Murderers Are Getting Prettier Every Day. [Gerard/OMC, Gerard/Frank. NC17.] Part Three.
Title: Murderers Are Getting Prettier Every Day. [Part Three].
Author:
fictionallies
Pairing: Gerard/OMC, Gerard/Frank.
Rating: NC17.
Summary: Gerard has a shitty ex boyfriend. An ex boyfriend so shitty that Gerard has lost himself, everything that he once was, and has no hope of becoming anything more. There's one thing, one thing that can fix this.
WARNINGS: Major character death (OMC), drug use both past and present (prescription and illicit, also alcohol), self-harm, suicidal themes, emotional abuse/verbal abuse/general abusive relationship, mental disorders, murder.
Author's Note: This has taken an ETERNITY and I am so sorry, Madi and whoever else may be reading this. Hopefully some of the stuff that goes down in this chapter will make up for the wait, but be warned, it isn't a very long one.
--III--
Suddenly, Gerard's end-of-term exam week timetable was a lot more filled than he was expecting.
Two math exams, not one. The usual classes, one hour-and-a-half lesson each. Two math exams. He wanted to shoot someone in the fucking face. Math was not Gerard. Gerard and math didn't get along, not by any stretch of the imagination. He'd take his Lexapro first thing, wait until right before they walked into the exam room, and down a Xanax or two to calm his nerves before it all came down. He'd be fine. Fine. Okay. Maybe.
He still had two days free. A five-day weekend, to do with what he will. Anything. He could do anything.
That Thursday, next week, he planned, would be his little reward for all the hard work and study. Thursday, Bert and Quinn were free. Thursday, they'd get a stick, and go ride off into the midday sun to find a small, safe place to get absolutely off their fucking faces. Gerard was suddenly really looking forward to Thursday.
Last time, he'd been able to spend three days... researching? Planning? Observing? Gerard didn't know what to call it, how to put what he did. Watching sounded creepy, on par with stalking. It wasn't stalking, it wasn't like Gerard wanted to know Rowan through his bedroom window. It wasn't like Gerard took some sexual pleasure in watching the sad, sorry soul that had taken his everything continue to suck the life out of everything around him, leech off his mother and the government and his anonymous dealer.
Gerard suddenly had the thought hit him that he had no idea who dealt Rowan the pot. Like, he'd never known, even when smoking up with his then-boyfriend was a common occurrence. He didn't ever see it being chopped, not from the bud. Rowan always chopped it up before Gerard got there, if there was anything more done with the scissors it was because Gerard had brought the spin with him. Gerard wasn't even allowed to pack his own fucking cones because if you spill it I will shit bricks, Gee. Swear to god, I will shit bricks.
Bert taught Gerard something and Gerard hadn't even known he'd learned it until this moment.
Bert had a friend, Lindsey. Frank knew her, talked about her a lot, Gerard knew her pretty well. She was this gorgeous girl, brown hair and hazel eyes and just a really nice face. Gerard probably, maybe would have asked her out had he the balls and sexual orientation.
Bert had told Gerard about the first time Lindsey had ever smoked pot. It was the two of them, from what Gerard could gather, and they'd used a dealer that they didn't really know and boom, the next thing Bert knew Lindsey was locked in a bathroom freaking the fuck out and shaking and the whole nine and a half fucking yards, because whoever they'd got it from had laced it with ice.
Bert never, ever went to anyone but his few known and close dealers ever again. That, he told Gerard.
Gerard shuddered, because there was this awesome and terrifying potential that whatever Rowan had ever given him had been laced. It could have had anything. Anything.
All of a sudden, Gerard's second reason for killing his ex-boyfriend nudged up a few points in importance.
- - -
Exams were next week. Teachers were breathing down necks, hissing words of get in your essays and you need to finish this assignment. Gerard was over it. So fucking over it. He had this image of school - the work, the pressure,the teachers - being passengers in a car he was driving and throwing them all out on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, Texas. Of letting Leatherface have his wicked way with paperwork and sheets of thousand-word bullshit artistry. It would be kind of fucking great if everything would just leap out the fucking window.
