死の天使 Shi no Tenshi(Angel Of Death)

"No!" he hissed, pulling away from me. "God, I'm f-fucking fine!" I leaned over to kiss his cheek; he flinched. "I love you..."

"I love you too, Gee... Swear to god I do... S-sorry I'm being such a fucking f-faggot..."

I pulled him close again; he didn't fight it, leaning his head back on my shoulder. "It's okay... It's okay."

He smiled a little. God, that smile...

When the credits were rolling down the screen, Frank got unsteadily to his feet and I followed him down the theater stairs and out of the still-dark room into the theater lobby. We headed towards the exit and out into the cool air, swollen sky dark with rainclouds.

I looked over at Frank, who was busy lighting a cigarette with his cheap red plastic lighter. Trying to make conversation, I shrugged. "Did you like the movie, a little at least?"

"The sex scene." Frankie shot me a glance, then smiled widely when he saw that I thought his joke was funny.

That smile again. That fucking smile. "Frankie-" My voice came out low and husky.

He knew that I wanted him, cigarette dangling seductively from his lower lip, light pink tongue darting out next to it and brushing the small metal ring which pierced his skin.

Butterflies danced along my veins. I was losing control, but I had to keep reminding myself to cling to my sanity before I ended up hurting him again.

"Gerard?" Frankie murmured around the cigarette, his gaze tracing its way up one of my legs to my thigh. I squirmed. "Yeah?"

"Don't just fucking stand there."

I was shuddering. The way my heartbeat was already pounding out of my control made me afraid that I would end up breaking him again. I stalled. "Frankie..."

"Gerard!" His voice was filled with all the frustration and urgency and raw need that I was feeling inside, making me want him even more.

I reached out a trembling hand to touch his face.

Before I could do anything, he had let the cigarette fall to the pavement and pulled me close, pressed hard against his body. Both of his hands were wrapped around the backs of my thighs, keeping me from going anywhere.

With a groan, I pushed him backwards so that he ended up pressed snugly against the brick wall of the city street. It was starting to rain, and the sidewalks were emptying fast, but what people there were stared at us awkwardly. I didn't care, as Frankie's tongue slid into my mouth, giving me chills which penetrated way deeper than the damp, cool air could.

Frank was kissing me with all the intensity in his whole body, and I returned the passion with equal force, every moan he made vibrating against my warm lips and channeling down into the pit of my stomach, where they burned like fire.

"Let's-" He gasped for breath, running his fingers through my hair. "-fucking go-" The air rushed out of his lungs again. "-somewhere."

I slid a hand across his abdomen. "Where?"

He braced himself against the wall, a series of shudders running through his body. He swore quietly, then let out a desperate moan. "Anywhere."

Where was there to go? "I know a-" Oh, god, shit, oh. "-motel on this street-" My knees buckled. "B-but it's a piece of shit-"

"Fine. Fine, Gerard, oh-"

He broke off as I dragged my hands down his back and over his ass, kissing him harder, heavier.

His sweaty fingers twined tightly in mine, I tugged him down the sidewalk towards the motel entrance, barely able to keep my hands off of him for a single instant.

I opened the door to the cramped motel office, shoving Frankie back up against a wall as soon as we were inside the vacant room. I pushed his dark bangs, damp with rain and sweat, out of his eyes and brought my lips desperately back to his. He smelled like cigarettes and sweat and cocaine and sex; the scent making my heartbeat race even faster. I wanted him so bad...

We broke apart as a man came inside from the other entrance, smelling like dirt and cigar smoke. He frowned slightly. "Uh... can I help you?"

I told him what we wanted, a room for the night, and he named the price. As I dug some crumpled bills from my back pocket, Frank rested his hands lightly on either side of my waist from behind, as though he couldn't bear to lose contact with my body, even for a minute.

The man took my money in grubby fingers and silently handed Frankie and me two room keys.

As soon as we left the office, we were kissing again, barely managing to look up and find our room, which was on the second floor.

We made it inside, and I locked the door tightly, throwing the key and my cellphone on the dresser before grabbing Frankie again by the shoulders and pushing his back against the door with a soft thud. I had his t-shirt up over his head in an instant, kissing his neck and collarbone teasingly. As I spun him so that it was his bare chest in contact with the painted wood of the door and slowed suddenly down, just standing there with his ass against the front of my jeans, he tilted his head back, moaning. "You're... m-making me... crazy," he breathed, fingernails drawing little scratches in the white paint in front of him.

I kissed the back of his neck gently, reaching a hand around to unzip his jeans. He shivered against me, leaning back into my arms, then seemed to change his mind, instead dropping to his knees in front of me.

I knew what he wanted to do, heart thudding against my trachea as I tugged off my t-shirt and moved to undo the button of my own jeans.

Frankie was shy about it, obviously nervous and not experienced, but I didn't care. I twined my fingers in his dark hair and pulled his head further towards me, desperate. I gripped his shoulder tightly with one sweaty hand, my moans increasing in intensity. My whole body suddenly spasmed, sending waves of hot and cold radiating through my aching muscles. Oh god, oh- I pulled Frank to his feet and he leaned against the door again, quietly licking his sweaty lips as I ran my hands along his abdomen again.

His jeans fell to the floor around his feet, scuffed Etnies rubbing against the carpet as he tensed his whole frame tightly. I kissed up the back of his neck, then wrapped my arms around his body in a tight hug, grasped both shoulders and thrust my hips hard. He swore loudly, strangled gasp turning into a low moan as he tilted his head back again, chest held firmly against the motel room door by my moving body.

Frankie gasped loudly and choked out my name with a trembling moan. His eyes were starting to roll back. "Gerard... Gerard. Gerard!" He was screaming now; I clenched my teeth tightly as I ran my fingers down his back, leaving light scratches, and my tense muscles started to shudder again. With one last scream, nearly obscured by the blood pounding in my ears, Frankie dug his short fingernails into the paint of the door, gouging out depressions in the cheap wood, then went limp as the final waves of sensation coursed through our veins. I let out a deep breath and put one hand out to steady myself against the door, light-headed and still gasping for air.

"Gerard... that was f-fucking amazing..." Frankie murmured between breaths, eyes closed.

I bit my lower lip. Say it, you fuck. "You're... gorgeous, Frankie. You're beautiful."

He lifted his head slightly, and his eyes locked on mine. I could see how much my words had meant to him as a cautious smile broke across his face.

He really was fucking gorgeous. I couldn't imagine that there was anyone else but Frankie, anything else in the whole world... I wanted it to be like this forever, just us two, together, like this. I slid my hands around his waist and kissed him again, more gently.

He grinned, looking up into my eyes, then bringing his lips slowly towards mine. We kissed shyly, almost as if it were the first time. Frankie's arms went up around my neck as we kissed again. "We've got more than sex, right?" he asked me quietly.

I looked into his dark eyes, filled with shyness and concern and passion and... love, and I felt the familiar wave of conviction that I'd had once before. Yes, damnit, I loved him. I loved him. "Yeah... yeah, Frankie, we do. I'm in love with you. Every single fucking inch."

He grinned, eyes sparkling. "Was that meant to sound dirty?"

"If you want it to." I smirked and carefully pushed the hair out of his face again.

He reached down to pull his jeans up, zipping and buttoning them and then crossing farther into the room to flop down tiredly on the bed.

I laughed as I realized that we'd ended up with a double. The man from the motel lobby must have seen right through us, not like we hadn't been completely obvious about it.

Frankie watched me pull my own jeans back on through half-closed eyes from the mattress, a content smile playing on his flawless lips.

I crossed over towards him, and he scooted to one side so that I could sprawl out on the bed as well. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and held him close, listening to him breathe, my eyes tracing his tattooed forearms.

He sighed comfortably, curling up close to me and closing his lids lazily. "Let's go away."

"What?"

"Let's go away somewhere," he murmured. "Just us two. Together. Foreber."

"I wish we could, Frankie..." I answered slowly, tasting bitter regret for what we'd never really have. It could never really be just the two of us... It would always be like this, hiding from the world, from Mikey, from Frank's father, hurried fucks in some dirty motel or my car, seeing each other so briefly that Frank wondered if we actually had anything between us but sex.

He sighed again. "Your parents live with you and Mikey?"

I nodded reluctantly. "They're gonna be home in two days."

"I gotta find an apartment," Frankie muttered. "And a better fucking job."

I didn't answer, figuring his words were pretty much rhetorical. I stared absently at the cracked and waterdamaged ceiling, feeling Frank breathing in my arms, until I drifted into a light sleep.

***

I woke up, my brain running the routine check to make certain that I knew where I was, and why. Rubbing my eyes, I sat up and looked around. Oh shit. "Frank?" He wasn't lying next to me anymore. "Frankie?!"

I bolted to my feet and looked around the room for some clue- a note, anything. Barely comprehending that he really had disappeared, I went to the door, shoving it open and stepping out onto the second-floor balcony. A box of cigarettes that I recognized as Frank's was lying on the concrete, and I picked it up. I thought I heard a cry from around the side of the building, and I turned hurriedly in that direction. "Frankie?"

I rounded the corner and stopped dead. Two men had Frankie by the arms, pushed up against the short balcony railing, tipped backwards so that he would fall if they let him go. "You fucking little faggot," one of them was growling, smirking. "Marty told us what you and your faggot friend were doing when he walked into the lobby."

"P-please-"

"Let him go!" I was already pulling a penknife from my jeans pocket, moving closer to them.

Although they looked slightly taken aback to be caught, neither man made any move to stop hurting Frank. "Let him go?" one sneered, pushing him further over the railing, causing him to whimper pitifully. "Alright, we'll let the little fucker go."

"You wouldn't."

The man eyed my penknife. "Stay back, or I will."

"You wanna get arrested, you bastard son of a bitch?" I spat. "If he's not standing next to me in ten seconds, I'm going to come over there and show you why you don't ever, ever touch him again, you got that?"

The men looked at each other, then pulled Frankie back up onto the balcony. He rushed over to stand behind me, shaking.

"Aww, hell, we were just fucking around," said the other man nervously. "Fag can't take a damn joke..."

"Come on..." his friend muttered, and the two men turned and started walking in the other direction, only one even glancing back.

As soon as they had turned the other corner of the building, I took both of Frankie's cold hands in mine and led him back around the balcony so that we stood in front of our room. "Are you okay?"

He nodded quietly, rubbing his lower back where the railing's edge had bit into the skin. I thought he would've been even more shaken, but he seemed to be almost resigned. "They wouldn'ta done it."

"Fuckers." I handed him the cigarettes.

