(c) Babe in Arms (MA)

by **rock and/or roll** Sun 26 Oct 2008, 10:50 am

Title: Babe in Arms
Author: Me (currently Sam Sparro)
Rating: MA
Pairings: Frank/Gerard, mentions of Lyn-Z/Kitty and Lyn-Z/some one else that I can't mention.
Status: Chaptered/Incomplete.
Summary: A party, forgotten hours and an unexpected shock.

Lindsey wakes up one late morning, girlfriend-less and barely able to remember the previous night's events. Frank and Gerard prove no help either. With the eventual realisation that there's another life growing within her, the three set out to find out exactly what happened that night...and who the father is.

Warnings: sexual references, some swearing, slash, femmeslash, het, drug/alcohol references, pregnancy.

Babe in Arms: Chapter One.

Another wave of the not quite-liquid hit the bowl, slushy, chunky, a colour that couldn’t possibly be natural, accompanied with a guttural and inhuman noise, resonating off the sallow walls. She was knelt awkwardly on the tainted tiles, hands too weak to support her body and the disgusting mixture rimming her plump lips, eyes watering from the bile and wasted food creeping up her reluctant throat.

“Linds.” My hand landed on her shoulder, firm and comforting, squeezing only a little. “You should take the test, then you’ll know-”

“I can’t.” Her voice was a whimper, the woman reduced to a fragile bundle of shakes and vomit.

A face looked up, lips coated in regurgitation, stomach acid and saliva; the face of my best friend, my best friend for life, pretty shiny eyes shiny for other reasons, skin as pale as pale can be, her clothing clumsy on the dilapidated and awkwardly poised frame.

“Gerard...” A second voice sounded from the light pouring in through the doorway. Concerned eyes flitted to Lindsey collapsed on the unforgiving tiles, me standing beside her. Frank stepped inside the room, tense as anything, and gripped my weak hand in his, strong and firm, comforting. A kiss to my nose brought childish glee to my face. Love.

The entire debacle was a mélange of a few unfortunately played out actions. Unplanned, denied.

Lindsey was a collision of an illicit drug and a hang-over. Sometimes euphoric and hysterical laughter, sometimes fireworks launching themselves against my skull in the most brilliantly painful colours imaginable; the only girl quite crooked enough to want to befriend the awkward little lone boy. Wednesday and Pugsly. Elegant dark swan and chubby boy.

“Hey ho, having a nap?”

Timing was everything, they said. Hers left something to be desired. A grizzly bear-esque grumbling noise erupted from deep in the back of my throat, ash-flavoured from my last stolen moment with a flimsy cigarette, tainted only by the sweet taste of coffee. I rolled onto my side to face her, a less than impressed glare disfiguring my face. Body sleep-stained; creases lined my raggedy shirt, hair no doubt in a bird’s nest on my crown and eyes stinging in the afternoon light. Sleep was only a rest of the head and a close of the eyes away. Her mouth smiled jubilantly, not coinciding one bit with my expression. Opposite but alike. Perfect yet flawed. Heavy boots treaded into the fading wine-red of the carpet as she dropped down next to my now arisen form. It left me wishing that I’d sticky-taped a ‘Disturb and You Die’ sign on my door.

“You know, doorbells were invented for a reason,” I greeted, dryly.

“So were locks, sunshine. You should really lock your front door, otherwise just anyone could come in off the street and rob you.”

“Duly noted.” Pause. Yawn. “How’s your day been?”

“Well...” Perfectly shaped eyebrows furrowed and blood red lips pursed. “I found five bucks on the pavement and some creepy guy tried to cop a feel while I was waiting for the bus, so I punched him in the stomach... Overall it was a pretty awesome day.”

“Intense.” I raised an amused eyebrow and she just gave a soft smile, dimples in her cheeks working overtime. Even being groped by a complete stranger couldn’t pollute that cherry red smile.

“You?”

“Frank and I made passionate love.”

“Really?”

“No.”

“Damn.” She clucked her tongue. “You got me all excited for nothing...and I was just about to suggest that you two join the amateur porn industry. They have online communities for that, you know. And like, sites for people who find hairy chicks attractive.”

“Why is it that whenever you’re around, the topic of discussion turns to sex?” I queried, attempting to mentally flush out all strange images of her with a bristly brown beard.

