Gerard Way/ MCR Oneshots

TW! Unhealthy Relationship Frerard

TW for self harm and unhealthy relationships (Gerard and Frank are fucked up and they enable each other)

Gerard ran his tongue along the weeping cuts on the inside of Frank's slender arm.

"Stings," Frank said lazily. Nonchalant tone aside, his fingers were twitching. Gerard pulled back, licking his lips and stroking Frank's skin gently.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"It's fine."

Frank reached for some tissues, deciding that that was enough for tonight. He folded them haphazardly, pressing them to his arm. The wad came away soaked in blood, and he paused to admire the fine, straight slashes that littered his pale skin, oozing crimson.

"Your scars are pretty," Gerard said, as if he hadn't voiced his opinion a million times. "Mine don't look as good as yours."

"Yes they do," Frank urged. "You only think that because you hate your thighs. Your thighs are fine, and your scars are beautiful."

Gerard sighed, leaning back against the headboard. He gazed down at his boxed-clad legs, his plush, pale thighs hatched with scabbing scars that itched and peeled.

"Can you pass me the razor, please," he asked politely.

Frank glanced up from his tissues, using some of Gerard's hair elastics to secure them in place. He was always one to patch himself up afterwards, likely due to his background as a germaphobe.

"No more tonight," he decided, pulling his hoodie on and crawling across the bed to nestle himself against Gerard's chest. "Wanna cuddle."

Gerard stroked Frank's hair gently, folding his arms around his boyfriend's waist.

"Do you still like doing that?" He wondered. "Making out with each other's cuts."

"Yeah," Frank said, his voice sounding a little hoarse. "I like it when we do it."

"As opposed to...?"

"Well, when we do it," Frank began, "we do it because we understand. Self harm is something that we've both always done, even before we met each other. My ex used to kiss my scars, too, but I hated it. Because he didn't get it. He kept trying to make me stop."

"Ugh," Gerard grimaced. "What's the point in loving someone if you can't accept their flaws?"

"Mhm," Frank hummed in agreement. "He was trying to be all saviour-complex about it."

"I kiss the scars on her skin," Gerard sang mockingly, wiggling his fingers. Frank groaned, covering his face.

"Dude," he said, his face white with disapproval. Gerard burst into peals of giggles.

"It's a good song!" He reasoned. "It's just that people tend to forget that it's about cancer, not self harm."

"Mhm," Frank muttered, flopping back onto the bed. His head rested in Gerard's lap, his dark locks tumbling about his face. Gerard petted his hair and reached over to pluck a cigarette from the pack resting on the nightstand.

"Come outside with me?" He asked. Frank nodded, getting up and retrieving a cigarette for himself.

They snuggled up on the loveseat on the balcony, shutting the sliding door in a futile attempt to confine the smoke to outside the apartment. It didn't matter either way; they would trek the smell back inside when they were finished, where it would linger on their bedsheets, the wallpaper.

"I love you," Gerard said softly, his solid, scar-riddled thighs pressed together to allow more room on the sofa for Frank.

"I love you, too," Frank whispered back. He reached across to lightly brush Gerard's skin with his fingers. Taking a drag from his cigarette, he watched as the ash climbed further towards the filter. His eyes travelled from the burning cancer stick to the circular marks on Gerard's thighs, his fingers tracing the shapes gingerly.

"Put that out on me," Gerard said, nodding at the cigarette. Frank didn't act immediately, instead opting to ash it in the small tray on the glass table. He was fine with Gerard doing it by himself, but Frank didn't really want to do it to him. He took a final puff before letting his hand hover above Gerard's leg.

Gerard's large hands clasped his tattooed fingers, gently repositioning them and pressing down. Frank grimaced at the sound of the cigarette fizzling out, shooting a glance at Gerard's unfazed expression. Frank propped himself up on his knees, allowing himself the height to reach up and plant a kiss against Gerard's temple.

"Let's go inside and patch that up," he suggested. He stood up, in the hopes that Gerard would get up, too, come inside and clean himself up. "Come on."

Gerard finished off his cigarette with a final, lung-rattling drag, stubbing it out in the ashtray and reaching for Frank's hand. Frank hauled him up, opening the glass door for them both. Gerard followed Frank to the bathroom, bringing his knee up on the bench so Frank could have a look at the injury. Frank cupped his hands under the tap, collecting cold water and letting it spill over the burn. He did this several times, until Gerard got sick of it and put his leg back down.

"Let's go to bed," he said, wrapping his arms around Frank and pulling him back into the dark room. Frank grabbed the light switch on their way out.

Gerard pulled Frank onto the bed, wrapping his arms and legs around the man's small, soft body. He kissed him repeatedly on the neck, his head, his lips.

"I love you so much, Frankie," Gerard whispered. Frank hummed in response. Cutting made him tired; it added on to the ever-present lethargy that rested, stagnant, in his veins. Years ago, releasing that blood would liven him up, give him a buzz. But nowadays, Frank didn't really get anything out of it, not unless he was angry or manic, or went really deep.

Gerard, on the other hand, was currently wide awake, his insomnia aided by the rush of the nicotine and the cigarette burn. Frank supposed that, much like with self harm, he was too accustomed to smoking to get a buzz from it anymore.

"I love you, too," he yawned, nuzzling into Gerard. His eyelids fluttered shut and his chest began to rise and fall with a steadier, more rhythmic pattern. Gerard petted his hair gently, stifling a yawn. Despite the chaos going on in the outside world, here, in the space he shared with Frank, everything felt right.