He took the box and shrugged slightly, teeth catching his bottom lip ever so gently. "I'm okay. Another t-time, maybe, it would've bothered me more..." He took a deep breath, and mumbled his next words. "But I don't care if the whole fucking world calls me a faggot if I've got you."

Did he had any fucking idea how much that meant? Filled up by feeling, I took his face in my hands and kissed him. "Frankie... Oh baby, Frankie..."

"I love you. I've... I've n-never been in love before..." He looked down shyly, then continued tentatively, voice very quiet. "...I've never actually been with a guy before."

"I know," I said gently. Frankie looked so uncomfortable, as though he felt embarrassed. "It's okay, though... There's nothing wrong with that..."

"It's just that you're so much more..." He seemed to squirm. "...like, experienced, and I'm j-just..."

"You're perfect, Frankie, sweetheart, I promise." I kissed him again, the slightest spray of rain blowing across our faces.

When our lips parted, he leaned his head against my still-bare chest and seemed to relax a little. "I'd d-die without you, Gee..."

"I'm never gonna let you go, Frankie." I stroked his hair, realizing just how desperately I wanted to run away forever, to get in a car and drive on until the fucking end with him... We both knew it would never happen.

Frankie pulled away, and I followed him back inside our motel room, watching him sit down on the edge of the bed. He sniffled tiredly and looked up at me. "I'm so happy that I called you, Gerard. I almost didn't... I was scared..."

"Well, I'm glad you did." I went over to him and put both hands on his back, running them lightly over his shoulderblades.

He shivered slightly. "God, how do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"M-make me... want you, just by touching me once, by t-talking to me even... You're just..."

I smirked gently and kept rubbing his back. "You have the same effect on me."

"Really?"

"Mmhmm."

He shivered again. I knew that I should quit while I was ahead, but I wanted him, damnit, and I really couldn't resist...

He arched his back slightly under my touch, with my hands sliding lower and lower down his spine. He was fucking gorgeous, like a boy made out of porcelain.

"G-gerard..."

"Say it, Frankie."

"I want you... I fucking want you... oh..." His eyelids flickered.

I eased him down on the mattress, bending over with one hand planted on either side of his head so that our lips could meet.

He sighed, hot breath tickling my skin and prompting me to kiss him even harder, tongues sliding seductively between barely parted lips. A loud ringing made me jump suddenly, needing another minute to catch my breath. I realized that my cellphone was ringing. Shit.

"Jus' leave it," Frankie moaned, arms encircling my neck and pulling me back to him.

I gave in to temptation and let the cell's rings eventually fade into nothing as I leaned down again to Frank's waiting body. Seconds later, however, the high-pitched ringing began again, seemingly twice as shrill. "Motherfucking-" I tore myself away from Frankie with a groan and stumbled to the dresser for the phone. My jeans were unbuckled and hanging low, and I almost tripped before I picked it up, snapping a greeting. "What?"

Of course it was Mikey. "Gerard? Where are you?"

"Who are you, the goddamned babysitter?"

"Just tell me where you are." He sounded slightly urgent.

"At a motel."

"A motel? Where?!"

"Near the theater. Why the hell do you care?"

"If you're with somebody, you might wanna go outside... This is really serious."

I had no idea what he was talking about. "Enough with the shit, Mikey. I'm busy." I darted a glance at Frankie, still lying on his back on the bed, shirtless again, with half-closed eyes. He looked incredibly erotic in the dim room.

"I don't care if you're busy, Gerard. This is important. Are you by yourself right now?"

I looked back at Frank. "Yeah," I lied. Instead of going outside, I crossed back over to him, leaning on the edge of the mattress next to where he lay.

"Look, Gerard... Hell, are you even listening?" Mikey sounded somewhere between tense and annoyed.

Frankie's hand was tracing my collarbone slowly. I could barely breathe. "Yeah, uh-huh. Sure."

My brother didn't believe me and sighed, angry and exasperated. "Okay. Gerard, you've gotta stop-"

I interrupted. "Look, can't we just have this conversation another- Ohh..." My voice trailed off as Frankie's fingers slipped down across my chest. He had scooted closer, and his warm breath was tickling the back of my neck.

"Gerard? What the fuck's going on? Are you fucking listening or not?" Mikey was really getting pissed.

"I'm listening, I'm listening!"

"You have to stop seeing Frank."

I sat up in surprise, pissed off. "What the fuck? Not this again..."

Frankie mumbled something in annoyance and wrapped his arms around my shoulders, trying to pull me back down.

I let myself recline again, leaning on the mattress, but I kept pressing Mikey. "What the fuck does that mean?!"

"You heard me, Gerard. I have a reason for it, though. You're gonna hurt him... you have to come home right now."

Mikey was completely serious; I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "What are you talking about? How the hell do you think you know this shit?"

"Gee..." Frankie moaned plaintively from beside me, hands around my waist. "Tell whoever that you'll call 'em back..."

"Hold on." I covered the phone. "Wait, Frank!" I had to know what the fuck my brother was saying.

"You can't hurt the kid much at a movie theater, Gerard." Mikey's voice had a smirk in it. "But trust me- you take him to some fucking motel, and you're asking for a chance to fuck with him, in more than one way."

"I can't believe you think you have the right to say that!"

Next to me, Frankie was still pouting from my earlier rebuke.

"Just come home, Gerard."

"This is ridiculous, I-"

Frankie whimpered from his sprawled position on the mattress, trying to recapture my attention. "You rather be fucking whoev'r your talking to?" he murmured sulkily, lips fixed in a seductive pout.

"Is someone with you?" Mikey questioned suspiciously. "Is he with you?!"

"No, that was... the television; he's outside, um, smoking."

Frankie frowned, seeming to realize as I lied that something serious was actually going on. He sat up slightly and gave me an anxious look.

"If you aren't back here in twenty minutes-"

"You'll what, come get me, you little fucker? You're my goddamn little brother. My actions are my own responsibility."

"What's going on?" Frank hissed urgently, some of the shyness returning to his eyes.

"You know what, Mikey? Go to fucking hell." I closed my phone abruptly and sighed darkly.

"Gee?"

"Not now."

I didn't look, but I could feel the bed bounce as Frankie got quietly to his feet. The bathroom door clicked shut a few seconds later, and I put my head in my hands, sitting on the very edge of the mattress. What was Mikey's fucking problem? I slumped back on the bed, but I was feeling restless, and I got to my feet again after only a few minutes. Digging my cigarettes out of my pocket, I went out onto the balcony for a smoke.

It was getting dark outside, a cool wind blowing my hair around my face as I closed the motel room door over behind me. I leaned on the cold metal railing of the balcony, its white paint flaking off slightly under my touch, and watched as a few ashes fell from the end of my cigarette into the darkness below. I sighed. What the hell was I doing anyway? Why was my little brother having such a hard time with Frankie? I just didn't get it.

About twenty minutes and one very spent cigarette later, I took a deep breath of the nighttime air and turned for the door to our room, rubbing my cold hands together. As I shut and locked it behind me, I realized that Frankie was curled up asleep on the bed, fingers clutching the pillow as though he was afraid someone would take it away. His breathing was deep... awfully deep. I couldn't remember Frankie ever being so entirely unconscious while he slept.

Acting on instinct, I crossed to the bathroom and pushed the door open, flicking on the light. Resting on the counter was a bottle of sleeping pills. The stupid little shit- I hoped he hadn't taken more than the label recommended, or mixed in cocaine. Him getting sick all over himself-again- was the last thing I wanted to deal with.

I stood and watched him sleep for a moment. Frankie had curled up tightly and left enough room- and then some- for me to comfortably lie beside him without having to worry about getting too close. Still, it seemed awkward, and I eventually decided not to sleep. There was a chair by the dirty window, and I sat down heavily with another sigh.

I wasn't sure how much of the night had passed when Frank started whimpering in his sleep, clutching the pillow all the tighter with white-knuckled fingers. The drugs had obviously worn off, since he seemed to be dreaming. Or rather, having a nightmare.

His shoulders were shaking, lips moving unconsciously. "No, n-no, Gerard, no please!"

I stared, a sinking feeling in my stomach.

"N-no..." he moaned pleadingly, rolling over, pulling the comforter to his chest, eyes still shut tightly in semi-interrupted sleep. His pale face was wet with tears. "G-gee, no..."

Shit. Oh shit. Frank's nightmare was about me... How the hell could I have thought that we were past what I had done to him? I had been trying to pretend to both of us that it had never happened; I had thought that in some sick way, I'd had him convinced. But even if the bruises had faded, Frankie wasn't okay... Frankie was fucking broken, and I had broken him.

God, I hated him. I hated him for letting his father hurt him... I hated him more for letting me hurt him.

Frankie gave a sudden shuddering gasp and bolted upright, tear-filled eyes locking instantly on mine. Fuck. He knew that I'd been watching him suffer, and hadn't done a single thing. He stared at me for a minute, confusion and hurt on his face. He swallowed painfully and looked down at his lap before standing and wiping the tears away almost angrily. "S-smoke," he muttered unsteadily, passing me on his way outside onto the balcony.

Shit. Shit shit shit. I should've said something, asked him if he was okay, or at least apologized again... Actually, I should've gone over there and woken him up, told him it was okay and it was only a bad dream... But instead I had just watched him hurting. What if my shithead brother, of all people, was right? What if I didn't love Frank? What if he didn't love me? What the hell were we doing here anyways?

I got to my feet as the need to do something, anything at all, overwhelmed me. Moving the chair and pushing the blinds out of the way of the small window, I blocked out the reflection with my hand so that I could see Frankie outside, leaning on the railing just as I had been doing before. His silhouette was flawless. The burning tip of a cigarette glittered in the dark next to him, casting just the slightest glow of red on his face and highlighting his cheekbones, some tears still clinging to his skin. He was beautiful outwardly; if it wasn't for the hollow look in his eyes, you never could've guessed that I had ruined him.

My stomach burned. I hated him. I hated him for being so gorgeous, for tempting me to hurt him in the first place. He had seen that my eyes had been completely devoid of any love, actually anything but lust... Well why the hell hadn't he stopped me right then?!

I shoved my way past the chair and into the bathroom, picking up the bottle of sleeping pills and holding it up as though to read the dosage. Instead, I just slammed it angrily back down onto the countertop with a loud rattling sound as the pills shook. I could see my face in the mirror in front of me, and I realized that I hated it almost as much as I hated Frank. My fucking face. My fucking face- Without thinking, I lifted a fist and slammed it into the mirror, driving my knuckles through the shattering glass. Blood spattered across the counter and the tile floor and my face, and I could only stare at the mess I had made. Oh fucking god, I was doing it again, losing myself... Shit.

