Chapter Text
Chapter one
His skills included sucking cock and taking it up the ass.
“Your mouth is fucking heaven,” the all too familiar stranger uttered into the night air, as he threw a $20 bill towards the ground and stepped back, zipping up his pants.
“See you next week.”
Gerard collected the cash from the damp floor and stood, wiping the filth and shit off his knees. It was as he did this, that he noticed a hole in his stockings, right on his knee, which began laddering, all the fucking way to his toes.
If it was one thing Gerard hated, it was looking like trash, as well as feeling like it.
There was no way in hell, he would be turning anymore tricks with fucked up stockings, and lipstick smothered across his face.
It was unacceptable to him, but unfortunately it was the reality of the job.
Clients weren’t delicate with him and the more feminine he looked, the more they wanted to ruin him.
He was their pristine little flower and they wanted to destroy, mark and just fucking own him.
That night was a usual night, sucking cock and taking it up the ass, in dimly lit alleys or the back seats of strangers cars.
It was his reality; city slickers and gang members being his usual clientele. They all wanted a slice on the side, someone they could call pretty and fuck like their life depended on it.
All that stress and frustration from their ‘real lives’ being pounded into Gerard’s tight ass. And then they’d go home, kiss their wives, put their kids to bed and pretend they’d had a late night at the office.
Gerard lit up a cigarette and exhaled that glorious smoke into the night air. Oh how he wished it was something stronger. Anything, to take away the memories of all those ugly cocks, and the vulgar remarks whispered into his ears.
His heels crunched against the gravel as he stalked back to his usual spot, right outside the brothel, where he both lived and worked.
He never took tricks inside, he liked to keep his space and his sheets clean, and stain free. It was the only escape he had from his bitter existence, and he aimed to keep it that way.
He pushed open the door and walked along the corridor and into Bert’s office. The room was bigger than most of the bedrooms, and housed a vending machine and even some scabby looking seats for tricks to use; while they waited for their selected ‘date’.
“Blow job,” Gerard grumbled, tossing the 20 bucks on the desk.
“You look like the fucking joker,” Bert snorted, gathering up the bills and tucking them safely into his draw.
“Go sort that pretty face out, will you?”
“You got it, boss,” Gerard replied, trying to sound a little more enthusiastic.
“But err.. first,” he coughed, fidgeting slightly, feeling uncomfortable and itchy in his own skin.
”You got anything pretty for me?” He finally asked, a small smile on his face.
“You’ve only sucked five tonight,” Bert said, making eye contact with the squirming figure.
“Use that pretty face and get some real action, and then you can have your present, I promise.” He looked down.
End of conversation and Gerard knew it.
He didn’t bother arguing, even though every inch of his perfect, pale white skin, was burning and his hands were shaking.
He dug his nails into the skin of his palms to stop them momentarily. He just needed to get fucked, that’s all, then he could black out and forget everything.
He left the office and hurried up to his room, picking out the sluttiest dress he could find. He fixed his make up, changed his stockings and got back out on the street within 15 minutes, as though it was a life and death situation, which to him, it was.
That was how it worked, every measly buck he earned, went straight to Bert. It paid for his room and his drugs. That’s all Gerard needed in life, a roof over his head and that glorious, white powder, up his nose. He just wanted to feel like he didn’t fucking exist, just for a little while.
The brothel was owned by the largest mafia family in New York, the Ieros. Those crooks had the police in their back pockets, they were untouchable. Drugs, sex, people, whatever sold, they exploited.
They were the kind of family you did not want to cross, not unless you wanted shooting point blank and buried in an unmarked grave.
The youngest of the family, Frank Iero, was infamous for being the worst, the most brutal and horrific psycho, you could ever meet. He was a ticking time bomb, so people said. He’d happily shoot any fucker in the face for even glancing his way.
And that’s why, Gerard avoided all eye contact with the bar across the street, owned by one Frank Iero.
He never wanted to accidentally get shot in the face because of a suggestive glance.
Frank Iero was 100% straight, Gerard assumed. Coming from a ‘strict’ Catholic family, was there anything else he could be?
Women were for marrying and breeding, boys in dresses were for....
Gerard sniggered and took a long drag on his cigarette. He knew exactly what boys in dresses were made for, and it wasn’t pretty.
It certainly wasn’t the marrying kind.
That’s not to say, that Gerard couldn’t boss any stuck up bitch, in a beautiful white gown... god damn, he’d look pretty. All virginal and innocent, big doe eyes, twinkling in the light of the church candles. His husband cornering him after the ceremony and lifting up his dress...
Fuck.
Better keep those fantastical thoughts to himself. Shit like that didn’t happen to dirty little hookers.
The most fantastic he was ever going to look, was walking those damn grotty streets, trying to pick up tricks.
He stubbed out his cigarette under his heel and kept his eyes on his side of the street, walking with confidence, strutting, luring the gang members to the less dark side.
All of his clients came from that bar and yet, he couldn’t ever claim to have met or seen, this Frank Iero. He was a ghost. He didn’t really exist for Gerard…
not until that night.
It was a little past one am, when he was pushed from a moving vehicle, by the two men, that had less than an hour ago, been taking it in turns, to fuck his ass and mouth.
He was already sore when his face collided with the sidewalk, and he let out an angry hiss, as his knees scraped the concrete, and his stockings laddered, for the second time that night.
Fucking assholes.
He laid there for a second, trying to find the energy to stand, when he heard it. A clear, smooth voice, beside him, and a hand on his shoulder.
“Hey Sweetheart, are you okay?”
The hand on his shoulder helped him to his feet, with such care and strength, that Gerard felt almost helpless.
He’d expected another fat, ugly fucking trick, waiting to pounce, as he turned and made eye contact.
Another fucking blow to his night, taking more cock, when all he wanted to take was his sweet, sweet cocaine.
He wanted to melt away into the shadows and forget the blood, that seemed to be gushing down his forehead. He wanted the night to be over. He wanted his life to be over.
“Your face...”
Gerard’s eyes snapped up to the strangers, and a gasp caught in his throat, as he took in the absolute god, in front of him.
Shorter than he was, but muscular, with dark hair and tattoos peeking out of his well fit suit.
Gerard’s type, through and through. And even though he had seen more cock than he had ever wanted to in his life, he couldn’t help but imagine what this guys cock looked like, and how perfectly it would fit inside his mouth.
Shit.
“Sweetheart, you’re bleeding,” the god spoke, and pressed his hand to Gerard's cheek.
“Come with me and I’ll clean you up.”
Goddy-mc-godface could have said anything to Gerard, could have taken him to his perverted sex dungeon and shot him in the face, and Gerard would have still followed.
He was a lamb to the slaughter.
He was so dazed in fact, that he blanked out that the stranger had taken him into that dreaded club, the one he avoided looking at.
Straight past the bar and out into the staff-only area, past the break room, cloakroom and toilets, through a keypad locked door, and into an office.
He stood awkwardly in the centre of the room and looked around. There was a desk and a bar, and about a million photos on the wall of famous people with this god, this... Shit.
Suddenly it all clicked into place in Gerard’s mind.
Frank fucking Iero.