24 Frames Per Second - The Belleville Fright Night Experiment - 3
3.
Gerard walked all the way home from the movie theater, leaving his car in the parking lot. He was pretty sure that he shouldn’t drive in the state he was in - inebriated and emotionally in upheaval. He couldn’t comprehend what had happened. It seemed to him that it had had happened to somebody else and he had just watched, a bystander, too frozen with shock to get involved. His traitorous body hummed, though, as if something lying dormant had been awakened. Energy vibrated under his skin, setting all his nerve endings on edge.
It doesn’t have to mean anything, Frank had said. Gerard fervently wished that he could believe this. Just the alcohol and the weed taking over, clouding his better judgment. He had made out with a boy. With a boy, for fuck’s sake. He knew no other guy who had ever made out with a boy. There had to be a reason why it had happened: hormones or the lack of experience with girls. After all, Frank was just another warm body, someone kissing him, and Jesus, Gerard was 17, of course he would react like that, he wasn't made of stone.
The walk home took him 40 minutes, and he snuck in, past the living room where his mother had fallen asleep in front of the television, barricading himself in the bathroom. He stepped into the shower, scratching at the crusty flakes on his chest, and stared at the wall, his eyes following the cracks in the old tiles. He barely even dared to touch himself enough to wash thoroughly; his whole body felt loose, an echo of want lingered like a coiled snake ready to bite. Gerard let the water run over him as hot as he could stand.
That night, he didn’t sleep much. He lay on his bed, staring in the darkness, his thoughts returning over and over to the blissed-out look on Frank’s face, his slack mouth shiny with spit, Frank’s words called after him when he left.
Was Frank gay? He didn’t seem like it. All the gays Gerard could remember seeing on TV or out on the street had been dressed in a certain manner or had moved in a way that had alerted Gerard to their otherness. No, Frank was just… Frank. Tiny and a little bit crazy, with ripped jeans and comic hero shirts and a fucking safety pin in his ear. He was into the Misfits and Black Flag, and he had told Gerard how he liked to go to punk concerts and stage dive into the pit. He wasn’t gay.
Despite his musing, he must have fallen asleep at some point, because he woke around eleven, bleary-eyed and more exhausted than before he had gone to sleep. For a couple of minutes he felt disoriented. Then the night before came back to him and he rolled himself out of bed with a groan. He sat there for a moment on the edge of his single bed, his bare feet digging into his dirty carpet, his head swimming. When he finally made himself get up for real, he felt the stabbing pain of a beginning headache behind his eyes.
From the kitchen above came a clatter of dishes, and the smell of coffee and burnt bacon made him leave his room and crawl up the stairs. He craved a cup of coffee like a drug-user craved his next shot.
The smell of coffee wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, but the accompanying smell of bacon was. It meant somebody was over. His Mom never cooked breakfast, not for them, anyway, and it was better that way, because she was the most horrible cook ever. When he stepped into the kitchen his gaze fell on Mikey and Alicia sitting at the kitchen table, a plate of slightly singed bacon ’n’ eggs in front of each. They didn’t seem to mind the gruesome food, smiling goofily at each other between pushing the food around on their plates.
“Morning, honey,” his mother greeted him cheerfully. She stood at the stove, one hand poised on her hip, the other holding a spatula as if she was brandishing a weapon, a cigarette dangling from her lips. She even wore a moth-holed dish towel as a make-shift apron - her appearance and cheerfulness was scary, as if somebody had taken his mother and unsuccessfully swapped her for a Stepford Wife.
“Bacon ’n’ eggs?” she asked, taking a drag from her cigarette, before ashing it off onto a small flowery plate standing next to the sink.
He shook his head and slid onto a chair across from where Alicia and Mikey were happily grinning at each other. God. They really had hooked up. Ugh. He didn’t want to fucking know.
A cup of coffee was placed in front of him, the liquid spilling a bit over the rim. Gerard shot his mother a grateful look, and she smiled, ruffling a hand through his hair. He watched her put out the flame, then push the pan with the burnt and vile-smelling bacon from the stove. She sat down at the table, still smoking. When he looked at her, eyebrows raised in a silent plea, she pushed her pack of cigarettes and lighter towards him. He loved that she didn’t berate him for smoking before he even got breakfast. Christ, he wasn’t sure he could even stomach to eat anything; least of all his mother’s well-meant but ill-executed cooking.