My knuckles were bleeding badly, full of lacerations from the fragments of the mirror. I turned the water on and watched as the water going down the drain turned a sickening shade of too-bright tempera red. Could I stop fucking up for five straight minutes, maybe?

I pressed a wad of tissues to my hand, waiting for the bleeding to stop. The cuts were to the bone, but that wasn't saying much, considering most of them were over my knuckles, and after a while, the blood began to congeal and turn dark. I threw out the tissues and tried to pick up as many of the glass shards off the counter and floor as I could before walking back over to the window.

Frankie was still smoking, sitting on the concrete now and hugging both knees tightly to his chest. I thought I could see his breath, even excluding the cigarette smoke, and wondered if he was cold. He pulled his arms even closer to him, shivering, and I felt a pang of guilt. Of course he was cold. I should go let him know that it was okay to come inside if he wanted.

I opened the motel door. "...Frank?"

He looked up. "Huh?"

"If you're cold..."

He got unsteadily upright and followed me back inside. As I turned around to face him, he spoke. "Why do you hate me?"

My brain stalled. "I don't hate you, I-"

"Why do you hate me, Gerard?!" His voice got more pleading. He wasn't going to let it go.

"I don't! I-"

"Gerard!" His neck muscles were taut; he must've had his teeth clenched. Both eyes were locked on mine, so innocent, so insistent, so full of pain and pleading.

I didn't say anything, and his face darkened further.

"I wanna know why! Is it Mikey? Is it something I do wrong? 'Cause I c-can't fuck? I swear to god, I can change whatever it is, or at least try!"

This was not what I wanted to hear. If I was being an asshole, the least he could do was to get pissed off in return, not... this. "That's not it, that's not- Can't you just fuck off?!"

"Just tell me, please, then I'll leave you alone, Gerard! I just want to know what I did wrong!"

"You let me do it, you son of a bitch!" I yelled hysterically, snapping completely. I noticed that my hands were shaking, which pissed me off worse. "You let me hurt you just like you let your fucking father hurt you, and I hate you for it; I fucking hate you for it!"

Frankie's face went still, like he was trying not to cry. His voice came out quiet and unnaturally shaky. "You hate... m-me? You hate m-me because I let you h-hurt me?"

Even I could hear how sickeningly selfish that logic sounded. But I nodded, not trusting my vocal chords.

Frank was crumpling, but he managed to pull his face into a taut mask before he spoke. "I... d-don't get it. G-gee, I d-don't get it!"

What the fuck did he want me to say to him?

"But what did I do?" he whimpered, eyes silently begging me for an answer.

"You fucking let me!" I screamed, unable to take the incomprehension and pain on his perfect face.

"What did you want me to do? What did you want me to do? S-shove a knife between your f-fucking eyes?"

"Anything, you son of a bitch- You let your dad walk all over you, you let me hurt you-"

"I thought if I just waited for it t-to be over..." Tears spilled down Frankie's face.

"No, no, you had to stop me, goddamn you, I fucking hate you!" I couldn't stop yelling, even though he wasn't screaming back.

He flinched. "You w-want me to be something I c-can't be, I c-could never have stopped you; even if you wanted to do it again right now I still couldn't s-stop you..." His voice broke. "I'm n-not good enough for you."

Why did he have to keep crying like that? Why did he have to keep agreeing with me? Why was he making this so hard? I rubbed my eyes tiredly. Why couldn't he just yell back?

Frankie's eyes were focused on the lacerated knuckles of the hand I had just used to rub my eyes. "What the f-fuck did you do?"

I glanced down. Shit. "Broke the mirror. I'm fine."

He lifted his own trembling hand, a long cut, barely visible now, across the fingers. I recognized it from when he had cut himself on the glass window in his living room. The day he'd told me he loved me... The same day that I had fucked up everything. "Please. Don't. Break. My. Heart," he whimpered slowly, emphasis on every word.

I couldn't say anything. It was a cliche, but the effect it was having on me... I couldn't find the right words to express all the thoughts running through my mind. All the memories; Frankie, Frankie, Frankie...

"I love you," Frankie murmured, very quietly. "I love you for everything you are, Gerard, I mean it. I don't care if you hurt me, I want you, I love you, I'd live through it again if I c-could just-" He choked on tears and abandoned the rest of the words, sobbing.

I pulled him towards me in a crushing hug, almost like a crash, two cars colliding on the fucking highway, forcing his head against my chest and holding him there to keep him from slipping away again. "S-shit shit s-shit..."

His fingers found mine and twined together tightly. "After all the things we put each other through..."

"I love you, Frankie. I. Love. You."

"I'm s-sorry, Gee, I am; I shouldn'ta let you, I shoulda s-stopped you, somehow... I'm s-"

"Frankie, don't."

"Gee-"

"Don't say anything." I just wanted to stand there with my face buried in his hair and pretend that we were the only two people in the whole world. I wanted him, I loved him, I just wanted to hold him.

I smoked, and the smell of cigarettes had never turned me on, but somehow with Frankie, it became the most seductive scent I could imagine. I breathed him in with my eyes closed, loving him; every fucking thing about him, I loved it.

"Gerard... Gerard." Frankie looked up into my eyes and a smile stretched across his face. "You make me so happy."

"I want to, Frankie... And I never wanted to hurt you, b-but I know I did, and I can't make up for it; I-"

Quietly, he put one finger to my lips. "You don't have to make up for anything," he murmured. "I just want to be with you... okay?"

I held him close tightly, whispering "Okay" into his hair.

"What... what was Mikey saying?" Frank asked tentatively.

"Thinks I'm gonna fucking hurt you again."

"He doesn't know you that well, does he..?" Frankie sounded nervous, as though he hoped that was the case.

I shrugged uneasily. "I thought he did..." I pulled away to sit down heavily on the edge of the bed. "Look... I'm scared, Frankie." My emotions started to rise. "I don't want to hurt you, ever... I swear to god, I don't! But... but what if he sees something I don't? What if I do hurt you again?!"

Frank came over and put a gentle hand on my shoulder, teeth catching his bottom lip again. "I don't know, Gee..." he said unsurely. "I love you and I don't think you'd ever, ever do that again... but I don't know why Mikey thinks so, then... Maybe you just scared him when he found out what you'd... what you'd done. Maybe..?"

I put my head in my hands. "Damnit, Frankie..."

"If you ever did, Gee... If you ever did hurt m-me, I'd... still love you. Forever."

I shook my head frantically. "No; no, don't say that! Don't! You're just f-fucking inviting me to do it again; don't fucking say that!"

His eyes hardened. "You wanna be fucking invited?" Frankie stretched out his arms. "Okay, go on, take me. Take me, Gerard. Hurt me. Fucking hurt me."

"What the f-fuck are you doing, Frankie?" I spat, throat closing up.

"Hurt me, go on."

"Shut up. Just shut up."

Instead, Frankie wrapped his arms tightly around me, burying his face in my neck unexpectedly. "You didn't do it, Gee. You didn't; you didn't hurt me. It's okay now."

Did that really reassure him? He had asked for it; of course I wasn't going to hurt him on command. If I did, it would be unexpected... and much more brutal. "Goddamnit."

"Don't be mad; please don't. I just don't want you to be scared, Gerard. I don't want you to have to worry about hurting me." He took a shaky breath. "Can't you just love me? That's all I want..." "I know. I know it. Oh Frankie..."

"Mikey's wrong. You're perfect. You're beautiful. I love you like crazy." His eyes started to sparkle as he finished the sentence.

I had to smile. Frankie's wide grin was contagious.

"Can I talk to your brother, maybe?"

I frowned. "Uh..."

"I'm a people person. It's okay." He smirked.

"I guess." I speed-dialed, then handed him my cellphone. "Just hang up if he... y'know..."

Frankie nodded, phone to his ear. "Hello? -- It's Frank. I'm in love with your big brother... -- Yeah, but why do you think he's gonna hurt me?"

There was a long pause while Frank listened to Mikey's answer. I was trying to read the expression on his face, but even his wide eyes made it impossible to guess the emotion.

Finally, Frank spoke again, but hesitantly. "...I know he's not like my f-father, though. He won't do it again. He won't. -- What? -- Nuh-uh, listen to me... I know he's not perfect fucking plastic, Mikey. But I love him for everything, even the faults. To me, he is perfect. That's what matters."

My chest felt tight. Frankie was... god, he was amazing. Did I even deserve him?

"-he hurt you... n-not like that, but if he hurt you somehow, wouldn't you forgive him?" he was asking my brother.

"Frankie, just forget it-" I started, but he shook his head.

"It's not any different, Mikey; you know it isn't. I'm not that... experienced, or whatever, b-but I know I'm in love, and I'd do anything for Gee." Mikey said something, and Frankie laughed slightly. "Yeah, I said Gee. I love him."

I smiled.

"Just tell me you wouldn't forgive him, Mikey. -- See? That's what I did... He's not gonna hurt me. He loves me..." Frankie's serious face suddenly melted into a smile as Mikey responded. "Okay. I'll let you talk to him... Thank you for caring, though, about me and Gerard... and thank you for listening. -- Mmkay, bye." He handed the phone to me.

"Hello?"

"Gerard? Keep the kid safe, okay?"

"I know you're worried, but I swear to god, I won't let anything happen to him, Mikey."

"He trusts you, I guess that's good enough. I love you, Gerard. I do, and I do think you're better than that. Frankie deserves you."

"Thanks, Mikey. Um... I'll be back tomorrow, sometime."

"Okay, I'll see you then. But Gerard-"

"What?"

He sighed. "I think you made him grow up a little too fast."

I wasn't sure what to say. Mikey's words held some truth; even I could see that... But my thoughts told me that I would rather keep pretending that nothing had changed, and that Frankie and I could get back to where we'd been before.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Mikey said finally.

"I... I love you too, Mikey."

"Go pay some attention to your boyfriend," he said, laughter in his voice, and I had to laugh too.

"Alright." I closed the phone and looked at Frankie. "You are fucking amazing."

He shrugged, smiling at me. "He's nice. I think you just scared him, coming home-"

"-covered in blood?" I finished darkly.

A shadow passed quickly over Frankie's face, but he seemed to shake it off, and nodded. "He's okay now, though."

I ran a hand down the curve of Frankie's cheekbone gently, then kissed him carefully.

He sat down next to me and cuddled close with a comfortable whimper. "I heart you."

"What?"

"I heart you," he repeated.

I grinned, one arm around his shoulders, then yawned.

"You should sleep," Frankie told me, looking concerned.

