Drawn to you

He started to rummage through my drawers, pulling out clothes and setting them on the bed beside me.
“What are you doing?” I ask. I thought he was just getting something for me to wear – all I'm in is this long iron maiden shirt and nothing else, my boxers probably still on the floor near the door.
“Packing,” he states simply, moving to my wardrobe and opening the doors. Reaching up, he removes my suitcase from the top shelf and drops it on the floor by his feet, going through my hanging clothes and dropping items in.
“Gerard. I don’t know about this…” I start. “I only just moved in.”
“It’s alright. I’ll bring you back. You’re not moving out. You’re just… staying with me. I need you with me. Here,” he says, walking over to me, a pair of jeans in his hands.
“Do you have something against boxers?” I ask.
“On you? Yes,” he states, reaching down and pulling my shirt off my body, before helping me into my jeans, holding his hand against my crotch as he pulls up the zip, to protect me from any accidental catches. “There,” he finishes, sliding his fingers through my bangs as he removes his hand from my jeans.
"Gerard I want to know what happen in your room with becky?"I sighed. Rubbing my hand over my torso
"not this again how many times I've got to fucking tell you it was portraits!"he slammed his fist on the desk
"portraits don't fucking moan Gerard, tell me? or we am fucking finished"i barked back as I stood up.
"No...this is not over between us frank, you can't leave me"he growled pinning me against the door.
"GERARD GET OFF ME"I cried slamming my fists into his chest, but he ignored me slipping his hands into my jeans as he palmed my soft crotch, I carried on trying to push him off but he was too strong.
GERARD!!! DONT FUCKING TOUCH ME!, I WANNA KNOW DICKHEAD?!"I screamed pushing him off.
"FINE! It was nothing Frankie..for fuck sake I only like you, I wanna taste you, hold you"he grabbed me.
"Your fucking lying I heard you tell her to fucking touch herself but oh yeah it was nothing...IT WAS JUST MY FUCKING SICK BRAIN!!!"I screamed tears rolling down my face, he pushed me on the bed and pinned me down. I looked Into his eyes to see darkness and lust, no love, no want, no comfort.
"Frank..she was doing a sexual video for her boyfriend, yes I watched her fucking touch herself but it was nothing okay, I didn't get hard over it cause it wasn't you babe. I only want to see you touch yourself."
"I'm sorry, fuck I feel so stupid"I look down my eyes all tear stained as more poured out.
"don't say that hon, I just need you to trust me Frankie"he wrapped his arms around me tightly
"I love you"I whisper rubbing my hands down his chest, but what crushed my heart was he didn't say it back. No he got up and grabbed my suitcase holding his hand out expectantly I take it. Of course I take it. Can I do anything but say yes to this man? Something tells me that I can’t, and for the life of me, I wish I could explain why.
--------------------------------------------------------NEXT MORNING------------------------------------------------------
“What are you doing?” I ask in a whisper, watching as Gerard draws an intricate floral design over my outer thigh. I’m lying on my side, naked on his bed after spending hours in his arms, lost in body, in this feeling we share.
It’s almost 3pm, my body is buzzing from a night filled with love making and refusing to sleep, for fear I could miss a single moment with him.
“Branding you,” he murmurs, planting a kiss, just next to where he’s begun drawing a skull.
“It’ll wash off, won’t it?” I ask, grinning as I watch the concentration on his face – the gentle crease of his dark brow, the slight narrowing of his light green eyes, the pull of his lip by his teeth. He’s beautiful.
“Eventually.” He smiles slightly, as he blows gently over my skin, drying the ink.
“What kind of a pen is that?”
“Don’t move. You’ll ruin it.”
"Gerard, I have loads of tattoos anyway and it looks girly"I whine. Stroking my hand through his hair
"yes but you don't have none on your thighs, and fuck you it's not girly"he giggles and kisses it softly.
“Gerard,” I complain, but I stay still anyway. I wouldn’t dare risk ruining this – he’s drawing flowers and skulls curving down my thigh, and to my knee. He’s adding spikes to it at the moment, what is making it look manly.
“Yes Frank?” he asks, glancing up at me, his mouth curved into a half grin.
