"Looking at Alicia again, are we?" Came the teasing voice of Pete Wentz, his brown eyes glinting as a spark of mischief darted across them.

"Fuck off." Mikey snapped in response, yawning a little - he was far too tired for this. Apparently spending all your afternoon chatting to Alicia on MSN wasn't the best of ideas when it caused you to have to pile in all the work due tomorrow between the hours of midnight and three am, which as Mikey had rather brutally discovered, were not the hours when his brain worked at its best.

Pete simply smirked in response, leaning back against the wire railings of the netball pitch, choosing in a manner very typical of him to spend his lunchtime pissing Mikey Way off. He just liked annoying him, of course, and in Pete's opinion it really was fucking stupid as to just how lovestruck he was with Alicia, who couldn't even give a crap about him.

Mikey sighed, getting up from where he was sat underneath the bleachers and went over to stand beside Pete, who had been blocking his view of Alicia Simmons in a miniskirt- the netball game.

"Where are Toro and Iero?" Pete asked, amused to see Mikey Way alone for once - it wasn't often he actually got to have a conversation/argument with the guy without one of his friends, usually Ray Toro, from intervening and telling them to act maturely in the situation or whatever the hell else kind of bullshit he could reel off at that moment in time.

"Ray's got some library ambassador meeting - why he ever signed up for that I really do not know. I think his mum just wants him to get extra credits for university or whatever, and I don't mean to be rude here, but I'm not gonna lie: he's dogshit at math, he's going to have to cheat to pass his math exams, but he's Ray Toro so of course he's never going to cheat is he? Ridiculous if you ask me." Mikey reeled off in an amusingly animated manner, or so Pete thought, his eyebrows perking up and the corners of his lips twisting up into a smirk as he watched the way Mikey gestured with his hands as he spoke, despite the fact his eyes never once left Alicia Simmons.

Pete reckoned Mikey would have been an alright guy if he wasn't so stalkerishly girl obsessed. Pete had gotten around a little, and as far as he knew, Mikey Way was still a virgin - not that he'd extensively researched the matter or anything, of course - and Pete never was this weird around girls at all. It wasn't even awkward weird; in Mikey's case it was just crazy weird. Pete sometimes thought that Mikey Way might need psychological help, but what he knew for certain was that he wasn't going to be the one to give it to him.

"Ah, but Ray's got all these geeky nerdy little boffin bookworm friends now he's a library thingyamawotsit, and they'll all have messed up mothers that starve them if they don't get straight As or something, so they'll help Ray at math, and you'll, after Ray's gone off to boffin land, you'll be friendless, Mikey Way." Mikey peeled his gaze up send Pete the deadliest glare he could muster. "Don't worry though, you'll always have me."

"I really do hate you, Pete." Mikey spat, his eyes returning to Alicia within moments; he reckoned that Pete Wentz was not worth his time, however Alicia Simmons' ass, that was. "I really do."

"My pleasure." Pete grinned, mock bowing, just to piss Mikey off even further. "I would try and go rescue Ray from his new best friends though, before he gets any ideas or something, like man, what if they get to the level of friendships where their mums go out on coffee mornings and bitch about their children, husbands, and neighbours together."

"Dude, no one actually does that." Mikey said, blissfully unaware of the fact that Mrs Way and Mrs Toro were currently in at the Way residence, sipping tea, discussing their children and perhaps even contemplating making a fruit cake that Mikey would have to pretend not to throw up as he ate, that is if Mrs Toro's 'sprained ankle' ever stopped playing up. Even Mrs Way reckoned that Mrs Toro was just lazy.

"Is your life a soap opera- judging by just how arrogant you are, it's probably true, but..." He peered over at Pete, cocking his head up slightly. "If you were on a TV soap opera, and I was the director, I'd be firing the make up department, because you still look ugly as shit."

"At least I have friends, Way." Pete said with a smirk, following Mikey's gaze back to Alicia Simmons' ass. "And at least I'm not ignorant enough to never realise when someone is never going to date me."

