nobody will love you like the devil will//frerard/ferard

chapter eighteen

For the first time in living memory, Frank's birthday sneaks up on him. His mom wakes him up with breakfast in bed (bacon and eggs and two thick pieces of toast) and fifty dollars for his guitar fund, and his first instinct is to ask who died.

"My baby," she says, looking kind of misty-eyed, and Frank puts two and two together. Oops. He feels almost guilty about forgetting, but he's been so caught up in Gerard he just lost track of the days.

"Thanks, Mom," he says, his voice still sleep-fuzzed, and she beams at him.

"Happy birthday, Frankie." She leans down to gather him into a hug, and he sort of just... clings. "I'll take you into school today, okay? We'll do dinner later. C'mon, up and dressed unless you want to spend your birthday in detention."

He groans and burrows deeper under the coverlet, and she laughs and leaves him to get ready.

birthday, frank ;) celebrating?

Frank blinks down at the text, re-reading it to make sure he hasn't misunderstood. The fucking owls are back with a vengeance. Gerard knew, and more to the point he remembered. He ignores the part of his brain currently doing a victory lap, and tries to put a coherent response together.

thanks! umm probably not, just dinner with mom and dad i guess. Or maybe not, he still hasn't heard his mom and dad speaking to each other since his mom found out about Annie Carver. He sends the text anyway, then notices Sister Mary Robert giving him the stink eye and goes back to pretending to be very absorbed in his quadratic equations.

that's a crime, Gerard replies a minute later. be ready at 8. i'm taking you out.

Frank can feel himself grinning like a total dork, but his phone shivers in his hand again before he can write back.

what are you doing in school anyway? you could be here. i could be sucking your dick right now.

And that's the moment when Frank's train of thought derails spectacularly.

holy shit gerard, he sends back. There's a lot more he wants to say – are you trying to kill me?, for a start – but he's concentrating pretty hard on not popping a boner in the middle of math. There's a nun in the room, for fuck's sake. A nun who is actually going to skin Frank alive if she catches him texting in class again, let alone finds out what's in the texts.

Frank's phone buzzes again, he thinks for a whole second and a half about whether he wants to open the message.

bet youd look fuckin gorgeous all spread out on my bed. bet that pretty fuckin face would look even better when my mouth's on your dick.

Frank is pretty sure he actually makes a really fucking undignified face at that, because – fuck. He has no words, probably because most of the blood flow to his brain seems to have been redirected to his dick.

He settles for replying with !!!!!!!.

but youre in school, so i guess itll have to wait, right? comes the reply, and Frank wants to bang his head against his desk until everything disappears.

i hate you, he types, and punches the send button with a lot more force than necessary.

i am v concerned about your attitude to your education, frank, Gerard replies, and Frank goes back to puzzling over the fucking quadratic equations. He's either going to die of blue balls, or he's going to get caught and die of embarrassment. Either way, it's going to be Gerard's fucking fault.

***

Somehow, he survives the rest of the day, and the smell of his mom's veggie lasagna hits him in the face as soon as he gets the front door open. He stands there for a minute, just breathing it in. His mom's veggie lasagna is the best, he doesn't even care what anyone else says. She won't even tell him what she puts in the sauce, that's how top-secret her recipe is.

"Frank?" She appears from the kitchen wearing one oven glove, her hair in a messy ponytail and a pencil tucked behind her ear.

"Hi, Mom," he says, kicking his shoes off and letting her hug him like she's trying to stop him going anywhere ever again.

"Hi, sweetheart, I thought I heard you come in. How was school?"

"Uh, fine? You know, the usual sh-- stuff." Frank figures that it's not technically lying as long as she doesn't ask him whether he's spent most of the day having impure thoughts about Gerard's mouth.

"Good. Dinner at seven, okay?" She kisses him on the cheek, then steps back and shakes her head. She looks kind of misty-eyed again. Frank hopes to fuck she isn't going to cry. If there's one thing he is totally not qualified to deal with, it's more crying parents. "Seventeen," she says. "Where did the time go, huh?"

He doesn't really know what to say to that, so he just sort of stands there and shifts awkwardly from foot to foot until she's pulled herself together again.

"Go on, go do your homework," she says, rolling her eyes at him, and he flees.

***

Frank doesn't get any of his homework done, mostly because every time he tries he keeps hearing Gerard's voice in his head. I could be sucking you off right now. Bet you'd look fucking gorgeous, all spread out on my bed. Seriously, this is the shit wet dreams are made of. How the fuck is he supposed to concentrate on Latin grammar? One day, sister Mary Patrick is going to accept that Frank does not and is never going to give a shit about declensions or the ablative mood or whatever the fuck a gerundive is.

He ends up having to jack off in the shower just to take the edge off. It's too quick and pretty unsatisfying, but he thinks he should at least be able to control himself until dinner's over.

And then when dinner's over, Gerard's going to be there. Frank doesn't know what he's got planned, but he can't fucking wait.

***

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