My eyes drag over his body, lean and carved, as it flexes and ripples with his movement. “It’s beautiful,” I whisper, causing his grin to broaden.
“Not as beautiful as you are,” he informs me.
“You make me feel beautiful,” I confide, my voice soft and intimate.
“Don’t you think you are?” he asks, placing the cap back on his pen.
“No actually, I don’t. I’ve always felt… big. I mean, I know there’s nothing wrong with my weight or anything – I’m fit, but I’m big. I wish I was manly like a lot of other boys, I wish I was hourglass curvy. But I’m not. A lifetime of being called an ‘camp’ makes you feel like people see you as this short angry man.”
“You see being called camp a bad thing?”
“Well, isn’t it? It makes me feel like a bit of a freak, then the shortness to top it off…” I roll my eyes and huff out my breath, turning onto my back. “We don’t need to go through my list of insecurities.”
He climbs on top of me, and kisses me gently, my lips swollen and tender, but never having enough. “Most men and women find the idea of a camp man very sexy,” he murmurs, planting soft kisses over my jawline. “They’re short, strong, beautiful, intelligent – everything wonderful in a man. They can take care of themselves, and don’t need anyone looking out for them. So to capture the heart of one,"
“You’re making all that up,” I giggle, but loving every word.
“Am I?” he asks, rolling off me, and the bed. “Come,” he says, holding his hand out and helping me up, leading me to the bathroom. “Now, look in the mirror. I want you to see what I see.”
“I only see you,” I smile, my eyes locked with his as I drink him in, every line, every detail of his beautiful baby face.
“Look at yourself. I’ll tell you what I see.” He sweeps his hands through my bangs, smoothing it out and settling it off my forehead. “I see beautiful, soft milky skin.” He traces his fingertips over the curve of my neck, and I can’t help but admire his long fingers as they drift over my flesh.
“Not me Frank, look at yourself,” he whispers. I force myself to focus on my skin, instead of his fingers as he continues. “Your hair, is like a silken blanket, soft and warm as it falls about your face, accentuating the rose that blooms in your cheeks and over your lips when I touch you.”
My breathing quickens, and my skin heats beneath his fingertips as he runs them down my back and over the curve of my behind. “Your body, soft, and firm in all the right places, tight and warm where it counts,” he whispers, his own breathing growing heavy as his hands slide between my thighs. “Hard, every time I touch you.” His fingers stroke up my length, my shaft hardens beneath his touch. “Look into your eyes Frank. See what I see.”
As his fingers rubbed over my head, I try to keep my focus locked on my own reflection. But it’s hard. My eyes want to see him – the object of my desire. “Your eyes,” he reminds me, a slight reprimand apparent in his tone. “Don’t look away.”
Stroking my shaft slowly, he continues to whisper in my ear. “Do you see it? Your skin flushing, heating up because of what I’m doing to you? Look into your eyes, watch yourself come.”
With my hands leaning on the vanity, I do as he asks, watching as the blood rushes into my face, and fighting to keep focus when my vision clouds with ecstasy. Guiding my legs apart, he holds my crotch and enters me from behind, reaching his hand around my head to tease my slit.
“Oh!” I call, my eyes rolling back and losing focus as my orgasm mounts.
“Keep watching Frank. See what I see,” he commands, thrusting himself inside me.
I force myself to look in the mirror again, my eyes shining, my face pink, my lips red, and I shudder, my orgasm bursting forth as I moan and grip him internally. He moans and jerks me repeatedly, feeling myself get close. “There is nothing more beautiful to me than your face when you come,” he whispers.
Watching myself as I come, I think I see what it is he sees. In the moment, I am completely free, there is no holding anything back. It’s just sheer bliss and raw emotion. You can see exactly how I feel, and the realisation of it hits me hard – this is all happening way too soon.

“I need to talk to you about Bec?,” I say, the next morning when we wake up. It seems that whenever I wake, my questions and doubts are sitting at the forefront of my mind. “What’s going on between you and her?”
He turns onto his side to face me, running his fingers up and down my arm as he takes his time responding.
“I’m not having sex with her if that’s what you’re asking,” he says, his voice low and soft as he moves his hand and repositions my hair so it’s in my eyes.
