死の天使 Shi no Tenshi(Angel Of Death)

"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