From Head To Toes (30 Day Smut Challenge)

Day 3: First Time

no one specified that someone had to be a virgin. high school!au, punk!frank, athletic!gerard. 
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It was like that song by Avril Lavigne or some shit, well that's how Frank explained his tragic love story to his group of friends at least. They just laughed, cranked up the volume to whatever punk-ass band they were listening to and called Frank gay. He was actually polysexual, mind you.

Back to Avril Lavigne: Frank had a huge, polysexual crush on Gerard Way, player of the soccer team at their school. But, as the love story goes, Gerard had absolutely no idea who Frank was, or that he was the short kid sat at the bleachers with the ripped jeans and watching him play and toss the ball-- well, he did notice the weird kid with the fauxhawk sat on the bleachers, but Gerard didn't know shit about him, let alone his name.

So Frank continued watching him every Wednesday after school like the stalker he was, and secretly going to every single one of Gerard's games, cheering when he scored a goal, or when he didn't, and booing the other team, just because he could.

He had no other way of going to the matches but alone, since his friends were too punk for that soccer shit, what the fuck, Frank.

So Frank stared at him whenever he could: from soccer to the hallways, and most of all, in that one French class they shared. That was another thing Frank loved about Gerard, besides from excelling at playing soccer, he was also one of the smartest people he knew, and his French was fucking breath-taking. He would bet good money he could come in his pants by Gerard simply rolling his fucking tongue in that language.

Frank was shit at French, but no one could prove he only took that class to see Gerard.

So, yeah, Frank was fucking infatuated with Gerard Arthur Way and every single thing he did or said. And how could someone not? With his black long-ish hair and his upturned nose and his pale skin and his fucking thighs and his motherfucking blue soccer uniform, damn.

Apparently, many people were blind to Gerard's charm, and all they saw was a nerdy kid who also player soccer, and okay, he was quite decent at soccer, but they didn't see him as angelic and perfect as Frank did. Because he really wasn't, he was just a kid who liked sports and French, nothing really special about him. Not that Gerard thought there was something wrong with him, no. Besides his small chub above the hips, he liked his life, and he liked himself.

Gerard was always smiling and sorrounded by friends. There were no 'popular' kids at their school, they just... were. There were the people you knew, and the people you didn't, no bullies or assholes or jocks, just teens.

Frank considered himself lucky, because, being an open polysexual boy wouldn't have been easy in a school with bullies.He also considered himself lucky to be living in the same time and space as Gerard, God bless. His nights in basically consisted of stalking Gerard on any social media he could (oh my God, was that a picture of a cat on Gerard's Instagram? Wasn't he allergic to them?) and jerking off. 

Today was his favorite days of the week: Wednesday. And I bet you can guess why. Gerard had soccer today. Fuck yeah.

Frank would get to see him in those little shorts that formed the uniform, Gerard's surname as well as the number '21' in big, white, bold letters at the back. So he basically floated from and to his lessons, his mind filled with the image of Gerard's ass as he ran after the soccerball, his pitch black hair whipping against his forehead and neck.

But he also felt as if something was off today. Frank just felt this odd feeling in his gut, and no, it wasn't a boner -he had checked. He knew exactly why that feeling had decided to make itself a home on the pit of his stomach though, it was because he hadn't seen Gerard at all.