"You're single, Pete. Shut up." Mikey honestly didn't have a clue if Pete was single or not, but he knew the guy was annoying - that was for sure, and he very much doubted that any girl, no matter how demented could put up with him for more than forty minutes at a maximum.

"I seriously would consider rescuing Toro from the mob of straight A, half starved, mostly likely emotionally abused, boffin kids - with math answers and possibly even cheat sheets." Mikey's gaze lifted at the mention of the word cheat.

"Not that he'd ever use a cheat sheet." The both of them spurted out at that same time, strangely in sync. Mikey tossed Pete a weird glance whilst Pete stifled a fit of laughter, having been intending to mock Mikey in the first place, and ending up doing a far better job of it than he could have ever imagined.

"I'm not rescuing Ray from the Asians, he'll be fine." Mikey rolled his eyes, casually reeling off a more than mildly racist remark, having been far too accustomed to that kind of attitude at home from both Mr and Mrs Way.

"Racist." Pete remarked, eyebrows raised, knowing that Mikey had messed up Catholic parents, rendering him not all that surprised. He reckoned that minus the parents Mikey wouldn't nearly be such an asshole.

"I'm like a quarter Italian, I can't possibly be racist." Mikey answered with another sarcastic remark, leaving Pete to amuse himself with just how weirdly similar the two of them were - he'd even reckon that they could be friends if Mikey Way wasn't such a massive pile of dicks. He'd heard that the guy was massively homophobic, and he really wasn't in the mood to rest that theory out... or was he?

"Heard you hate fags though." He rolled the words off his tongue casually, and at the mention of the word 'fag', Mikey turned away from Alicia fully, even directly pointing his body at Pete for the first time today, which in Pete's head was pretty self-explanatory - the dude was either a massive homophobe, or gay himself, or even both, which seems to be sickeningly common with these kinds of parents.

Pete's glad the only reason he's in Catholic school is because they've got outstanding results (which he reckons is probably down to the mums of the straight A students and their odd forms of parenting) and his dad's determined to make sure Pete does something academic with his life. He, on the other hand, just wants to play bass. He wonders if Mikey Way wants hear him play bass - he bets he'd be impressed.

"It's a Catholic school. We're all Catholic here, of course we hate fags. It's what god says is right. You know? Adam and Eve... not Adam and Steve." Clearly this kid had had some seriously bible bashing, or so Pete thought, or at least he reckoned just about anyone could pick that up.

"Or Anna and Eve." Pete added, gaining the most horrific look from Mikey. "Just thought if you're going to slag off gay dudes, you might as well slag off lesbians as well. Don't tell me you're one of those assholes that hate gay dudes but are all for lesbians... as long as they can watch. I mean, I knew you were an asshole already, but I seriously didn't think you were that kind of asshole. If you're going to pull all that Adam and Eve bullshit don't watch lesbian porn, all I'm saying."

"I...I... don't watch porn..." Mikey stuttered out, blushing a little at the word, causing to Pete to roll his eyes and hope that for this abstinence only education Mikey ends up getting the first bitch he fucks pregnant. He'd love to watch Mrs Way deal with that.

"You watch Alicia Simmons playing netball in a miniskirt - close enough." Pete sighed, glancing back to the pitch to see that the game had ended and they were swapping teams. He would have cared just a little if the only reason he was here wasn't to laugh at Mikey Way as he practically perved on Alicia.

"Netball isn't for lesbians." Mikey pointed out, blushing, as it was very clear that the subject made him uncomfortable. Pete was at least proud that Mikey hadn’t tried to cleanse his sins or whatever by now. Pete knew this was a Catholic school, but there were some people that took it way too seriously.

"Lots of girls in minimal clothing, getting close to each other as they tried to get rid of a ball as fast as they can. Sounds more like feminist lesbians, actually." Pete smirked, watching Mikey's now radish red face with heightened amusement.

"You're racist to feminists." Mikey pointed out with all of his intelligence combined at once.