Thursday afternoons, everyone finished early. Frank wanted Gerard to come over, get slurpees from the 7-11, chill out and talk art shit and whatever. Frank was cute. Frank had a mouth Gerard liked and would not have issues in kissing. He had nice eyes and nice hands that drew pretty pictures of death and blood and all that delightful stuff.
Frank kissed Gerard that Thursday afternoon at his place. Said he tasted like cigarettes and sweet things. Frank kept on kissing Gerard and things were great, Gerard was, for once, completely sober and feeling like Kate Winslet in Titanic. Draw me like one of your French girls, Frankie.
Gerard would never, ever ask that, but the thought zipped across his mind briefly.
“I wanna ask you something, Gee.”
“Yeah?” Gerard did not mean to sound as fucking girlish and breathless as he did, but fucking hell he had a long list of excuses if Frank wanted one.
“Can I... I want to see you with your shirt off. Is... is that okay, or do you-”
“Put your fucking heater on and I'll think about it,” Gerard snorted. He hadn't even taken his hoodie off yet, and they'd been here an hour or so. Frank's house, it seemed, was really fucking cold.
“Be right back, then,” Frank retorted, some evil little smirk on his face as he pecked Gerard on the lips before dashing out to adjust the thermostat.
Gerard curled into a ball in the middle of the bed and pulled the comforter over himself. Frank had made a nice heater, something warm and close to huddle into, but it was freezing and now he wasn't in the room. Gerard needed warmth and something to hide behind.
He unzipped the old black hoodie that smelled like months of cigarettes and cones, shrugged it off underneath the covers, and chucked it off the bed to the floor. His shirt was more of a pain in the ass, he had to actually sit up and pull the thing off over his head, and the cold air in the room smacked him across the back.
Then, he just huddled back down under the zombie green comforter and waited for Frank to come back. Gerard hadn't... no one had seen him without a shirt in months. Months. It didn't really seem like that long a period of time, but in those months shit had gone down. Shit had gone down on a grand fucking scale and here he was shirtless in a virtual stranger's bed, stone-cold sober.
Gerard pulled the covers closer when he heard Frank's soft-shuffle footsteps coming down the hall.
“Warm enough?” Frank asked, smile on his face. I shouldn't make you smile and I don't understand why I seemingly do.
“Yeah. Warm is good,” Gerard answered.
Then Frank took his shirt off and knelt down on the edge of the bed and woah, okay. Gerard was not expecting that, not right off the bat, not so fucking bold and out there.
“Shove over, I want some blanket too.”
Gerard rolled over to ace the wall, pulled the blanket up to his chin. Warm. He felt Frank slide under the covers next to him, felt a freezing cold arm wrap around his waist.
“You're a fucking ice cube man, what the fuck.”
“Sorry. You're warm though.”
“I'm fucking freezing.”
“You don't feel freezing is what I'm saying.”
Gerard just shrugged because there wasn't really much to say in response to that. Frank seemed to agree - Gerard felt soft lips against the back of his neck and a shiver of an entirely different sort run down his spine.
“Frank-”
“I wanna ask you something, don't get mad, yeah?” Frank interrupted.
Gerard swallowed. It could be anything. What has he heard, has he seen something, what if this is all a fucking joke on the loser art kid because well it wouldn't be the first time-
“Are... are you a virgin?”
Gerard really had to hold back a snort because what the fuck. He was out of practice and still had baggage to the fucking sun and back but really didn't think that resulted in virgin vibes or whatever.
“Um, no.”
Frank seemed to let out a bated breath and draw another one straight back in. “I just wanted to know because like... I know this is really fucking sad and I am going to ask you now not to laugh or be a jackass about it, but like. I am. A virgin.”
Gerard just shrugged. “I don't mind, Frank. It's... it's not a big deal, really.”
He felt Frank's cold fingertips trace his shoulder. His shoulder, where maybe a week ago he'd gone all fucked and traced a few lines of his own with a razor. Please don't see, don't hate me, don't get all my hopes up just to fucking-
“Bit of a history, yeah Gee?” Frank asked, his voice just soft and even, calm, like it was normal and not some grand taboo.
“You could say that, I guess.”
“I'm not gonna freak out at you for it, if that's what you think,” Frank murmured. “I'm not gonna sit here with a gorgeous guy half naked in my bed and then tell him he's a bad person because of something so... so insignificant. Well, it's significant, but like... I'm not going to scream at you for it.”
