Afterward, Gerard kicked himself for simply getting out of the truck without saying a word in response to his bald statement, but at the time he had been shocked to the core and incapable of a response. Rape! The crime was repulsive. It was unbelievable. He had actually kissed him! He'd been so stunned that he'd merely nodded goodbye to Frank and told Lucas that he'd see him that night, then gone in the house without thanking them for all their help and trouble.

Now reality set in. Standing alone in the old-fashioned kitchen, he watched Jet hungrily lapping milk from his saucer while he considered the man and his statement. He abruptly snorted.

"Hogwash! If that man's a rapist, I'll boil you for supper, Jet."

Jet looked remarkably unconcerned, which to Gerard indicated that the cat agreed with his judgment, and he had a high opinion of Jet's ability to know what was best for himself.

After all, Frank hadn't said that he'd committed rape. He'd said that he had served time in prison for rape. When Gerard thought of the way both Ieros automatically and bitterly accepted that they would be shunned because of their Indian blood, he wondered if perhaps the fact that Frank was part Indian figured in his conviction. But he hadn't done it. Gerard knew that as well as he knew his own face. The man who had helped him out of a bad situation, warmed his cold hands against his own body and kissed him with burning male hunger, simply wasn't the type of man who could hurt someone like that. He was the one who had halted before those kisses had gone too far; Gerard had already been putty in his hands.

It was ridiculous. There was no way he was a rapist. Oh, perhaps it hadn't been any great hardship for Frank to stop kissing him; after all, he was mousy and inexperienced and would never be sexy, but... His thoughts trailed off as remembered sensations intruded. He was inexperienced, but he wasn't stupid. Frank had been—well, hard. Gerard had distinctly felt it. Perhaps he hadn't had an outlet for his physical appetites lately and the prim little school teacher had been handy, but still Frank hadn't taken advantage of him. He hadn't treated Gerard with a sailor's attitude that any port in a storm would suffice. What was that awful term Gerard had heard one of his students use once? Oh, yes—horny. He could accept that Frank Iero had been in that condition and Gerard had accidentally stirred his fire in some way that still remained a mystery to him, but the bottom line was that he hadn't pushed his advantage. What if he had?

Gerard's heart started a strong, heavy beat, and heat crept through him, while an achy, restless feeling settled low inside. His nipples tightened and began throbbing, and automatically he pressed his palms over them before he realised what he was doing and jerked his hands down. But what if Frank had touched them? What if Frank had put his mouth on them? He felt as if he would melt now, just thinking about him. Fantasising. Gerard pressed his thighs together, trying to ease the hollow ache, and a whimper escaped his lips as he realised that he was hard. The sound was low, but seemed inordinately loud in the silent house, and the cat looked up from his saucer, gave a questioning meow, then returned to the milk.

Would Gerard have been able to stop him? Would he even have tried to stop him? Or would he now be standing here remembering making love instead of trying to imagine how it would be? His body tingled, but from barely awakened instincts and needs rather than true knowledge.

He had never before known passion, other than the passion for knowledge and teaching. To find his body capable of such strong sensations was frightening, because he had thought he knew himself well. Suddenly his own flesh was alien to him, and his thoughts and emotions were abruptly unruly. It was almost like a betrayal.

Why, this was lust! He, Gerard Arthur Way, actually lusted after a man! Not just any man, either. Frank Iero.

It was both amazing and embarrassing.

*

*

*

Lucas proved a quick, able student, as Gerard had known he would be. He was prompt, arriving right on time, and thankfully alone. After stewing over the morning's events for the entire afternoon, Gerard didn't think he could ever face Frank Iero again. What must Frank think of him? To his mind, he had practically attacked the man.

But Lucas was alone, and in the three hours that followed, Gerard found himself liking him more and more.