"Racist to feminists?" Pete broke out into laughter, "that made no sense you asshole."

"You're discriminating against feminists... they just want equality, don't they? I mean... the sane ones..." He mumbled, and the whole idea that Mikey was actually adopting anything from the past decade was surprising Pete beyond belief.

"Oh so girls wanting rights you're fine with? But not Asians, or gay dudes? Especially not Asian gay dudes- wow, hell if you ever met Jackie Chan-" Pete chuckled, deciding by now that Mikey Way was an absolute asshole, and it seemed like there was very little he could do about it, but of course that wouldn't stop him from trying.

"Jackie Chan is not gay..." Mikey widened his eyes, beginning to question if Pete was high right now, because it was certainly looking quite likely at this point.

"But do you know for certain huh?" He winked at him in response.

"I... uhh..." Mikey fell deep in blush shaped trap once more. "Can we not talk about this...?"

"Yeah, you told me about Toro and his librarian thingymaboop, but Iero, dude where the hell is Iero? If you're telling me he's got anything like that I'm going to fucking die dude." Pete expressed, reverting their conversation back into a complete one eighty-degree turn to the start.

"Uhh... I don't actually know where Frank is." Mikey admitted, blushing a little.

"Mikey I'm so sorry - it looks like all your friends have left you." Pete began in a weirdly operatic voice.

"Seriously do you know where Frank is because I actually haven’t seen him all day?" Mikey's tone broke into the reigns of sincerity, his gaze growing stern.

"Nah dude, where Iero is - I don't think anybody knows."

-

"And the reason we're skipping school for an evening 'social gathering' is...? Can we not call it a 'social gathering' as well I feel like a middle aged single mother?" Frank asked, his gaze skeptical as he glanced around Jamia's bedroom, sat crossed legged and not at all complacent on her superwoman bed sheets, watching as she applied various toxic looking chemicals to her face in the big mirror a metre away.

"Well, Lindsey says we can turn up whenever we want after noon, and I want maximum lesbian action, and I’ve gotta take time to get ready, because if I don't look like a pretty like lady, my pretty little lady parts aren't getting licked out tonight." Frank cringed at her choice of words there, blushing a little, and left wondering why the hell he'd had to get up for this in the first place - he was already ready, and had been for several hours now, for Christ's sake.

Admittedly, Frank really wasn't expecting all that much and hadn't put much effort into his outfit past putting deodorant on. It wasn't as if he owned clothes other than black tight fitting ones that made him look like he was an eight grader, and with his height, or in fact, lack of it, he reckoned he really did make a shocking resemblance to an eight grader right now. Perhaps even a seventh...

"And why does this apply to me?" Frank asked, eyebrows rose in skepticality and general annoyance at Jamia's apparent incapability to function without the aid of lip-gloss. It was kind of pretty though, so I guess she had her reasons.

"Because, Franklin Anthony Iero," Jamia spun on her heels, now donning a full face up of surprisingly well done make up. Surprisingly well done for someone with a sprained wrist anyway - she'd fall out of a tree the other day, and Frank couldn't help but blame her. He wondered if this'd affect her lesbian abilities or not - Frank didn't know an awful lot about lesbians, and he reckoned that he might not want to.

"Yes, Jamia Lesbian Whore Nestor?" Frank asked, giving up and grabbing a smoke from his pocket, deciding she'd take another twenty minutes at the least, and lighting the thing.

"If you set the alarm off I will set fire to your dick." She cursed before opening her wardrobe with concerning vigour.

"What are you doing...”? Frank trailed off, eyes widening, cigarette hanging limp between his lips.

"Don't get fucking cigarette ash on my bed you absolute fuckhead, use a fucking ashtray, you shithole!" Jamia exclaimed, racing forward and practically throwing Frank off her bed before he could drop any ash onto her sheets. "Twat." She chided in a strangely affectionate manner, before opening a cupboard above her wardrobe and tossing a plastic cup, that looked like it was designed to hold pencils and not cigarette ash, in Frank's direction. "Use this."

