mrsronweasley (
mrsronweasley) wrote2010-11-09 09:56 pm
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Entry tags:
"Run" - Frank/Gerard, My Chemical Romance (bandom), NC-17, Part III
(Part II)
Frank wakes up in the middle of the night with an itch, like he spent half the night rubbing himself on asphalt or something, except that when he opens his eyes, he realizes that it's still dark and he's still in his bed, the itch turns into what it actually is, which is a giant boner. He stills and belatedly realizes that he's been humping the shit out of his pillow.
"Fuck." It's excruciating how much he needs to get off, it's like he's twelve all over again, except this time, he hasn't actually come yet.
Before he can even think about it, he rolls over onto his back, strips his underwear down to his thighs, and goes to fucking town. It really doesn't take that long, but it leaves him panting and not quite as mellow as he'd like. When he glances over at the bedside table, his clock reads 3:14.
Even as he's looking at the time, his dick starts to harden in his hand, and he looks at it with a certain degree of disbelief.
"You wanna go again?" he says under his breath. "All right, let's go again."
It feels even better this time, his fingers already covered in come. It takes a bit longer this time, too, long enough that his brain starts rifling through the Fantasy Rolodex in his head. It goes through random dicks he's seen online, to the way Dewees used to bite his lip when Frank would blow or jack him, and lands on the memory of Gerard's crotch in front of his face, dick dark and huge, throbbing in Frank's mouth, fuck.
"Fuck," he whispers, trying to move past it, find a less shaky ground, but his dick is having none of it, and it revs up at the memory, the whole thing setting Frank's skin on fire. Something whines inside his chest, and he can't hold it off anymore, not even a little bit. He barely manages not to make any real noise as he comes so hard, it hits him in the chest and even lands a little on his chin. "Oh, fuck," he exhales.
He wipes the entire mess off his hands with the bottom of his shirt, then strips it off carefully and swipes at his chin before throwing the shirt to the ground. He didn't need it anyway, his room is stifling hot. Did Mom forget to lower the thermostat for the night, or what?
Frank wants to just roll over and go to sleep, but he can't, he's stupidly awake now, feeling like every brain cell is firing at warp speed. He kicks at the covers until they fall to the floor in a heap, then turns over to face the wall. The peeling edge of his Black Flag poster watches him back with the same dark shadowy lines as always.
He sighs and rolls out of bed, feet almost getting caught in his comforter. He pads into the kitchen, gets himself a glass of water, and drinks it while drumming his fingers on the plastic counters. He's almost giddy, even though there's no reason in the world for him to be giddy, especially not at ass o'clock in the morning, but it's a bubbling kind of something in his stomach that he can't quite pinpoint. It's fucking irritating. He just wants to sleep the night away.
Before he goes back to bed, he does check the thermostat, but it's been lowered as usual. Sixty degrees should not feel this muggy.
It takes him almost a full hour of tossing, turning, and cursing, to fall back the fuck asleep, and he has to jerk off a third time in order to do it, anyway.
*
School is too fucking loud. Everywhere, people are jostling him side to side, and he vaguely remembers the promise of smaller classes and a better learning environment from the interview he and his mom had gone to, but it sure as shit doesn't feel smaller than his middle school in here, it feels ten times as crowded, and the walls feel that much closer in.
He nearly growls at the freshman who bumps into him right in front of his locker, and it's strangely satisfying to see the kid scurry away as quick as a bunny.
He goes through the morning feeling like he's running a fever, even though nothing aches, precisely. It's just a focused sort of irritation, the kind he can't do anything about but that affects everything around him. He's pissed at his teachers for being slow, he's pissed at his classmates for being tools, he's pissed at himself for being pissed. His skin zaps every time he touches anything, and he tied his tie too fucking tight this morning. What fucking gives?
It isn't until he makes the trek from math to his locker, when a familiar smell invades his senses and he spots Gerard doing his casual slouchy lean against Frank's locker that it fucking hits him like a ton of idiotic bricks.
"Oh, shit." He says it out loud because he is that much of an idiot, but of fucking course. It's been over three weeks since the last change. The moon is waxing. He's a fucking moron.
Before Frank can run away and beat one out in the bathroom, because even the smell of Gerard is enough to get his pants tighter, Gerard spots Frank and smiles. Frank immediately gets caught in a panicked loop for about half a minute where he just thinks things like "shit!" and "dammit!" and "fuck me, please, please just fucking touch me," and then he's right in front of Gerard again, unable to even open his mouth. He's pretty sure he looks like an idiot. An idiot with a giant hard-on.
"Frankie, you all right?" Gerard pushes away from the locker and leans closer in. A lot closer than Frank is fucking comfortable with, both because Gerard's scent is so much sharper now, fucking heady, and because there are jocks still milling about the halls, looking for fags to beat up, no doubt.
Frank steps back, feeling a weird sense of déjà vu, and opens his mouth to say that he's fine, but instead, a sort of whine escapes and he clamps down his mouth before he can do anything else that will embarrass him for the rest of days. His heart is beating so hard he thinks everybody within a mile radius can hear it, and for a moment, he doesn't understand how Gerard hasn't been thrown ten feet back by the sheer force of it. But Gerard is still there, still watching, though his expression's less concerned now, and a lot more confused.
Frank swallows against his dry throat, then turns on his heel and legs it the fuck out of there. He can't, he can't. He did last time because he didn't know, he couldn't think. Right now, he is more or less in control of his faculties, he can make his body see fucking sense, and he needs to fucking get away from Gerard, right fucking now.
Except that he actually can't, because Gerard is following him, Frank can fucking smell it. He can smell all of it now, as if Gerard's emotions are being transmuted directly into Frank's brain. The fear, the excitement, the worry, everything. Frank's fast, but the assholes in the hallways are impeding his movements, and Gerard is still hot on his heels. It doesn't take a fucking werewolf to hear his messenger bag beating against his leg or his out-of-shape breathing, either.
Frank ducks under a stairwell. Maybe he's safe for now, and once Gerard passes, he'll just lock himself in his closet, not let him in. The next second, a shadow falls at Frank's feet, and when he looks up, Gerard is staring at him through his bangs. He's hanging onto the staircase over his head with one hand and watching him, Frank feels like he's going to pop out of his skin. Gerard meets his gaze and there's little concern there, anymore. Frank can smell it – Gerard is hard.
Fine.
He doesn't know how Gerard knows, but he doesn't give a shit right now, either. Frank shakes out his head, palms his dick in one quick motion, just to ease up the pressure a bit, and marches back out into the hallway without giving Gerard another glance. The crowds have mostly thinned out, and his steps echo deliberately over the walls. He can hear Gerard shuffling behind him. Frank tries to take it slow, tries to walk as casually as possible, but he knows he's basically limping with how hard he is, and how much he just needs to fuck. The idea of doing anything with Gerard is stoking a fire in his belly – he can't stop picturing it, he can't stop feeling it.