“You could have told us you were booking last night,” Mikey suddenly said, and Gerard looked up, meeting his brother’s slightly reproachful gaze. “Your car was still in the parking lot - I went looking for you and couldn’t find you. Thank God I met Frank. He told me you probably went home - said you didn’t seem to feel so well.”
Gerard took a sip from his coffee, carefully schooling his features into indifference, before lighting a cigarette. “How did you get home?”
“Ray drove us,” Alicia said, pushing a forkful of scrambled eggs into her mouth. She chewed carefully, grimacing a bit, before bravely swallowing. Gerard guessed that she wanted to make nice with their mother, no matter how high the price she had to pay.
“Yeah, sorry. I had a bit too much to drink,” Gerard managed to press out, feeling himself blush a bit. He lowered his gaze, staring at the dirty-white Formica table top, not meeting anyone’s eyes.
“Just tell me next time, dude.”
“I couldn’t. You were too busy sucking face.” It was a mean thing to say, and Gerard regretted it the moment the words had spilled over his lips, but he was still bitter that once more, Mikey's life seemed so much easier. Mikey got the girl, while all Gerard got was... confusion. He looked up, seeing Mikey’s face darken visibly.
His brother pushed his plate away, crossing his arms over his chest, eyes stormy. “Fuck you,” he said and he really was pissed, because his next words came out sharp and biting. “Fuck you, you’re just fucking jealous because nobody wants to suck face with you.”
“Boys.” Their mother’s voice was calm, but it certainly didn’t lack a hint of steel.
The table fell silent for a bit apart from the too-loud clatter of Alicia’s fork on the plate as she dutifully finished off her breakfast, swallowing down every last bite. Gerard admired her stamina; he would have given up by now. Then again, he didn’t have to impress his boyfriend’s mother.
“Ray, Bob and me talked last night,” he finally said when he had suitably calmed down after a couple of drags on his cigarette and half a cup of coffee. “We thought about screening horror movies from Hank’s archives instead of the regular movies.”
A thoughtful look crossed Mikey's face and he sat up a bit straighter, his dark glare melting away in a matter of seconds. “We should do a whole horror theme. It’s the start of October next week. The month of Halloween.”
“You could sell peanut butter popcorn at the concession stand. And Reese’s cups. And Gummy Brains,” Alicia suggested, and Mikey nodded.
“Damn, I gotta call Lyn-Z and talk to her about it. This is gonna be so cool.”
The screen door banged open, and they all turned their head as Ray walked in. “Morning Mrs. Way,” he greeted, tossing a paper onto the table. “I brought your newspaper - the paperboy threw it into your rose bush - again.”
3000 die of AIDS, infection spreads among gays, the headline on the front page said. Suppressing a shudder, Gerard averted his eyes, trying to ignore the paper lying on the table in front of him. His eyes though were drawn towards the article again and again, and he only half-listened as Ray and Mikey started to talk about horror movies they liked and what to pick for a screening. He wished his mother would finally pick up the paper and take it away, but she didn't seem to want to get up, instead listening in on the conversation, finishing another cigarette.
“Gerard should draw some posters and flyers so we can advertise the horror movies,” Mikey suggested.
“Fuck, yeah. He could do new versions of classic horror movie posters!” Ray agreed and they both turned their heads to regard Gerard, their faces equally hopeful.
“I dunno...” Gerard protested, his eyes once more drawn to the front page of the paper. They didn't take his protest into consideration, but were already suggesting possible subjects.
“Dracula,” Ray proposed, but Mikey shook his head. “No, no, zombies!”
“Ghosts!” Alicia piped in.
… So far, 3000 reported deaths of the disease spreading amongst homosexuals that has been identified as AIDS have been registered since 1981, an estimated 10.000 Americans may already be infected. People who are most at risk of contracting the disease are homosexuals, drug users and those who have received blood transfusions. It is no coincidence that the number of reported cases of homophobic violence has risen sharply and steadily, as people react with fear to …
“Gerard?”
“Huh?” He lifted his head, feeling all eyes on him.
“Are you going to do the posters?” Ray asked, his tone a bit worried. “Seriously, every time I talk to you lately, you’ve zoned out.”
“Sorry,” Gerard mumbled, then realized that his cigarette had burnt down to the filter. He disposed of it on the ashtray his mother had put on the table earlier.