"Do you not have a real ashtray?" He asked, holding the cup between two fingers, almost eyeing it suspiciously.

"Yes because when my mum gets her OCD on and rampantly cleans my room she's not going to question an ashtray." Jamia rolled her eyes. "And to answer your previous question," she turned back to Frank, who hadn't quite the balls to return to the bed and had now resorted to standing awkwardly half way across her bedroom with a plastic cup in one hand and a cigarette in the other. "I'm picking my outfit, because unlike you, Mr Iero, I'm going to go to a party in something other than five day old jeans and an Iron Maiden shirt."

"How do you know they're five days old anyway?" Frank asked, pulling at the black fabric on his legs awkwardly, but not at all denying it, of course.

"You were wearing the exact same pair on Friday and you got white paint on them in art when you were acting like an ass and flicking it from your crotch like you were coming, which serves you right, because," she pointed to his crotch in a far too casual manner. "You’ve got white paint stains on your crotch now, and I'm going to be frank with you, Frank," He rolled his eyes at her pathetic attempt towards a pun, "they look like come stains. Makes you look like a slut though, so it's fine... if you're into that or something."

"Jamia can I borrow some jeans?" Frank looked up Jamia with this pathetic, fuck me, I'm just about to shoot myself and my whole family, fuck my life, kind of glance.

"Girl jeans, Frankie?" She taunted, grinning like hell.

"I wear fucking girl jeans, Jamia, I'm like four fucking foot." She giggled, grabbing a pair from her wardrobe and tossing them in Frank's direction.

Frank let out a sigh, extinguishing his cigarette and chucking it in the plastic cup which he placed on the desk, before pulling his five day old jeans off and just awkwardly holding them for a moment, in his boxers, in Jamia's room. "Uhh... where do you want me to put these?"

Jamia spun around, clutching a black leather dress like thing, before bursting into a fucking childish fit of giggles, "nice boxers, Frankie."

"Fuck off, tell me where to put my fucking cumslut jeans." Frank snapped, shaking his head and seriously questioning his choice in friends.

"Just throw 'em on the bed, anywhere." She shrugged, casually.

"Your mum will find them... they're cumslut jeans..." Frank pointed out what in Jamia's mind was very much the obvious.

"Yeah, good, I want to keep her thinking I'm straight, you can pretend to be my boyfriend if necessary." Frank sighed, throwing his cumslut jeans onto Jamia's bed and sparing a thought to the meek, mild woman that was Mrs Nestor, who really would not appreciate cumslut jeans on her daughter's bed.

He then pulled on the girl jeans, trying his best ignore that girl jeans from an actual girl were baggy on him as he pulled them up to Simon Cowell extremes to avoid them bunching at the bottoms, before realising they wouldn't stay without a belt and giving up entirely as he let them hang low over his hips with just about even slack at his ankles to clothe an entire poverty stricken country.

"What do you think about this dress?" Jamia asked, holding up the black part leather one she'd be holding a moment ago. Frank shrugged, being a typical guy and having generally no fucking clue about fashion, even with being a massive homo.

"It's nice... and black... very black...? Pretty...?" Frank stumbled over his words, blushing a little as Jamia tossed him one of those 'I will slap you' looks.

"I'm going to have to invest in a new gay best friend, honestly - you're shit." She added in a typically affectionate and kind manner.

"Good luck finding one, I've been searching for like four years now-"

"Oh, yeah, Frankie, as I was saying. I've asked Lindsey, my lesbian hook up, if you weren't listening, and there are actual gay males at this 'social gathering', Frankie. So pull your girl jeans up and get some fucking eyeliner on."

And at the mention of actual gay males in his town, Frank froze, before moving into clockwork faster than ever before, making a beeline to Jamia's eyeliner draw, because right he didn't care if they were attractive or not, he was going to get some dick tonight.

Perhaps he should have worn the cumslut jeans after all.