I tried to shrug it off, but I was tired, and eventually flopped back onto the mattress, letting Frank curl up next to me even though he had already gotten some sleep and looked very much awake.

We lay there in comfortable silence in the dim room for a while, until I was drifting gently into sleep behind flickering eyelids.

"Now we gotta go to San Francisco," Frankie muttered lazily at one point, and I opened my mouth to ask what the hell he was talking about, but before the words could surface, I heard his soft laughter, and then I was fast asleep.

***

My consciousness returned to the unpleasant feeling of someone poking anxiously at my forearm. ''Fucking christ..." I muttered, still half-asleep, rolling over to escape the discomfort.

The prodding still continued. "Gee..."

"Fuck off!" I moaned, but sat up abruptly, shoving the covers down to my waist. Blinking at the sunlight filtering through the blinds, I realized that Frankie was standing beside the bed, pouting slightly. I smiled a little and sighed reluctantly. "Oh, I'm sorry."

Frankie grinned, and the mattress bounced as he sat down next to me. "Sleep well?"

"Better than you... no nightmares," I said guiltily.

He nodded, more serious for a minute, but then his smile returned. "What do you wanna do today before you go home?"

"Uh... Fuck you?" Couldn't say that. I shrugged. "Whatever you want."

"Can we get ice cream?"

Not the first thought that had come to my mind, but Frankie looked so excited about it that the enthusiasm was contagious. "Sure. The closest place is back down by the theater, so I guess we can walk."

''Okay!"

I got out of bed and stretched, then collected the room key and my cellphone before joining Frankie at the door.

We checked out at the office, where a completely different man was watching the front desk, then started back the way we'd come the day before.

The ice cream place was nearly empty because it had been raining so heavily the day before, and temperatures had dropped. The girl behind the counter looked up from her homework as we walked in, then got up and came over. Her name tag read 'Tanya.'

"Can I help you?"

I looked at Frankie.

He grinned. "Can I have chocolate? In a cone? With sprinkles?"

"You sure can," Tanya said, amusement in her voice.

"Lots of sprinkles," Frankie added seriously.

"Lots of sprinkles it is." She turned to me. "And you?"

"Vanilla. Um, no sprinkles."

Next to me, Frank looked disappointed.

I melted. "Alright, alright. I want sprinkles too."

"Lots of 'em."

"Yeah, Frankie. Lots of them."

After we had paid, I followed Frankie outside to a park bench on the cement of the sidewalk and sat down. He leaned his head on my shoulder and licked his ice cream cone slowly.

Fuck. That was erotic. I tried to turn my attention to my own purchase, but I kept glancing back to Frank and his stupid chocolate ice cream cone.

Finally, he caught me staring and shot me a wide grin. "Is it me, or do you just wish you'd bought chocolate?"

"Fuck, Frankie. You're too goddamn sexy."

His smile grew even more, and he scooted closer to me, leaning down towards my ice cream. "If you're not gonna eat it..." He took a big lick, smearing vanilla all over his mouth. "Damn. Got a napkin?"

"I've got a better idea." I bent my neck and kissed his sticky lips.

"Mmm, that is better." He went back to his own ice cream with another wide smile in my direction.

We sat there together in silence for a while, but there was something on my mind that I had to ask him.

"Hey, Frankie?"

"Yeah?"

"D'you really forgive me for... what I did?"

His eyes were wide with sincerity. "Honest, Gee. I do."

"But you can't possibly have right away..."

He nodded. "It hurt a lot at first... I was confused, and I couldn't even believe it... I kept thinking, why the fuck me? Why do the people who are s'posed to love me always hurt me?" He swallowed. "But Gee, you came back for me... You saved me. You came back and you drove me home, and you saved my f-fucking life. And I still loved you and everything."

"Look... I've done a lot of shitty things, to myself and other people, but hurting you... That was the worst mistake of my life."

"Everybody makes mistakes, Gerard. Maybe you don't know, but you've done so much good stuff for me too. It doesn't matter about my dad now 'cause I've got you... It still hurts, but I know you'll help me." He brushed my hair out of my face, then kissed me gently.

I sighed. "God, I love you. You know I'd do anything for you."

"Help me find an apartment?" he teased.

"If you want."

"Maybe I can just sleep on your floor."

"Oh, yeah," I said sarcastically. "Mikey would love it."

"Can I have his room?" Frankie grinned.

"No, maybe you and I can share... We're pretty close."

He smirked, leaning over for another lick of my ice cream. "We'd keep Mikey awake, though."

"Not if you'd stop giving me those sex eyes, fucker..."

Frankie grinned mischievously as I reached over and ruffled his hair, leaning his head back on my arm and snuggling close on the park bench.

He was mine. Finally, after everything, Frankie was mine and I loved him, and I was never ever going to let him go, or let him get hurt.

"Do you really love me?" he murmured softly, in a voice that said he already knew the answer.

"More than I ever thought I'd love anyone, ever. God, I just wish that there wasn't so much shit in between... everything I've done to you... everything your father's done to you..."

"Let's just forget about it, Gee," Frankie whispered as his warm fingers found mine. "Please. I wanna pretend that it's just us two; that love is everything they talk about, pain and hope and lust and chemicals and revenge, and hearts and guns and bloodstains and 'I love you's' and rainclouds and candy hearts... Just you and me, forever, like that."

"We're never gonna make it, Frankie..." I murmured quietly.

"I don't wanna make it," he told me honestly, staring straight into my eyes. "I just wanna-"

Copyright 2006 someonesxsweetheart

"F-fuck-" Frank finally choked helplessly through tears, and I felt a sharp pain under my ribs.

I came up behind him as he doubled over, sobbing, phone clattering to the floor, and wrapped my arms tightly around his shoulders. "I gotcha. I gotcha."

He leaned against me tiredly, tears trickling down his cheeks, locking his arms around the back of my neck as he turned to face me. "G-gerard-"

"It's gonna be okay..." I wasn't sure what to tell him.

"I hope so..." he moaned into my shoulder, taking some shuddering deep breaths.

"It's not your fault, Frankie, I promise..." My stomach hurt. "You have to trust me."

"I d-do."

"Mmkay... You ready to go back to work?"

He sniffled and nodded, lifting his head from my chest. "Let's go."

We kept working on the window in relative silence, and by the time I'd been through two beers total, I was starting to get sick of the job. Still, I knew why I was doing it- for Frankie. It was the least little thing I could do.

Suddenly, Frankie gasped sharply, and I turned to see blood trickling down his sliced fingers to his wrist.

"Shit," I muttered. He was starting to panic, I could see it in his eyes. "It's okay, it's okay..."

He took a breath and swallowed, nodding. "Okay."

I took his hand gently in both of mine. "Does it hurt?"

He nodded shakily again, biting his bottom lip. It suddenly struck me how cute he looked like that.

Very slowly, I brought his cut fingers to my lips and kissed them gently. Blood colored my lips with crimson. "Better?"

"Yeah..." he whispered.

Barely thinking about what I was doing, I put the fingers in my mouth, carefully sucking off the blood.

Frankie gave a little shudder, then his scared eyes met mine and he let out a hiccupy giggle, accompanied by a painfully shy smile.

"You okay?" I murmured around his fingers, warm breath meeting his skin. I could taste his blood, sickly sweet and coppery, coating my tongue and the back of my throat.

He nodded yet another time, then slowly giggled again, making me smile too. "G-gerard?"

"Hmmpth?"

He laughed as I tried to talk around his fingers, and I grinned. I loved his smile. I loved it, loved it, loved it. I thought something inside me might burst.

"You're so amazing," Frankie mumbled, and I let his fingers go just to lean forward so that I could kiss him.

He smiled widely and scooted backwards, so that I had to chase him.

"So that's how it's gonna be, huh?"

He giggled and got up, moving away from me. I stood and grabbed for him, my weight knocking both of us off balance and over the back of the living room couch. I ended up lying on top of him on the cushions, the almost feverish heat of his body radiating through his shirt and flowing into me. Barely thinking on any level but a physical one, I kissed him hard on the mouth, tongues meeting briefly, only to have him twist out from under me and scramble back behind the couch, smiling devilishly.

"Hey, come back here, motherfucker," I ordered with a smirk, sitting up and crossing my arms. Before I could turn to see what he was doing, he'd launched himself over the back of the couch again, tumbling onto my shoulders with his arms wrapped tightly around me, sending us both to the floor laughing. Both my hands were working his shirt up over his head so that I could run my hands along the skin of his back.

"Mmm, you smell nice," he murmured, face buried in my hair so that his lips were against my neck.

"Kiss me, sexy..." I murmured back in reply, and he grinned, shaking his head so that ebony bangs fell into his eyes and rolling over on his back.

"Nuh-uh, come and get it."

With an mock indignant gasp, I crawled over so that I was on all fours beside him, then lifted him up into a sitting position by the shoulders, pulling him into my arms and kissing his neck.

He tugged my t-shirt over my head and trailed his tongue seductively across my collarbone, making me shiver. Despite the playfulness, I knew it was lust that was taking control of me. He looked so sweet with that lopsided grin on his face... I knew that I had to be careful not to hurt him.

He was nibbling gently on my ear, and I laughed. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Sexing you..." he whispered with a straight face, then dissolved into giggles which I couldn't help but grin at the innocence and childish mischief of. The sound of a car door slamming splintered the room, and Frankie froze, a look of pure terror in his beautiful eyes. My heart skipped a beat uncomfortably. I thought he was going to start crying out of blind panic and fear, but suddenly the look on his face changed. He grabbed my hand tightly and tugged me to my feet, barely giving me time to grab my crumpled shirt from the floor in one hand.

He was pulling me towards the back door, then outside, where he pushed me against the brick wall and kissed me, hard. I returned the kiss with the same force, letting my shirt fall back to the ground, forgotten. Skin met skin, lips met lips, lips met skin... I needed him like I had never needed anyone else, and all the desperation I felt was going into the way our lips were pressed together, my hands sliding over his shoulderblades, ribcage, hips like I couldn't get enough of his slightly sweaty body.

I pushed his hair roughly out of his eyes and kissed him, hands brushing his unbuckled belt. God, if his father came outside for some reason... The thought of that horror only intensified the urgency I could feel in Frankie's hot lips dancing up my neck. I ran my fingers around his waist from his abdomen to the small of his back, and he moaned. The combined body heat we were constantly exchanging was enough to keep away the slight chill in the fall air.

"God, god, god, Gerard-"

"What is it-" I breathed out sharply as one of his hands slid down my spine. "-Frankie?"

"If I tell you something, will it... scare you?"