“Are you?” Mikey asked now as well, leaning forward over the table.
Gerard sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Yeah. Yeah, I'm gonna draw the fucking posters.”
Mikey gave a small whoop of joy and high-fived Ray, who reached over and patted Gerard's back. Gerard smiled weakly. His mouth was dry, and he reached for his coffee, draining the cup. He thought of being called pansy at school and of lisping hairdressers and pictures he had seen on the news of haggard, sick looking people who died of AIDS. He thought of Frank and his scared face and his words before Gerard left.
It doesn't have to mean anything.
*-*
When Gerard came into the Belleville Film Palace on Monday after school, he found Bob in Hank's office in front of a large whiteboard, pondering over a screening schedule for the week ahead. The room itself had changed since Gerard had been last in here. For once, it had been aired, and all the surfaces had been cleaned. The heaps of newspapers were gone, as were the film cans on the armchair. The books and magazines were neatly stacked on the shelves. It really looked more like an office now.
“I've been downstairs all weekend,” Bob admitted, chewing on the cap of his marker. “I've looked through some cans - marked some that seemed of interest and look to be in good condition with green masking tape. And I've selected 4 movies to screen this week.”
“Wow,” Gerard said, stepping closer to the whiteboard, letting his eyes travel over the screening schedule and the films Bob had selected. “Night of the Living Dead. Village of the Damned. The Haunting. War of the Worlds,” he read, letting his pleasure at Bob's suggestions color his voice.
“I thought I'd add some sci-fi horror,” Bob added, looking contemplative with his eyebrows drawn tightly together, and Gerard nodded.
“This is great,” Gerard said, and Bob grinned around his marker cap, before reaching up and taking the marker out of his mouth. His teeth had left little indentions in the plastic.
“Glad you think so. Took me ages to finalize these 4. War of the Worlds is already up in projector booth 1 for your 5:15 screening.”
“You really have been busy.” Gerard took a step back and leaned against the edge of Hank's desk, looking around the tidied office once more. “I promised Mikey to draw a poster to advertise the fact that we're gonna screen horror movies now. He wants to xerox it and hang it up in school and all over town.”
Bob raised an eyebrow. “I think I don't need to tell you that we don't have money to do any kind of advertisement. Brian will rip me a new one anyway when he finds out that I haven't sent you all home.”
“Mikey's gonna use the school xerox machine.”
Bob stared, then blinked. “He's going to do what?” Before Gerard could answer, Bob raised a hand. “No, don't elaborate. I will just pretend I've never heard about this. If you get caught, I know of nothing.”
“He won't get caught. His new girlfriend is head of the literature club. They have a copy card - they can xerox as much shit as they like.”
“I know nothing. We never even had this conversation,” Bob said, but to his credit his tone held a note of mocking.
“Right,” Gerard said, then, after a beat, “I wasn't even in here today.” He turned on his heels and left the room, smiling when Bob's booming laughter trailed after him on his way out.
When he stepped out of Hank's office, he found Lindsey, Ray and Frank in the lounge, unpacking several large bags of what seemed to be Halloween decorations. The counter was already littered with orange and black streamers, gummy spiders, small skull candles, bloody eyeballs, two large plastic pumpkins and spider netting. Frank wore a dark green Frankenstein mask on the side of his head, causing his hair to stick up in the back.
When Gerard spotted him, he felt a jolt go through his body, his good humor instantly evaporating. He was just about to turn around and head out to maybe hide in the car until later, when Ray looked up and saw him. “Hey, Gerard,” he hollered, waving a huge, pointy witch hat over his head, “Look what we got!”
Gerard sighed and walked over towards the counter, feeling anxiety rise in him the closer he got. This must be how people felt when they had to walk to the gallows - bad things awaited you and you didn't have a chance to escape. He didn't want to talk to Frank. When Gerard stopped next to Lindsey, he was so nervous he was practically shaking with suppressed tension. “What's all this?” he asked dutifully, his voice coming out a bit squeaky.
He felt Frank's eyes on him, but ignored him, his gaze trained on the decorations Lindsey kept pulling out of her bag as if they were the most interesting things he had ever seen. His heart beat way too hard and way too loud.