Lucas was hungry for knowledge and absorbed it like a dry sponge. While he worked on the assignments Gerard had set out for him, he prepared a set of records in which to keep the time the boy spent on each subject, the matter covered and his test scores. The goal they had set for themselves was much higher than just a high school diploma. Though Gerard hadn't promised it, he knew he wouldn't be satisfied unless Lucas was accepted into the Air Force Academy. There had been something in his eyes that told Gerard he would never be complete unless he could fly; he was like a grounded eagle, his soul yearning for the sky.

At nine o'clock Gerard called a halt and noted the time in his records. Lucas yawned as he rocked the chair onto its back legs.

"How often do we do this?"

"Every night, if you can."

Gerard replied.

"At least until you catch up with the rest of your class."

Lucas' pale, blue-diamond eyes glittered at him, and again he was struck by how old those eyes were.

"Do I have to go back to regular classrooms next year?"

"It would help if you did. You'd be able to get much more work done, and we could do your advanced studies here."

"I'll think about it. I don't want to leave Dad in the lurch. We're expanding the ranch now, and it means a lot more work. We have more horses now than we've ever had before."

"Do you raise horses?"

"Quarter horses. Good ranch horses, trained to handle cattle. We not only breed them, but people bring their own horses to the ranch for Dad to train. He's not just good, he's the best. Folks don't mind that he's an Indian when it comes to training their horses."

Again the bitterness was apparent. Gerard propped his elbows on the table and leaned his chin on his upraised, folded hands.

"And you?"

"I'm Indian, too, Mr. Way. Half Indian, and that's more than enough for most people. It wasn't as bad when I was younger, but an Indian kid isn't much of a threat to anyone. It's when that kid grows up and starts looking at the white Anglo daughters that all hell breaks loose."

So a girl had been part of the reason Lucas had quit school. Gerard raised his eyebrows at him.

"I imagine the white Anglo daughters looked back, too."

He said mildly.

"You're very good-looking."

Lucas almost grinned at him.

"Yeah. That and two bits will get me a cup of coffee."

"So they looked back?"

"And flirted. One acted like she really cared something about me. But when I asked her to a dance, the door was slammed in my face right quick. I guess it's okay to flirt with me, sort of like waving a red flag at a bull from a safe distance, but there was no way she was actually going to go out with an Indian."

"I'm sorry."

Without thinking, Gerard reached out and covered Lucas' strong young hand with his own.

"Is that when you quit school?"

"There didn't seem to be any point in going. Don't think I was serious about her, or anything like that, because it hadn't gotten that far. I was just interested in her. But the whole thing made it plain that I was never going to fit in, that none of those girls would ever go out with me."

"So what did you plan on doing? Working on the ranch for the rest of your life and never dating, never getting married?"

"I'm sure not thinking of getting married!"

He said strongly.

"As for the rest of it, there are other towns, bigger towns. The ranch is doing pretty good now, and we have a little extra money."

He didn't add that he'd lost his virginity two years before, on a trip to one of those bigger towns. He didn't want to shock Gerard, and he was certain he would be shocked if he had any idea of his experience. The new teacher wasn't just prim, he was innocent. It made him feel oddly protective. That, and the fact that Gerard was different from the other teachers he'd known. When he looked at Lucas, he saw him, Lucas Iero, not the bronzed skin and black hair of a half-breed. He had looked into his eyes and seen the dream, the obsession he'd always had with planes and flying.

After Lucas had left, Gerard locked the house and got ready for bed. It had been a tumultuous day for him, but it was a long time before he slept, and then he overslept the next morning. He deliberately kept himself busy that day, not giving himself time to moon over Frank Iero, or fantasise about things that hadn't happened. He mopped and waxed until the old house was shiny, then dragged out the boxes of books he had brought from LA. Books always gave a house a lived-in look. To his frustration, however, there was no place to put them. What he needed was some of that portable shelving; if all it required for assembly was a screwdriver, he should be able to put it up himself. With his customary decisiveness, he made plans to check at the general store the next afternoon. If they didn't have what he needed, he would buy some lumber and hire someone to build some shelves.