By the time he makes it to his corner of East Wing and rattles open the crappy-ass lock of his closet, Gerard is so close behind him, Frank can feel the heat of his body through both their shirts. He feels a drop of sweat sliding down his spine and jerks open the door.
"Get in," he says.
*
The one concession he makes is he doesn't let Gerard talk, not even for a second. Instead, once they're through the door, he throws his full weight, pulled in by his throbbing dick, against Gerard and barely manages to slide the hook on the door into its place. Then he hesitates only a moment before leaning in and crushing his mouth to Gerard's, pinning him to the door, because he hasn't been able to stop thinking about the taste of Gerard's mouth.
The sound Gerard makes travels directly from Frank's throat down to his fucking toes, and he begins to shake. The zipper of his pants is digging into his dick and he squirms until he's got it shifted aside, and now at least the pain is lessened, but he's throbbing, light-headed, completely filled up and filled in with Gerard, hard against him, kissing the absolute shit out of him.
Frank forgot what kissing felt like, even though his mouth remembers how to move all on its own, and his tongue slides against Gerard's by instinct, and God, Frank has to remember to breathe, he has to, or he will fucking die. His hands begin to hurt with how hard he's clutching the sleeves of Gerard's shirt, the material so thin, it dampens in his fists.
Fuck, fuck, Gerard fucking tastes good. Everything tastes good – his tongue, his lips, his teeth where Frank's tongue slides against them. Frank's dick is trapped between them, and he thinks he might come just like this; probably will, if either he or Gerard touches it with something like intent.
Right now, Gerard is busy clutching Frank's back, though, then sliding his hands up to grip Frank's hair, then sliding back around to his waist, and then again around his back – Frank can't tell the sensations apart anymore, Gerard is touching him everywhere. Frank's making noises in the back of his throat that he couldn't even classify if he tried. The darkness of their space is damp with their heat, he can't even see Gerard like this, and for a second, he's stupidly grateful.
Gerard breaks off the kiss and Frank shoves two fingers into his mouth immediately, don't talk, please, please don't talk. Gerard sucks them in, just like that, and Jesus, Frank wants his dick in that mouth, the soft wet heat of him. He whines and clamps his mouth to the base of Gerard's neck. It smells like sweat and now, Frank's spit, a combination that makes him flash back to his bed, his pillow, and he ruts against Gerard and feels the door rattle against them.
Shit.
He gathers all his strength, slips his fingers out of Gerard's mouth and pushes himself away from him. He can feel Gerard taking a breath to protest, so he shakes his head and shushes him.
"Just…move away from the door, here, come here."
Frank tugs on Gerard's sleeve and walks backwards until his back hits a wall and he immediately panics. His stomach recoils at the thought of being backed into a corner, so he sidesteps and fakes Gerard out until he can push him up against the wall, and yeah, yes, this.
Gerard gasps when Frank's hand lands on his dick and his hips thrust forward. Frank bites his lip until it aches and grips Gerard's dick harder through his pants. The noise that Gerard makes at that is fucking gorgeous, but they can't be loud, not in school, not like this. Frank sticks his sticky fingers right back into Gerard's waiting mouth and catches a shadowy glimpse of Gerard's eyes sliding shut, his eyebrows drawing together.
Fuck, Gerard loves this. Fuck. Frank can't fucking wait for Gerard to go down on him.
But right now, all Frank fucking wants in life is to get at Gerard's dick, for real, not just through the pants. His fingers slip and slide and snag when he tries to undo the button and zipper one-handed, but he still slaps Gerard's hands away when he tries to help. Gerard whines and bucks against him, but Frank has a goal, he won't be side-tracked.
It takes him a few excruciating moments but he finally undoes the goddamn zipper of Gerard's pants and fumbles with his shirt-tails until he can slide his fingers inside of Gerard's briefs. He doesn't remember it being this difficult last time, but he had both hands then.
Gerard's waistband snags on his hand and Frank huffs out a breath. "Fuck. Take them off, c'mon," he whispers, and his voice comes out rough and demanding. Wild-eyed, Gerard obeys him immediately, shoving them down and wiggling till they hit his calves. If Frank thought Gerard's scent was strong before, it's nothing compared to now, and he can't fucking help sliding down to his knees to stick his nose right up against Gerard's crotch and just breathe it in.
"Fuck!" Gerard breathes above him, and Frank can't even care about it, he's too busy wrapping one hand around the base of his dick and sucking the head in. He can't help his moan, either.
He fucking loves sucking dick, Jesus Christ. Gerard's got a nice dick, too, and Frank takes as much of it in as he can into his mouth and just sucks.
Gerard makes a hiccuping ah sound and Frank feels the pinch at his head where Gerard has grabbed all of his hair at once and pulled. He moans at that, too, and maybe pulls his lips away from his teeth, just a little, just in warning, because Gerard is still not the one running this show.
But, fuck, he feels good. Frank clutches Gerard's soft hip with the hand that's not wrapped around his dick, and the contact feels electrifying. For a second, he imagines blue sparks coming out of his fingers if he were to lift them up, like something out of X-Men, if "X" stood for "X-Rated."
He almost laughs at that, but he can't, his mouth is full, and his chest is hollow from not remembering to breathe. He takes in one long breath as he pulls off, then slides back onto Gerard's dick. He can barely find a rhythm, he's probably not making it all that great for Gerard, but he can't stop, either. At least his hand is doing something useful, jacking him off tight and precise.
Maybe his mouth is, too, though, because Gerard's gasping out his name now, almost panicked, and Frank gets the urge to go down deeper. He doesn't want to pull off and lose that taste, he wants Gerard to come in his mouth, wants to taste all of it.
And Gerard does, two seconds later, shaking against Frank's hands, his gasp loud and somehow like a shock to the system. Frank squeezes his fingers around Gerard's thigh and dick, and swallows, relishing the bitterness of it. Even when Gerard's dick starts to soften a little in his mouth, Frank just doesn't want to let go.
The next moment, though, his mouth is empty – Gerard has pushed him off and Frank protests, wants to get back in.
"Fuck, Frank – stop, stop, it's – too much, wait," Gerard whispers and Frank loses his balance, staggering backwards and landing on his ass. He swears at the same time that Gerard does, and between one painful moment and the next, he winds up pinned down on the floor, Gerard's weight over him. His first instinct is to struggle.
"Fuck, what –"
"Shut up, my turn now," Gerard whispers, his voice so fucking shot, it sounds like porn, and his hands are already fumbling for Frank's fly, shaking but accurate.
"Oh, motherfucker, oh fuck, fuck." Frank gives up trying to escape. He loses of all of his coherent thought, in fact, because Gerard's hot tight mouth is suddenly on his dick, and it feels so fucking good, a strong wave of regret washes over Frank as he realizes that he's not going to last at all through this. He tries to hold out, but he can't stop himself from thrusting up into Gerard's hot mouth, his hips getting away from him, just for a little bit – just another thrust - fuck, like that, just like that, yeah.