Gerard snuggled closer into Frank's chest. “Thanks, Frankie.”
You have no idea how much that means.
- - -
The Saturday after that, Gerard was at Frank's for the evening. A promised evening of pizza, slurpees from the 7-11, and sex.
Gerard was going to take Frank's virginity and right now he was kind of... apathetic about it. Frank had kept asking if Gerard wanted anything in particular - things he liked, did he want some scented candles, should Frank put the sheets in the dryer beforehand to make them warm enough for Gerard's anemic body temperature.
Gerard kept having to remind Frank that he'd done it all before. If it should be all special for anyone, it should be all special for Frank. Gerard didn't really give a fuck if there were rose petals on the bed. He accepted Frank's offer to throw his bedsheets in the dryer to warm them up, but that wasn't because Gerard fetishized about warm sheets or whatever - it was because it got fucking cold in Frank's house and Frank would likely benefit from warm, fuzzy blankets too.
There was already a set agreement that Frank would top, which Gerard wasn't concerned about - he's the one who brought it up. Gerard had never topped before, and he didn't want to like... break Frank's ass or make a fool of himself and have Frank remember his first time as being shitty. It was how it was going. It was all fucking set.
Gerard had already decided, this time without Frank's knowledge, that Frank wouldn't get... to do much. Which sounded really awful when Gerard thought about it, but it wasn't really that bad when he rationalized it all.
Gerard didn't really want anything but a dick near his ass. It was weird but whatever, Gerard was set on it. He'd prep himself because he knew the logistics, he knew what to do and how to make everything else hurt less later on. He didn't want Frank to accidentally move his hand wrong and boom, make Gerard come and all was over. He didn't want Frank to go too fast and have the mood killed like a lame horse. He wanted this shit to go down as smoothly as humanly possible, and that just so happened to involve Gerard prepping himself. Frank would need to deal.
He also would gladly give Frank the most amazing head of his life, but Frank was going nowhere near Gerard's dick with his mouth. That, that wasn't really a what if you bite my cock off thing, more a... I will gladly take your dick in my mouth and suck you dry but the last guy who went down on me I got nothing out of it and it just felt weird and somewhat pointless thing.
Frank opened his front door when Gerard rocked up, smiling like some holy being had arrived on his doorstep.
It felt so fucking awkward and Gerard just wanted to get to the point right now, he didn't want small talk or professions of love and affection, he didn't want a commentary of Frank's day or whatever. He needed to just get the fuck down to it. No bullshitting, no dancing around the subject. Just straight to the fucking point.
As soon as Frank's bedroom door was firmly shut behind them, Gerard kissed Frank. Not little fucking playful oh you're so cute kisses, fucking I don't give a fuck about anything right now, I like your mouth, I like your face, I want your cock, thankyou kisses. All tongue and teeth and hot-hot breath, and some strange synchronization formed between them, like something went click in Frank's brain.
“Nice face. Wanna fuck?” Frank asked, tongue poking out between his teeth.
Gerard honestly did not even care what Frank had just said. “Fuck. Yeah.”
The next thing Gerard realized, he was on his back on Frank's bed, dryer-warm blankets against his back where his tee-shirt had ridden up and his pants had started to slip down over his ass. It was warm, Frank was warmer, and Gerard was fucking aching for this. For Frank, for sex, for being a virgin's first fuck. For everything, no matter how fucking awkward it all was.
- - -
Gerard was hit with an epiphany while Frank's dick was in his ass which had him feeling like the biggest fucking jerk in the world when they finally finished. Gerard wanted to make some witty comment about no virgin could ever fuck like that, lying bastard, but by the time Frank rolled off the side of the bed and shimmied on a pair of sweatpants, it was the last thing on his mind.
The thing was, was Gerard couldn't move on.
Frank fucked like a beast. He was amazing. Not one time in Gerard's seven months with Rowan had the sex been quite that awesome. Gerard had come without his dick being touched at all, that was how great it was. This, of course, all contributed to why Gerard was a fucking douchebag cunt motherfucker and countless more expletives.