“You brought up the passionate man loving. That’s just asking for it.” She shrugged matter-of-factly, fitted denim jacket rising and falling with the movement of shoulder blades. The band patches sewn neatly onto the fabric resembled polka dots. “Are you going to offer me coffee, or should I assume that you’re waiting for me to make it?”

“Make my coffee, bitch.”

“We both know that you’re the bitch in this relationship.” Her smirk reached her ears.

She had a skill for twisting my arm excruciatingly hard to get me to submit to her wishes.

Kissing and licking, a warm and adventurous tongue glided over the soft flesh of my neck. Daring, slightly brash, yet amorous. Aroused Moans, small delicate gasps and the sensual sound of saliva and tongue on skin layered into an aural pornography. Limbs twisted together into one big mass of eagerness.

“Hey dudes.”

A door banged loudly as an extra body barged its way into the intimate setting. Frank started, ripping his so soft and so skilled lips from my love marked neck. Sculpted eyebrows rose as he turned, still perched on my waist. Lindsey, a patchwork of chewing gum, those heavy scuffed boots and a TV remote as the TV flashed into life. My legs were pushed back to accommodate for her as she settled onto the couch, a homely picture, comfortable as if she owned the place.

“Linds, can’t you see we’re...uh, kinda busy at the moment.”

Her eyes met mine, twinkling, knowing damn well that she’d interrupted a special moment. How could she not?

“Yeah, and bravo for you for finally getting some action...I mean, the way you carry on about Frank you may as well get a joint bank account and pick out baby booties, but I want to watch Family Guy,” she replied.

A cocky smirk twitched upon Frank’s so soft lips, making a slight warmth spread over my face. “You have a TV at your place, don’t you.”

“But I want to watch it with you two lovebirds,” she smiled, gripping onto my leg with aqua marine talons and shaking it affectionately. “I want to know why Frank’s got so you smitten.”

There were a multitude of reasons I could reel off.

Her face contorted, eyes bulging, and she hastily forced her ashen face into the bowl as another titanic wave of nausea came over her wrecked body. The repugnant sound of sick on porcelain dug at my ears and Frank’s hand gripped that little bit tighter to mine, other one clutching like a baby to my shirt. Baby. Was there a baby in there?

“Get me a fucking test, please,” she pleaded through a groan.

The date was dangerous, like a ticking bomb between the three of us... 15th July... A good part of that night erased from our confused minds to leave three weak and alcohol tainted bodies in the late morning the following day.

by **rock and/or roll** Mon 10 Nov 2008, 6:35 pm

Babe in Arms: Chapter Two.

She held the small white compact stick in her trembling hand. Negative. Negative. For one defining moment, she wished it negative. You could see it in her desperately crinkled eyes, rigid muscles...that unsure and afraid facial expression. No quips, no fake insults. Her mouth failed to be still, a ripened apple quivering in a slight waft of air, ready to fall and be claimed by the earth. Eyes widened, so...so alive, so impatient and rapt with need. She shivered in her skirt, tremors surfacing from within. A minute could be a century in the confines of my bathroom. It stretched on, seeming endless whilst we waited for that tiny symbol to appear.

“I can’t be a mother.” She’d begun whispering, eyes focused so intently on the plastic stick that she could have been in prayer. “I can’t, can’t, can’t. I’m too fucking young. I can’t do this. I can’t fucking do this...”

And it was with a gurgle in the back of her quickly closing-up throat that she took in the result, fully took it in, let it wash over her shivering frame. Her hand shook all the more violently and eyes screwed up in anguish and frustration. The stick was discarded next to the sink and she was gone.

Frank and I closed in on it apprehensively, and the little symbol said it all.

“Fuck.” That one was Frank.

“Fuck.” Courtesy of me.

He bit his lip as our eyes met, and my only solution was, “We should go to the shops.”

Strawberry ripple ice-cream. It helped whenever Lindsey had a minor tiff with her parents, it worked after almost every tear-jerking break-up and made the dimples return to her cheeks. Something to do with the icy cold aroma and soothing taste of rich vanilla blended with the fruity strawberry. Plain to my tastebuds, and less than a favourite of Frank’s, but she adored it like no-one I knew. So that found myself and himself in the nearest supermarket, armed to the teeth with ice-cream tubs and containers of chocolate wafers; the cylindrical kind with actual chocolate around the inside.

“Gerard...ice-cream, a baby...they don’t parallel each other all that fucking well,” my oh-so observant boyfriend hissed at me as we waited in queue. “She’ll probably maim us the second we show up with bags of this shit...and, I don’t know about you, but I like my balls where they are.”

