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It’s not like it’s something Gerard thinks about.
Maybe he should think about it, really. There are probably hundreds of innocent children who have heard Gerard mutter ‘fuck me’ under his breath when his phone resets, or when the bus is running late, or when he walks into a bush whilst texting and have turned to their parents and asked, “Mommy, what does ‘fuck me’ mean? That man just said it.”.
Yeah. Definitely something Gerard should think about.
As it is, his bus is running late today and Gerard had run all the way to the bus stop from his apartment (a good two minutes of exercise, at least, which means he’s breathless and almost breaking a sweat by the time he reaches the bus stop) because he’d thought he was late. When he realises, however, that he could have had an extra ten minutes and actually eaten some breakfast, he groans, lets his eyes flutter shut and mutters “fuck me”.
“Excuse me?” a surprised voice says, and Gerard opens his eyes so fast he thinks he might have accidentally blinded himself. Standing to his left, an amused look on his face, is a short boy with black hair, a lip ring, a nose ring and a Misfits hoodie identical to Gerard’s own. Gerard’s not sure if he should feel threatened by that.
“Sorry,” Gerard says quickly. “I, uh. Just. Bus is late.”
“And that means you want to get fucked?” Gerard can feel himself blushing, wills it to stop, but he’s pretty sure the other boy’s noticed from the way his amused look turns into a mischievous smirk.
“Well,” Gerard says. “I mean, I. No. Well, yes. Not, like, because of the bus. But I do want to get fucked.” He blanches (at least the blushing’s sorted out), realising what he’d just said to a complete stranger- “What the fuck? No I don’t.” He pauses, before exhaling heavily. “Yeah, yeah, I do.”
“Oh,” the guy says, full-on grinning now and bouncing slightly on his heels. “That’s nice to know.”
“Yeah,” Gerard mumbles, wishing the punk guy’s eyes weren’t so pretty because really, Gerard is not equipped to deal with those at seven thirty in the morning. Gerard’s not equipped to deal with anything at seven thirty in the morning, as this conversation shows.
“Anyway,” the stranger says, stepping forward, and when the fuck did the 27 even pull up? Gerard’s been too mortified to notice. “This is my bus. Hope you get laid soon, dude.”
“Thanks,” Gerard mutters as the guy gets on the bus, wishing he had some kind of superpower that enabled him to fade away into a void whenever he pleased.
-
The guy’s not at the bus stop the next day, or the next, or the next, and Gerard stops walking to the bus stop with an accelerated heartbeat (although that might just be from the walking – any exercise is a struggle) and relaxes again. He can’t say he’s not a little disappointed, though, because even though the guy had just made fun of Gerard for like, three minutes straight, he’d been kind of (exceptionally) hot, with his bright hazel eyes, black hair and his pretty little smile.
Gerard’s on his way home from the bus stop, whistling as he ambles down the road texting his brother-slash-roommate Mikey and asking him to pick up some chocolate on his way home (no reason, Gerard just likes chocolate and doesn’t like paying for things) when his phone slips out of his fingers and he hears the unmistakeable cracking sound of an iPhone screen and a pavement having a disagreement.
“Oh, shit,” he mumbles to himself, bending down and picking his phone up. Sure enough, the screen’s shattered in the top left-hand corner. “Fuck me, oh my god.”
“Not again,” a voice says, and Gerard looks up to see the stranger from the bus stop grinning down at him. He stands up so fast that he feels dizzy and almost has to sit down again, and upon regaining control of his vision he scowls at the stranger.
“Listen,” he says, sounding petulant even to his own ears. “My phone’s just cracked. This is no time for jokes about my sex life.”
“Oh, shit,” the boy says, looking genuinely concerned. “Does it still work?” Gerard presses the home button and types in his passcode, and it all works. Thank God. He doesn’t have enough money to pay for repairing it.
“Still,” Gerard says grumpily. “I don’t want a cracked phone screen.”
“We all have to make sacrifices, dude,” the stranger says. “Anyway, I think a good fuck is what you need after such a tragic misfortune.”
“Very funny,” Gerard mutters, and the stranger grins.
“I thought so too,” he says. “Anyway, I have to go. People to see, stuff to do, all that shit.”
“You go ahead,” Gerard says. “Enjoy the people and the stuff. Stop making jokes about my sex life.”
“Stop asking me to fuck you,” the boy calls over his shoulder as he walks away, and Gerard shoves both middle fingers up at him, forgetting that his phone’s in his hand and dropping it again.
(The boy laughs all the way until he’s turned the corner.)
-
Mikey had bought Gerard’s chocolate, but not any other groceries, which is the only reason Gerard’s out of bed and dressed before midday on a Saturday. He’s standing in the aisles at A&P, trying to find some weird brand of ketchup that Mikey had specifically requested which he was not to return without on pain of death or possibly telling their mother that Gerard still hasn’t managed to figure out how to do laundry.
He’s made the mistake of not getting a basket or trolley – which, in hindsight, was not a good plan for grocery shopping, but Gerard’s barely with it as it is and he thinks it’s enough of an achievement that he managed to navigate his way to the A&P down the road – so he’s balancing what feels like fifty-three items precariously in his arms. He shifts a little down the condiments aisle, doing a weird crab-like walk as he searches through the ketchups for Mikey’s weird brand.