-

Frank really didn't know what to expect from the words 'social gathering', well other than pretentious assholes, but what he really was not expecting was a bungalow in the suburbs, but Jamia hadn't stopped the car here for no reason.

"Not exactly Vegas, I know." She commented, noticing Frank's widened eyes. "Heard they got some pot though so it can't be that bad."

"I'd rather remember it if I am going to get laid tonight." Frank added, not wanting to admit that weed intimidated him a little, especially considering the fact that everyone here was older than him, even Jamia. And it really didn’t help that he now looked like a female eighth grader.

"If I knew you were going to be such a whore about things then I would've told you to keep the cumslut jeans." Jamia smirked, "now come get out the car you virgin, I want you to meet Lindsey, then you can go get laid or whatever, but the whole point of you coming is meeting Lindsey."

"Yeah, meeting Lindsey. Are you two dating or is it just casual, Jamia?" He pulled on a typical parental voice. "How much is her yearly income? What grades did she get-"

"Shut up you sound like my fucking dad!" Jamia exclaimed, chocking on laughter, "come on get out the car, cumslut."

"Please don't call me that." He let out a sigh.

"Cumslut." She repeated, grinning like nothing could stop her, and Frank honestly doubted that anything would.

The door was practically opened for them before Jamia could even ring the doorbell. Frank peered in at the muscular dude, putting his gaydar on full signal strength for tonight - the dude stood before him was not on it.

For a start, he stunk of weed, and was clutching a beer can in his left hand- it was what... one pm latest? He was alright appearance wise though; with blue eyes and blonde hair... the beard however was questionable.

"Oh, hey, I'm Bob, so you're Jamia, I'm presuming." He pointed towards her with his beer can, which he looked like he was going to spill at just about any moment now.

"Yeah, hey." She smiled at him, turning back to Frank, "this is Frank, Lindsey said I could bring him."

"Yeah whatever, more the merrier, we've got like four people here, and I don't even count as a real guest." He exclaimed, gesturing the two of them in and neither bothered to take their shoes off, as it was clear Bob hadn't.

"Why aren't you a real guest?" Jamia asked, curious about his previous statement.

"I'm the drug dealer, I get the pot, and they get me an invite in return, you know I'm in it for the free booze so it's pretty good for me - they have a lot of booze." He reeled off, chuckling a little, and Frank reckoned that he did seem to be a pretty nice guy, but he really wasn't down for the drug dealer shit and the fact that he was drunk at one pm.

"I see you've making use of that free booze." Jamia commented, easing up to Bob in a way that made Frank feel more than just a little awkward.

"Certainly 'ave, certainly 'ave." He grinned, leading Frank and Jamia into what was assumed to be the main room of the house.

The first thing Frank couldn't help but take in was the obvious age of the people around him, most appeared to be in their twenties, perhaps even going on thirty, and as a seventeen year old, he couldn't help but feel just a little awkward.

"Jamia!" A tall woman with black hair and curves that even a gay guy like Frank couldn't help but notice jumped up from the couch to greet Jamia, which in Frank's opinion was great and all, considering the fact that Lindsey looked to be only about twenty two and not particularly stoned, until they started involving tongues and Frank couldn't help but look away.

The only problem however with looking away was that he was thrown right into the eye line of what he presumed to be the remaining guests, which consisted of a dude with long black hair, another guy that looked to be going on thirty with dark brown hair, and another with this weird brown fringe thing going on.

And in that moment Frank was oddly thankful for Bob to be behind him, patting his shoulder and wonderfully announcing him to the three dudes in front of him, which to Frank's disappointment, none of which appeared particularly attractive. "Guys, this is Frankie, can I call you Frankie? I'm gonna call you Frankie, friends with Jamia, so whilst she's busy lesbianing over there, try to do something so he isn't standing there like a cactus - you know, all prickly. I'm sure he's lovely."

Bob pulled Frank's head around to look at him. "You lovely, Frankie?"

"Uhh... I guess." He said with a blush, cursing girl jeans for not having pockets so he couldn't distract his hands from whatever awkward fidgeting they were doing.