Frank could've been the best lay this planet had to offer, the most gorgeous, amazing, sweet guy in the world, and Gerard couldn't date him. Fuck him, sure. Not all the time, just to get the tension out. This made Gerard a fuckwit because he totally just used Frank for sex, took the guy's fucking virginity, and now he couldn't date him. On the surface, there was nothing stopping them. To an outsider, Gerard and Frank could be the cutest boyfriends to hit the East Coast, they could have the stars and galaxies if they wanted them. But it wasn't that simple, it never could be that simple. Not with Gerard and his past and his fucking issues.
They were in the middle of some old school zombie movie Frank had picked out, eating cheese pizza, when Gerard had to pipe up. He had to say something. Frank probably felt like shit, Gerard hadn't really said a whole lot since he came, and there was only so much one could blame on a mind-blowing orgasm.
“What are we?” Gerard asked. It seemed the safest thing to say. It could lead anywhere. It will be fine. Jesus Christ.
“Um. Not virgins?” Frank replied, his mouth full of melted mozzarella. “I dunno, whatever you want.”
Gerard swallowed. Goddamn, you're gonna make me into a goddamn prick. “It's just that. Like. I want to date you, don't get me wrong. I'd like. Kill. To date you. But I have shit I have to get sorted first, like... those scars and shit, it's all from the mental stuff I have going on, which sucks, believe me. I just. I don't want to date you if I'm really fucked up, and right now I'm not... I'm not completely stable. I want to be like, the most amazing boyfriend ever for you, but until I get this shit fixed I... I don't want to put you through me when I'm really awful, because that'd hurt you. Which I don't want to do. Ever. Frankie?”
Gerard did not mean to squeak out Frank's name like a little girl after a bad dream, but if it worked, he would go with it.
Frank just laughed, took another bite of pizza, and chewed slowly. “I'm fine with it, I think. So long as I get the boy one day, that is.”
Gerard let go of a breath he didn't even know he'd been holding. “Fuck, man. Just fuck. Thank fucking Christ you're okay with this.”
“Dude. I got laid, got pizza, I assume you have cigarettes, and I got a promise of having one fine piece of ass all to myself when you get yourself all sorted. It's fine, man. I wouldn't wanna put pressure on you if you're already like, under a lot.”
Gerard sighed. “You wanna go for a smoke now, then? Because I really fucking need one after that.”
Author:
fictionallies
Pairing: Gerard/OMC, Gerard/Frank.
Rating: NC17.
Summary: Gerard has a shitty ex boyfriend. An ex boyfriend so shitty that Gerard has lost himself, everything that he once was, and has no hope of becoming anything more. There's one thing, one thing that can fix this.
WARNINGS: Major character death (OMC), drug use both past and present (prescription and illicit, also alcohol), self-harm, suicidal themes, emotional abuse/verbal abuse/general abusive relationship, mental disorders, murder.
Author's Note: This has taken an ETERNITY and I am so sorry, Madi and whoever else may be reading this. Hopefully some of the stuff that goes down in this chapter will make up for the wait, but be warned, it isn't a very long one.
--III--
Suddenly, Gerard's end-of-term exam week timetable was a lot more filled than he was expecting.
Two math exams, not one. The usual classes, one hour-and-a-half lesson each. Two math exams. He wanted to shoot someone in the fucking face. Math was not Gerard. Gerard and math didn't get along, not by any stretch of the imagination. He'd take his Lexapro first thing, wait until right before they walked into the exam room, and down a Xanax or two to calm his nerves before it all came down. He'd be fine. Fine. Okay. Maybe.
He still had two days free. A five-day weekend, to do with what he will. Anything. He could do anything.
That Thursday, next week, he planned, would be his little reward for all the hard work and study. Thursday, Bert and Quinn were free. Thursday, they'd get a stick, and go ride off into the midday sun to find a small, safe place to get absolutely off their fucking faces. Gerard was suddenly really looking forward to Thursday.
Last time, he'd been able to spend three days... researching? Planning? Observing? Gerard didn't know what to call it, how to put what he did. Watching sounded creepy, on par with stalking. It wasn't stalking, it wasn't like Gerard wanted to know Rowan through his bedroom window. It wasn't like Gerard took some sexual pleasure in watching the sad, sorry soul that had taken his everything continue to suck the life out of everything around him, leech off his mother and the government and his anonymous dealer.