“Fuck me,” Gerard mutters, because every brand seems to be Heinz and he’s pretty sure Mikey won’t be able to taste the difference anyway.
“You alright there?” a voice says, and Gerard shrieks and drops everything he’s holding right on the floor. A box of eggs cracks, a jar of something smashes and apples bounce in various directions around the aisle.
“…Oops,” the voice says, and Gerard looks up from where he’s staring at the sole apple left in his arms to face the culprit. It’s the tiny punk boy, again.
“You’re paying for this,” Gerard says. The punk boy shrugs.
“Fair enough,” he says, and then, all conversationally; “still not got fucked, then?” Gerard scowls.
“It’s none of your business,” he says, getting on his knees to gather up all the things he can salvage. He only realises too late that getting on his knees in front of a pretty guy who’s making jokes about his sex life was probably not the brightest idea he’s ever had, but Gerard’s stubborn, so he’s going to see it through.
“That means no,” the guy says. “Shame. You look good on your knees.” Gerard flips him off, not even looking at him as he picks up a bag of crisps and a few more apples.
“Do you exist just to make my life a misery?” Gerard asks, getting to his feet and wobbling as he struggles to regain his balance holding everything he could pick up. “I feel like I died at some point and entered hell without even realising.” The guy smirks.
“Kinky,” he says, even though Gerard’s pretty sure he’s not said anything remotely sexual. Gerard hates pretty boys. They fuck with his brain. “Even for someone who wants to be fucked so desperately they announce it in a supermarket, hell-roleplay isn’t something I would have expected.” Gerard scowls again.
“Oh, ha, ha, very funny,” he says sarcastically, grabbing the nearest ketchup bottle off the shelf. Mikey can have Heinz and if he complains, Gerard’s going to shove it up his ass. “I’m going to pay for this now.”
“You do that,” the pretty boy says. Gerard glares at him, lingers a second longer than he maybe should have just because pretty boys don’t talk to him very often and he needs to document the rarity, and then makes his way down the aisle to the counter.
(Mikey accepts the ketchup with a frightened look on his face when Gerard presses it into his hands with a growl.)
-
It’s almost as if Gerard’s pissed off Jesus and now God’s taking his revenge, honestly.
He’s just walking home, not even texting in case he actually breaks his phone for good this time, when he trips over the shoelace that he’d been warned by Mikey earlier was going to trip him up and falls over, ripping open his favourite jeans at the knee.
“Fuck me,” he whines, pulling himself into a sitting position and picking tiny pieces of gravel out of the graze on his knee.
“We’ve been over this,” a voice says, and Gerard closes his eyes.
“Do you just, like, selectively show up when I say that?” he asks. The boy grins.
“I’m the master of good timing,” he says. “Why are you sitting on the floor?”
“Fell over,” Gerard mumbles, and the stranger giggles. Then, to Gerard’s surprise, he sits down opposite Gerard, crossing his legs and looking at Gerard with a kind of mischievous yet earnest expression on his face. Gerard narrows his eyes, but then opens them again because the stranger is really pretty up close and Gerard can’t waste this opportunity. He only realises retrospectively that it must look like he had some kind of eye spasm.
“I would,” the stranger says after a moment of silence.
“What?” Gerard’s suddenly worried that he missed the beginning of this conversation, because that makes no sense. Is it possible to get short-term amnesia from tripping over your shoelaces?
“Fuck you. I would.”
“Thanks, Yoda.”
“No, seriously,” the pretty boy presses, blinking at Gerard. “I’d fuck you. You want to?”
“I’m not that easy,” Gerard frowns, but he’s not sure anymore. The boy really is pretty, and Gerard really is easy. And desperate. “I don’t even know your name.”
“Frank,” the boy says. “You?”
“Gerard,” Gerard says.
“Pretty name,” Frank says. “Suits you.”
“Did you just call me pretty?” Gerard asks suspiciously. Frank grins.
“Maybe.” He stands up, brushing the dirt off his arse, and holds out his hand for Gerard to hoist himself up with. Gerard does, because he has absolutely no dignity, and he brushes himself down too. The graze isn’t even painful, and he’s completely forgotten about his jeans.
“So. Fuck you. Is that happening?”
“Can we at least like, have dinner or something first?” Gerard asks. Frank grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and Gerard’s tempted to get back down on the pavement, onto his grazed knees, and suck Frank’s dick right there in the middle of the street.
“Yeah,” he says, quieter than before, and somehow it sounds soft and earnest and Gerard wants to hear that repeated for the rest of his life. “I’d like that.”
“Then you fuck me.”
“Then I’ll fuck you,” Frank agrees. Gerard blinks. It’s so fucking hot to hear him say that.
(Jesus, Gerard is easy. Who’s he kidding?)
“Okay, maybe dinner later,” Gerard says hastily, lacing his fingers together with Frank’s and pulling him in the direction of his and Mikey’s apartment.