, sucking in his cheeks and moving forward until the entirety of Frank’s cock within his mouth. As his lips reached the base, Frank reveled in how skeletal his already-prominent cheekbones looked.
When he pulled back, all Frank could see was red. As Gerard released him from his mouth, strands of the red stuck to his lips like a spiderweb, stretching out as he sat back on his heels and eventually dripping onto his pale skin. He sucked his lower lip between his teeth before once again letting his jaw go slack and holding out his tongue like a dirty invitation.
“Time starts now.”
Frank gave a small nod before feverishly grabbing Gerard’s head with both hands, lacing his fingers into the other man’s stringy hair and digging into his scalp. He moved forward slowly, at first, bringing his cock back into Gerard’s open mouth and letting him loosely wrap his lips around it. He watched as Gerard folded his arms behind him, preparing to take Frank down his throat.
“You ready, doll?”
That wasn’t a pet name he uttered often. He didn’t mean it in the usual sense, like he was calling Gerard some pretty little thing. No, he meant it in a more crass way. Like Gerard was an old, creepy toy that Frank had dug out of the attic. And boy, did he want to play.
Gerard nodded sharply, and Frank was off to the races. He tightened his grip on the other man’s skull and thrust forward, sending his dick into Gerard’s mouth and connecting with the back of his throat. Gerard gagged, but Frank could feel him relax his mouth and recover quickly. He settled into a rhythm, fucking Gerard’s face and watching in ecstasy as he gave in to his movements.
“You like being my toy, huh? Just a nice, gaping mouth?” He groaned as he pounded into Gerard’s head, clutching him tight and marveling at the way the older man was so pliant in his grip. All he could do was moan around Frank’s throbbing cock in response.
Red liquid poured out of the sides of Gerard’s mouth, making a vulgar smack each time his lips met the base of Frank’s cock. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, and, fuck, he looked so goddamn scary. His pale foundation and dark eye makeup already made him look practically undead, now combined with the fake blood and blowjob eyes he looked genuinely horrific.
Horrific…and maybe as hot as Frank had ever seen him. God, his wires were crossed.
He was working on a time crunch here, so he didn’t have time to question his attraction to the corpse in front of him. The orgasm growing inside him was violent, and rapidly approaching. He could hear Gerard whimpering beneath him, undoubtedly growing tired of the stretch in his jaw. He looked up at Frank through tear-beaded lashes, giving the younger man a glimpse into his humanity after only showing the whites of his eyes for the past minute. Frank groaned and gritted his teeth as his stomach knotted fifty times over within him, the impending rush beginning to course through his veins.
“God, fuck, Gee, I’m gon-gonna come.” He croaked out a warning just before he reached his peak, letting Gerard tighten his lips around the base of his cock.
With one final feverish thrust, he was coming down Gerard’s throat. He had to throw a frantic hand against the wall behind him to steady himself as the orgasm rocked his body, making his thighs cramp up and his head go fuzzy. Gerard shuddered beneath him, lapping up every bit of cum until Frank ran dry.
When Frank looked down, he almost couldn’t believe the sight. Gerard had fallen back on his heels, jaw slack while he sucked in heavy breaths. Leaking out of his mouth was a swirl of white and red, a mix of cum and blood so vile it could have given Frank another erection. Gerard’s eyes were half-lidded now, worn out.
Frank bent down to his knees so that he was on Gerard’s level and cradled his jaw. In what was likely a regrettable move, as it was bound to stain, Frank leaned forward and kissed Gerard. Not a shallow kiss either, not a quick peck. He drove his tongue in between Gerard’s radioactive red lips with greed, licking up his own spend and cringing at the taste of salty spunk mixed with the tooth-rooting fake blood.
Gerard giggled while their lips were connected, sending the cocktail of fluids that had pooled between their tongues spilling onto both of their chins.
“Sorry.” He croaked, breaking the kiss to wipe his chin. It was a futile effort, only smearing the red dye further across his skin.
“Oh, the doll speaks.” Frank said, rocking back with a grin. He gripped either side of Gerard’s jaw with his hands, right where the joint hinged to his skull, and massaged it gently. “You’re so fucking crazy, Gee.”
Gerard grinned lazily, allowing his head to fall into Frank’s shoulder. Frank cringed internally at the thought of staining his costume, but he certainly wasn’t going to push Gerard off.
“You love my crazy.” Gerard spoke, muffled by the thick fabric. Frank gently grabbed the hair at the back of Gerard’s head and tugged him upwards, so he could look the other man in the eyes.
“I love you.”
Gerard giggled and leaned close, so that their foreheads were touching. Frank almost forgot where they were, for just a moment.
Then, there was a loud banging on the door, and an agitated voice outside.
“Five minutes to B-Stage!”
Frank jumped to his feet and tugged Gerard up after him.
“You. Shower.” He said, reminded of the need for urgency. Gerard tended to skip that part in between sets, but given his current state, it seemed extremely necessary.
“No.” He protested, snatching a wipe from a nearby counter and rubbing it over his face. It removed some of the blood, at least. “No time.”
“Jesus, Gee, you’re-”
“I’m fine!” He insisted, running his hand through his hair and slicking it behind his ears. “This is what I always do.” He turned back to Frank with a cocked brow.
“You on the other hand…”
“What?” Frank asked defensively.
“You smell like shit. You should probably shower.”
Then again came a knock, this time louder and somehow even more agitated.
“Two minutes to B-Stage!”
Frank groaned and shrugged out of his black parade jacket. With a defeated sigh, he snatched one of the wipes and joined Gerard in the mirror, vigorously rubbing his hopelessly stained face.
***
Somehow, the two of them had managed to get changed and at least somewhat presentable just in time for their walk out. Just before they stepped into the spotlight, Frank grabbed Gerard’s arm and pulled him close.
“Hotel tonight. You’re staying with me.”
Gerard grinned and flicked his eyes across Frank’s body.
“I was hoping you’d say that.”