Gerard moans loud, the vibrations nearly undoing Frank, then wraps one hand around Frank's dick, pinning him down with his other, and pumps him with a few dizzying tight and slick strokes. Frank whimpers and shoves a fist into his mouth so he can just quit making all this noise, but he can't help it, the sounds are being torn out of him by Gerard's mouth and hand working him over.
Gerard's fingers curl around his belly and it's a moment of rushing free-fall before Frank's slammed head-first into his orgasm. His lungs burn and his toes go numb and his heart beats wildly against his ribcage. He can barely feel the ground beneath him.
But he can feel her, feel the pull of the moon on his skin. The moment before his mind returns to him, he hates the cold certainty of it more than anything.
Gerard is panting quietly over him, still on his knees on the dusty floor, and he doesn't say a word as Frank scrambles up and starts tucking himself away, avoiding looking Gerard in the eye.
But when he finally catches Gerard's uncertain, questioning gaze, he can already feel the gnawing chewing of regret in the back of his brain. He stomps it down before it really starts to eat him whole, and looks away.
*
His mom keeps giving him furtive looks from where she's perched at the kitchen counter, having her tea. She never forgets the lunar calendar, Frank thinks irritably.
He tries to ignore her, but after a while, it's almost suffocating, the way she keeps mothering him from three feet away.
"What, Mom?" he snaps, not taking his eyes away from his textbook.
"Did I say anything?" she says calmly and takes another sip of her tea. Frank sighs. He shouldn't snap at her, it's not her fault. She just needs to stop worrying so goddamn much. It happens every month. Sure, he's an idiot who actually managed to forget what's coming, but he's with it now, and the slow ticking of the kitchen clock is seriously going to be the death of him. Why is he doing his homework here instead of in his room, for fuck's sake?
"I'm going to my room," he declares and shuts his textbook with a thump. "See you later."
"Okay, honey," she answers and he almost throws his book against the wall at the methodical way she keeps drinking her tea. He clenches his teeth so tight they hurt, and practically runs back to his bedroom. It isn't until he's shut the door behind him and actually thrown the book across the room that he remembers why he couldn't study in here.
It smells like fucking Gerard, from when he'd followed Frank home two days ago, wanting to borrow a CD Mikey had apparently pinched from him for good. The room feels saturated with his presence, that two-day-old un-showered smell that hangs around him even if he still smells like soap. Frank bites his lip and crosses the room in two strides to throw open the window.
The cool wind whips his hair around his face a little while he stands there, breathing it in, but it doesn't help the insistent beat of his heart, the way his body feels too full for his tight skin. Shit, it hasn't been this difficult to take in years – not since the first year, in fact.
But he'd been a total kid back then, he's older now, and should maybe bear it easier. But maybe that's something his mom had made up to make him feel better on those long nights leading up to the change, where all he could do was bury his head in her lap and whine from how much it hurt, how panicked he felt, and let her rock him to troubled sleep.
What did she know about this, anyway? None of them had exactly been prepped for "what to do when your child gets bitten by an extraordinary wolf."
Frank really does whine now, a low guttural sound that makes his ears pop. He doesn't bother closing the window, just slides the curtains shut, going for his fly with his other hand.
Yes, yes, yes. The relief that floods through him at the first stroke is like a wave crashing over sand; it leaves him breathless. He pumps his dick, and his hips move on their own to the rhythm, just – just a little more, just hang on, he thinks, just a little – bit – more –
He bites his lip and moans when he comes all over his hand and sags down until his forehead's pressed up against the window screen through the bunched-up curtain. His shoulders shake as the come slowly dries on his fingers and some on the curtain, too, while he tries to get his breath back.
The need only gets worse from there.
*
His phone beeps a message alert at half past midnight.
what r u doin
Frank laughs despite himself and rolls onto his back to reply. The relief fluttering at the edges of his heart is something he tries hard to ignore.
sleeping u douche. u?
He doesn't turn on the light while he waits, because he isn't waiting, exactly. And it doesn't take long, either, Gerard's reply is pretty quick.
jerkin off
Frank snorts through the shock. They're not – they don't. What?
haha. r u fuckin drunk?
That's got to be the only explanation. Frank can't imagine Gerard sending actual porny texts to Frank, to anyone, for that matter. Then again, what the hell does Frank know? He chews his lip and keeps his phone in front of him, watching the faded welcome screen for any sign of sarcasm or psych! or anything.
When it vibrates between his fingers and lights up, he nearly drops it.
y. got a qt of vodka 2day yum screw drivers
Frank laughs and rolls to his side, facing the dark wall. He's completely awake now and really enjoying the way the sheets rub against his bare legs and arms. He snuggles deeper into the covers and hits "reply."
not if theyr warm, dude.
He pauses for a second, then types on.
still jerkin off?
After he hits send, he buries his face in his pillow and lets his hand holding the phone fall loose to his side. What is he doing, it's insane. But it's nice and warm under the covers and as he lies there, waiting (hoping) for another message alert, he tries not to think past the moment.
When the phone vibrates again, he reaches for the button automatically and for a second it doesn't make any sense as he watches the time ticking under Gerard, but then he hears Gerard's static-y voice coming tinny through the speaker and lifts the phone to his ear automatically.
" –lo?"
"Gerard?" he whispers in the dark, not sure just how loud he can speak before he wakes up his mom. "What the hell?"
"Sorry, Frankie, just… felt like talking." Gerard's voice is blurry, he really is drunk, and he sounds warm, too. Nobody outside of Frank's family's ever used the nickname. Frank shuts his eyes, realizing they've never actually talked on the phone before. It feels intimate, tucked away in the dark. Frank blinks to clear his vision.
"Yeah? You're dumb, we've got school tomorrow," he says in a kind of stage whisper, testing out the limits.
"Why're you whispering… oh, right, your mom. Dude, you need to, like, soundproof your room or whatever… Isn't your mom's room upstairs?"
Frank snorts and scratches his nose. "Yeah? Right above me, dude."
"You should, you should sleep with a fan on, like, it'll kill the noise, you know?"
Frank rolls his eyes, his stomach clenching a little. "Dude, what the fuck. Why would I want to kill the noise, I'm not actually in the habit of talking to drunk assholes in the middle of the night."
He's so painfully awake and aware of Gerard, even miles away, it's surreal. What is he doing, how did this happen?
"Well, I guess that's fair… My basement isn't soundproofed, I'm just kind of … far away from everyone," Gerard slurs and Frank's chest thumps painfully. His basement sure as shit is soundproofed. God, this is absurd. He needs to change the subject. Maybe get off the phone altogether.
"Why the fuck are you calling, weren't you jerking off or something?" he asks, and it catches up with him the very next second, a hot wave rolling all through his body. His skin prickles with the sudden awareness. "Shit," he breathes out without meaning to.