Gerard suddenly had the thought hit him that he had no idea who dealt Rowan the pot. Like, he'd never known, even when smoking up with his then-boyfriend was a common occurrence. He didn't ever see it being chopped, not from the bud. Rowan always chopped it up before Gerard got there, if there was anything more done with the scissors it was because Gerard had brought the spin with him. Gerard wasn't even allowed to pack his own fucking cones because if you spill it I will shit bricks, Gee. Swear to god, I will shit bricks.
Bert taught Gerard something and Gerard hadn't even known he'd learned it until this moment.
Bert had a friend, Lindsey. Frank knew her, talked about her a lot, Gerard knew her pretty well. She was this gorgeous girl, brown hair and hazel eyes and just a really nice face. Gerard probably, maybe would have asked her out had he the balls and sexual orientation.
Bert had told Gerard about the first time Lindsey had ever smoked pot. It was the two of them, from what Gerard could gather, and they'd used a dealer that they didn't really know and boom, the next thing Bert knew Lindsey was locked in a bathroom freaking the fuck out and shaking and the whole nine and a half fucking yards, because whoever they'd got it from had laced it with ice.
Bert never, ever went to anyone but his few known and close dealers ever again. That, he told Gerard.
Gerard shuddered, because there was this awesome and terrifying potential that whatever Rowan had ever given him had been laced. It could have had anything. Anything.
All of a sudden, Gerard's second reason for killing his ex-boyfriend nudged up a few points in importance.
- - -
Exams were next week. Teachers were breathing down necks, hissing words of get in your essays and you need to finish this assignment. Gerard was over it. So fucking over it. He had this image of school - the work, the pressure,the teachers - being passengers in a car he was driving and throwing them all out on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, Texas. Of letting Leatherface have his wicked way with paperwork and sheets of thousand-word bullshit artistry. It would be kind of fucking great if everything would just leap out the fucking window.
Thursday afternoons, everyone finished early. Frank wanted Gerard to come over, get slurpees from the 7-11, chill out and talk art shit and whatever. Frank was cute. Frank had a mouth Gerard liked and would not have issues in kissing. He had nice eyes and nice hands that drew pretty pictures of death and blood and all that delightful stuff.
Frank kissed Gerard that Thursday afternoon at his place. Said he tasted like cigarettes and sweet things. Frank kept on kissing Gerard and things were great, Gerard was, for once, completely sober and feeling like Kate Winslet in Titanic. Draw me like one of your French girls, Frankie.
Gerard would never, ever ask that, but the thought zipped across his mind briefly.
“I wanna ask you something, Gee.”
“Yeah?” Gerard did not mean to sound as fucking girlish and breathless as he did, but fucking hell he had a long list of excuses if Frank wanted one.
“Can I... I want to see you with your shirt off. Is... is that okay, or do you-”
“Put your fucking heater on and I'll think about it,” Gerard snorted. He hadn't even taken his hoodie off yet, and they'd been here an hour or so. Frank's house, it seemed, was really fucking cold.
“Be right back, then,” Frank retorted, some evil little smirk on his face as he pecked Gerard on the lips before dashing out to adjust the thermostat.
Gerard curled into a ball in the middle of the bed and pulled the comforter over himself. Frank had made a nice heater, something warm and close to huddle into, but it was freezing and now he wasn't in the room. Gerard needed warmth and something to hide behind.
He unzipped the old black hoodie that smelled like months of cigarettes and cones, shrugged it off underneath the covers, and chucked it off the bed to the floor. His shirt was more of a pain in the ass, he had to actually sit up and pull the thing off over his head, and the cold air in the room smacked him across the back.
Then, he just huddled back down under the zombie green comforter and waited for Frank to come back. Gerard hadn't... no one had seen him without a shirt in months. Months. It didn't really seem like that long a period of time, but in those months shit had gone down. Shit had gone down on a grand fucking scale and here he was shirtless in a virtual stranger's bed, stone-cold sober.
Gerard pulled the covers closer when he heard Frank's soft-shuffle footsteps coming down the hall.
“Warm enough?” Frank asked, smile on his face. I shouldn't make you smile and I don't understand why I seemingly do.
“Yeah. Warm is good,” Gerard answered.