"Fuck..." Frank snapped out of his awkward bubble, and even Lindsey and Jamia stopped making out at the sound of a crash as the door practically fell off its hinges as someone crashed through.

"Fuck these fucking heels, I'm going to have accept that I will never be taller than five seven, aren't I?" Frank's eyes couldn't help but widen as he laid his gaze upon who'd just crashed through the door and was now pulling a pair of black stiletto heels from their feet and throwing them back through the door, causing an unknown crash in what Frank assumed to be the kitchen behind the door.

"You're paying for that, Gee." Long hair guy remarked, glaring across the room at 'Gee' who now stood in an oversized, low cut, girl fit black t-shirt, proclaiming the word 'Slut' across Gee's flat chest in bold letters, matched with a red punk style tartan miniskirt and then, it was weird and all too sudden, but Frank suddenly felt like Mikey, and Gee felt an awful lot like Alicia.

Frank had never understood the appeal of miniskirts on girls, but on guys, fuck, he didn't know how this had happened, but he suddenly understood all of Mikey's actions, because from that moment on, Gee was the kind of person Frank would most definitely fuck up his life trying to impress.

Gee was obviously a guy from his voice and the absence of curves at all on his body, and of course his inability to walk in heels, yet there was no denying that he was fucking feminine to the extreme; his black hair straightened and brushed into a side parting, his eyes donning eyeliner and several coats of mascara. In Frank's opinion, Gee was fucking hot.

"Hey Lindsey... Jamia?" He struggled to pronounce her name a little and Frank couldn't help but watch as his mouth moved to push the words out.

"Uhh... hey." Jamia replied, blushing a little as she glanced Gee up and down, not quite able to tell his gender as easily as Frank had.

"Questionable shirt." Lindsey remarked, gesturing towards the slut t-shirt he wore with just enough pride to make Frank laugh.

"Oh, I just want to inform everyone that I'm a slut and I'm totally down for fucking tonight." He smirked, and Frank couldn't draw himself away from his thick Jersey accent and the way he made the word 'hey' sound like sin itself.

"Better than your cumslut jeans, eh, Frankie?" Jamia turned around, drawing not just Gee's attention onto Frank, but everyone in the room's attention too.

"Frankie." Gee smirked, pushing Frank's name through his lips in a manner that Frank reckoned should be considered illegal.

"Cumslut jeans?" Fringe guy exclaimed, bursting into laughter. "Sounds like something this little shit would come up with." He pointed in Gee's direction.

"Yeah, cumslut jeans, do tell, honey." He winked, making Frank blush within barely a few moments of meeting him, and for once Frank wasn't even complaining.

"He had come stains on his jeans." Jamia smirked, lying in order to make Frank blush, noticing just how his face keeping doing that whenever Gee spoke to him, or anyone in fact, which Jamia found very interesting indeed.

"It was white paint, Jamia." Frank corrected her, mentally killing her in about a thousand different ways in his head right now.

"That's what they all say." Bob added, smirking whilst taking a swig of his beer can and ending up choking on it in the process.

"Don't make him feel bad about, all natural you know, circle of life... and your dick." Brown hair dude added, "Lets get some music on, hey? Piss off the neighbours a little, you know. The guests are here now." 

"Oh, but manners, has Frankie been introduced to you three?" Gee asked, beckoning for Frank across the room, who awkwardly followed and stood beside him, his eyes involuntarily drifting to Gee's thighs and how that miniskirt was riding up them and oh fuck.

"I'm Bert," Long hair dude introduced himself, "and these assholes are Cortez and Dewees." He gestured towards the brown hair guys beside him. "Bob put some good fucking music on, I'm not having any of that shit that slut over here wants to listen to." And Frank's heart couldn't but skip a beat as Gee was refereed to as 'slut', which was something he didn't even seem to mind.