Gerard hums in his ear, and then says, "I was, sorry… I mean, I am… I wanted to, I don't know – fuck, I wanted to suck your cock. Or, like, tell you I wanted to suck your cock, I guess, I can't actually do it like this… Wish I could, been thinking about it." His voice keeps fading in and out, crackling breaths and static noise, and Frank's whole body goes rigid with how much it fucking wants.
"Jesus, what –"
"You just – you tasted real good when I tried it the first time… I wanna do it again, you know? I'd do it better, now I know what to do," Gerard mumbles and Frank can't even hold onto the thread of his logic, his whole head is, like, pounding. What the fuck?
"Gerard –"
"Tell me you want me to, please, please –" Gerard's voice pitches up higher and Frank's dick throbs, like it's finally caught up with the rest of his body. Frank's hand's on it the next second, quick and too dry, but all he has to do is squeeze, just a quick – "Frank, you do, right? Why would you – I mean, ah! Why would you let me if you didn't want it –"
"Gerard, Gerard, shut – ugh, fuck, shut up -" Frank's out of control, he's burning right the fuck up. His heart is pounding, and his dick feels like it's ten times its size and going to explode, crushing him with it. He doesn't stop moving his hand over it, and his hips are snapping higher and higher up.
"You want me to, I know you do, I just – oh, fuck, Frank, Frank -"
Frank barely picks up on the hitch in Gerard's breath, and then he's coming, just a single moan pushed out of his throat and into the speaker, getting away from him. God, it feels like he comes forever. It doesn't end, pulse after pulse, shuddering and pulsating and he can't take a breath until he's milked the last of it, all smeared on his shirt and over his fingers. He must have kicked the covers off, because his feet are tangled in the edges at the foot of his bed. Gerard is finally quiet on the phone.
Frank licks his dry lips and clenches the phone tighter in his shaking hand. "Fuck me, what the shit."
Gerard doesn't answer for a really long moment; so long, Frank takes the phone away from his ear to make sure the call is still going. It is.
"Gerard? Are you – Gerard?"
"So – sorry, I gotta – shit, I'm gonna puke – aww, fu-"
Then he's gone. Frank stares at the phone in disbelief, then drops it like a hot potato. It bounces on the floor and clatters away.
What the fuck just happened? He wipes his hand on his shirt, then carefully strips it off and throws it to the floor. His skin is prickly with sweat, and goose bumps are rising as he breathes. He watches his stomach rise and fall for a long time before he rolls over and passes out.
He has a text in the morning, sent at 1:44am.
sry for leavin pukin is so gross. c u @ school tom
Frank gets absolutely no clarification from that. Maybe Gerard will have forgotten about the whole thing by lunch time.
*
Frank spends the morning at school vibrating. It's so fucking close now, only two days. The two day mark is somehow always worse than one. The extra day of jittering, of feeling like your skin wants to crawl right off your body; an extra day of hot flashes and that pounding heartbeat, the kind he can't calm down; an extra day of feeling like all he wants in life is to fuck somebody through the floor, stick his dick in somebody's mouth, fuck himself on his own fist. It's interminable; it's unfathomable. He dreads this day every month, and every month it catches up with him, claws at his insides, the wolf so fucking close to taking over.
He grits his teeth and doesn't run to the nearest john during Math, even with Masters staring at him weirdly, like he knows something's up. The way Frank's jittering in place, though, you'd probably have to be dead not to notice. But hey, it's flu season. Maybe if he went to the nurse, he'd get sent home. At least there he could beat it and climb the walls to his heart's content.
With his luck, she'd just make him lie down and then send him right back to class. He can't even think about lying still. He can barely sit still.
His hand flies up completely of its own accord, and he can't take it back now without looking like a lunatic.
"Yes, Mr. Iero?" Masters arches his eyebrow like he's James fucking Bond and Frank grips the edge of his desk tightly.
"Can I have a bathroom pass?"
Somewhere behind Frank, he hears a muffled cough and "jerk-off," and for a split-second, he just wants to lash the fuck out, throw his desk aside and go for the kill, but he's got enough presence of mind that all he does is stare at Masters until he silently extends him the pass, then get the hell out of the stifling classroom before he can change his mind.
He hears Dershowitz making a crack about him finally getting that first woodie, but once he starts to run, he doesn't stop, just lets himself whip through the empty hallways past the bored-looking hall monitors who don't even bother to admonish him, past all the lockers and doors and windows, until he's at the very back of East Wing, breaking into the closet.
*
At first, it doesn't compute – the darkness invaded by a familiar sharp smell; it feels all wrong and sends Frank into a momentary panic. Then he makes out the huddled figure in the corner.
"Frank?" Gerard's voice is high, but muted somehow, like he's mumbling into his knees.
"Gerard, what the –"
"Sorry, I know I'm not, like, supposed to be in here, I just couldn't – I needed to be alone."
Frank is acutely aware of his own heavy breathing and of the way his body is responding to Gerard, every nerve cell waking to awareness. Fuck. He licks his dry lips and nods. "It's – fine, I guess. I'm just gonna-"
He makes to turn, but Gerard's voice rings out, almost too loud, but unsure. "No, wait, I just – did I, uh, call you last night? ‘Cause I think I did, but it's, like, it feels unreal. Maybe I dreamt it."
Frank's face flushes. "Uh, I think – I think maybe, but honestly, I was too tired, I don't, uh. I can't remember what we talked about." He wishes he could forget, but there's not a chance in hell of that happening. He's just so fucking relieved that it sounds like Gerard has.
"Oh," Gerard says quietly. "Okay. That's weird, I guess. Sorry?" Gerard, Frank can see now, is sitting at the very back corner, his bag thrown aside. His hair is a crow's nest, Frank can barely make out his face. He smells sleepy and exhausted.
Frank shrugs, trying for casual, his hand still gripping the door. "It's fine, whatever. You can – you can call me whenever, I guess." What? Why did he just say that?
Even in the dark he can make out a flash of Gerard's slow smile before he ducks his head and hides it from view. "Cool. Thanks. You, uh. You, too."
Frank doesn't answer, just grits his teeth. He needs to get the fuck out of here. The point was to get away, and Gerard is too close, too much of what – he's just too much. If he stays here even for another second, Frank will lose his mind, or rip off Gerard's pants, or both.
The idea of staying in school for another second is enough to send him into a fucking frenzy. He throws a quick apology to Mom in his head, and makes the decision.
"Listen, I'm – I'm actually getting sick? So, I'm gonna go and – grab my stuff and take off. I'll see you tomorrow."
Masters gives him another I know what you did there look when Frank rushes back to class and hurries to sit back at his desk, but Frank doesn't even care. He's running hot enough that if he goes to the nurse, she will send him straight home. She better.
*
She does. Frank speed-dials his mom and mumbles his apology while she frets at him and tells him she won't be home before six at the earliest.
"That's fine, I'll just – I don't know." The thing is, he doesn't. He's going out of his mind with a useless kind of energy; he thinks if he got desperate enough, he'd run until he hit, like, Delaware. North Carolina. Florida. He has no idea what he's going to do at home, but at least there he's free to look and act like the freak that he is. There, he doesn't have to hold back.