“I raided my mother's storage,” Frank explained, and Gerard jumped. He actually had to turn and acknowledge him now - it would be incredibly rude not to. It gave him a strange kind of thrill when their eyes met and he felt his face heat up. “Halloween is my birthday,” Frank continued, sounding as normal as ever, not a hint of embarrassment on his face. ”We got tons of this stuff at home. She buys new shit every year.” He shrugged, smirking. “I thought she would stop when I turned fifteen, but she didn't.”
Gerard cleared his throat. “Useful. For our purposes, I mean,” he stuttered, hating how his voice was still so weak and squeaky.
Frank's grin broadened, and he nodded. “Lyn-Z and I think that everyone should wear a mask. How do you like mine?”
“You're wearing it wrong,” Gerard said, staring at the side of Frank's face.
“Killjoy,” Frank said, but he was still cheerful, sticking his tongue out at Gerard. “I have a Count Dracula, you should get that one,” he said, then bent over one of the large bags and started to rummage around in it, his head and upper body almost vanishing in the bag.
Gerard watched the long line of Frank's back, the muscles shifting under his shirt and the strip of tanned skin where it rode up in the back, wondering how Frank could act like absolutely nothing had happened between them, when Gerard felt like his whole world had been turned upside down.
It doesn't have to mean anything.
Right.
Frank yelled in triumph and straightened, a black, white and red mask in his hand. He was a bit red in the face and his hair stuck to his mouth. He huffed, blowing it out of his face, and grinned once more.
“Here,” he said, handing the mask over. Gerard lifted it to his face, fitting it over his nose. It smelled strongly of moth balls and plastic.
Behind him, Ray made an impatient sound. “Hey, I wanna see it, too.”
Dutifully, Gerard turned around, and Ray cackled in delight. “You need a cape. Your dirty jeans and sneakers just look misplaced.”
“I'm a modern vampire,” Gerard protested, lowering the mask again.
“Correction, you're a lame vampire,” Lindsey commented, inspecting one of the plastic spiders that Gerard thought looked frighteningly real. “Hey, Frank, you got more spider webs?” she asked.
“There should be more in the other bag.”
Frank stepped towards Lindsey and together they went in search of the netting. With Frank's attention now safely on his Halloween decoration, Gerard used the opportunity to put down the Dracula mask and quietly leave the lounge. There was a movie waiting for him. A movie, and the security of his solitary, crammed projector booth.
*-*
Two nights later, Gerard had just started his last showing of “Night of the Living Dead”, when the knock on the door came.
He looked up from where he had been counting the taken seats in the auditorium - 25, which really wasn't that bad for a Wednesday 9 p.m. screening - and looked over towards the door, waiting for whoever was outside to either enter or leave. His stupid heartbeat picked up, making him short of breath, as he considered that the person standing outside the door might be the one person he wanted to see most and absolutely dreaded to see at the same time.
Another knock came, and Gerard hesitated only for a moment before he crossed the room and pulled the door open. He exhaled audibly when he found Frank standing outside the door, to his credit looking a bit insecure. Insecure wasn't a good look on Frank, though. Ever since last weekend, Frank hadn't actively avoided him, but he hadn't looked for him like he had done before either.
“Coffee?” Gerard asked, pressing the word out past the tightness in his throat, but Frank just shook his head and pressed forward, slipping through the small crack of the open door and past Gerard, brushing against his shoulder as he did so.
“I didn't bring any. It's almost half past nine. But I brought gummy worms.”
Gerard shrugged, then closed the door. His heart rate slowed gradually and he felt like he could breathe again, the pressure on his throat and chest loosening up. Meanwhile, Frank had already made his way over to the bench and climbed on it, sitting there in his usual spot. It seemed strange to have him here, after what had happened. Over the last couple of days, Gerard had successfully suppressed memories of Saturday night, but seeing Frank here in Gerard's sacred haven made the memories flood his brain.
He remembered every fucking thing, from the way Frank's eyes had looked so blown to how he had sounded when he came. The memory of Frank's long-drawn moan passed like a hot shiver through his body. God, he didn't want to go over to where Frank was. It was best if there was some distance between them, right? How could he sit next to Frank and not remember?
“What are you still doing over there?” Frank asked curiously, patting the bench next to him in invitation. Frank, apparently, didn't have the same problems.
“I have to make sure everything’s running okay,” Gerard said, stepping between projector 1 and 2, and looked out of the shutter. “Had some adjustment problems earlier today,” he lied, then pushed the shutter open to allow them to listen in on the sound in the auditorium.
