Never Let Go

Frank wasn’t entirely conscious of what he was doing. His brain was on some kind of freeze, where there was no thought process going on in his brain. Everything was feeling, and instinct, and sensation, and just some kind of need to not stop what was happening. He could smell the alcohol, and the unique scent that was Gerard. He could taste the remnants of beer and a hint of tomato from the pizza they had devoured not so long ago. He didn’t register that he was being pushed onto his back by a body that was a few inches longer than his. The weight of the broader, slim body didn’t set off any alarms that it wasn’t right. He didn’t think about the fact that it wasn’t Jamia on top of him, that he didn’t feel a familiar press of a pert set of breasts against his chest. The chest that was pressed against him was smooth, flat and somehow it felt complementary. Slim hips were grinding against his crotch, pulling a moan from his throat from the delicious friction alone. Everything blended together, and Frank couldn’t discern one sense from the other. The only thing he was aware of was that it felt good. More than that, it felt perfect.

Frank didn’t remember eventually falling asleep. When he came to, his head was throbbing and he was still on his couch. He was extremely warm, and the heavy weight of a male body crushing him, trapping him on the couch with no wiggle room to move. It was claustrophobic, and yet strangely comfortable in a strange juxtaposition. It wasn’t until he realised he was inhaling cologne, Gerard’s cologne (he didn’t even want to think about how he knew it was Gerard’s scent by smell alone), and felt himself begin to harden, that the memories from the night before came flooding back. The gig, where Gerard had put his arms around him to give him respite from the overzealous crowd, the drinks, the pills, the dancing, stopping by a grubby looking pizzeria and buying the biggest size pizza they made. Falling through the door of his apartment, giggling like a couple of schoolgirls on their first drinking binge.

Gerard kissing him, Gerard on top of him, grinding into him so that their hard-ons created a friction that only made him desperate to cum…fuck, did he…his boxers felt a little sticky, and the memory of the moment his orgasm hit him came back.

Panic smacked him with a full body whack, and he promptly threw the sleeping man on top of him off without warning. Gerard went clattering to the ground, a little yelp that sounded way too feminine escaping from him. There was a smacking sound, probably of Gerard’s head meeting the coffee table, which almost made Frank cringe in sympathy.

“What the fuck,” Gerard groaned, his voice still sleepy and adorable.

No, not adorable. Fuck, Frank wasn’t gay. He wasn’t even curious, he never had been. He had Jamia. He liked girls. He enjoyed sex with girls. He liked breasts, and curves, and the smell of sweet, feminine perfume.

“Get out!” Frank was off the couch by then, standing as far away from Gerard as possible. He couldn’t believe he had kissed another guy, let alone Gerard. He couldn’t believe he had done that to Jamia. Fuck, was Gerard going to tell Lindsey? Was he going to brag about it, just like he had told them all about his love of threesomes? Frank’s fists were clenching painfully, and the desire to punch Gerard in the face was overwhelming.

“Frank, I know-“

“No, you don’t know! What the fuck is your problem? You fucking kissed me!”

“I think 'kiss' is an understatement-“

Frank couldn’t hold it back then. The anger, the confusion, the fear that Gerard was going to talk about what had happened, it all combined in a force that drove Frank to close the distance between them and swing a closed fist directly at Gerard’s cheek. Knuckles met soft skin, bone meeting bone with a flash of pain of both sides as they connected for the fleeting few seconds. Gerard stumbled back, his pain levels doubled when the sting of his cheek coupled with his sore head.

“Fuck. You,” Frank hissed, shaking his fist in an instinctive reaction to ease the pain from his burst of violence.

Gerard rubbed his cheek, where a blue bruise was already forming and deepening to a purple shade that looked angry and downright sore. It contrasted brilliantly against his pale skin, making it stand out even more for the world to see. Frank felt a thrill of satisfaction at the sight, bathing in the knowledge that he had hurt Gerard as much as he was hurting right then. Gerard’s eyes flashed in anger, and a little fear.

“Get out.” Frank repeated, his entire body shaking so badly that it was nothing short of a miracle that he was standing on his two feet.

“Frank, I think we should talk-“

“Talk about what? I have a girlfriend, and so do you. You crossed a fucking line last night, and I’m not o-fucking-kay with it!”

“Oh, go fuck yourself, Frank! You weren’t exactly complaining when you had your tongue in my mouth. I’ve…I’ve been confused…recently. I…I think there’s something here, Frank. You…you kissed me back, Frank. You were right there with me.”

“I’m not a fucking queer, Gerard. Maybe you are, but I’m not. So get the fuck out of here and stay the fuck away from me!”

“Frank,” Gerard’s voice was actually wavering, pleading with Frank to calm down and hear him, but Frank wasn’t having it.

“Get out, before I fucking throw you out!”

Gerard’s face grew even paler, except for the purple mark that stood out gloriously on his high cheekbone. He opened his mouth to say something, say anything that might salvage the situation. He had fucked up royally. He gave in to the desire he’d been hiding, and now he'd lost the closest thing he'd had to a best friend. The one person he had felt like he could be himself with, the one person other than Lindsey who seemed to get him and the weird way his mind worked, was now looking at him with a hatred he had never been on the receiving end of before. He knew that there was nothing he could do, though; not right then when Frank was looking at him as though he wanted to deck him again. Frank was a stubborn asshole, and right then he was a pissed off, stubborn asshole. Gerard swallowed, running a nervous hand through his hair. He remained silent and walked past Frank, feeling as though his world was now completely and utterly fucked.

“Oh, Gerard?”

Gerard turned away, hoping Frank would say something that could make things better. Something that would give him hope that things could go back to how they were, that he hadn’t lost his friendship forever.

“If you breathe a word of this to anybody, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Frank meant every word. His hazel eyes were earnest, and burning with a righteous anger that cut Gerard to the core and dashed any hope he had that things would be okay. Gerard didn’t respond.There was nothing he could say that would make things better. He nodded his heads numbly, and with a slam of Frank’s front door, he walked away.

Notes

Morning afters are a bitch, huh? Anyone else feel bad for Gerard?

Feedback and thoughts are encouraged my dears, please leave some!

Lyra