“It didn’t sound like you were having sex with her. It sounded like you were watching her masturbate,” I state frankly.
Taking a deep breath - that I’m coming to realise means that he’s keeping information from me - he sits up in the bed.
“I think we should get ready for training,” he tells me over his shoulder.
“I don’t want to go to training. I want you to tell me what’s going on.” Standing up, he opens his drawers and starts pulling clothes on. “What do you want me to say, Franklin? You know what you heard, and I’m not going to lie. But I’m not going to talk about it either. She doesn’t mean anything to me.”
“Have you had sex with her before?”
“Please don’t start asking me those kinds of questions. I’m not interested in who you’ve been with before me.”
“I don’t want you seeing her anymore,” I tell him. The idea of them spending any more time together is eating me alive.
“She’s in my class. I can’t make that promise.”
“Then just don’t bring her here!” I demand aggressively. “Don’t do whatever the hell it was you were doing with her. I don’t want your eyes on her naked body! Is that clear? I don’t want to see, hear, or even suspect that you are around her for any reason other than school work. Or I swear Gerard, I’ll…”
“You’ll what Frank?” he asks softly.
“I don’t know. But the thought makes me crazy. God only knows what I’ll do if it’s a reality,” I whisper hoarsely, realising that I’m shaking. Sitting back down on the bed, he takes me in his arms and shushes me gently. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll tell her no more portraits. But you have to understand that you are the only one I want. The only one I care about. You have nothing to be upset about.”
“Just keep her away from me.” I wrap my arms tightly around his chest, clutching at him as I bury my face in his warmth.
“Alright. I’ll keep her away,” he concedes, holding me a moment longer before moving back from me to lift my chin so our eyes meet. “As long as you come training with me.” A grin pulling at his mouth as he tries not to smile. Slapping him against his chest, I then fold my arms tightly against mine. “I’m being serious Gerard. Don’t try and blackmail me.”
“I’m serious too. If you’re going to keep attacking every girl you see me with, I want you to be trained well enough to do it quickly,” he tells me as seriously as he can.
“You’re a asshole,” I say, trying not to smile myself.
“Don’t call me that. I wouldn’t call you a penis,” he points out, extending his arm toward me.
I take his hand willingly as he pulls me from the bed and into his arms, his hand sliding over my bare skin as I lean into him. “I think the opposite word for asshole is a bit ruder than penis.”
“Really?” he laughs. “And what is this rude word you speak of?”
“I’m not saying. It’s too rude,” I murmur, feeling a little embarrassed over something as simple as a swear word. Gently, he pinches my skin, tickling me, causing me to squirm against him as he continues to tell me that I need to say the word.
“Stop! Stop!”
“Tell me the naughty word Frank,” he laughs. “I’m not stopping until you do.”
“Dick! The word is dick! Just stop!” I giggle, laughing as he lifts me off the floor and sends us both tumbling on a heap onto his bed.
“You’re right. That is a horrible word,” he whispers, holding himself above me as he leans down to kiss my neck, his hands travelling over my skin as his kisses move down my body, and over my shaft. Opening my legs, he slides off the side of the bed onto his knees on the floor, pulling me so my legs hang over his shoulders.
I feel his breath, warm against my slit, and hold mine, waiting for his mouth. “Frank?” he murmurs, causing me to open my eyes and lift my head to look down at him.
“Hmmm?” I respond, expecting that he wants me to tell him what I want.
“Get dressed. We’re going training.”he says blowing down my length.
“That. Is. So. Mean,” I say, as I lay there, stroking myself on the bed as he stands in front of me. “So. Mean.”
“No, Frank. It’s a promise of things to come.”
My crotch hardens as I close my legs and sit in front of him. “Are you really going to make me wait?” I pout.
“If you come training then after I will make love to you until you can’t stand it anymore.”
My pout turns into a grin. “I have class after lunch. We have until then.”
“Then we’d better not waste any time. Come on.”
He pulls me up from the bed and hands me some clothes to train in, a pair of grey tracksuit pants and one of his black t-shirts. I inhale as I pull it over my head, even though it’s clean, it still has his coffee and cigarette sent on it.

Notes