"Scare me? Frankie, what could you say that would-" My words were momentarily lost on his perfect lips. "-scare me?"

"This might."

"Tell me. Anything. It's okay." I pulled him even closer, wrapping my arms tightly around his waist and squeezing so that our heartbeats seemed to combine into one.

"I think that I love you," he whispered, so quietly that I might have missed it... except that those three words, the most over-used words in the world- I never could have missed those.

"Oh god," I breathed quietly. I was shocked, but I didn't let him go.

"Gerard?" he whimpered anxiously.

I wanted him to smile again. I loved his smile. I... I loved him. "Frankie, Frankie, I love you too, oh god, I love you... I do. I really do..."

We kissed again, and this time, when I tasted tears on his face, I knew it wasn't out of hurt. "Oh baby."

"Mmm..." He snuggled against me as I leaned against the brick of his house, kissing his neck gently, almost absently. I was fucking in love with him. Damn.

Frankie pulled back from me slightly, my hands still holding his waist, almost protectively. "He'll have seen your car," he said quietly.

Dread washed over me. "Hell, Frankie, god, I'm-"

"It's okay, he probably didn't even notice... If he did, I'll just make something up... D'you wanna go somewhere?"

I let my eyes wander down his body, then back up, and long before our eyes even met, I knew my answer. "Yeah," I murmured throatily, all the feeling building up inside me put into that syllable. I wanted him. I wanted him so bad.

Frankie had buckled his belt and was pulling his shirt on, and I found mine on the ground and did the same. He took my hand again, sweaty fingers gripping mine tightly, leading me around the side of his house. With a quick glance at the front window, he broke into a run for my car, which I'd left unlocked.

I turned on the ignition and shot out of the driveway hopefully before Frank's father could look up, turning off the street as soon as possible. "Where are we going, Frankie?"

"Anywhere, somewhere... That bar."

"What?"

"The bar, the one where you found me..."

I knew what he wanted, and the second my car turned into the dirty back parking lot of the seedy bar where I had picked Frank up from a mess on the concrete just a day ago, I parked and looked at him. "Frankie."

The sky outside was getting dark, and his face was shadowy. "I want you."

"I want you too, Frank... God-" I choked on emotion, lust suddenly becoming tangible enough to close my throat, to take control of me. I grabbed his shoulders and dragged him closer, pressing his back against the dashboard as I leaned over him and brought my mouth forcefully to his. His hand wandered up my spine, but I knew he could tell something was different. The force in my kiss was no longer due to desperation, but rather to something a lot darker. I wanted him, I fucking needed him, and I was going to have him, hard.

I lifted his back from the plastic of the dashboard and pulled his t-shirt over his neck and head. When I had it off, I let his shoulders fall with a thump. His stiftled whimper as his ribcage was briefly knocked out of alignment made my breathing quicken.

I ran both hands down his chest, making him squirm slightly, leaning over and kissing his neck. I was moving quickly, but he was doing his best to respond in kind, kissing me back as I bent over him, trying to kiss my ear like he had before, the hint of a hopeful smile on his face.

I didn't laugh this time; I preferred feeling the skin of his neck and chest under my lips than seeing him grin, and I began unbuckling his belt hurriedly, hips knocking momentarily against his thin ones. I was breathing heavily as I unzipped his jeans, and I knew that he could see that there was nothing in my eyes. No playfulness... no love.

I jerked him roughly up from his reclining position and he fell against me. I wrapped my arms tightly around his back and brought my lips to the soft skin of his neck. He moaned, and I opened my mouth, teeth grazing his throat, making him draw in a breath quickly. I kissed his neck harder, then bit the skin, causing him to try and pull back. My arms were holding him too tightly, and the next time my teeth made contact with his skin, he whimpered. "G-gerard, d-don't."

I didn't listen, only breathed in the scent of him deeper, cocaine and sweat and fear, then bit his neck again, leaving red tooth marks in his skin. Lips on skin, I could feel the pulse beneath his jawbone against my cheek, the fluid running along his veins, and I suddenly wanted to break the rhythm. He let out a quiet cry of pain as I pressed our bodies together and closed my mouth... With my teeth sinking just barely into his neck, I could actually taste blood filling my mouth, trickling down slowly from where my lips rested towards his fragile collarbone.

I could feel him shaking in my arms, badly frightened.

"G-gerard, gerard, s-stop it-"

The sound of his scared voice only made my muscles tighten further with needing him, and I caressed his neck with both hands, then dragging them down his back, smearing blood past his shoulderblades and down to the small of his back, stopping just above the edge of his low jeans. There were streaks of blood on my face as I pushed him back, it was covering my lips and chin in sticky smudges...

Frankie's breathing was irregular with panic and confusion, mine with desire and need. I unzipped my jeans and moaned quietly, roughly spinning him so that his bloody back was towards me and pushing his shoulders forward so that the breath was knocked out of him and his chin hit the plastic, bent over the car dashboard at the waist.

I pulled down Frankie's jeans and boxers with my hands, exposing beautiful hipbones and pale skin, pressing hard against him. His voice was getting more and more panicked as he tried to writhe away.

"Gerard-!"

But there was nowhere to go in the small car, and I had him where I wanted him now.

I shoved Frankie's shoulders back down as he struggled to lift his head, one arm pinned uncomfortably under him. "Gerard, stop it, stop it; you're hurting me, I'm scared, p-please, stop, stop it!" His pleading words were hysterical, choked with the same tears that were running down his face, collecting in a pool on the dashboard, then smeared by his cheek as I pushed his head back down.

I ran my hands down his back again, smearing sticky crimson along his flexing spine. I could hear his loud gasps for breath. The windows of the car were foggy, but I knew it was raining from the sound of heavy droplets pounding the car windows from outside.

"G-gerard, Gerard-" Frankie choked as I interrupted his words. "Oh-" He let out a strangled gasp.

"Just...give...in..." I muttered with effort, and he choked on a sob. He couldn't fight me, he wanted me too; I knew it and I knew I had him.

The warm air smelled like a crush of blood and cocaine powder and sweat and I moaned, heartbeat racing. I was raking my nails down his back; Frankie was screaming, one hand reaching out towards the windshield with curling fingers; I caught it in mine and dragged it slowly back down the dashboard. I felt my stomach collapse; my eyes rolled back, my thoughts shut down as my heart exploded beneath my ribs and something under my skull exploded in a flash of scarlet.

Suddenly my muscles went limp and I leaned against Frankie's heaving body and the dashboard for support, waiting for my breathing to stabilize.

Frankie pushed me off of him, and I fell back against the carseat upholstery as he clumsily struggled to pull his jeans up and then grabbed for the handle of the car door, tears on his face. A rush of cold air and a faint spray of rain entered the car as he shoved the door open and staggered outside, holding his stomach with one hand as he tried to get his thin shirt over his blood-smeared shoulders with the other.

"Where the hell are you goin-" My delayed reaction was to climb over into the driver's seat towards him, but he slammed the door closed with shaking fingers, cutting me off. I cranked the window down. "What the hell-"

"Just GO!" he screamed wildly into the wind, rain plastering his bangs to his forehead, stumbling backwards so that my outstretched hand, fingers stained with his own blood, couldn't reach him.

I turned the car on and pressed hard on the gas pedal. I left him there, wet shirt clinging to his chest like another layer of skin, tortured eyes filled with terror and some kind of sickness. I just left him.

***

When I pushed open the front door and staggered inside, Mikey stood quickly from the couch. "Where the hell have you-" He stopped dead. "Oh my god. Oh my fucking god, what happened, Gerard?!"

"I did it, just what you said I'd do, I hurt him, I f-fucked him and I hurt him, he said he f-fucking loved me and then I think I might have fucking raped him..." My voice was rising as I spoke, ending on a nearly hysterical note.

Mikey just stared at me, at the blood all around my mouth, on my hands, everywhere. "That's his- Oh my god. Oh my god- What did you do, kill him?!"

"N-no, but I hurt him, I hurt him and then I left him there, he told me to g-go and I just left him..."

"Left him where? Left him where, you son of a bitch?!"

"Behind a bar, f-found him there yesterday, we were f-fucking around and then his d-dad came home so we had to get the hell outta there, and we parked behind this bar, and I j-just lost it, I d-did exactly what you thought I'd do, I think I even f-fucking raped him..."

"What the hell do you mean, 'think?' Did you fucking rape him or not?!" Mikey looked like he was staring at a serial killer.

"I d-don't know what it was, I hurt him, b-but he'd wanted it at first, j-just when I... b-bit him-"

"Oh my fucking god," Mikey muttered again, obviously in violent shock. His hands were shaking. He looked like he might be sick.

"Mikey-" I moaned, voice cracking, knees threatening to collapse. I couldn't take it.

"Gerard, oh hell, Gerard, I don't even- Go... lie down or something... Wash up, wash up first... God, all that blood... What the hell did you do?!"

"B-bit his neck, there was blood everywhere, all down his back and-"

"You bit so hard that- Gerard! I... God. Just... g-get out, go!"

I staggered for the bathroom as Mikey collapsed into a sitting position on the couch, head in his hands, but instead of washing up, I opened the cabinet and scooped out a few cheap orange plastic pill bottles and brought them into the kitchen with me, washing down the contents with several bottles of beer. At last, slurring swearwords under my breath, I ran for the bathroom just in time to start vomiting. I threw up for almost an hour, until only stomach acid was coming up. By the time I staggered upstairs to my room and collapsed face-first on the bed, I wasn't thinking anything at all.

***

A distant car horn outside woke me, and when it all came back to me in a sickening wave and I felt my stomach jolt with dread, I wished I could fall back into sleep and never open my eyes for the rest of my life. The very air around me felt poisonous. My head was pounding violently, my stomach felt like it was turned inside out, my throat was scraped sore, and my eyes were assuredly bloodshot, but I had a sneaking suspicion that however shitty I felt, Frank Iero was having a much worse time of it.

I stumbled out of bed, staring at my hands. They were still covered in blood- his blood. Oh god. I knew that if there was still blood on my hands, there would still be blood on my face... I knew I was a fucking mess... There was vomit in my hair, the taste of it mixing with blood and stale alcohol in my throat and mouth, making my guts lurch. Oh fucking god. I staggered towards the hallway. Nervously, I wondered what sort of state Frank was in. How badly had I fucked him up? Could he be, even... dead? Part of me wanted to go out and find him, see what I had done, how bad it was, but there was also a powerful feeling of loathing him for letting me hurt him, how I never wanted to see him again, ever. Ever ever ever.

I walked back into the bathroom and shoved the shower curtain to one side to clean off, like I could ever really get rid of the bloodstains...