Frank shrugged and hopped down from the bench, stepping in close behind Gerard. It was a tight fit, and Gerard nearly stumbled, catching himself with a hand on the booth wall.
Into his ear, Frank giggled. “Careful, clumsy,” he said, then leaned over his shoulder, peering out at the screen. This wasn’t really what Gerard had intended. Gerard felt sweat break out on his skin beneath his clothes with Frank so close, his body radiating warmth, his breathing audible even over the soft clicking of the projector's shutter.
When Frank moved and their arms brushed, Gerard all but jerked back, suddenly breathless. He had an abrupt flash back to Saturday night, Frank's panting breath on his face, the rub of his sweaty, warm skin. His body started to throb and he was instantly hard. Gerard bit his lips and leaned back, as far away from Frank as he could.
“They're coming to get you, Barbra,” Frank sing-songed in-synch with Johnny on screen.
“Johnny is such a douchebag,” he continued, then laughed when the zombie appeared in the graveyard. “Shit, the way he walks!” Then, when Gerard still hadn't said a thing, he added, “One of my favorite scenes is when the girl kills her mother with the trowel.”
Gerard nervously cleared his throat.
“What's your favorite scene?”
“When the zombies make a feast out of Tom and Judy,” Gerard forced out, trying to sound as normal as possible. His body was still too hot, as if he was running a fever. The narrow booth, usually one of the places Gerard was most comfortable in, felt too small and suffocating.
“Yum,” Frank agreed, then snickered.
They were silent for a while. He started when Frank suddenly said, “There's 26 people down there.” He lifted his hand, pointing over Gerard’s shoulder into the auditorium. “Not so bad, right?”
Gerard swallowed soundly, his mouth dry. “Yeah,” he croaked, “guess Mikey's advertising scheme might just work.”
“How could it not - with your posters.” Frank sounded dead serious.
Gerard had to admit that he was pretty proud of the posters - he had made them look like movie posters from the 50s, with a screaming heroine, an ugly tentacled monster and a gory font.
Gerard chose not to answer, instead concentrated on just breathing - in and out, in and out. He wanted so badly for Frank to start talking about what had happened Saturday night. What was Frank thinking? Was he freaked out? Was he gay? Did he do this often, make out with boys? Why had he even done it? Just because Gerard had been there? Did he want to do it again?
He thought about how he would react if Frank really wanted to do it again. He would... he would firmly but gently push Frank away. Explain how he was flattered, but that he just didn't swing this way. That it was just a hormonal phase, because they both didn't have girlfriends. They were seventeen year old boys after all - sex was on their minds all the time, right?
Gerard didn't have a chance to ask or say any of these things, because Frank behaved as if Saturday night hadn't happened, only talking about “Night of the Living Dead” and “Dawn of the Dead” and other zombie movies he had seen. Gerard tried to listen, honestly, but he didn't contribute to the conversation, just hmmed his agreement when necessary, feeling every single cell in his body vibrate with tension. He was relieved when the movie was finally over.
Frank hung around while he put the last reel in the rewinder, having moved on in his conversation to Dario Argento movies he had seen and how it was a shame that Argento movies were so hard to come by in the US.
When Gerard was finished for the night, they smoked a cigarette outside in front of Gerard's car and then Frank climbed onto his bike and Gerard watched him cycle down the street before he got in his car and drove home. He didn't think much when he shut himself into the bathroom and dropped his pants, reaching for his cock.
*-*
Gerard made sure all the levers on the projectors were down, then checked the rewinder before switching off the main switch in the projector booth. The staircase outside was dark, but he found his way down the steps easily. He did stumble over some boxes with Halloween candy on his way through the hallway towards the lounge, because somebody had left it there instead of moving it to the storage room behind the small kitchen. When he pushed the door open to the lounge area, it was already deserted, which was not surprising - it was almost midnight, and the last showing had been over for more than 30 minutes. He crossed the lounge and foyer and walked towards the huge double doors, his way lit by the sparse light coming from the streetlamp outside. It was raining and the water painted raindrop shadows on the walls and the floor.
When he stepped out of the movie theater, it became clear pretty quickly that it wasn’t just raining, it was a fucking thunderstorm. Cursing, Gerard pulled the door shut behind him, fumbling with the key in the lock.
“Fucking great weather, isn't it?”