He promises her to start dinner, and then he's off.
His feet pound the pavement, vibrating with the force of it, and his knees whine a little. It's amazing. His bag is an after-thought. It just feels so fucking good out in the fresh air, the freedom of it. Jesus, he wants his clothes off. He wants his clothes off so bad, and that's another thing he can't do at school or when Mom is home.
He feels like laughing, so he does, and he probably looks crazy – he feels crazy – but he doesn't care; he feels like flying.
*
He strips, gets in the shower, and jerks off. Then he scrubs himself clean, and jerks off again. After he comes, he leans against the tiled wall of the tub and pants for a while, letting the hot water stream over him. He only gets out when he feels like can't breathe in the heat anymore.
He uses his mom's absence to walk around naked. It's oddly freeing, getting water from the fridge with his junk hanging out, and he giggles into his glass, feeling even more looney tunes than usual.
He just wants the full moon to hit already, so he can get it over with and start the cycle all over again. It's more suffocating this time around. He doesn't want to think about that, think about it might mean, this shit getting worse, and just uses his momentary freedom as judiciously as he possibly can. He blares Black Flag in the living room, puts his underwear back on, and vacuums the shit out of the house. Mom is always complaining about how easily the light carpet stains and shows up every speck, so he uses up energy getting every single speck out. He even gets down on his knees and picks at the stuff the vacuum won't get because it's an old piece of shit that's been around longer than Frank has and they could probably get a better one, but Mom thinks it's a waste of money while this one is still technically working, even if it's on its last legs.
Frank swears as he crouches and gets rug burn on his knees, and under Henry's screaming, nearly misses the house phone ringing. He barely makes it into the kitchen and blows his bangs out of his face before answering.
"Hello?"
"Frankie? You're home?"
"Dad?" Frank hurries to lean over and shut the kitchen door to mute the music, nearly braining himself on the wall. "What's up?"
"Why aren't you in school?"
Frank can hear cars honking in the background. He wonders where Dad is. "Wasn't, you know…feeling all that great," he answers, wondering if his dad follows the lunar cycle with Mom's vicious attention to detail.
"Is it bad this time around?" His dad lowers his voice on the question, which really answers Frank's. He nods, then laughs at himself, ‘cause Dad can't see. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah. I don't know. Just – couldn't be there today." Frank breathes into the silence for a while, then hears the static sound of his dad taking a drag of his cigarette. Must be his lunch break, then. "How are you?"
"I'm good. Thought I'd check in with you," Dad replies, sounds a bit stilted, and Frank aches a little with missing him. Sometimes Philly feels thousands of miles away. "Will you be all right? You need anything?"
Dad always asks that. The thing is, Frank isn't sure that he would follow through. Sometimes it's enough just to be asked, though. "Nah, I'll be fine. You know, same old, same old." Jeez, he sounds like his grandpa. "Uh, why'd you call, anyway?" At a time when he knew no one would be home, Frank doesn't add.
"Ah, well. Linda had called, but didn't leave a message. Just wanted to check why, but I guess she's at work, huh?"
Frank can't help laughing a bit. His dad, the master avoider. "Yep. We're fine."
"Well, good. Melanie sends her love, as always."
"Thanks. Her, too," Frank breathes. "We still on for that weekend?" He didn't mean to ask, but it's been ages since he's seen Dad.
"Of course, Frankie," Dad answers, and a knot slowly loosens in Frank's chest. "All right, I'm gonna get back to work. You let me know how you are, okay?"
"Sure, Dad. Thanks," Frank nods and digs his fingernail into the door frame. He doesn't really scratch the paint, but it feels kind of good. "See ya."
"Bye, Frankie." His dad hangs up first, and Frank throws the phone back into the cradle haphazardly, leans his forehead against the wall, counts to ten, then throws the door open again. Maybe he can dust this crap away.
*
He doesn't notice he's got a text until after he's dusted all of the picture frames in the hallway and gone back to the living room to see if there was anything else he could do with his life, or maybe at least the furniture. The CD ends and the air goes dead with the silence. The vibration from his bag is the first sound he hears.
you ok?
Frank shakes his head, but replies despite his better judgment. ill live
Gerard's reply is, as always, pretty fast. was that ill or I'll? ‘cause those are two diff things. fyi, ill is bad
Frank snorts and sags down onto the carpet. I WILL live. ur hilarious. still hungover?
Gerard doesn't reply for a while, long enough that Frank starts to feel antsy for something to do. He can't remember what his mom had planned for dinner, though maybe going to the kitchen will jog his memory. But it's too early to start on that, anyway. Jesus, how long is this day going to be?
He's taking a piss when the next message comes through.
eh, ill live. that's ill. i'm fine tho & bored. no art today.
Gerard's always happier when he's got Art, just like Frank's always happier on days with no gym class. It's just the way school goes, though. Frank's missing gym today, and he's overfuckingjoyed.
sorry that sucks :/ he texts back. He thinks about what he could do with his afternoon if Gerard was here, and physically shudders all over at the mere thought. He doesn't know why he even went there, what the fuck.
He doesn't hear from Gerard again, figuring he probably got busted for using his phone in class or something. When he walks around the house and sees that there's nothing else he can clean, the jitters start to return bit by little bit. Frank feels completely caged in, and for a second he flashes back to the physical cage downstairs, the memory of the wolf lashing out against the metal and the walls and the bars.
Fuck, he hates it when that happens. If he's going to survive this, live this for the rest of his life, he's got to keep the boundaries up. He's not going to become the wolf, he isn't. Not when the moon isn't full, anyway.
Maybe if he can sit still long enough, he can fuck around on the guitar or something. At least that's an outlet.
*
The doorbell startles the shit out of him. His first thought is that he didn't order any pizza. His second thought is to grab the baseball bat they keep in the coat closet, but it's the middle of the day. It's likelier that he'd clobber a Mormon trying to convert him than a polite robber who rings doorbells.
The last person he expects at the door is Gerard, but that is exactly who he sees when he opens it, leaning out with just his head, because he's still in just his underwear.
Frank freezes, clutching the handle. "Uh."
"Hey." Gerard gives him a shy smile from beneath his bangs, and his fingers waggle a wave. He looks better than he did this morning, though still a bit of a mess. "Uh, like. School was really boring, so I cut Bio. How, um, how sick are you?"
Frank blinks, feeling like an idiot. "Not… I mean. Fine, I guess." He can feel the entire imprint of the door against his chest. "I – do you wanna come in?"
This is probably a mistake, he realizes a moment later, when Gerard steps through the doorway and sees Frank fully. Frank automatically shuts the door and locks it, but his mind is reeling, because Gerard is suddenly hard. Frank knows this, can smell it all over him – the nervous, prickling awareness of it. He can hear the beat of Gerard's heart, or maybe that's his own. Jesus Christ, he almost had a handle on it, he thought he could get through the day without this, maybe, but now. Now.
