3/13

The next day, I woke up to a backache and an empty apartment. Frank must have had woken up earlier in the morning and left to get back home. It was a good thing he wasn’t there when I went into the living room to see, because, I realized as I looked down, I had walked out of my room without my pants on, which I guessed I had writhed out of during the night.

I trudged my way to the kitchen, my stomach lurching as I remembered last night. And Frank. He probably hated me. Did he? Maybe he had completely forgotten about it and had moved on. Maybe I was making a big deal of it. I hoped we could brush the whole thing off, otherwise tryouts on Sunday were going to be hell.

I filled a glass of orange juice and walked back to the living room. Why did he have to kiss me anyway? He had brought this all on. Had I been giving him some fucking signs or something? I didn’t think so. I mean, he was attractive, I could admit that. Quite a bit, actually, but I had no intention of being involved in anything with him. We had just met that day. The guy had really taken a leap. If tryouts were going to be hell, it was his own damn fault.

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I turned the page in the book I was reading, realized I had completely not paid attention to the previous page, and turned back. Two days had passed since Frank had come, and two days were left until the actual tryouts. My thoughts had been scattered all day. I looked out the window, and was greeted with a few of the city lights blinking back at me, darkness having settled around them. Friday nights, the air was always a little different. I didn’t know why, but it was something about them. I sighed and rested my head against my headboard, closing my eyes and letting the book fall to my bed. Then, it started. My eyes shot open. “No,” I whispered, sitting up. Already, I could feel tiny claws grasping at my brain. My breath hitched, and I stood up, off the bed. It was happening again. I didn’t know what it was, never did. It was this thing that happened to me at seemingly random times. It would start slow, then escalate. It was a feeling like I was being suffocated, yet I would breathe fine. It was like I was being trapped, yet I’d be in my own room, perfectly okay. It was the most terrible thing, and it was happening right now.

I gasped, and started pacing my room, clutching my head. My head felt like it was shrinking, squeezing into my brain. I tried to keep my breathing steady, but I wanted to scratch at my chest instead, ripping into it. I needed to get out. I started to scratch viciously at my arms, wanting, needing to relieve the pressure under my skin. My mind stopped forming coherent thoughts, only registering simple messages. I ran to the window and flung it open. Fresh air. It didn’t help. Brain still being crushed. Pain. The need. For what? What. Was. This. I rushed to the bathroom, and splashed cold water on my face. No effect. I was starting to lose it. I looked up at my reflection. Me. I found myself staring back. Me, breathing heavily. Me, my black hair stuck to my wet face. Me, gripping at the edge of the counter. I shut my eyes. Stars, as I pushed my hands into my eyes.

I was in the kitchen, somehow having made it there. It was getting worse. I needed relief. My hands numbly grabbed at a bottle, not caring what type. I dropped to the cold kitchen floor, opened it, and chugged down the poison. The relief. The poison. Same thing. Finally. It stopped. Slowly. Not fast enough. The more gulps of fire down my throat, the faster. The menacing hands let go of my brain. I could breathe again. I stopped drinking, and leaned against a cabinet, still on the floor. I brought my knees up, hugging them, bottle, half empty now, still in my hand.
It was always shit afterwards. Always. I really didn’t know what it was. It used to not happen that often, but for the past year or so, it started to happen more, and each time was as unbearable as the last. I’d even been to a doctor about it, and had just got some migraine medicine that in no way helped. The few people I told about it said the same things. Panic attack. Headache. Migraine. It was none of these things, I knew it. Something else. Something that could only be managed with alcohol. I glared at the bottle in my hand, and dropped it to the floor. I hugged myself tighter, and rested my forehead on my knees. I felt terrible. Like shit. My face started to heat up, and I could feel hot tears coming. I squeezed my eyes shut.

Suddenly there was a sound. I looked up. What was that? It took me a while to register that someone was knocking at the door. You’re fucking kidding me, I thought as I stood up and wiped the tears from my face. I made my way to the front door and, opening it, was greeted by wide eyes and a small smile. Frank stood there, hands in his jean pockets, shirt sleeves rolled up, looking up at me.

“Hey, sorry to bother—,” he stopped, seeing my face. Did I look that completely wrecked? “Are you okay?”

“Fine, yeah, sorry, what?” I wiped my sleeve across my face, and sniffed.

“Uh, well, I just came to ask about when tryouts were…” Frank continued hesitantly. “Seems I lost the flyer, and don’t have your number, so.”

“Oh. Sunday. The 18th.” I replied shortly. “Did you come all the way here to ask that? And won’t you miss your train again?”

“Nah, it’s Friday, apparently they have one like every hour or something,” he shrugged, looking down at his feet.

“Oh.”