Startled, Gerard turned, nearly dropping his keys. Frank was standing under the marquee, leaning back against the brick wall of the ticket booth, smoking a cigarette.
“What are you still doing here?” he asked, even though it was obvious.
Frank snorted. “Can't bike home like this. I'd be soaked in two seconds.”
“... True,” Gerard said, blinking. “C'mon, I'll drive you home.”
Frank pushed himself of the wall and dropped his cigarette in a puddle.
“We better run,” he suggested, pulling the back of his jacket up to use as a makeshift shield against the rain. They looked at each other, then towards Gerard's Ford Escort which was parked across the street, and took off, their sneakers splashing through puddles. Frank's delighted laughter fought the sound of the rushing rain. Thunder cracked suddenly and sharply over their heads, and they both stumbled in surprise, ducking their heads. The lightning followed briefly after, zigzagging over the parking lot, illuminating the wet, dark concrete. Gerard would never admit it, but he was fucking afraid of lightning.
Despite Gerard's best efforts, he couldn't get the car open fast enough, and they were both soaked once they managed to slide behind the dashboard.
“Sorry, you still got pretty wet.”
Frank shook his head, sending droplets of water everywhere like a wet dog. “Doesn't matter - at least I don't have to ride my bike home in this weather.” He paused, then, when Gerard just looked at him expectantly, said, “I live on Florence Street, just behind the cemetery.”
Gerard nodded, needing to look away from Frank's flushed, wet face. He looked happy, contrary to how strung out and tense Gerard himself felt - hell, had been feeling for days now. Gerard jammed the key into the ignition, grateful when his car started right away. The rain was drumming against the windshield, not easing up, and Gerard backed slowly out of the parking lot.
“Do you mind if I turn on the radio?” Frank asked, not really waiting for Gerard's answer but already reaching out, his fingers fiddling with the buttons and dials.
Gerard spared a brief look at Frank, before leaning forward, trying to peer out the windshield to see where he was going. The rain was still coming down in sheets, his windshield wipers working at full speed, producing a scraping noise where they scratched across the glass.
A cacophony of sound and static came from the speakers as Frank flipped through the channels, occasionally stopping briefly to listen in, making sounds of disgust when he hit something he didn't like, which was almost everything. He finally stopped at an AC/DC song and dropped his hands away from the radio, half-turning in his seat to glance at Gerard.
“This okay?”
“Sure,” Gerard said distractedly, sitting up straighter in his seat, one hand coming up to wipe at the fogged-up windshield with the sleeve of his sweater. He still couldn't see a goddamn thing - thank God the streets were practically deserted this late at night. Next to him, Frank drummed the rhythm of the song with his fingers on the dashboard.
“Love the bagpipes,” he said, whistling along, before curling his fingers and playing the air guitar.
Despite everything, Gerard felt a smile tug at the corners of his lips and he looked over at Frank, watching his fingers dance over imaginary frets.
“Eyes on the road,” Frank admonished, “otherwise you're gonna drive us into the fucking ditch.”
Gerard swerved a little - Frank had been right, he had been a bit too close to the side of the road - and concentrated on the dark, wet street again. They didn’t talk much for the rest of the rather short drive. AC/DC was followed by Iggy Pop’s Raw Power, and Frank made a delighted sound and started to sing along, revealing a surprisingly good voice. Snorting, Gerard stole sidelong glances at him as he started to trash around in the seat with his upper body, tossing his head, his hair flopping.
They finally turned into Florence Street and Frank made him stop near a small egg-shell colored house with an overgrown garden and a white front porch.
Gerard killed the engine and it was suddenly too silent in the car, Iggy Pop’s scratchy voice only replaced by the insistent drumming of the rain on the car roof.
“Here it is,” Frank said rather unnecessarily, pointing up the cemented path towards the house. Not a single light was on.
Frank seemed hesitant to step outside, fidgeting a bit in his seat. “Damn,” he finally said, “I don’t wanna get wet again.”
“What difference does it make? You’re already fucking soaked,” Gerard pointed out, glancing sideways.
Frank shrugged and bit his lip, looking out into the dark, not saying a word. His hands in his lap were clutching at each other.