At lunch on Monday Gerard made a call to the state board of education to find out what he had to do to make certain Lucas' studies would be accepted toward his diploma. He knew he had the qualifications, but there was also a good deal of paperwork to be done before Lucas could earn the necessary credits by private tutoring. Gerard made the call on the pay phone in the tiny teacher's lounge, which was never used because there were only three teachers, each teaching four grades, and there was never any time for a break. Nevertheless it had three chairs and a table, a tiny, dented refrigerator, an automatic coffee maker and the pay phone. It was so unusual for any of the teachers to use the lounge that Gerard was surprised when the door opened and Sharon Wycliffe, who taught grades one through four, poked her head in.

"Gerard, are you feeling sick or anything?"

"No, I'm fine."

Gerard stood and dusted off his hands. The receiver had carried a grey coating, evidence of how often it was used.

"I was making a call."

"Oh. I just wondered. You'd been in here a long time, and I thought you might not be feeling well. Who were you calling?"

The question was asked without any hesitancy. Sharon had been born in Ruth, had gone to school here, had married a local boy. Everyone in Ruth knew every one of the other one hundred and eighty inhabitants; they all knew each other's business and saw nothing unusual about it. Small towns were merely large extended families. Gerard wasn't taken aback by Sharon's open curiosity, having already experienced it.

"The state board. I needed some information on teaching requirements."

Sharon looked alarmed.

"Do you think you aren't properly certified? If there's any trouble, the school board will likely commit mass suicide. You don't know how hard it is to find a teacher with the proper qualifications willing to come to a town as small as Ruth. They were almost at the panic stage when you were located. The kids were going to have to start going to school over sixty miles away."

"No, it isn't that. I thought I might begin private tutoring, if any of the kids need it."

He didn't mention Lucas Iero, because he couldn't forget the warnings both he and his father had given him.

"Thank goodness it isn't bad news."

Sharon exclaimed.

"I'd better get back to the kids before they get into trouble."

With a wave and a smile she withdrew her head, her curiosity satisfied.
Gerard hoped Sharon didn't mention it to Dottie Lancaster, the teacher who taught grades five through eight, but he knew it was a futile hope. Eventually, everything in Ruth became common knowledge. Sharon was warm and full of good humour with her young charges, and Gerard's teaching style was rather relaxed, too, but Dottie was strict and abrupt with the students. It made Gerard uncomfortable, because he sensed Dottie regarded her job as merely a job, something that was necessary but not enjoyed. He had even heard that Dottie, who was fifty-five, was thinking about an early retirement. For all Dottie's shortcomings, that would certainly upset the local school board, because as Sharon had pointed out, it was almost impossible to get a teacher to relocate to Ruth. The town was just too small and too far away from everything.

As he taught the last classes of the day, Gerard found himself studying the young girls and wondering which one had daringly flirted with Lucas Iero, then retreated when he had actually asked her out. Several of the girls were very attractive and flirtatious, and though they had the shallowness typical of teenagers, they all seemed likable. But which one would have attracted Lucas, who wasn't shallow, whose eyes were far too old for a sixteen-year-old boy? Natalie Ulrich, who was tall and graceful? Pamela Hearst, who had the sort of blond good looks that belonged on a California beach? Or maybe it was Jackie Baugh, with her dark, sultry eyes. It could be any of the eight girls in his classes, he realised. They were used to being pursued, having had the stupendous good luck to be outnumbered, nine to eight, by the boys. They were all flirts. So which one was it?

Gerard wondered why it mattered, but it did. One of these girls, though she hadn't broken Lucas' heart, had nevertheless dealt him what could have been a life-destroying blow. Lucas had taken it as the final proof that he'd never have a place in the white man's world, and he'd withdrawn. He still might never re-enter this school, but at least he'd agreed to be tutored. If only he didn't lose hope.