He looked up again. “Listen, I also came to apologize for, uh, what happened the other day. Sorry. Really, I am. It was totally uncalled for.”

I blinked, and it took me a second to realize what he was talking about. When I did, the thought of his lips rushed into my slush of a brain, and I knew suddenly there was something else I needed, desperately; him.

“Shut up,” I muttered, and moved forward to plant my lips on his. We crashed together, and Frank let out a sound of surprise that was muffled quickly. I pulled him into my apartment, not breaking the kiss, and kicked the door shut behind me. We slammed against a kitchen counter, still at it. Frank pulled away, out of breath.

“Wait, Gerard, are you sure—?” he started, looking up at me.

“Yeah,” I whispered, my breathing heavy. God, I wanted him right now. I knocked my head forward again, and our foreheads hit each other before our lips connected. Frank started kissing roughly back this time, and we moved away from the kitchen counter and toward my bedroom. I slammed him against the wall, breaking away so we could breathe, then started again. We couldn’t keep our hands off of each other. I stopped momentarily to hastily pull his shirt off, then threw it to the ground and started sucking on his neck, hearing a sharp intake of breath from Frank. I pulled away and hooked my finger into the top of his jeans, pulling him into my room after me.

Once there, I shoved him onto the bed and got on, too, crawling up to come face to face. We started our feverish kissing again, then Frank paused to yank my shirt off and make us roll over. He continued, then started kissing my neck, and sucking on the skin. We were going to both have hickeys, but I didn’t care, because it felt so good. So good to forget everything and not feel like shit. Frank moved down my body, unbuckling my pants and pulling them down, leaving only my boxers. He put his hand on my erection, and started rubbing it, at the same time nibbling on my ear. I closed my eyes and a moan escaped from my lips. “Oh, fuck, Frank.”

He slid off my boxers, too, and trailed his tongue along my dick slowly, from the base to the head, causing me arch my back, my mouth open. God, I couldn’t wait any longer. I gripped Frank by the hair and pulled him up to kiss him again, my tongue fitting into his mouth. My other hand traveled down to his own hard-on, and I gripped it through his jeans, causing him to break away with a low moan. I took this moment to lean into his ear. “Fuck me senseless,” I breathed.

Frank took a hissing breath in, and pushed himself up off of me. As he turned toward the nightstand next to my bed and opened it, I flipped myself over onto my stomach, desperate for him. “Fuck, where’s your…” he muttered, searching my drawer before finding what he was looking for. He then ripped the wrapper off and tossed it, sliding the condom on, seeming to slip in his hurry. He grabbed me by the hips and pulled me toward him. I waited for a few seconds as he quickly applied the lube, then positioned himself. I felt Frank’s tip, then he entered slowly. I let out an embarrassingly loud moan, and pushed myself back, wanting more. He got the message, and, gripping me tighter, pushed in, making me cry out and groan. He sped up his thrusts after a while, grunting, only making me moan louder, until I was sure everybody in the apartment complex could hear us. I bit my lips to keep from shouting as Frank continued to fuck me, hard.

“Oh, fuck,” I said loudly, on the verge, which seemed to set Frank off as he sped up his thrusts, moaning along with me. His clench on my hips tightened as he came, bucking forward. He pulled out after, and flipped me over to kiss me again, his hand finding and grabbing my dick. I gasped at his touch and whimpered, needing some relief. I was already so close, and Frank could sense it, I knew. He pulled at my cock, running his fingers over it, gently, then faster. I closed my eyes and involuntarily arched my back, a high moan escaping me as I came with a few curses and his name said loudly. Frank let go and pulled away, collapsing next to me as we both panted. We lay there, breathless, dazed and quite frankly amazed at what had just happened. I was probably going to feel like shit again tomorrow, but I didn’t care. It had felt good. I felt bad that I had used Frank to forget about my own shit, but, looking over at his face and barely making out a smile in the dark, I decided he didn’t mind. Soon afterwards, I fell asleep, exhausted, letting my mind drift into blissful nothing.

Notes

Whoa. That was intense. Posting smut is always tricky 'cause you never know what response you're going to get. Maybe readers'll love it. Maybe they'll hate it. Who knows? Well anyway, yay for hot crazy needy sex. Also, something's wrong with Gerard and his mind? Like I said, intense chapter. By the way, not that anybody cares, but the whole scene where Gerard is almost battling his mind was inspired by me. I mean, it's not like mine is as bad as Gerard's is, and doesn't happen often, and is pretty manageable. Trust me, mine is not something to go to the doctor to, or have to bury with alcohol. Take what happened with Gee and dial it down a few notches. The feelings are overall the same, but not as bad. Anyway, it really helped me write the scene, so thanks, weird brain. Hope you guys enjoyed, leave a comment saying what you think!