Title: Pearl
Author:ak47_heaven
Rating: NC-17, for sexual occurances and violence
Pairing(s): Zacky/Brian, Zacky/Frank, Frank/Gerard
POV: 3rd person
Summary: "I want something that you can't give me...that--when I want it--I'll have to take by force..."
Disclaimer: This story contains themes and/or situations that may not be suitable for minors (ie: sexual nature, language, violence, and gore.) Reader discretion is advised. I do now own any of the characters in the story seeing as they are real people. Not true. Don't sue, I'm poor.
Author's Note: please comment, thanks.




In a desperate attempt to sit up, Zacky finally realized how dark the room was that he was in. He blinked hard in the dark, not even entirely sure he was actually blinking since the room got no lighter when his eyes were open. The heavy, rank smell of mold filled his lungs when he breathed, bouncing off of walls he couldnt see. In one sharp heave he coughed and the rasp resounded all around him, echoing and dying a few moments later. He'd been sitting there for a long time, he could tell. His right arm had been smushed under his body when he was thrown to the concrete floor and ached when he tried to raise it over his head. His legs were asleep, curled underneath him awkwardly like he'd been dumped out of a truck and left for dead. He swallowed dryly at the thought. He waited for a sign; a noise or a light so that he could be sure that he wasn't rotting in Pergatory. But nothing came, not even the stirring of footsteps or the whistle of wind through a crack in the walls.

When Zacky finally got the strength to stand--his legs stiff and unresponsive for a moment--his head hit the ceiling and he groaned airily. As far as he knew, he hadn't grown any and he wasn't that tall to begin with, so he reached a hand up and felt along the wooden ceiling that was splintering from time. He crouched and moved steadily until his hands hit something hard and cold. He trailed his fingers across it, recognizing the gritty, rough texture of cement. He was sealed in.

After what seemed like days, Zacky's stomach began to growl and turn all at once. He refrained from banging his head against the wall or floor he was leaning on and closed his eyes instead, thinking back to his times in Huntington Beach, assuming he wasn't still in his hometown. He thought about parking his new BMW outside his house, opening the front door and being engulfed in one of Brian's warm hugs and soft kisses. He thought about curling up on the couch in their family room and eating dinner and watching James Bond. He smiled to himself but let it slip from his face when he thought of how worried Brian would be, how worried his friends would be. He crawled a corner of the room, feeling along the concrete walls, and curled up on his side. This is all too much, he thought. Zacky could barely begin to think about whether or not he would leave this place, or decompose in the dark--alone.

He stayed in that position for hours, singing songs he'd memorized long ago, tapping out the beat with his long white fingers. That's when he got the idea to end it, to let go, to die on his own terms if it meant some sort of control. He'd begun taking off his shirt to wrap around his neck when he heard something. Somewhere outside the room came the heavy pitter-patter of footsteps headed in his direction. Initially, Zacky panicked, trying to push himself further into the corner, as if he could hide and camouflage his pale white skin and vibrant tattoos with the darkness of his prison cell. When the door swung open, he mustered up what courage he could find and went charging for the blinding light that cascaded in. But a heavy fist came down on his shoulder, knocking him back and throwing off his bravery. The same hand then grabbed him roughly by his shirt and pulled him into the light.

"Am I in heaven?" Zacky asked, deciding not to struggle.

"Heaven?" The guy dragging Zacky laughed. "Hell no. There ain't no heaven here. Besides, do I looked like I'd work in fucking Heaven?"

Zacky took this opportunity to observe the man that had painfully pulled him from his holding cell. He was a tall man, much taller than Zacky with these huge biceps Zacky could hardly even fathom. Zacky noticed that tattoos as colorful as his own filled the white space on the man's arms. He was wearing aviator sunglasses even though they were inside, and his legs moved swiftly along the concrete flooring. They were walking down a long corridor lined with many heavy wooden doors like the one leading to Zacky's room, and dim fluorescent lights flickered above them.

"I'm Matt, by the way. I'll be taking care of you...if you want to call it 'caring'," he laughed. Zack opened his mouth to speak but Matt cut him off. "I already know who you are. We all do. Zachary James fucking Baker. We've been waiting for you." It was only after Matt stopped talking that Zacky realized they'd stopped outside a tall steel door with a sliding peep hole. Matt knocked twice and a pair of sharp hazel eyes looked out. They blinked once and settled on Zacky before disappearing. The door open after a series of locks were opened and Matt threw Zacky inside rudely. Zacky looked up and saw the same eyes peering at him down a stark white nose.

"He thinks he's in heaven," Matt laughed from the door. The new man in front of Zacky smirked and lifted an eyebrow.

"He does? Hm. Well then, I guess I'm God," the man turned and walked to a desk, motioning for Zacky to sit down opposite him. Zacky did as he was told, deciding to chance a question or two.

"Who are you?" Zacky asked hesistantly. The man stared at him curiously before telling Matt to leave. After the door shut, the man spoke while opening a pack of cigarettes.

"My name is Gerard," he put a cigarette in his mouth but didn't light it.
"What the fuck do you want from me?"

Gerard stood and walked over to Zacky. "I want something that you can't give me...that--when I want it--I'll have to take by force." He stroked the side of Zacky's face and lowered his lips to Zacky's ear.

"I want your pretty little heart."