Life is but a Dream for the Dead

Frank felt his eyes sting with tears the minute the first punch was delivered. He didn’t let Callum see though. He refused to cry in front of him because it only meant things would be worse. He just let him take his anger out on him, let him beat Frank until all he could see was blood. When he was finished, he was dragged up to his feet and shoved against the wall, his cheek grazing the bricks and adding to the pain.
“Next time I see your little boyfriend, I’m gonna fuck him up so badly Frank,” Callum whispered in his ear. “Callum,” Frank groaned. “Don’t, please don’t, just leave him alone, yeah?” “Shut your mouth bitch,” Callum growled, gripping Frank’s wrist painfully tight. “I don’t wanna see you [i]anywhere[/i] near that Way guy , you understand? Do I need to remind you whose bitch you are? Is that why you did it Frankie? Were you that desperate for me to fuck you that you went and pulled that little stunt back there?” Frank struggled feebly, giving up when he realised how pointless it was. “I did it because it wasn’t [i]fair[/i]. He had his back turned Cal, he didn’t know that Oli was behind him!” Callum just laughed. “No you didn’t. You just want to get on his good side, don’t you? You think you can get away from me Frankie, don’t you? You think that if you get all friendly with that bastard-” “Callum please! I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, just let it go, alright?!” Frank cried desperately. “Don’t interrupt me,” Callum snarled.
Frank felt a hand creep around his waist and the heard the shuffle of clothes as Callum yanked down his pants and pinned him even closer against the wall.
“I think,” Callum began, breathing hotly in Frank’s ear, “that you’re forgetting your place. You need me to remind you, so I will.”
With that he shoved roughly into Frank, dry and raw and tight, a sharp, pained gasp escaping Frank’s mouth. Callum exhaled loudly into Frank’s neck, his hands gripping Frank’s waist even tighter.
It hurt. It hurt a lot, but Frank said nothing. He used to say no, but there was no point anymore. Callum just found it funny if he protested.
“God Frankie,” Callum moaned heavily, his hips jerking quickly. “Never stop being so fucking tight, do you?”
“Just get it over with Callum,” Frank spat, steeling himself against the pain as he thrust into him deeper.
Callum bit down on Frank’s neck harshly, almost hard enough to draw blood and break the skin.
Frank whimpered as Callum came, grunting and panting. His iron grip on Frank loosened slightly but he remained plastered against Frank’s back, breathing into his skin. He pulled out slowly and Frank felt disgusting, grimacing at the thought of the come and blood that would be trickling down his legs. “You’re such a good fuck,” Callum muttered breathlessly.
Frank just gave him a dirty glare and shoved away from him, storming off without another word as he left Callum. He headed straight for his cell, walking as fast as possible without hurting himself. The burning tear up his spine was bad, but he’d had worse.
“What happened to you?”
Frank looked up through his puffy eyelids at Gerard who was stretched out on the top bunk, looking down at Frank.
“None of your business,” Frank retorted.
He headed over to the sink and turned the tap on, gripping the edges of the sink as the water ran. He looked at the small mirror bolted to the wall above the sink and winced at his bloody, bruised face. He sighed and grabbed the flannel, drenching it under the tap.
“Was it Callum?” Gerard asked, making his way over to Frank.
“Who do you think it was?” Frank mumbled bitterly. “The motherfucking tooth fairy?”
Gerard rolled his eyes. “Well, I always thought she had a nasty streak in her.”
Frank gave him a look and Gerard shut up. “Don’t even try and be funny Gerard.”
Frank dabbed at his split lip that was leaking with blood and winced. Gerard moved closer, peering at Frank. Frank glared at him again, warningly telling him to back off but Gerard ignored him, slowly reaching up and ghosting his fingertips across the mess of Frank’s face.
“I’m sorry. It’s my fault,” Gerard told him quietly.
Frank shrugged. “It’s OK. Not really your fault anyway. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
Gerard’s eyes softened slightly. “Did he...”
Frank looked at him sharply. “Did he what?”
Gerard shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.”
Frank turned around to face him fully, searching his face. He held Gerard’s gaze steadily for a few minutes before looking down at the flannel that he had been unconsciously twisting between his tattooed fingers.
“Yeah. He did,” Frank murmured.
Gerard’s hand curled around Frank’s wrist were a large bruise was forming against his pale skin, wrapping all around his thin wrist. “How bad was it?” Frank stared at the way Gerard’s hands were so gentle, moving over Frank’s own hands and his wrists, stroking over the bruises. His fingers travelled up his arms, so delicately that it fascinated Frank. He just let Gerard slide his hands over his shoulder, up his neck and into his hair.
“It’s been worse before,” Frank croaked hoarsely, his heart fluttering under Gerard’s touch.
Gerard’s hands stilled, one curled into Frank’s hair the nape of his neck and the hand hovering over Frank’s lips, his fingers resting over them. Gerard frowned slightly.
“He didn’t have to fuck you up this badly,” Gerard commented softly, his hands falling down to his sides.
Frank blinked, regaining his normal breathing pattern and turned back to the sink, wiping the blood off of his face.
“It doesn’t matter Gerard, really,” Frank insisted, hissing in pain when the flannel brushed over his lip again.
Gerard didn’t say anything. He just stepped back and went over to Frank’s bunk, lowering himself down onto to it and watching Frank, chin resting in his hand. His eyes travelled over Frank and rested on his ass. Gerard couldn’t help it. Frank had a nice ass. One that Gerard wouldn’t mind getting some of to be honest.