"Uh, sorry, I didn't mean to barge in on you, were you sleeping?" Gerard stammers, but Frank can barely hear the tumbling words, because he wants him so much, he could fucking cry. For a moment, he just watches Gerard's lips moving, the way one corner tugs up more than its mate, the way his small teeth show, his pink tongue, and then Frank is no longer thinking at all.
Instead, he's grabbing Gerard by the shoulders and reeling him in for a kiss that is barely a kiss, more like an assault on the senses. At least on Frank's senses – he feels like he's drowning in the taste of Gerard's hot mouth on his, their tongues sliding against each other, the all-encompassing smell of Gerard around him. When did kissing become a fucking must for him, he wonders briefly, but gives it up as soon as Gerard's arms wrap around his bare torso.
Gerard moans against him and it sends little currents all down Frank's arms and legs and his entire body is aware of only one thing, which is Gerard, Gerard, Gerard.
Frank pushes him up against the wall and immediately goes fumbling for his fly, he needs to get at Gerard's dick so bad. He's aware of a crashing noise, but he doesn't even turn to look until Gerard reverses the natural order of things and forces Frank back, walking him the two steps back it takes to hit the rail of the stairs. It's the shock that forces him to notice the overturned coat rack, and then Gerard slides to his knees in front of him, his eyes following his hands as he reaches out and yanks down Frank's briefs. Frank sees his dick bob into view with a kind of shock, then flickers his gaze to Gerard's face, pink-cheeked, eyes turned up to Frank's.
"Okay?" he breathes, brushing his hair back with one hand, and before Frank can even think of how to answer, Gerard leans in and licks at the head of Frank's cock, then sucks it in. Warm, wet, tight - God, Frank can count on one hand the number of times he's been blown, and it never gets less amazing. He grabs Gerard's hair and gasps every time Gerard pulls off and comes back in, taking more and more of Frank's dick into his mouth. His teeth scrape the skin every once in a while, in a way that makes Frank want to growl or lash out, it hurts so fucking good.
Instead, he squeezes his fingers tighter in Gerard's messy hair, then watches his dick disappear into Gerard's mouth over and over again, slow hot strokes, pushing him so fucking close to the edge, it's maddening. Then Gerard hollows his cheeks and Frank can't even look anymore, squeezing his eyes shut and thudding his head painfully against the rail. Shit, shit. He feels the familiar tingle run all the way up his spine and all through his skin, that stunning rush of now, now, now.
Gerard pulls off at his urging, but Frank still doesn't stop himself in time. He comes hard, hands still tangled around Gerard's hair, his whole body feeling like it's been lit on fire. He trembles for a small eternity.
When he comes down and opens his eyes, Gerard is still on his knees in front of him, watching Frank with one hand still wrapped around Frank's dick, come dripping off his mouth and chin. Frank groans and lets his head fall back, his breath coming in hot and stuttered. Jesus, they shouldn't be doing this, not out here. But when he looks back down at Gerard, Gerard is watching him so fucking intensely, and it's like waves after wave of heat hitting Frank like an assault.
Frank grabs him by the shoulders and pulls him up, then kisses him hard, open-mouthed and dirty. They're both covered in his come now, and Frank feels his engines revving right the fuck back up now; he isn't even nearly done.
Gerard is rubbing himself on Frank's hip, and Frank can think only long enough to get out of his briefs altogether, and then he's pulling Gerard down the hall to his room.
They tumble back onto his bed, and Frank doesn't waste anymore fucking time. Shoes and socks come off the next second. Gerard's shirt gets ripped open, his pants are flung, forgotten, to the floor. Frank yanks down his briefs and barely lets Gerard kick them off before he's grabbing Gerard's hips and pulling him up to get better access to his dick. Gerard is so hard, and his smooth dick is almost hot against Frank's tongue. Frank hears Gerard whimpering above him, and he's squirming against Frank's mouth, trying to get more. Frank leans down and licks him again, just tasting it, God, it hasn't even been a day since they did this last, but it feels like forever.
And yesterday, Gerard hadn't been nearly naked on Frank's bed, wide open for him like this. It's different, and Frank knows he should take his time and do things slow, but maybe in another world. In this room, right here and now, he's grabbing onto the base of Gerard's cock and relishing the strangled noises he makes while Frank sucks in the head and goes down, and down, and down.
His lips, already tender from Gerard's biting kisses earlier, stretch to the point of pain around Gerard's cock and his mouth gets flooded with taste and texture. His nose is buried in Gerard's smell and he can't fucking get enough of it, of him. He can smell exactly how much Gerard wants him, how incredibly turned on he is, and the strangled sounds echoing in his ears are almost too much to bear. Frank loses himself in it all for an amount of time he couldn't calculate if he tried, and the next thing he becomes aware of is an overwhelming need for more, like the moon maybe ratcheted up in her preparations, his blood feels hotter than ever, it's getting stronger.
He growls at the back of his throat and pulls off. Gerard's flushed from his face down to his exposed chest, and he looks wrecked when he lifts up his head and pins Frank with a dazed look.
"Jesus Christ, why'd you stop," he pants, and Frank can't even put into words why and what he wants more than anything right now. It filters in that he's been humping the bed the entire time, the only way to keep himself going, and now that all movement's ceased, his dick is killing him.
"I wanna - fuck - Gee -" He drops his head down to Gerard's crotch and mouths at the juncture of his thigh. It's damp with Gerard's sweat and Frank's breath and he wants to bury his face in it forever and never leave. He can't think straight, he can barely talk, all he fucking wants is more of Gerard's taste on his tongue and his scent all around, so he doesn't ask.
He grabs Gerard's thigh and pulls it over his own shoulder, spreading him open. Gerard makes a squeaking noise above him then stills so completely, Frank can feel his every muscle tense up under his touch. He should say something, maybe warn him, but his nose is leading him where Gerard smells strongest, hottest, and then he's spreading him open with his fingers and licking his asshole. He's never done this before, but he's wondered about it, and now he moans at how fucking good it is. It's almost like a whine in his chest has been silenced, satisfied, this is what he fucking needs.
Gerard's voice breaks on a shout and he starts to shake, uncontrollable little spasms against Frank's mouth. Frank moans and keeps licking him right over the tender skin, attempting to pump Gerard's dick with a free hand. Everything is wet and raw and a fucking mess; Gerard's dick slides so easily in his hand, the silky texture of it hot around the hardness, but Frank's too fucking far gone to find a rhythm. Gerard's shaky fingers find his and Frank lets him take over, gripping the backs of Gerard's thighs and pushing them back for better access while Gerard jerks himself off. After that, there's no rhythm or up or down, just smell and Gerard's voice shouting out curses and syllables that make no sense, and then Gerard stills, lets out a strangled groan, and comes, shaking.
Frank pants against his thighs for a moment, then scrambles up to his knees and licks Gerard's dick and hand clean, just to get more taste out of it, just a little more. He's so fucking hard, he could probably pop with just a single touch.
