Desolation Row (frerard, petekey) {ON HIATUS}

1. Gerard Isn't A Whore (I Literally Got A Boner Writing This Chapter Help Me)

Gerard isn't a whore.

Sure, he's been called a whore, hell, he's been called a lot of things over the past four years of his life. But the only thing he minded was being called a whore.

Faggot. He could handle that. Going to a public school in New Jersey had gotten him used to it.

Cunt. He just told people he wasn't and never will be between a girl's legs.

Slut. Different from whore. To Gerard at least. It was less hurtful for some reason. He liked it when people called him a slut.

So, Gerard wasn't a whore. Call him a whore and he'll have a pistol to the back of your head within a second.

And Gerard was a good shot.

-

Gerard was backstage, getting ready for the first show of the night. Hayley was doing their makeup at the dressing table, wearing only a bra and their shortest skirt. Gerard liked watching Hayley put on their makeup. It helped calm him down before a show..

"Gee, I know you're watching me do my makeup, do you want me to put some on you?" they said, turning towards Gerard with their lips in a smirk and eyebrows raised in amusement.

"I-uh...yes..." Hayley rolled their eyes, standing up and beginning to line Gerard's eyes with eyeliner pencil. "Thanks Hayley." Gerard sighed, watching his best friend's concentrated expression with amusement. "Yeah yeah, stop moving or you're gonna fuck it up." They smiled at Gerard, finishing the liner and turning back to the makeup table. They creased their eyebrows, searching for something that wasn't where they had assumed it would be.

"Gee? Where's the slut shirt?"

Gerard rolled his eyes, going into the closet of the dressing room and pulling out a black crop top with the word 'slut' across the front in blocky white letters.

"It's right here, Hayley." Gerard smiled at the eager expression on Hayley's face. "Gimmie, gimmie, gimmie." They said, bouncing on the balls of their feet with excitement.

Gerard held the shirt to his chest in a protective manner, turning away from Hayley slightly. "You always get the slut shirt, why can't I wear if for once?"

Hayley rolled their eyes, reaching for the shirt again. "Give it to me, Gee."

"No." He ran to the other side of the dressing room, crashing into another person and falling to the floor.

"What the- oh, sorry Dallon." Dallon rolled his eyes and pushed himself off of Gerard. He scanned the scene, eyes catching the shirt in Gerard's hands.

He groaned, pulling Gerard off the floor and taking the shirt from his hand. "Please tell me you two aren't fighting over this damn shirt again." The silence that followed Dallon's words caused him to come to the conclusion that they were arguing, which resulted in him groaning again, tossing the shirt to Hayley.

"They get the shirt tonight, you get it the next time you're in the lineup. Got it?" Gerard nodded, taking a step back from Dallon to find something else to wear.

"Put on the thigh-highs, the audience loves it when you do that." Another voice called from the door, causing the three to turn towards the voice. "Hey, Brendon..." Gerard said, not exactly thrilled to see his boss giving him fashion advice, or to see his boss in general.

Tonight, Brendon was wearing a blood red suit, tame fro him, especially considering the fact that ryan was on the other side of the club. "You three are the starting lineup, you know the routine. You're on in two minutes." The obnoxious man left after that, causing a collective sigh of relief to escape the group.