When I went downstairs after my shower, Mikey looked up from the couch at me, the look in his eyes unreadable. I had a feeling that he hadn't moved since the previous night.

"M-mikey, are you pissed?"

He looked down, eyes dark, shaking his head slightly. "I... I don't know what to think. I can't believe you would... What you did- People get... arrested for that, people get... God, I just... I don't understand. It feels like something should've happened, the cops should've showed up, I don't know... But you just walked away, you're here, hell, you're fucking hungover like usual..! Life's just going to go on, b-but I can't even fucking look at you without feeling sick... And him..."

"I'm sorry, Mikey, I swear to god that I'm sorry! I don't know what happened to me- it was like when I drink... I just lost it. You kept saying I'd hurt him, b-but I didn't see that coming, I don't know-"

"I didn't see it coming either, goddamnit! I thought you were already hurting him, just by fucking him... I never dreamed that you'd actually... Jesus fucking Christ."

"I n-never want to see him again."

"You'd better not." Mikey's voice was deathly serious. "Oh, you had better fucking not.

"I d-don't, ever. B-but Mikey, what if he's... d-dead?"

"Then he might be better off." Mikey got to his feet and left me sitting there alone. I glanced at my hand, where the faint outline of Frankie's cellphone number could still be seen, now that the blood was gone. My throat tightened. I had to know what I had done to him... With a phone, I could always hang up anyway...

I went down to the basement, where I was pretty certain that Mikey wouldn't overhear who I was calling, and dialed the number with shaking fingers. No one answered. God, no, he was there, he had to be... I dialed again. Still no answer. Redial. Redial. Redial. I was panicking. God, I couldn't have fucking killed him, I didn't want that on my hands...

Suddenly, in the middle of the monotonous ringing of my millionth phonecall, there was a clicking sound as somebody picked up.

"Frank!"

"Gerard..." There was something wrong with his voice, but I couldn't figure out what it was. Maybe just the connection..?

"Frank, are you okay?"

"I s-said I loved you..."

"Frank?"

"I said it, I s-said it, you said it too... You lied to me..."

"Frank, just fucking tell me if you're okay!" I didn't want to talk to him. I just wanted that one answer.

"No, no, I'm not okay, you goddamn son of a bitch!" he screamed suddenly, snapping. "I have f-fucking bruises, f-fucking- I can't fucking sit down! I'm s-shaking and I'm f-fucking cold, and I'm d-dirty and I can't get home and I can't get up and it hurts, it hurts, it hurts it hurts it hurts, it fucking hurts, it-"

I had to make him stop; his hysterical screams were splintering me from the inside out. "Frank. Frank! Frankie, goddamn it, listen to me!"

"Why?"

That one sniffled, pathetic question... I didn't have an answer. Why should he listen to me, after what I had done to him? "P-please."

"Otay," he whimpered.

"I can't believe I did that to you..." I whispered. "I just can't believe that I... Frank, I can't fix it, I know that, and it's f-fucking killing me... But I'm so sorry, so so goddamn fucking sorry..." My voice cracked.

"Were you lying?" he whimpered, and I had to strain to catch the words. "Were you lying when you said you-"

"-loved you?"

"Y-yeah."

I thought back, back to his smile and him giggling as I mumbled around his fingers... I thought about how bad I wanted him safe, about the instant chemical romance that had occured when we'd first kissed... It hit me like a kick in the side of the head: I hadn't been lying. "No."

"D'you... you still-" He broke off coughing violently, a rattle in his chest. I was starting to realize that he sounded very, very sick. "-s-still love m-me?"

"Oh god, yes," I whispered, the room spinning around me. I did still love him, I reallly did. I wanted to see him, hold him, make it better. I just had to focus on fighting the darkness that had made me hurt him, made me take him.

"G-gerard... I f-feel... I feel kinda sick."

"Frankie?"

"I f-feel... kinda really sick. Gerard, I feel s-sick!"

The hysteria in his thin voice scared me. "Frankie, where are you?"

"B-bar..." he whimpered. "I d-don't feel... G-gerard..."

My god, he'd been out there all that time... "I know, I know, baby; look, I'm coming, okay? I'm coming to get you..."

"Hurry... I d-don't f-feel so good..." His voice was fading.

"I'm coming." I hung up and ran up from the basement, glancing at the second-floor stairs and starting quickly towards the front door.

Mikey saw me as he neared the top of the stairs and started running. "Gerard, where the fucking hell do you think you're going?!" he yelled.

I was fumbling with the locks on the door.

"I'm gonna call the police, I'm gonna fucking call the police!" my brother screamed as I ran down the driveway to my car, which I'd parked half on the grass in my state of panic the night before.

I shoved the key into the ignition and shot down the street with my heart pounding wildly. By the time I reached the back of the bar, my heart was almost in my mouth.

I got out of the car and dropped to my knees in front of Frankie's crumpled form, curled on the dirty concrete. Blood was trickling from one side of his mouth; I didn't think I'd hit his head on the dashboard that hard... The skin of his neck and face was stained lurid crimson, and I could see the tooth marks at his pale throat. He was pale and his clothes were damp with rainwater. I couldn't believe what I had done to him. He whimpered as I touched his shoulder gently, but he could hardly even raise his eyelids.

I took a deep breath and lifted Frankie into my arms, standing up and carrying him to the car. I got him into the passenger seat, tilting it back, and pulled the seatbelt across his slightly shuddering chest.

His eyes flickered open as the metal buckle clicked into place. "G-gee?"

"Frankie?"

"M-my dad's outta town... I promise this time..."

I wondered whether or not the appearance of Frank's father had indirectly caused me to hurt him, or if I would've done it anyway. "Baby, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry... I just-" I choked.

"It's f-fine... I still l-love you too, Gee..." he murmured, eyes clouded with tiredness.

I hurried around to the driver's seat. The sooner I got Frank home, the sooner things would be okay again... I hoped.

"We're almost there. You're almost home," I tried to assure him, even though I'd only just started the ignition, but he didn't answer.

The instant my rusty car was parked in Frank's driveway, I bolted out of the driver's seat and around to the passenger side, carefully unbuckling his seatbelt and lifting him with an arm around his shoulders so that I could help him into the house.

The front door had been left wide open, and I looked around tentatively, half-expecting to see Frank's father waiting for us, but no one was there.

I let Frank collapse on the couch, at which he let out a ragged whimper and grasped for my hand. "I f-feel dirty," he murmured.

I looked him over. He was bloodstained and wet, clothing still damp from when I had left in the rain. Dirt streaked his face, mixing with the sickening crimson I had painted him with.

"You should take a shower," I told him quietly. He looked terrible.

He nodded. I wondered how the hell he could be so trusting of me after what I had done as he tried to get up off the couch and stand. He didn't have the energy, and fell backwards, landing with a sharp cry.

"You okay?" I asked anxiously, equally startled by the pain that had rippled across his face as he was.

He nodded, trying to swallow against the sensation. His eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed, and I guessed with acute guilt that he had cried until his throat hurt.

I got his arm around my shoulders so that I could support him with an arm around his waist, and he pointed shyly towards the bathroom.

Standing beside the shower in the shadowy green and white room, I shrugged awkwardly. "M-maybe this isn't such a good idea?"

"I m-might need a little help..." he said softly, glancing down towards the tile. "B-but I'm okay with that..."

His voice said 'if you are.' I nodded nervously. "Okay..."

He bit his bottom lip gently. It was slightly swollen from where I had cut it with my teeth. He pushed the curtain to one side to step unsteadily into the shower, back to me, and with a tiny attempt at a smile, raised both arms above his head.

Carefully, I peeled off the wet material of his shirt, revealing a back full of cuts and bruises, mostly from Frank's father, but partially my doing... The long scrapes were from my fingernails, and the smeared sticky blood trailing down from his neck made my stomach turn. I really was a sick bastard.

Frankie darted me a glance, biting his lip harder now as he tried to undo his belt buckle with slightly bruised fingers.

I frowned. I'd done that too?

When he'd undone the belt buckle and unzipped his pants, he looked at me another time. I gently eased them down past his hips, eyes widening to see the fingernail half-moons, cuts, and dark bruises decorating them. I had left much more of a mark than I had even realized.

As I pulled his jeans and boxers past the very end of his spine over smooth skin, my stomach muscles tightened. Shit. It was obvious why he had cried out when falling back on the couch cushions. His lower back and tailbone, both previously covered by the material of his pants, were violently discolored by blues and purples, the contusions striking against his smooth porcelain skin. Had I... done that, shoving him against the seat or against the dashboard? I'd heard him whimper, but...

"G-gerard?" His voice sounded worried.

"G-god, I-" My own voice broke.

"You d-didn't know," he told me quietly. "S'okay."

But it wasn't.

I ran my hand gently down his shoulder and forearm, the least bruised and fingerprinted part of him that I could find, my heart twisted under my ribs. Why the hell had I gone and ruined everything? "Frank..."

"T-tell me again you love me."

"I do, Frankie... I love you so, so much..."

He gave me a sore, tired smile, but it was still beautiful.

I reached towards the faucet handle, and when Frank nodded, turned the water on. It splashed my chest, and I took my shirt off with a slight smirk.

Frankie smiled wanly again as water ran down his face from his wet hair, washing the blood from his back in streaks. He looked so beautiful in the cool air, shadows falling across his face in the natural light from the small glass block window, highlighting his muscles beneath his skin.

I leaned into the water and kissed him softly as he turned to meet me, holding his face gently beneath his bruised jawbone with one hand. The stream from the showerhead ran down our faces, making Frankie smile slightly.

I slid my other hand around his waist, resting it just under his hipbone, trying not to apply any pressure to bruised skin. Damnit, I wanted him, wanted to show him that I wasn't going to hurt him again, but I couldn't. I had already damaged him, and I had to let the wounds heal- both literally and figuratively- before I could make another move. "Frankie..." I whispered, hand sliding slowly up the slope of his lower back.

His eyes flickered with sudden pain and he pulled back, stumbling against the shower wall behind him. I realized that I had hit a sore spot, and reached out apologetically. "Frankie, sweetie-"

He shook his head miserably, suddenly frightened.

I knew then that for all my sorrys and all his I-still-love-you's, he was still scared of me, and I wouldn't be able to fix it... And as for how he could possibly still trust me... he didn't. Tears tightened my throat; I looked down, water droplets running over my face from my wet hair.

Frankie muttered something broken and desperate under his breath that sounded a lot like "Just fuck me."

"What?"