“Frank?”
“Yeah?”
“You have uh... you have blood on your pants,” Gerard told him, flicking his eyes up to the mirror so he could see Frank’s face.
Frank just sighed and nodded before turning round and grabbing his other pair of ugly orange bottoms, clutching them to his chest and staring at Gerard with his big, hazel eyes. “Do you mind just...”
Gerard shuffled around so he was facing the wall and not Frank as his cellmate removed his pants, his face contorting in pain as he moved. He kept throwing sneaky glances over at him, watching him intently without getting caught.
He watched as Frank scrubbed the blood from his pale thighs and pulled on the clean pair of pants, kicking aside the pair that had blood on them.
Gerard felt bad for Frank. He hadn’t deserved it. The bruises and blood that covered Frank made him dislike Callum even more. Part of him felt like rolling his eyes and making fun of Frank for not being able to stand up for himself, but a bigger part of him, one he wasn’t sure he liked, was angry that Frank was hurt so badly. The part of him that cared about Frank wanted to go looking for Callum and slit his throat.
“What are you in here for?” Frank asked quietly after a while.
Gerard turned back round to find Frank leaning against the wall, his face free of blood but still looking painful and bruised. Gerard held his gaze, tilting his head his to side.
“Murder,” Gerard answered. “What about you?”
Frank’s eyes suddenly flooded with an emotion Gerard didn’t recognise and he dropped his gaze and
started at his shoes. “I...they think I killed somebody.” Gerard raised an eyebrow. Frank didn’t seem like a murderer at all. Frank seemed like the kind of person who would get upset if they stepped on a bug by accident.
“And did you?” Gerard asked, watching Frank’s face for a clue.
"I don’t know,” Frank whispered.
“How can you not know whether you killed somebody?” Gerard asked, confused by Frank’s answer.
Frank swallowed and blinked rapidly, telling Gerard he was trying to fight back tears. “He...he attacked me and I just...he had a knife and we were fighting and it was all a blur, y’know? I didn’t know what was happening. I don’t know whether it was me that stabbed him or if he did it himself.”
“So you’ll never know then I guess,” Gerard murmured thoughtfully.
Frank looked up at Gerard, studying him. “What did Jay mean when he said you were trouble? He looked really sort of scared of you.”
Gerard shrugged, gnawing on his lip. “He probably just recognises me or something. I don’t know him though.”
“Why would he be scared of you?” Frank asked, frowning.
Gerard gave him a small, dark smile, shaking his head. “Because of who I am. What I do.”
“And what...what is it exactly that you do?” Frank asked, hesitantly, his voice mixed with curiosity and fear.
Gerard chuckled. “Nothing that concerns you.”
Frank frowned at him then before looking away and sighing. “Sorry. I just wondered why he seemed so frightened of you.”
“It’s probably for the best that you don’t know about it,” Gerard said softly.
The two men lapsed into silence then, neither of them looking at each other or speaking. Frank broke the stillness of the room when he moved over to pick up his pack of cigarettes, opening the carton to find the brand new pack was nearly all gone. His head snapped up to glare at Gerard, who just gave him a sheepish smile.
“What did I say about getting your own smokes?” Frank sighed heavily, staring down sadly at his measly supply of cigarettes. “Do you know what I have to do to get these? I have to fucking bend over and let Callum screw me as much he wants if I want these for free.”
Gerard rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry baby, I’ll get you some more.”
And yep. There was the Gerard Frank knew, sarcastic and selfish and arrogant. “You’re mean,” was all Frank had to say.
Gerard laughed at this, standing up and prowling over to Frank, a dark glint his eyes. The way he moved reminded Frank of a cat, stalking its prey with a predatory hunger in its eyes. He backed Frank up in a corner, placing his arms on either side of Frank’s head, palms flat against the wall. “Would you let [i]me[/i] fuck you if you wanted your cigarettes?” Gerard whispered huskily, his face inches away from Frank’s.
“N-no, I wouldn’t,” Frank breathed out shakily, Gerard’s closeness making him nervous and making him lose his rationality.
Gerard smirked. “I think you’d let just let me fuck you for nothing Frankie. I think you’re probably a complete whore, aren’t you?”
Gerard hadn’t meant to make Frank upset and angry, because how was he supposed to know that calling his cellmate a whore would make him pissed off? “Don’t you ever fucking call me that again!” Frank snarled, a sudden ferocity in his voice. He shoved Gerard backwards with more force than Gerard thought he had in him, startling him and making him stumble. “You’re a fucking creep Gerard!” Frank yelled at him, his hands curled into fists. If he hadn’t been in so much pain, he probably would’ve tried to knock Gerard out because he was genuinely that angry. He hated being called a whore or a slut. He didn’t care who it was that said it to him. He’d go crazy at anyone that insulted him like that. “Sensitive are we?” Gerard asked, amused and smirking. “Did I hit a nerve baby? Do you not like getting called a whore?”
Frank tried to breathe calmly. “Call me that word one more time and I’ll cut your fucking dick off Way. I mean it.”
Frank then turned and headed towards the cell door.
“Where are you going?” Gerard demanded. Nobody just walked out on him when he confronting them, [i]nobody[/i].
“Showers,” Frank spat at him. “We’re allowed out to shower after breakfast.”
Well, showers only meant one thing. A naked, wet Frank. How could Gerard not tag along and go with him?

Notes