Fifty Shades of Revenge (BoyxBoy)

Act One: The Meeting

The night was young as the new moon, but the tradition was old as the ancient blazing son. Tonight was the night the gangs went around to collect their clients' dues, and Frank's gang was taking the west end.

Frank was the leader of the Red Flag, a gang known for taking up contracts for revenge killings and beatings, and sadly not in the kinky way. He was a short man, about five feet and six inches tall, but he was a killer shot. Especially when you're at the other end of the his revolver's barrel.

He was notorious for his team, and his team was notorious in Jersey. What were they notorious for? Well if I were to say they'd tie me to a cinderblock and drop me in a river, if that gives you an idea of what they're capable of.

This was it, the first small business they were going to reap of money and good times, the local comic book store just on the end of the street where the rich kids went to school.

"Open up!" Frank yelled while banging on the door. He continued the rain of abusing fists onto the door until it was opened by a scared teenage boy, who was wearing a David Bowie shirt, baggy jeans and had probably just turned nineteen.

"H-Hello." He said with a cracking voice, and it wasn't from the horrid curse that was the diabolical puberty and body change, this was purely of nervousness and fear; fear of what could come if he said or did the wrong thing and with every vowel he spoke he felt the imaginative rope tighten around his neck like a lonely summer's noose.

"You know why we're here." The shorter man spoke in a calm yet intimidating voice to the teen. "Move." He ordered and pushed the kid out of his way without giving him a chance to step aside.

Frank and his team walked through the store and to the cash register. "Hey, kid!" Frank called out to the shaky teen. "Gimme the key." He demanded like a spoiled child.

The kid obediently did as he was told and walked over to the gangster with the key in hand. The floor felt like quicksand and the air felt still and hot, and with each step it was a struggle to move.

"H-Here." He mumbled quickly and quietly, the way Frank liked it.

"Thanks." Frank said without sincerity like a bullet from a now widow's gun and opened the register. Frank turned to the boy as two of his team scooped out the money like a children with a big sweet tooth scooping out their favorite ice cream, but greed was the flavor, and power was what hungered them.

"What's 'ur name, kid?" He asked the teen with his head cocked slightly to the side and his hazel eyes locked on the boy's hazel eyes.

They were magnificently hypnotic. With one glance and a few honeyed words Frank could bring the strongest men to their knees, and then some.

"I'm Gerard, sir." He said shyly whilst looking down at his feet; another second of locked eyes he would melt. Who wouldn't?

"You gotta last name, kid?" Frank sneered at the kid and chuckled jerkishly. "Or are you just a poor 'lil orphan boy?"

"Way, sir. Gerard Way." He corrected himself in a tone of fear and teenage self consciousness.

Frank nodded in response. "Gerard Way." He said and let the words role around his tongue as if tasting a meal worth more than your parents' grave.

"Boss, we got everything." One of the men who came with Frank said to him. "We better clear out and get to the next place." He told Frank.

"Alright, Toro." He said to the curly haired man. "It was a pleasure, Gerard." He said and took the teen's hand and kissed it with a gentleness that was not to be expected from such a notorious man.