Then Frank took his shirt off and knelt down on the edge of the bed and woah, okay. Gerard was not expecting that, not right off the bat, not so fucking bold and out there.
“Shove over, I want some blanket too.”
Gerard rolled over to ace the wall, pulled the blanket up to his chin. Warm. He felt Frank slide under the covers next to him, felt a freezing cold arm wrap around his waist.
“You're a fucking ice cube man, what the fuck.”
“Sorry. You're warm though.”
“I'm fucking freezing.”
“You don't feel freezing is what I'm saying.”
Gerard just shrugged because there wasn't really much to say in response to that. Frank seemed to agree - Gerard felt soft lips against the back of his neck and a shiver of an entirely different sort run down his spine.
“Frank-”
“I wanna ask you something, don't get mad, yeah?” Frank interrupted.
Gerard swallowed. It could be anything. What has he heard, has he seen something, what if this is all a fucking joke on the loser art kid because well it wouldn't be the first time-
“Are... are you a virgin?”
Gerard really had to hold back a snort because what the fuck. He was out of practice and still had baggage to the fucking sun and back but really didn't think that resulted in virgin vibes or whatever.
“Um, no.”
Frank seemed to let out a bated breath and draw another one straight back in. “I just wanted to know because like... I know this is really fucking sad and I am going to ask you now not to laugh or be a jackass about it, but like. I am. A virgin.”
Gerard just shrugged. “I don't mind, Frank. It's... it's not a big deal, really.”
He felt Frank's cold fingertips trace his shoulder. His shoulder, where maybe a week ago he'd gone all fucked and traced a few lines of his own with a razor. Please don't see, don't hate me, don't get all my hopes up just to fucking-
“Bit of a history, yeah Gee?” Frank asked, his voice just soft and even, calm, like it was normal and not some grand taboo.
“You could say that, I guess.”
“I'm not gonna freak out at you for it, if that's what you think,” Frank murmured. “I'm not gonna sit here with a gorgeous guy half naked in my bed and then tell him he's a bad person because of something so... so insignificant. Well, it's significant, but like... I'm not going to scream at you for it.”
Gerard snuggled closer into Frank's chest. “Thanks, Frankie.”
You have no idea how much that means.
- - -
The Saturday after that, Gerard was at Frank's for the evening. A promised evening of pizza, slurpees from the 7-11, and sex.
Gerard was going to take Frank's virginity and right now he was kind of... apathetic about it. Frank had kept asking if Gerard wanted anything in particular - things he liked, did he want some scented candles, should Frank put the sheets in the dryer beforehand to make them warm enough for Gerard's anemic body temperature.
Gerard kept having to remind Frank that he'd done it all before. If it should be all special for anyone, it should be all special for Frank. Gerard didn't really give a fuck if there were rose petals on the bed. He accepted Frank's offer to throw his bedsheets in the dryer to warm them up, but that wasn't because Gerard fetishized about warm sheets or whatever - it was because it got fucking cold in Frank's house and Frank would likely benefit from warm, fuzzy blankets too.
There was already a set agreement that Frank would top, which Gerard wasn't concerned about - he's the one who brought it up. Gerard had never topped before, and he didn't want to like... break Frank's ass or make a fool of himself and have Frank remember his first time as being shitty. It was how it was going. It was all fucking set.
Gerard had already decided, this time without Frank's knowledge, that Frank wouldn't get... to do much. Which sounded really awful when Gerard thought about it, but it wasn't really that bad when he rationalized it all.
Gerard didn't really want anything but a dick near his ass. It was weird but whatever, Gerard was set on it. He'd prep himself because he knew the logistics, he knew what to do and how to make everything else hurt less later on. He didn't want Frank to accidentally move his hand wrong and boom, make Gerard come and all was over. He didn't want Frank to go too fast and have the mood killed like a lame horse. He wanted this shit to go down as smoothly as humanly possible, and that just so happened to involve Gerard prepping himself. Frank would need to deal.
He also would gladly give Frank the most amazing head of his life, but Frank was going nowhere near Gerard's dick with his mouth. That, that wasn't really a what if you bite my cock off thing, more a... I will gladly take your dick in my mouth and suck you dry but the last guy who went down on me I got nothing out of it and it just felt weird and somewhat pointless thing.