Gerard struggles to sit up, jarring Frank with his bony knees, and grabs Frank's face between his wet hands.
"Frankie, Jesus, oh my God," he moans, and pulls him in for a rough kiss that tastes like a pure shot of sex. Frank groans and finally goes for his own dick – it shouldn't take much at all. But Gerard reaches it first, pumping him tight and fast from the get-go, and then pushing Frank backwards until Frank's on his back and Gerard's mouth is on his cock again, oh Jesus.
Frank shouts, eyes clenched till he's seeing stars, and grabs Gerard's head. He's not even trying to be still, instead working his hips forward, fucking Gerard's hot tight mouth, just a little – just a little fucking bit -
"Oh, fuck, fuck -"
Gerard makes a noise at the back of his throat, the vibrations sudden and hard, and Frank buckles, coming so hard, his fingers lose all feeling, and his toes cramp up. He's shaking uncontrollably, even after Gerard's pumped him through the last of it – he can't seem to calm down. He knows this isn't it, not for him. He lies there panting at the ceiling, hearing Gerard's ragged breathing echoing his own on the other side of the bed.
*
His chest aches and he's sore in every single muscle. He's pretty aware of how much his bedroom reeks of sex now, and it takes him a moment, but he makes himself move enough to get out of bed (his legs almost give out when he takes the first step) and open the window as far as it'll go.
The fresh air hits his chest and he takes a deep, painful breath. He can smell the wet ground from here, and the slightly decaying leaves that come with fall.
When he turns around, Gerard is watching him. Frank doesn't have to wonder what he's thinking – he can smell the satisfaction, the pleasure and the desire, too. Fucking hell.
"What?" he asks; it's weird, being watched and wanted openly like that.
Gerard shrugs, his open shirt still stuck to his belly and chest. He should probably look ridiculous, wearing just that and nothing else, but what he actually looks is really fucking hot. Frank hasn't seen him this naked before, and earlier, he barely took the time to look.
Now he watches the way Gerard's soft pale belly rises and falls with his breathing, the way his dick lies there, darker than the rest of him, spent. He's not very hairy at all – he's got some pale hairs thrown around his legs, a thin line down his chest, but he barely has a treasure trail, not like Frank.
Something about him is so open, so unprotected, Frank thinks if he were to change right now, he wouldn't know what to do with this guy – kill him or make him pack. He doesn't even know how it works; just knows it's more dangerous than Gerard could ever know.
Frank realizes he's been staring about ten seconds too late. He shrugs to himself, then pushes away from the window. He should probably get dressed. He reaches over to pluck his underwear from where he'd thrown it on the floor, when Gerard's voice pipes up, hoarse-sounding.
"Don't."
Frank freezes, then straightens back up. "Don't what?"
Gerard struggles to crawl up Frank's bed, silently making room big enough for another person. Frank pretends not to understand while Gerard bites his lip and rakes his gaze over Frank. "Don't get dressed. When's your mom back?"
Frank shrugs again, checking the clock. "Not for a while, why?"
"Just wondering. I can't go home yet, I'm supposed to be working on a group project."
"Oh." Frank realizes he doesn't want Gerard to leave, anyway. Which he absolutely should. He should kick him the fuck out and get on with his life.
Before he knows it, he's crawling back into bed, trying to lie as still as possible while his hip touches Gerard's and all his hair stands on end from the contact.
They're quiet for a while, and Frank is busy keeping his hand as still as possible over his belly, while the other hangs off the side of the bed. He's completely aware of every limb on his bed, of every spot his skin is touching Gerard or the sheets or chilled air. It's excruciating. He wishes Gerard would say something, because Frank sure as hell has no idea what to talk about.
Hey, how is your throat from earlier?
How about that sweet ass of yours, is it tender?
"How did you get all those scars?"
Gerard's voice is so close, Frank physically flinches away and then he stares at the ceiling unable to breathe, like all the wind's been knocked out of him. What the fuck, how did he not expect the question? He's been naked in front of this guy twice now, and he just forgot. Through all of the sex and the haze, he's forgotten what he fucking looks like, and the fact of the matter is, he's never been asked it like that before. The jeers of the goons at school were nothing compared the quiet, careful way Gerard just measured his voice and asked.
Frank breathes through what he thinks might be panic-attack-lite, then sits up fast enough that the blood rushes down into his torso and he's left light-headed. "I fall down a lot," he lies, feeling all kinds of stupid, and finally reaches down to grab his underwear again. Where the fuck is his shirt? Oh yeah, he wasn't wearing it to begin with.
"Wait, Frank, I'm sorry." This time, Gerard's voice is a lot less careful and a lot more panicked. Frank stills. He's sitting on the bed naked. He can feel Gerard's heat at his back, but luckily, Gerard isn't making a move to touch him. "Sorry, it's… Sorry."
Frank shrugs. "Whatever." He's still sitting there, though, naked, his dick kind of shriveling up from the cold air of the room.
"Did you say you, uh, had weed?" Gerard asks and Frank's laugh gets away from him, high and unexpected. He turns around and Gerard's got his hair tucked behind his ears, and a shy grin on his face. Frank shakes his head, but answers, anyway.
"Yeah. Why, you wanna?"
Gerard just shrugs, drawing patterns on Frank's sheet.
*
Frank's got a rule about pot and it's that there's no smoking in his mom's house. She's got a nose on her, and even though he's never been busted before, he knows it wouldn't be pretty.
They get dressed, Frank grabs the baggie from the back of his bedside drawer, and they take off down to the cemetery. The dry leaves and branches crack under their feet, and it hits Frank that it's really fall. He hasn't even begun to think about this birthday, but it's just a few weeks away. He's going to be seventeen – too young to do anything with it, old enough to be pissed off about being too young. Not much of a birthday to look forward to.
Gerard is quiet at first, walking a ways behind Frank, like he's worried about upsetting him or whatever, but then he gets past it and starts commenting on everything as they walk.
"This is awesome – I had no idea there was a cemetery here until you showed me. I love cemeteries, they're such a cool way of picturing the past, you know? And, like, they had some weird-ass names sometimes, too," he says. "Oh, shit, look at that, she was born in 1832 and died in 1848, oh man, that's so sad. Maybe it was, like, consumption? She was just, like, hitting her bloom or whatever, and then – boom, dead, cut off at sixteen. Or, or not even, she was a month away from sixteen, shit, wow." He pauses, and Frank is trying to think of what to say to that, when Gerard takes in an excited breath and the words tumble out again. "Do you think it was like a mini-plague, where it hit a lot of people all at once? Or was she like a tragic heroine, dying in her house alone while her friends played in gardens or whatever?"
Frank starts laughing, then turns around when Gerard falls silent. Gerard's ducked his head so Frank can barely see his face, but in the fading darkness, he thinks he see his cheeks darkening. "Gerard?"
"Sorry, I tend to run off at the mouth, I guess. I just, you know." He shrugs, leaning down to pick up a branch and kick away at a bunch of dead leaves on the ground. "Find it cool."
