tunny_13 (tunny_13) wrote in andwegocold,
tunny_13
tunny_13
andwegocold

  • Location:
  • Mood:
  • Music:
Title: Eyeliner.
Pairing:
Frank Iero/Bob Bryar
Author:
Tunny_13
POV:
Third.
Rating:
PG-13/R for language and violence.
Summary:
"I'm your English teacher, I'm better than you, I'm older than you and trust me I won't be putting up with any of your shit."
Disclaimer:
As much as I wish I could own them both, *flails at thought*, unfortunately I don't. I'm as upset as you.
Author's Notes:
This is my first time posting on this community. I haven't written anything in a while and my last slash story was a Green Day one. Erm, constructive criticism is always awesome, and if anyone wants to BETA for me then message me or something. (: BTW, it's the top link that works, not the bottom.


Frank fixed his eyeliner, wiping away the black lines down his face. How long was he meant to feel like this?

BANG! BANG! BANG!
He heard the pounding of a fist on the bathroom door, “Get the fuck out of there you pansy. Face me like a man!”

The young boy shook his head despairingly; there was no way out of this death trap of a house but the bathroom window currently. He grabbed the handle on the window, giving it a sharp tug upright only to find-
Fucker!” He’d locked it again; obviously knowing what Frank’s next move would be after he had run into the bathroom.

“Frank. Get out here now!”

Said boy took a deep breath, slowing his breathing down. He hesitantly reached out for the sliding lock on the door, slowly sliding it across. Next minute he found himself on the landing, the taller man on top of him, spitting venomous words in his face, fists working on pounding into his stomach and his face.

 

Mr Bryar sat on the desk, cross legged at the front of the empty class room,
”Your pupils will be in, in approximately five minutes,” Mr Frost, the head teacher, strode into the classroom, “As I said before, they’re a friendly bunch and shouldn’t give you much hassle. One last thing, Mr Bryar, I don’t mean to complain but sitting on the desk is going to set a bad example with the pupils, and not the best of first impressions, so if you would mind maybe moving to sit on your chair I would be most grateful,”
Inwardly Bob rolled his eyes, but complied with the senior staff’s requests.


”Nice to see you all back in one piece,” Mr Frost stood at the front of the class smiling in a friendly manner, “I hope you all had an excellent summer. Unfortunately, we’ve had to replace your previous teachers for uhm, unmentionable reasons, so therefore this is your replacement teacher. I’ll leave him to introduce himself,” Mr Frost turned and looked reassuringly at the younger man, walking out of the classroom. Mr Bryar waited until he could no longer hear the authorities footsteps before he acknowledged his pupils in any way. He stood up, grabbing a whiteboard pen and wrote his name almost an unreadable handwriting on the board.

“I’m Mr Bryar.” He sat cross-legged on his desk just as the headmaster had asked him not to do. “I’m your English teacher, I’m better than you, I’m older than you and trust me I won’t be putting up with any of your shit,” before anyone could react to his language he got their first, putting a shocked expression on his face, “OHDEARJESUSMYTEACHERJUSTSWORE!” he smiled at the class. Everybody looked terrified.

“Uh, sir?” One pupil dared to raise their hand in the air. Mr Bryar raised an eyebrow, feeling the cigarette packet in his trouser pocket wishing he could just spark up now. Fuck it, why not? He thought, bouncing merrily over to the window, opening it up and lighting a cigarette, his pupils looking slightly gob smacked.

“What you want Afro?”

The boy looked slightly embarrassed but shrugged it off and spoke, “Uh, what’s the actual reason our teachers not here?”
”But I am here,”
”Yeah but I mean our other teacher,”
”You have no other teacher I am your teacher, how many times do I need to tell you this boy?”

“Our old teacher,”
”That’s more like it,” Mr Bryar smiled, blowing smoke from between his lips, watching it curl into the air,
”He died,”

The entire class went quiet, before their teacher burst out into a fit of laughter,
”Oh your faces are a picture. I was only shitting you. I don’t know what happened.”

Mr Bryar flicked his cigarette out of the window onto the field, where a young class of year seven’s were currently doing PE.
WHAT? WHO’S SMOKING?”  The blonde man heard a yell from outside and he chuckled to himself. Oh this is what he lived for.

He sat on his desk again, as a late pupil walked into class. The kid paused to look at the teacher, “Am I in the wrong classroom?”
Afro boy replied to him, not giving his teacher a chance to even try, “No, this is our new teacher, man,”
Frank nodded and sat in his desk in almost the centre of the room.
”Okay, kid, who are ya?”
”Frank Iero, sir,”

“Why were you late?”

The boy shifted uncomfortably, “I don’t know.”
Mr Bryar rolled his eyes, and shook his head despairingly, “Go and sit down you loser. And take those shades off.”

Frank did as he was told, hanging his head so his hair fell in front of his face, no one able to see him. He remained in a similar position when he was sat down.

“Okay, so, I take it you all revised for your exam today?”
One of the girl’s in the class looked horrified, “What exam?”

By the end of the day Bob, also known as Mr Bryar, was absolutely exhausted. What the hell had made him think a teacher was an ideal job for him?

He sat back in his chair, even the thought of moving being pure torture. He was going to take five minutes to just calm down from his day of tormenting innocent teenagers. Well that was until the kid wearing the shades, for the life of him he couldn’t remember his name, knocked on the classroom door, Bob sighed loudly,
”What do you want, loser?”

The kid mumbled something while looking at his shoes.
”I can’t hear you, kid,” Bob shook his head, “Look at me when you’re talking.”
The next sight took Bob by complete surprise,
”I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr Bryar, but I left my English book in here and I need it to revise for the exam,”
Bob nodded, not being able to take his eyes off of the kid’s face. He walked to the back of the classroom, retrieving the younger boy’s English book peeking a look at his name as he handed it to him,
”There you go, uh, Frank,” he said gently.

Frank glared at him, “Just because I look like a fucking victim doesn’t mean you have to fucking treat me like one.”
He walked out leaving Bob lost for words. What the hell?





AN: so what did you think? etc.












  • Post a new comment

    Error

    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

  • 4 comments