"Just do it, I know you want it; whatsamatter, didn't get enough the last time?! So j-just fuck me, it can't hurt that much worse than it does n-now..!" The note of strangled hysteria was back in his words.

"I do want you," I admitted quietly to the bathroom floor. "I wish I could... t-turn it off and just love you, that's all... b-but I can't, Frankie. I'll try, I swear to god I'll try if you ask me... Hell, I am trying; I'm trying..."

"I know." He swallowed. "I know you are... I want you too, Gerard; you know that, and I'm t-trying too, trust me."

I nodded.

"Gerard?"

"Yeah?"

"Kiss me again." His face, in shadow in the dark, blue-tinged room, was unreadable. Did he mean it?

I hoped to god he did, because I was already leaning back into the shower, water splashing down my bare chest as I carefully pulled Frankie close by wrapping my hands around the less-bruised backs of his thighs. He moaned against my lips, the vibration from his vocal chords sending a shiver running through me. Suddenly his tongue was in my mouth, and I had a bad feeling about where things were headed. I could hardly even touch him without hurting him; there was no way I could safely fuck him...

"...G-gerard, is it gone, the blood?"

I let him go so that he could turn slightly, back facing me again. There were still traces of blood staining his skin. I reached out a hand and rubbed the red gently away in one spot. He flinched as my fingers brushed a fingernail scrape, but didn't pull away again.

When he looked clean to me, I turned the water off, making him shiver, naked in the suddenly cold air. I slipped a towel off of the ring on the wall and draped it around his shoulders, making him smile slightly as he took it to dry off.

I took a second towel for myself, toweling off as best I could, ignoring the damp spots on the legs of my jeans where water had splashed.

Frankie wrapped the towel around his thin waist with another small smile at me, then nodded shyly towards the bathroom door. "I guess I'll go find some clean pants."

I nodded, supporting him by the shoulders as he headed to the stairs, which I had to help him ascend carefully, though he seemed to be steadier on his feet now.

I had never seen Frank's room, and I loked around with interest as he dug a pair of torn jeans out from a dresser drawer.

"It's not much..." Frank said, glancing around the room as I did, threading his belt through the loops of the new jeans.

His room looked pretty normal to me; I shrugged. "I like it."

He smiled. "S'good," he said, then the smile was replaced by a frown of worry. "Shit, I shoulda asked you earlier... Do you want something to drink or eat... or something?"

"I'm fine, thanks," I assured him, thinking how cute his concern was.

"Okay. Um... what do you wanna... do or whatever?" He looked anxious.

I shrugged. "I... I dunno..."

"Wanna... watch TV, or something?" "Sure," I said, glad for the suggestion. I was feeling kind of nervous myself...

We went downstairs to the living room and sat down on the couch, in front of the television. Frank handed me the remote, and I tentatively flicked through several channels only to feel something hit my shoulder. I glanced over to realize that Frankie had curled his knees up to his chest and fallen asleep with his head leaning comfortably against me, damp hair transfering moisture to the sleeve of my shirt. I muted the television on some pointless channel and slipped an arm around his shoulders, leaning my own head gently on his. I sighed, listening to his rhythmic breathing and watching the way his warm breath ruffled his bangs each time he exhaled. Within fifteen minutes, I was asleep too.

***

I woke up completely disoriented, finding myself still sitting on the living room couch with Frankie curled against me. He was still asleep, breathing even but shallow, as every time his lungs expanded, they pressed against sore ribs.

Gently, I removed my arm from around his shoulders and scooted over, easing his head down until he was lying slumped against the armrest. I didn't want to wake him up.

I stood up and turned off the muted television, just watching Frank for a moment. With a sigh, I went into his kitchen to find the phone.

I dialed my home number, and Mikey picked up on the second ring.

"Hello?"

"Mikey... it's Gerard."

"Where the hell have you been?!" he demanded angrily. "Where the fucking hell have you been?!"

"I took Frank home. He-"

"I thought I told you to stay the fuck away from him!"

"I wanted to make sure he was ok-"

"I already told you, Gerard! That kid would be better off dead than with you!" he yelled.

"I'm not going to do it again!" I hissed in response, trying to keep my voice down.

"You can say that, but you don't know it... You don't know anything; for all your fucking promises, you might do it again tomorrow, Gerard!"

"Mikey, I love him!"

"No you don't. No you don't. You'd like to, I know, but Gerard... Honestly. Tell me you don't want to just go over and fuck him right now."

"I want him, Mikey, I'm not going to deny it! But it's more than that, okay?!"

"You're just going to hurt him again," Mikey said quietly. "I hope to hell you see the truth and leave him alone, but if not... God, you really do make me sick."

He hung up, leaving me standing there staring stupidly at the phone. Why was Mikey, the brother who had always been my friend as well, so convinced that I was going to do something horrible? Could he see something I was missing?

I turned around and walked unsteadily towards the living room, stopping just short of the couch where Frank was still asleep. I loved him, I really loved him... didn't I?

I had been staring at him so closely that it took me a minute to realize that his eyes were blinking open.

He rubbed them, smudging the last traces of makeup around, then sat up slowly, flinching. "Hey."

"Hey," I answered, holding a hand out to help him up.

He took it and got to his feet, giving me a long look.

"What?" I asked, uncomfortable.

"I heard you talking."

Shit. My stomach sank as I tried to remember what I had said.

"You were talking to Mikey, weren't you?"

I nodded, refusing to meet his eyes with mine.

"Gerard... I'm scared."

I swallowed. "Of me?"

"I... I don't know what I'm afraid of. Not you, not really... I just... I'm tired. I'm scared..."

I wrapped my arms gently around him and buried my face in his hair. It smelled nice... "Frankie, you don't have to be scared... I've got you. I've got you."

"Thank g-god..."

"Are you okay?" I asked cautiously, unnerved by this sudden change in Frankie's behaviour.

He pulled away from me and nodded resignedly, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "I'm f-fine. I don't know why I get like that... I' m a fuckup."

"No... you're not a fuckup, Frankie... Don't say that." I was watching him rub his eyes, watching the way he moved, my gaze tracing his jawbone and neck. God, he was gorgeous, I-

"Okay," he said, interrupting my thoughts.

"I think I'd better get home," I said awkwardly, realizing that I was having a hard time keeping my eyes off his body. "Uh... Mikey will... uh, want me to be back soon."

Frankie's face fell, and I felt guilty, but I knew I was just keeping him safe by leaving. "Alright..." he said quietly, not arguing.

"Call me, okay?" I asked gently, trying to make my hurried exit seem a little less abrupt.

He nodded.

Then I left him alone.

When I got back, Mikey flat-out refused to talk to me, so I ended up going straight to my room in silence, thinking about Frank. I wasn't sure how to unravel my emotions, so in the end, I left them just as tangled as they had started out.

***

It was three days before Frank called me. I had been tempted almost continuously to pick up the phone myself, but I told myself that since I had asked Frank to call, I had to wait until he did.

It was a pretty lonely three days.

Then my cellphone rang.

I grabbed for it, almost knocking it off the night table. It was him. "Frank!"

"Gerard... I don't wanna say this... I don't wanna s-sound... Look, I really need your help..."

"What's wrong? ...Why wouldn't you want to ask me for help?"

"S-seems like that's the only thing I ever want when I talk to you... B-bet it's not very pleasant for you..." His voice was shaky.

"No, it's okay... I wanna help you if you need it... What's wrong?" I was getting nervous.

"I'm sorta... s-sick. I think I'm gonna... Gerard... I hate b-being sick... I- Oh shit, Gerard, hold on!" There was a clattering sound as if he had dropped the phone.

"Hello?"

I heard a whimper and the sound of Frankie vomiting. Oh... shit.

He came back on the phone. "S-sorry, I... I g-gotta go-" Suddenly the line went dead.

I shut the phone with a click and left the house immediately. The sound of panic in Frankie's voice made me wonder if he was really just sick, or if the vomiting had something to do with his father, like it had the first time I had met him.

When I got to Frankie's house, the front door was open again, and I stepped tentatively into the house, realizing with a twinge of anxiety that Frank had never actually invited me over, and for all I knew, his dad was at home.

I walked cautiously around the couch and stopped dead with a gasp. The facedown figure stretched out on the floor was definitely not Frankie, thank god. So his father was home. Passed out, it looked like... I wondered how long he would stay that way.

I wove my way around him and walked upstairs, stopping tentatively at the bathroom door, which was closed over almost all the way. I knocked gently. "...Frankie?"

The door opened slowly. "G-gee?"

God, Frankie was a fucking disaster. There was blood trickling down his face from a nosebleed, staining his shirt, which was already wet, as were his face and hair and hands. There were traces of vomit spattered on the tile floor, though it looked like he had stopped throwing up. A clear glass bottle smelling like alcohol was lying on its side on the counter, next to a spilled bottle of red and yellow Tylenol geltabs, some dissolving in the puddles of water on the countertop.

"My god..." I muttered. "What the hell were you trying to do?"

He shook his head miserably, his eyes radiating confusion and pain. "M-make it stop hurting?"

"What hurt, Frankie? What hurt?" I stepped into the bathroom to be closer to him.

"Everything..." he moaned brokenly.

I knew that was my fault, after what I had done to him. "I'm so sorry, Frankie..."

"N-not just that; it hurts inside too, it hurts inside!" Tears spilled down his cheeks, clinging to his long eyelashes.

"You didn't take those pills, did you?"

He looked at me blankly. "S-some of 'em... I dunno how many, though... I'm okay... Honest."

He was slurring the ends of his words; I could see that he had managed to empty the bottle of alcohol, but it didn't look like he had taken too many pills... God, I hoped he hadn't.

"Frankie, listen to me. Your dad's passed out in your living room... I dunno how long he'll stay wasted, though..."

Frankie frowned. "Him... f-fucker... I dunno how long he's been home... I dunno... I dunno. I wanna get outta here, Gerard... I wanna go somewhere..."

"You sure? Maybe you should clean up and lie down or something," I suggested, noticing how unsteady he was on his feet.

"N-no, no, you can't make me; I wanna leave, Gerard... I wanna go somewhere."

"Alright Frankie..." I said reluctantly, turning on the water and dampening some Kleenex to wipe the blood off his face.

He rinsed his mouth out and dried his face and hair off with the handtowel, then leaned his head on my shoulder. "Let's go."

We ended up at the same downtown bar where we had first met, and where I had done some things that I didn't want to remember. I wasn't sure how Frank could stand to even see the place.

I parked, and we got out of the car, walking into the building and over to the bar to sit down.

"F-fuck it," Frankie slurred. "I wanna beer."

The bartender gave him a quick look over, but had likely seen a lot worse, then looked to me.

