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He wiped his sweaty hands on the sides of his pants for the forty-sixth time tonight, and he blew out a breath for the… He couldn’t remember—he lost count a long while ago.
He dragged a rough, tattooed hand down his face, trying to rid his forehead of all the sweat he was producing. He could only imagine what it was going to be like when all the pyrotechnics kicked in during the show; it would be like hell. Hot, with his veins on fire, his hair sticking to his forehead, and his fingers burning as he strummed at his beloved guitar.
But it’d all be okay, because he would be alive. He would be answering his life’s true calling, the passion for playing music and giving others the hope he always wished he could give.
With Ray in front of him as they lined up, readying to receive their pills for tonight's act, Mikey stood behind him, giving a light pat on his shoulder. They were on stage now, and it was time for them to put on their faces—to play their characters as the Black Parade.
Frank liked to play his part. Running around, playing on stage, and the theatrics, it was all incredibly fun. Acting out the story of the Black Parade within the nation of Draag, their time relapses, the cloning—all of it was incredible, and it was thanks to Gerard, the mastermind behind it all. Frank knew how much this meant to them, as they’d always been the weird, artsy, theater kid. Hell, they played as Peter Pan when they were nine; they were born for this indeed.
And so, that is why, when Ray took his designated pill from the Clerk—Charlie, donning his light colored, loose-fitting clothes—he did what he was told. Frank moved forward as Ray walked away, looking around the stage as if he didn’t know where he was, the crowd shouting and cheering.
Frank ran a hand down his face again—if he was to actually do this, the fans were never going to let him live this down. He’d hear of it for the rest of his life, and he knew that Gerard would have an absolute field day with this. It was their idea anyway, and is certainly needed for the plot of their story, as it was a critical detail... They both knew how the fans would react to this; it’d throw them into complete disarray.
Frank laughed to himself, as he had many times before during this tour, while making the B-stage setlists that he knew could kill. Both he and Gerard were evil; they knew what they were doing, and they both were having the utmost fun.
Charlie held the small cup of pills out to him, his hair a bit shaggy and shiny underneath the lights of the stage, and without another second of hesitation, Frank smacked the cup out of his hand.
There was no way he was coming back from this—if he was going to do it, he surely wasn’t going to half-ass it.
In a firm yet gentle grip, he placed both hands on the sides of Charlie's head, pulling him into a tooth-bumping kiss. Their lips slotted together briefly, soft and unyielding, quick and hazy. He pulled back just as fast as he had landed, stepping aside with a small smile on his face and a giggle bubbling in his chest.
Charlie’s face was in shock, the facade almost tripping up Frank as he watched his jaw drop. His square glasses had slid down the bridge of his nose, and the sides of his hair were more mussed than they had been before.
Frank walked away, having to use his hand to cover the smile ever growing on his face, lip-biting and wide. He even tried slotting his hands into the pockets of his uniform jacket, but quickly realized they had none.
This was fun; he missed this. He missed doing things like this on stage—he couldn’t remember the last time he had kissed someone so openly, on stage in front of thousands of people, the impending music and screams hammering his being into something he practically couldn’t control.
He remembered when he used to kiss Gerard on stage—the music loud, and when he was feeling everything and nothing all at once. When he was feeling heavy and weightless. When he was feeling so many emotions, he just wanted to kiss the fuck out of someone.
Gerard knew that he missed that—the feeling of basically creating soft, but hardcore gay porn while on stage. Gerard themself missed it too, which is why they decided to implement themself fucking straddling Charlie later on, stabbing him and ripping his guts out, fake blood splattering all over their face as they did so. The crazy fucker, always wanting to be covered in blood. But Frank was also a bit crazy, as it got him a little worked up. Watching them move in that small corset, that little wild glint in their eyes, and the way their small teeth showed when all the emotions pulled their lips into a ridiculous smile.
It was enough to make Frank want to crawl on his knees towards them, begging at their feet, licking at the side of their face like he used to do. But he was too old for that now, to be parading and tongue fucking your bandmates in front of thousands. Which is most likely why Gerard suggested that they do all of this shit to poor Charlie. The mind-blowing, wild feelings they contracted while on stage needed some kind of outlet, if not towards each other, then they needed a third player. Especially seeing as though Charlie didn’t mind at all, and actually jumped at the proposal when Gerard kindly, but weirdly, asked.
Perhaps Charlie was just as deranged as they were; the lights, music, and fire were working him up just as much as they did for the rest. With the way he was carefully smiling right now as they moved to their positions on stage, Frank was sure that Charlie hadn’t minded the kiss one bit.
A little later, the show blurring together, song after song, his fingers burning and his knees aching, now came his favorite part. He’d been whipping his head around all night, thrashing—but not as he used to, of course, and even to this day, he wonders how and why he used to do all of that. The pyro shooting from all around them had been making him sweat horribly and despite Gerard having said that they weren’t allowed any, there seemed to be more than usual.
But none of that mattered now, because the hidden track, Blood was playing on the speakers, loud and blaring. Charlie was lying on the gurney as Gerard began to climb over him, the dagger clutched in their gloved hands.
Frank watched from the side, definitely not staring at the way Gerard’s pants tightened and stretched over his ass, hugging his hips and thighs.
Charlie was one lucky motherfucker—having Gerard climb over him like that, straddling his legs while stabbing and disemboweling him, giving a few short bounces on his lap, smiling the entire time. Fake blood shot out and up into the air, splattering all over Gerard’s face and some falling back onto Charlie’s.
It was obscene—it was weirdly hot, and Frank could feel his face burning red. Not simply because of the heat of the fire, but because he was deeply jealous. That should’ve been him on that gurney; Charlie was hogging Gerard all to himself, and it simply wasn’t fair.
Fuck Gerard and their weird hematolagnia. Fuck them and their weird need to show off, directing and soaking in all of the attention that they received—no, involuntarily demanded. Fuck them for being so fucking alluring, their movements carefully decided while also appearing so natural all at the same time.
Frank caught a glimpse of their blood-soaked face, mousy brown hair stuck to their forehead, and their small teeth that seemed to be catching in the light.
He was definitely sure he missed this feeling so damn much, and he could see it written all over their face that they had too, no matter how weird and messed up it seemed.