"The Smiths are not shit." Gee exclaimed, looking personally offended by Bert's statement, which in the author's opinion, he had all the right to be. And Frank was seriously dying here, because Gee could not like The Smiths, if this guy turned out to be anymore perfect then he figured he end up fucking him on the spot or something, because Frank reckoned that Gee was even more attractive than Morrissey. And that was saying something.

"Yeah, Smiths are fucking awesome." Frank added, noticing Gee's very obvious gesture at stepping closer to him at that point, his miniskirt very close to Frank's crotch, which really was not helping at all.

"Fuck's sake guys." Bob yelled, still hovering beside the CD player, "Frankie's the guest, he's wearing a Maiden shirt, we're playing Maiden, end of story, you can all come suck my dick about it later." And before anyone could argue, the room was filled with the sound of Iron Maiden's 1981 album, Killers.

And Frank was barely even conscious as Gee dragged him through the door he'd walked in through, stopping to glance at the wooden dining table where the stilettos had landed. "Bert's gonna kill me, fuck I don't even care, come on, Frankie." He tugged on Frank's hand, eventually leading him out into the garden and closing the door behind them as not to piss of the neighbours too much with the sound of Iron Maiden at one pm.

"Want to actually talk to you." Gee provided as explanation before sitting crossed legged on the grass... in a miniskirt, which was a great idea to Frank's dick, but to his head, not so much. He sat beside him nonetheless, because standing there staring at the crotch of someone you just met was perhaps even more awkward.

"So cumslut," He began, smirking at Frank as he spoke, "tell me about yourself."

"Huh?" Frank asked, blushing a little as Gee sat so they were opposite, and locked in eye contact constantly. At least if he was looking at his eyes, he'd be distracted from that fucking miniskirt, Frank thought. "Please don't call me cumslut."

"Is this the part where you go all 'no homo' on me? I'm sorry I was barely even flirting with you, joking if anything. I'm sorry that your straight ass thinks that talk to you, means suck your dick - I wouldn't go near it. You seemed pretty decent - liked The Smiths, didn't question the miniskirt, but oh of course, not you're an asshole like the rest of them. Enjoy this - I started listening to The Smiths because I saw a picture of Morrissey and thought he was fucking hot, happy now?" Gerard screamed out at Frank, far too tired with the absolute lack of gay, or even decent guys in Jersey these days.

"Gee... I... no, you're wrong-" Frank began to explain, even laughing a little at the fact that he'd just been called straight.

"Oh really, honey?" Gee shook his head, getting up to leave.

"I'm gay." Frank spat the words out, desperate for Gee not to leave, because he was not going to let what he reckoned to be his perfect guy go quite so easily at all.

Gee froze in his tracks and sat back, locking eyes with Frank, "don't fuck with me. No one's fucking even bi here - I've learned that by now. You and Jamia go to the Catholic school, no fucking chance. I went there too. I know you'd practically be dead by now-"

"You went to a Catholic school?" Frank choked out, knowing Gee would be the kind of person that'd make Mikey want to perform an immediate exorcism on him.

"I ran away - live with Bert now - he puts up with me." Gee added, grinning a little. "Fucking sucks honey, be glad you're getting out of there soon." He met Frank with sincere eyes.

"Fuck I am. Jamia's the only person that knows I'm gay, and my fucking friends man, one of them he's obsessed with this girl - stalking her, learned croquet just because he thinks she'll date him because of that. She thinks he's a fucking perv though; all he does is stare her ass in that netball uniform miniskirt. Like, fuck, I never understood the appeal of a miniskirt, until-" And then Frank stopped himself, throwing his hands over his lips as he realised exactly where he was going with this. 

"Until?" Gee asked, mascara coated lashes blinking up innocently at him.

"Now..." He stuttered out, his eyes falling upon the miniskirt that now lay dangerously high on Gee's thighs.

Gee exhaled loudly, making Frank gulp, until the silence was eventually filled. "Oh, so you do like the miniskirt, huh? Cumslut?" Frank shot him a glance. "Frankie." He corrected himself with a sarcastic smile.

