Dark Frerard Smut

American Angel

A\N
I'm crossing so many lines here :') but I'm a shameless bastard and a curious writer so I can do whatever I want.

(I also apologize for being practically dead on this website for the past few months. Writing block is a c*nt.)

This is pretty much of a roller coaster because I wrote this upon several weeks and my mood kept changing, so forgive me if you understand nothing.♡

Joyriding!frank
Desolation Row!gee

xoxoxoxo

Gerard stayed silent. He told himself he had to. He didn't let himself make a single sound, not when he was captured, not when they cuffed him, not as he was being led down the corridors of what was likely to be his new home. Until he'd escape, of course. Yes, he'd escape. He'd already made his first big mistake by letting himself get caught, let alone stay behind to fight. He had no weapons to defend himself, and yet he stayed. Some habits never changed - he wasn't about to start changing them now.

He should've seen this coming, the invasion. The communist bastards ruining his peaceful village and preventing him from living his quiet life, trying to rule for a while by terrorizing the citizens and setting rules that were nearly impossible to obey, not that he would ever try in the first place. He hated the Russians with probably everything he was capable of, but that didn't matter now. All that mattered at this point was to not let himself fall apart. He already knew he wasn't about to tell them a thing, wouldn't let them break him. He's already been through torture, never by the Soviets, but there's a first time for everything, he guessed.

Gerard braced himself, momentarily shutting his eyes and just focusing on the sound of heavy military boots and the metal chains clinking in his ears, bounding his wrists together. He forced himself not to think about the upcoming pain. He knew he'd gone through enough horrors in the hands of weaker armies - the Russians were always something different, it was a well known fact to all. God knows what those sick psychopaths could do to try and shatter his spirit. Gerard was fully aware that the beating he's received earlier, while they were struggling to get him to that godforsaken building, was a sprinkling paradise comparing to the things they could do to him here, in their own playground, where they had access to all the tools he couldn't bear to imagine.

So he didn't.

He was suddenly knocked out of his thoughts by a rough shove at his back that sent him tumbling into distant room, deep inside what he assumed to be a military base - oh how he was wrong.

He regained his balance immediately, putting on a dead face and not resisting as they forced him down into a metal chair in front of a simple office desk. The first thing he noted to himself was that the legs of the chair were attached to the floor - they'd apparently thought everything through. Too bad, he was hoping he could slam it into a few heads and take off running. Plan A out the window.

The guards were muttering something between themselves. All Gerard could make out of their whispering was something akin to "Commander", and "American". He knew the latter was referring to him, but he didn't care about that at the moment. All he wanted was to survive here. He was good at not getting killed, as he'd learned throughout his life, so for now he would stick to that plan.

He glanced up at the guards through the mess of black hair dangling around his slim, pale face. He was just in the process of regaining precious weight he's been losing lately when he was so brutally kidnapped, ripped out of his home and into this hellhole. What kind of military base even was that? Apart from the fact that not all of the Russian force has reached America yet, the place was mostly devoid of soldiers. Seemed like they only brought enough soldiers to take over one village. Or they were planning on-