“Don’t worry so much. She knows I’m the only one allowed anywhere near your balls.” My smile was sweet enough to match the ice-cream tucked under my arm. And Frank – “You shouldn’t roll your eyes so far back; it could cause strain, y’know.”

Lindsey had the classic doorbell installed at her place. Ding-dong, no fancy four-octave shrill sequence. It was simple, efficient and didn’t test the patience of those who had heard it over ten times.

Ding-dong. Ding-dong. Ding-dong.

One could only imagine which cramped crevice inside the house Lindsey had chosen to hide out in this time. It was a personality trait, or a character flaw, she possessed. When the going got tough, the tough reverted to a child’s habit of creating cubby houses. Once it was the less than generous space between her large bed and closet. Another, the grubby bathtub with the plastic cow-print curtain drawn. Reflective time, she called it. Wherever it was this time, it took her a snail’s pace to reach the door and finally drag it open.

Nails dug into the wood, but I don’t think she expected anyone less. Her hair was bedraggled and sticking up in bizarre clumps, no doubt due to the foray of foraging fingers. Bags raised in offering, we both smiled encouragingly at her. Willing her to let us in, attempt to make it better, make it seem better at least, for a little while.

“Dr Phil’s on soon.” She sniffed. “I was going to make nachos, vegetarian of course.”

That was our ticket. She stepped to one side, still unsteady on her weak legs, and let us in. A strong scent of bathroom commandeered my nostrils as we passed her uncertain form...soap, roll-on deodorant, talcum powder... Lindsey had taught me that trick quite some time ago when my hair was still shoulder-length and prone to grease. Spread talcum powder at the roots, it’ll help soak up the oil.

Shaky fingers clawed at her mouth. Her weak legs carried her to the kitchen, and we followed, unburdening ourselves of the plastic bags. The ice-cream was promptly shoved into a make-shift space in the freezer, and the corn chips were brought out. We made lunch together, Dr Phil’s distinctive voice carrying over from the lounge area as we prepared the dish. We all knew. We all shared this weight.

“Where were you this time?”

“In-between the CD player and the couch.” She shrugged; hardly any energy left, and popped a chip into her drooping mouth, crunching mechanically. “But it wasn’t all that comfortable there; the plastic kept digging into my side.”

Nod in response. “Have you decided what you’re going to, like...do?”

“No...” Her eyes were vacant. “Gerard, say you were pregnant, say Frank got you pregnant...no, don’t laugh, just imagine it....Could you get an abortion?” She answered herself before I could. “I guess mine’s a unique situation...and I don’t think I could trust some other people to raise a baby I’d shoved out, you know?”

Nod in response. Frank tried to smile.

“Kitty still won’t talk to me. I tried to call her today and it went straight to message bank.” Lindsey’s mouth was pitchfork straight, and she sighed. “And I don’t know if it has anything to do with, with this or what. I mean, how could she know before me...”

“If she saw you with someone...” I dared to say, but drifted off and we were left in a chasm of a silence. Left to laying chips and sauce into the clear glass dish.

With Frank’s head snuggled into my chest and Lindsey’s rested heavily on my arm, we sat. Eyes glued to the mindless box, flashing its colours over our faces. Calloused fingers played with the buckle of my belt, out of habit more than anything. He was staring just as vaguely, yet seemed contented with the metallic noises coming from my abdomen. We continued to sit, watching but not really seeing, in reality but lost in thought. Waiting for the chips to become crisp in the oven. There was something just so eerily everyday and normal about the positions we were in, and the need to talk began to tingle at the back of my throat. My mouth opened of its own accord and this came out: “Have you thought of what you might call it?”

“I’m pregnant and the last time I can remember having sex with a guy is over six years ago, and my girlfriend dumped me at a party I don’t recall,” she muttered dryly, arms crossed. “You fill in the blanks, Gerard.”

“So...that’s a no?”

A light punch met my arm, but she was smiling; mouth turned up like a crimson half-crescent moon. I just smiled back, despite the situation and the questions left open. Despite the black-tinted trails streaking her cheeks that undoubtedly wouldn’t be the last. Despite the fact that the jangling of my belt was starting to crossover from cute to tedious. His hand gladly let go as I gently tugged on it, and we continued to sit, continued to watch and continued to think.

(c) Babe in Arms (MA)

(c) Babe in Arms (MA)

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