"Yeah, it's uhh... hot." Frank breathed out, quite honestly scared at where he was going with this, his dick thinking instead of his head. "And about Morrissey, I saw a gig with a friend, and Morrissey was basically how I discovered I like dudes."

"I'm laughing at the fact that I called you straight now, honestly." Gee let out a fucking giggle and oh god, Frank was not okay with this but so totally okay with this. "All of what I said was lies, Frankie, okay?"

"So... were you lying when you said wouldn't come near my dick...?"

"Fucking cumslut." He let out a little hitched gasp, Gee's eyes trailed towards Frank's jeans and giggling again. "Cumslut. Cumslut. Cumslut. You don't like me calling you that, because it goes straight to your fucking dick, you cumslut."

"Fuck... Gee." Frank let out an involuntarily moan, which oh fuck Gee did enjoy.

"You say my name once more and I'm going to have to do something about these slutty moans, cumslut." Gee watched as Frank's eyes closed at his and he took the opportunity to grab the seventeen year old's hand and yank down his zipper, placing it over his dick through his boxer shorts.

"Gee..." Frank moaned out, his hand tightened around himself and before he could even pull his eyes open, Gee had pulled his jeans down completely the boxers on their way down too.

"You know when I said I wanted to talk you, Frankie?" Gee asked, Frank only mumbling in response, barely able to breathe as he came to the realisation of just what was happening between them right now. "This shirt's here for a reason." Frank's eyes only flashed open long enough to read the word 'slut' off Gee's chest before his visions was blurred by Gee taking him into his mouth.

"Knees." He mumbled against Frank's already hard member, and right then Frank didn't even care that they were outside and it was barely even two pm and that he totally should be at Catholic school right now. Gee's tongue on his dick made him forget all of that instantly.

Frank pushed his fingers through Gee's perfectly straightened hair and he almost felt guilty to ruin it, but he honestly thought that if he wasn't holding onto Gee in someway, that he'd fall back against the grass, because with Gee all over him like this, he was in no way stable at all.

And it barely took Gee to run his tongue over Frank's slit before he was coming right down Gee's throat, who of course, swallowed it, smirking up at Frank, reminding him that he took great pleasure in doing so.

"You've never been sucked before have you?" Gee asked, wiping Frank's come from his lips as he pulled away once Frank had finished and oh my god Frank was dying at the sight of Gee like that with his come dripping from his lips.

"Catholic school." Frank reminded him, blushing a little.

"Come here." Gee gestured to Frank as Gee sat cross legged once more, Frank's jeans and boxers still at his knees but he couldn't care less. Gee grabbed Frank's hand taking it up underneath the miniskirt and placing it on his own member.

"Fuck, you're not even wearing underwear under here!" Frank exclaimed, running his hand up and down Gee's length, still getting used to the fact that there was a dick under this miniskirt. He imagined how Mikey would freak out if that happened to him, and Frank nearly burst out laughing at that.

"Your boxers are at your knees. It's afternoon, all the fucking neighbours can see that pretty little ass of yours, Frankie." Gee giggled and then his breath hitched, Frank touching just the right spot and moving faster and then Gee was coming into the seventeen year old's fist.

"Fuck." Gee sighed out, falling back against the grass, pulling the miniskirt down a little. He turned his head towards Frank. "Put your cumslut jeans back on, cumslut."

"These aren't even the cumslut jeans and it was honestly white paint-"

"Frankie I think they are now."

Frank looked down and sure enough, the white splatters on these jeans were not paint at all.

Jamia was going to kill him.

-

Hey guys:) Ahha, not quite sure how I've made a second chapter already, and it's 3am and I've been writing this since midnight and this is definitely either not or most definitely the highlight of my life and I don't even know what to think of this chapter I'm just going to publish it before sanity gets the better of me because I think the world does need Gerard Way in a fucking miniskirt.

Also the chapter title is wonderful in my opinion, I thought of it but w/e:') Vote and comment please man I need to go to bed fuuuck:') Love you all<3