When school was out, Gerard swiftly gathered all the materials he would need that night, as well as the papers he had to grade, and hurried to his car. It was only a short drive to Hearst's General Store, and when he asked, Mr. Hearst kindly directed him to the stacks of shelving in a corner.

A few minutes later the door opened to admit another customer. Gerard saw Frank as soon as he entered the store; Gerard had been examining the shelving, but it was as if his skin was an alarm system, signalling his nearness. His nerves tingled, the hair at the nape of his neck bristled, he looked up, and there he was. Instantly Gerard shivered, and his nipples tightened. Distress at that uncontrollable response sent blood rushing to his face.

With his peripheral vision he saw Mr. Hearst stiffen, and for the first time he truly believed the things Frank had told him about the way he was regarded in town. He hadn't done anything, hadn't said anything, but it was obvious Mr. Hearst wasn't happy to have him in the store.

Quickly Gerard turned back to the shelving. He couldn't look him in the eye. His face heated even more when he thought of the way he'd acted, throwing himself at him like a sex-starved old maid. It didn't help him feelings that Frank probably thought he was a sex-starved old maid; he couldn't argue with the old maid part, but he had never paid much attention to the other until Frank had taken him in his arms. When he thought of the things he had done...

Gerard's face was on fire. His body was on fire. There was no way he could talk to him. What must Frank think of him? With fierce concentration, Gerard read the instructions on the box of shelving and pretended he hadn't seen him enter the store.

He had read the instructions three times before he realised he was acting just like the people Frank had described: too good to speak to him, disdaining to acknowledge knowing him. Gerard was normally even-tempered, but suddenly rage filled him, and it was rage at himself. What sort of person was he?

Gerard jerked the box of shelving toward him and nearly staggered under the unexpected weight. Just as he turned, Frank laid a box of nails on the checkout counter and reached in his pocket for his wallet.
Mr. Hearst glanced briefly at Frank; then his eyes cut to where Gerard was struggling with the box.

"Here, Mr. Way, let me get that."

He said, rushing from behind the counter to grab the box. He grunted as he hefted it in his arms.

"Can't have you wrestling with something this heavy. Why, you might hurt yourself."

Gerard wondered how the man thought he would get it from his car into his house if he didn't handle it himself, but refrained from pointing that out. Gerard followed him back to the counter, squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, looked up at Frank and said clearly..

"Hello, Mr. Iero. How are you?"

His night-dark eyes glittered, perhaps in warning.

"Mr. Way."

He said in brief acknowledgment, touching the brim of his hat with his fingers, but he refused to respond to his polite inquiry.
Mr. Hearst looked sharply at Gerard.

"You know him, Mr. Way?"

"Indeed I do. He rescued me Saturday when my car broke down and I was stranded in the snow."

He kept his voice clear and strong.
Mr. Hearst darted a suspicious look at Frank.

"Hmmph."

He said, then reached for the box of shelving to ring it up.

"Excuse me.."

Gerard said.

"Mr. Iero was here first."

He heard Frank mutter a curse under his breath, or at least he thought it was a curse. Mr. Hearst turned red.

"I don't mind waiting."

Frank said tightly.

"I wouldn't dream of cutting in front of you."

Gerard folded his hands at his waist and pursed his lips.

"I couldn't be that rude."

Frank shook his head and gave Gerard a disbelieving look.

"Are you serious?"

Mr. Hearst glared at him.

"Don't take that tone with him, Indian."

"Now, just a minute."

Controlling his outrage, Gerard shook his finger at him.

"That was rude and entirely uncalled for. Why, your mother would be ashamed of you, Mr. Hearst. Didn't she teach you better than that?"

He turned even redder.

"She taught me just fine."