The air between them seemed suddenly loaded, and Gerard felt a thrill of excitement run through. They would talk. He was so sure of it. Gerard’s fingers tightened where they were still resting on the steering wheel, and he stared stoically ahead out at the dark street and the car parked in front of them and waited for Frank to start talking. He wondered what kind of reasoning Frank would use, whether he would come out as being gay? Gerard had thought a lot about what he could say. He wasn't homophobic or anything, but he wasn't gay. He just lacked experiences with girls. He might look back on the whole thing in 5 or 10 years and be kind of equally embarrassed and proud about it. Something daring and dangerous and out of the norm of which you would say - yeah, I tried that once, I went there, you know, I was young and open to experiment, but it just wasn’t for me.
When Frank finally spoke, Gerard still jumped.
“Hey,” Frank said softly. He was looking at him strangely, intently. Gerard marveled once more how Frank didn’t even seem a tiny bit embarrassed. Their eyes met, and the corners of Frank’s mouth twitched. “You look like something that drowned,” he said, smile blossoming, his hand coming up to brush a strand of wet hair from Gerard’s face.
Gerard flinched, completely unprepared for the touch of Frank’s fingers as they tucked his hair behind his ear. Frank’s fingers were cool and slightly wet, but they felt like fire where they lingered against Gerard’s neck. Gerard’s heartbeat sped up, thumping in his chest painfully. He wanted for Frank to drop his hand and stop touching him, because all he could think about was how he really liked Frank's face, especially when Frank was looking at him like he did right now.
Somehow he realized that it wasn’t going as expected - there would be no soul-baring talk to get it out of their systems, not with how Frank was staring and licking his lips, and really, Gerard should stop this right now, but he was frozen in place, staring at the dark lashes of Frank’s eyes, his small, upturned nose, his parted lips, the serious expression on his stupidly handsome face.
Frank leaned in and Gerard hissed out a breath, but he didn’t push him away.
Frank’s lips were soft on his. It had been easy telling himself that he didn’t want this when Frank wasn’t kissing him, but he couldn’t say no now. Frank tasted really good, fresh and sweet like the storm raging outside.
Just when Gerard wanted to reach out, actively participate, kiss him back and pull him closer, Frank drew back, dropping his hand from the side of Gerard’s neck with a soft, unhappy sound. He didn’t look at him, but down into his lap instead, before he suddenly moved and pushed open the door.
“I'm sorry,” Frank said softly, staring at a spot over Gerard's head, “I shouldn't have done that.”
Gerard was pretty slow on the uptake, because no sound came past his lips as he watched Frank bump the car door closed with his hip and turn away.
Gerard sat motionless, one hand still hovering in mid-air, watching Frank jog up the dark path towards the house. He thought he saw Frank turn at the top of the steps to look back at him before he opened the front door, but he wasn’t sure.
*-*
That night, after he had stripped off his damp clothes, he lay awake in bed, his skin as hot as if he was running a fever. Gone was the regret of not having cleared the air, replaced by an insistent feeling of want cursing through his veins. He couldn't remember ever feeling like this before. It wasn't like craving food when you were hungry; it wasn't the way the need for a cigarette made you antsy, it was worse. His blanket lay hot against his skin, feeling scratchy and uncomfortable and he kicked it away, hoping the cooler air in his room would calm him. He was hard, had been since the moment Frank had stepped out of the car or even earlier - he couldn't remember - but he was hesitant to touch himself, refusing to give in. Giving in would mean admitting he wanted this, wanted Frank.
Groaning, Gerard pressed his hot face into his pillow, hands coming up to tug at his hair. How was his life so unfair? He wasn't gay; he had never before been attracted to a boy. (Only this wasn't true, his mind whispered, because he had had Bowie posters all over his room a couple of years ago, and that had to mean something, right? And seriously, Iggy had a goddamn great body and so maybe he hadn't always thought about it with only admiration.)
He rubbed himself against the sheets, almost whimpering, feeling equally mortified and turned on. Unbidden, he remembered the feel of Frank's hips under his hands, how his bones molded perfectly into the palms of his hands.
Gerard closed his eyes, remembering the press of Frank's lips on his, and he imagined how tonight could have ended differently, how he could have just pulled Frank over, into his lap, pulling him forward until their bodies touched and pressed together. His hips twitched, and Gerard moaned, his hand dropping down to relieve the pressure. It felt too fucking good, his hand on his dick, and he imagined it was Frank touching him, stroking him, pushing his face against his belly and making the most interesting noises.
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>>4