"Beer," I said, even though I knew it was a stupid idea.

"A'ight," the bartender said, turning to get our drinks.

Two beers later, I glanced over at Frank, who was slumped over the bar, head buried in his arms. His beer bottle was tipped over beside him in a little puddle of amber liquid. I hadn't been paying him much attention; we had both been wrapped up in our individual thoughts, and I wondered how many beers he had been through. The bartender had been clearing the empties away pretty promptly, as the bar was nearly deserted.

"I dun feel so good..." Frankie slurred as he lifted his head up from the wood of the bar and, I assumed, barely realizing what the hell he was doing, pushed the beer bottle off the edge of the bar, where it shattered against the hardwood floor with a crash that sent a shock up my spine.

"Damnit, Frankie..!"

The bartender shot me a raised-eyebrow look, but turned away without saying anything. Again, I was sure that he had seen worse.

"Whythefuck is the fucking floor spinning?" Frankie muttered blankly, wrinkling his nose as he tried to stand up but wavered on his feet.

I got up and took his elbow, dizzy myself. "Do you wanna go to the bathroom or something..?" I asked him tentatively. He looked like he might be sick all over himself any minute. Made me feel really responsible all of a sudden; taking Frankie out so that he could get entirely wasted and pass out on the floor just like his father...

When he nodded belatedly, I led him into the men's bathroom, one hand on his back and the other gripping his elbow as support.

With a sudden whimper, he grabbed my hand tightly and looked up at me, trying to form words. He looked scared and unnaturally pale under the fluorescent industrial lights. "Fucking d-dunno what's happening, b-but the room is f-fucking moving... God, Gerard, p-please help me..."

"You're just wasted, Frankie... You'll feel better soon, I promise..."

"I t-trust you."

He leaned into me, frightened, and I wrapped my arms around him. "It's okay; it's okay..."

''I l-love you..." With that, Frankie twisted his head up and looked me in the eyes with his dilated ones, and though I honestly hadn't been planning it, the instant our lips touched, I knew that there was no going back.

He was leaning into me hard, and I held his shoulders tightly, shoving him around so that his back hit the wall with a soft thud. I pressed him up against the tile as I kissed him, both his hands sliding up beneath the material of my shirt. He couldn't talk, only whimper as my breathing got faster and harder.

Though the bar was almost empty, the possibility of someone walking into the bathroom was very real, and the adrenaline that knowledge brought heightened the intensity of everything I was experiencing.

"Sonofabitch," I moaned, shoving him back against the tile so that I could hold him there as I pressed my lips into his, tasting alcohol and suddenly blood. He had bitten his tongue and couldn't even feel it. The sticky liquid trickled from the corner of his mouth; I wiped it away, smearing red down to his jawbone.

A noise outside the bathroom door made Frankie's body tense, but no one came in, and he started to relax again as our hips bumped gently on accident and our mouths met.

Suddenly Frankie's knees buckled and he tried to pull away, his eyes flashing panic. All he could manage was a desperate moan, but I let him go in time for him to run for the toilet and throw up.

I pulled the stall door open farther and followed him as he doubled over, one hand on the toilet rim, the other holding his stomach. His body pitched forward and he vomited with a little whimper. His shoulders were shaking, and it looked like he had the chills. His skin was feverish and sweaty. I pushed his damp bangs out of his eyes with one hand and wrapped my arms around his waist to hold him steady and keep him from collapsing. Why the hell had I let him get so hammered in the first place?

"G-gee," he moaned pitifully between ragged breaths, "I dunno which way up is..."

I held him tighter as his stomach muscles clenched under my hands and his head and neck pitched forwards toward the toilet bowl again.

"I can't t-take this anymore..."

"Frankie, baby, it'll all be over soon, I promise..." I kissed his hot cheek gently. I knew how it felt to be piss-drunk and violently ill all at once, and I held Frank close, not wanting him to go through it all alone.

"C-cocaine whore, 'm-member?" Frankie gasped out, retching and choking on vomit as he pressed his hands to his face desperately.

My heart missed a beat and crash landed as I realized what Frank was trying to tell me. He hadn't just washed pills down with the alcohol before he had called me for help... He'd been snorting cocaine. Oh fuck, and I'd let him drink after that?!

There were tears on his face now, smeared all over his cheeks as he pulled his fingers down along feverish skin, then grabbing the rim of the toilet seat for support as his body whisplashed again.

His head bounced back against my chest and I held him there, feeling him shudder against me, waiting for the next wave of sickness. "G-gee-" He squirmed uncomfortably in my arms, breathing quickening, one hand going to his throat.

I knew what was coming, and instead of letting him jerk forward violently towards the toilet, I let him bend weakly at the waist and gently eased him down so that when he threw up, his body didn't spasm so wildly. "I gotcha. I gotcha."

He moaned, knees shaking so hard that I had to hold him up to keep him from collapsing onto the tile. He reached one arm out to the side of the stall to steady himself, but his sweaty fingers slid down the metal.

I took the hand and wrapped his fingers tightly in mine, bringing his arm back around his waist as I held him up. "You're gonna be okay. It's almost over, I promise."

Frankie let out another whimper, still shivering uncontrollably. He was burning up, even the skin of his tattooed forearms was hot to the touch.

I let him bend again as he vomited. Almost nothing but bile was coming up now; I knew how horrible he was feeling. "Oh sweetheart... Just hang on, okay? I love you, I've got you."

Suddenly straightening and turning to face me, he flung himself into my arms, knees giving out as he fell against me. I hugged him tightly to my chest, keeping him from slipping to the dirty floor. He was still shaking hard, tears running down his flushed cheeks, eyes bloodshot now, weak and whimpering miserably.

He buried his face in my neck as I rubbed his shoulderblades comfortingly and flushed the toilet with one foot, slightly off balance and leaning momentarily against the graffitied side of the stall.

"P-please don't let go..." Frankie mumbled into my neck, clinging to me as if he would dissolve without the connection to my body.

His skin was damp and feverish, unnaturally hot to the touch, and I kissed his neck gently, certain that my warm lips would nonetheless feel cool to him. "I've got you, you're okay now, baby."

I could feel his body go unexpectedly limp against me, and I almost dropped his dead weight in surprise. I realized that Frankie had closed his eyes and quietly passed out against my shoulder. I gave his burning cheek one last soft kiss, then shifted his weight and heaved his finally relaxed form into my arms with a grunt.

The bartender gave me a funny look as I carried Frankie through the bar to the exit, and I wondered with a small smirk if it was so obvious that we had been fucking around, or if maybe he was just naturally suspicious.

I got Frankie out to my car and laid his limp body across the back seat. I couldn't take him home; didn't know whether or not his father was awake, but I wasn't relishing the idea of bringing him home with me, either. It was really the only reasonable choice, though, so I turned the key in the ignition and started for my house.

When I had parked the car unevenly in the driveway, I carried Frankie up to the porch, grimacing as I tried to reach for the doorbell without dropping him.

Mikey opened the door and stopped dead, face going still. He gave me a grim look over, stepping aside to let me into the house without a word.

I brought Frankie up the staircase to my room and laid his limp form across my bed, turning around to face my brother, who had followed me silently upstairs. "What do you want?"

"You find him like that, or you have something to do with it?" Mikey asked me quietly.

I considered lying, but in the end, I didn't even try. "I let him get drunk. I didn't know he'd been snorting coke before I got to his place... I didn't know he'd get so hammered... I made a mistake, I didn't watch him... God, he threw up for twenty minutes, maybe more. I fucked up, and I know it, okay, so don't yell at me, Mikey."

Mikey glanced over at Frankie, his body completely motionless except for the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. "I believe you," he said finally. "I don't know why I even care so much about the two of you, it's just that he's so... innocent. You know what you're doing, Gerard. You've had guys before... But he has no idea what the hell he's getting into, you have to be able to see that."

"I'm being careful, Mikey..." I answered slowly. It was one hell of an awkward subject. "I fucked up, but just that one time, I swear. I knew it was his first time when we... I tried to keep that in mind..."

"I don't just mean sex, Gerard... It's everything. You told me he said he loves you... Well, I don't want to say that he actually doesn't... but I'm not sure he even knows what love is. God knows he's never really felt it from anyone..."

I nodded, looking down. What Mikey was saying made some sense, but there was no way I would believe that Frankie didn't mean what he said. Without him now, I'd be totally lost.

Mikey sighed. "Just keep that in mind, okay?"

"I will."

He started for the door, briefly touching my shoulder as he passed me. I knew things were okay between us now, but I also knew that it was a delicate balance. I had to try not to hurt Frankie... and I was going to have to try really hard.

***

I had gone downstairs to make myself a small lunch, and when I got back upstairs to check on Frank, I found him sitting doubled over on the edge of my bed, arms wrapped tightly around his stomach.

"Are you okay?" I asked worriedly, crossing quickly to him and putting a hand on his back. He was shivering. "Frankie?"

"G-gee... My head hurts real bad."

"Yeah, you're just a little-"

"Hungover. I know. I wish it would go away..." He stood up and sighed shakily. "Bathroom?"

"Go ahead." I motioned towards the hall and the stairs.

When he was finished, he stepped out of the bathroom and came over to me. He looked much better now, slightly pale, but a lot better. "D'you wanna go see a movie today or something?" he asked shyly.

The question had been unexpected, and I shrugged. "Uh... okay..."

"Great!" He tried to grin. Damn, he was cute with that lopsided smile lighting up his pale face.

"What movie?"

He shrugged, and I realized he hadn't had any in mind. "We could just look at what's playing when we get there..." When I agreed, his smile widened, warming me from the inside out.

I told Mikey where we were going, and then we called a taxi and got a ride to the closest movie theater.

Once there, we picked a horror movie from the list of chick flicks and teen dramas.

"Princess Diaries? I'm not that gay," Frankie whispered in my ear with a shyly mischievous smile, and I brought my lips to his ear in return.

"Yeah right."

We bought tickets to the scariest film playing, then went into the theater and settled down in the very back row of the room, which was close to empty. We were already a few minutes late, and the movie started almost immediately.

The plot unfolded pretty typically of any horror flick, and the chills and thrills were due more to the intense camera work and sharp suspenseful turns with plenty of surprises in the form of shapes jumping from closets and blood-painted walls than the originality of the dialogue or situations.

By the middle of the movie, Frankie was curled tightly against me, shivering just slightly. His clammy fingers were twined tightly in mine. It was obvious that he was somewhat scared, and I held him close to assure him that I would keep him safe. "Frankie... sweetie, if you wanna leave-"

&nb