Frank opened his front door when Gerard rocked up, smiling like some holy being had arrived on his doorstep.
It felt so fucking awkward and Gerard just wanted to get to the point right now, he didn't want small talk or professions of love and affection, he didn't want a commentary of Frank's day or whatever. He needed to just get the fuck down to it. No bullshitting, no dancing around the subject. Just straight to the fucking point.
As soon as Frank's bedroom door was firmly shut behind them, Gerard kissed Frank. Not little fucking playful oh you're so cute kisses, fucking I don't give a fuck about anything right now, I like your mouth, I like your face, I want your cock, thankyou kisses. All tongue and teeth and hot-hot breath, and some strange synchronization formed between them, like something went click in Frank's brain.
“Nice face. Wanna fuck?” Frank asked, tongue poking out between his teeth.
Gerard honestly did not even care what Frank had just said. “Fuck. Yeah.”
The next thing Gerard realized, he was on his back on Frank's bed, dryer-warm blankets against his back where his tee-shirt had ridden up and his pants had started to slip down over his ass. It was warm, Frank was warmer, and Gerard was fucking aching for this. For Frank, for sex, for being a virgin's first fuck. For everything, no matter how fucking awkward it all was.
- - -
Gerard was hit with an epiphany while Frank's dick was in his ass which had him feeling like the biggest fucking jerk in the world when they finally finished. Gerard wanted to make some witty comment about no virgin could ever fuck like that, lying bastard, but by the time Frank rolled off the side of the bed and shimmied on a pair of sweatpants, it was the last thing on his mind.
The thing was, was Gerard couldn't move on.
Frank fucked like a beast. He was amazing. Not one time in Gerard's seven months with Rowan had the sex been quite that awesome. Gerard had come without his dick being touched at all, that was how great it was. This, of course, all contributed to why Gerard was a fucking douchebag cunt motherfucker and countless more expletives.
Frank could've been the best lay this planet had to offer, the most gorgeous, amazing, sweet guy in the world, and Gerard couldn't date him. Fuck him, sure. Not all the time, just to get the tension out. This made Gerard a fuckwit because he totally just used Frank for sex, took the guy's fucking virginity, and now he couldn't date him. On the surface, there was nothing stopping them. To an outsider, Gerard and Frank could be the cutest boyfriends to hit the East Coast, they could have the stars and galaxies if they wanted them. But it wasn't that simple, it never could be that simple. Not with Gerard and his past and his fucking issues.
They were in the middle of some old school zombie movie Frank had picked out, eating cheese pizza, when Gerard had to pipe up. He had to say something. Frank probably felt like shit, Gerard hadn't really said a whole lot since he came, and there was only so much one could blame on a mind-blowing orgasm.
“What are we?” Gerard asked. It seemed the safest thing to say. It could lead anywhere. It will be fine. Jesus Christ.
“Um. Not virgins?” Frank replied, his mouth full of melted mozzarella. “I dunno, whatever you want.”
Gerard swallowed. Goddamn, you're gonna make me into a goddamn prick. “It's just that. Like. I want to date you, don't get me wrong. I'd like. Kill. To date you. But I have shit I have to get sorted first, like... those scars and shit, it's all from the mental stuff I have going on, which sucks, believe me. I just. I don't want to date you if I'm really fucked up, and right now I'm not... I'm not completely stable. I want to be like, the most amazing boyfriend ever for you, but until I get this shit fixed I... I don't want to put you through me when I'm really awful, because that'd hurt you. Which I don't want to do. Ever. Frankie?”
Gerard did not mean to squeak out Frank's name like a little girl after a bad dream, but if it worked, he would go with it.
Frank just laughed, took another bite of pizza, and chewed slowly. “I'm fine with it, I think. So long as I get the boy one day, that is.”
Gerard let go of a breath he didn't even know he'd been holding. “Fuck, man. Just fuck. Thank fucking Christ you're okay with this.”
“Dude. I got laid, got pizza, I assume you have cigarettes, and I got a promise of having one fine piece of ass all to myself when you get yourself all sorted. It's fine, man. I wouldn't wanna put pressure on you if you're already like, under a lot.”
Gerard sighed. “You wanna go for a smoke now, then? Because I really fucking need one after that.”