Frank grins and nods. "I think it was a mini-plague. We should look for the other dead kids sometimes."
He finally finds a good, out-of-the-way spot, and settles down onto the ground against a gravestone. It's actually hard to make out the name and date on it, it's so old. Frank pats the spot beside him and shows off the baggie in his hand. "Fun time," he explains.
Gerard shrugs some hair out of his face and throws Frank a grin before settling down next to him. The ground is pretty chilly now, nothing like when the sun is high and beating the grass with its warmth. Somewhere, he can smell leaves burning, and then he starts to burn some leaves of his own. He's not that great at rolling joints – Dewees was the expert in that, as well as other things – but it isn't bad. He's pretty proud of it, in fact.
Gerard doesn't comment on it, just gives Frank another sweet smile before accepting the first hit. Frank looks away before he can beam right back.
"Man," Gerard breathes after he coughs through the inhale. "That's pretty good, huh?"
Frank throws him a rather proud look. "Yep. Dude went away, though. I've gotta find another hook-up," he says and sighs despite himself.
Gerard cocks his head and smiles, passing the roach back. "Was he just a dealer-type dude, or what?"
Frank doesn't get the question at first, and then it dawns on him. He giggles despite himself. "A friend dude. And dealer dude. He was an army brat, so, you know." He makes a sweeping gesture with his hand before sucking in more smoke.
"Ah," Gerard replies, nodding. "That sucks, huh?"
Frank coughs a little, then nods. "Yeah, it really does." His voice is already thin and reedy, and it's gotten a little less chilly. Maybe he's getting used to it. Without another prompt, he says, "He was kind of the only friend I had at school, so."
Why'd he say that? Oh, well.
Gerard doesn't wait till Frank hands him the joint, just plucks it from him with freezing fingers. Before he takes a hit, he says, "Yeah, that place isn't so awesome on people, is it?"
Frank snorts. His head is pleasantly heavy. He really loves the smell of burning leaves. "You could say that," he answers. Something occurs to him, and he turns to watch Gerard smoking with his eyes closed. "Hey, how come – you never said. Why'd you transfer your senior year?"
Gerard doesn't answer for a while. It's probably because he's too busy relishing Frank's awesome weed. Finally, he shrugs and extends Frank the joint. "My mom and grandma thought it'd make my chances of getting into art school better, ‘cause this place has a better program than the public school."
Frank frowns. College talk. He hates college talk. "You, uh, you didn't mind?" he asks, rolling the joint between his fingers, feeling where it almost wants to come apart and smoothing it down.
"Guess I did," Gerard says lazily and rubs his head. "Mikey's still at City, which sucks for me, but we can only afford one kid there at a time." He squinches up his face and turns to face Frank. "After I graduate, Mom's already said she's transferring him over."
Frank makes like he gets it, which he kind of does. His mom can barely afford him, and that's only ‘cause Dad helps out. "Cool," he says. Then, "Sorry, I guess. You getting stuck in that fucking place."
Gerard flashes him an immediate and dorky grin. "I'm not. You're cool, right?"
Frank startles into another laugh, his belly kind of hurting. "Yeah, that's me. Mister fucking Cool."
Gerard giggles into his sleeve and pins him with a look. "Yep. ‘S why I like you."
Frank glances down, burying his stupid-ass grin in his jacket. "Whatever," he mumbles and glances up at Gerard, who's still hogging the roach. "Gimme that," he demands gruffly and Gerard hands it over with a smile.
"You're a weirdo," he comments, and Frank freezes for a second, before relaxing.
"I really am," he agrees easily, inhaling the sweet smoke. "But I'm not the one with the Misfits design on my kicks," he mutters out of the corner of his mouth.
Gerard sniggers and brushes his fingers over his shoes. "I'll totally do it for you, too," he informs him. "Just get a fucking sharpie."
"Man, that's so cool," Frank says enthusiastically, surprising even himself. Gerard throws him a curious glance. "You know," he elaborates, emphasizing with his hand, smoke trailing in its wake. "You can just, like. Do that. Create shit out of nothing. Does it ever, like – does that run out?"
Gerard frowns. "What do you mean?"
Frank isn't sure, if he's perfectly honest with himself. "I don't know, like… Your well of fucking – creativity, like. You're always drawing. Doodling or whatever, and you never get tired of it?"
Gerard's watching him like he's crazy, and Frank bites his lip. He said something stupid. Shocking. He feels a deep blush coming over him, but Gerard doesn't seem to have noticed, at least. "No, man, it's what I want to be doing, you know? Or, like… I write sometimes? Lyrics, in my head, I don't know, it just – it comes to me, you know?"
Frank nods. This part, he knows, all right. "Yeah, I'm like that with – well, whatever, yeah, forget it. That was – dumb, sorry." He kicks at a pebble at his feet. Then he thinks that was probably an asshole move, he's heard from his mom that Jewish people lay down stones on graves. He probably just kicked at someone's present.
"That wasn't dumb," Gerard says, suddenly closer. "You saying it was dumb was dumb, but the rest wasn't dumb," he adds and Frank turns his head in time to see Gerard give him a huge smile.
"Yeah, well," he says. "You're dumb."
Gerard looks like he's going to explode in a second, and then he does, giggling like he's crazy. Or stoned. Frank covers his own face with his hands and laughs along, the warmth of his breath making him realize just how fucking cold it is out here.
"Your face is dumb," Gerard breathes through the giggles, his face surrounded by smoke and cold air, and Frank's stomach cramps from laughing, like he's run a mile or done a hundred push-ups in a minute. Frank wants to come back at him with your MOM is dumb, but he's run out of air. Then his train of thought leads him to his own mom, and then he's scrambling to look at the time on his phone.
"Shit!"
"What, what?" Gerard jumps. "What is it?"
"My mom," Frank groans, slapping his face and burning his forehead with the butt of the roach for his troubles. "I gotta get home, fuck, fuck!" He pinches out the joint, tucking it back into the baggie, and is about to scramble up off the ground, when Gerard's hand flies out and lands on his own.
"Frank, wait –"
"Yeah?" Frank realizes he's probably watching Gerard with crazy eyes, but seriously, his mom.
Gerard leans in and presses his lips against Frank's, just like that. At first, their mouths are like separate spots of smoky warmth, and then when Gerard moves his face a little to the left, and Frank turns his just a little to the right, they're warm together, and then, they're breathing shared smoke and breath and air.
He almost forgets all about his panic, until Gerard gently touches Frank's knee through his jeans as his tongue slips just as gently out to touch Frank's, and then he remembers the whys and whats and the need pounds through him, powerful, overwhelming. He moans and tamps it down, not now, not now.
After that, he manages to find the will and the strength to push Gerard away despite his every instinct clamoring to climb on top of him and strip him naked. Then they run through the cemetery until they get to his street, and he yells out his goodbye before catching his breath. Her car's not in the driveway and the lights are off. Thank fucking God.
Part IV