He mumbled, staring at his finger.
There was something about a schoolteacher's finger; it had an amazing, mystical power. It made grown men quail before it. Gerard had noticed the effect before and decided that a schoolteacher's finger was an extension of Mother's finger, and as such it wielded unknown authority. Women grew out of the feeling of guilt and helplessness brought on by that accusing finger, perhaps because most of them became mothers and developed their own powerful finger, but men never did. Mr. Hearst was no exception. He looked as if he wanted to crawl under his own counter.

"Then I'm certain you'll want to make her proud of you."

He said in his most austere voice.

"After you, Mr. Iero."

Frank made a sound that was almost a growl, but Gerard stared at him until he jerked the money from his wallet and threw it on the counter. Without another word, Mr. Hearst rang up the nails and made change. Equally silent, Frank grabbed the box of nails, spun on his heel and left the store.

"Thank you.''

Gerard said, finally relenting and bestowing a forgiving smile on Mr. Hearst.

"I knew you would understand how important it is to me that I be treated fairly. I don't wish to take advantage of my position as a teacher here."

He made it sound as if being a teacher was at least as important as being queen, but Mr. Hearst only nodded, too relieved to pursue the matter. He took his money and dutifully carried the box of shelving out to his car, where he stored it in the trunk for him.

"Thank you."

He said again.

"By the way, Pamela—she is your daughter, isn't she?"

Mr. Hearst looked worried.

"Yes, she is."

Pam was his youngest, and the apple of his eye.

"She's a lovely girl and a good student. I just wanted you to know that she's doing well in school."

His face was wreathed in smiles as Gerard drove away.

Frank pulled over at the corner and watched his rearview mirror, waiting for Gerard to exit the store. He was so angry he wanted to shake the younger man until his teeth rattled, and that made him even angrier, because he knew he wouldn't do it.
Damn him! Frank'd warned him, but he hadn't listened. Not only had he made it plain they were acquainted, he had outlined the circumstances of their meeting and then championed him in a way that wouldn't go unnoticed.
Hadn't Gerard understood when he'd told him he was an ex-con, and why? Did he think he'd been joking?

Frank's hands clenched around the steering wheel. Gerard had his hair tucked up under that stupid hat again, but he remembered how he had looked with his hair down, wearing Lucas' old jeans that had clung tightly to his slender legs and hips. He remembered the way passion had glazed his eyes when he'd kissed him. Frank remembered the softness of his lips, though he had had them pressed together in a ridiculously prim expression.

If he had any sense he'd just drive away. If he stayed completely away from Gerard, there wouldn't be anything for people to talk about other than the fact that he was tutoring Lucas, and that would be bad enough in their eyes.

But how would he get that box out of the car and into the house when he got home? It probably weighed as much as he did. He would just carry the box in for him, and at the same time peel a strip off his hide for not listening to him.

Oh, hell, who was he fooling? He'd had a taste of those lips, and he wanted more. He was a frumpy old maid teacher, but his skin was as pale and translucent as a baby's, and his slender body would be soft, gently curving under his hands. He wanted to touch him. After kissing him, holding him, Frank hadn't gone to see David Costas because he hadn't been able to get the feel of Gerard Way out of his mind, off of his body. He still ached. His physical frustration was painful, and it was going to get worse, because if he'd ever known anything, it was that Mr. Gerard Way wasn't for him.

Gerard's car pulled out from in front of the store and passed him. Smothering another curse, he put the truck in gear and slowly followed him. Gerard maintained a sedate pace, following the two-lane highway out of town, then turning off on the narrow secondary road that led to his house. He had to see Frank's truck behind his, but he didn't give any indication that he knew he was being followed. Instead he drove straight to his house, carefully turned in at the snow-packed driveway and guided the car around to his customary parking spot behind the house.

Frank shook his head as he pulled in behind him and got out of the truck. Gerard was already out of his car, and he smiled at him as he fished the house key out of his pocket. Didn't he remember what he'd told him? Frank couldn't believe that he'd told Gerard he'd served time for rape and still he greeted him as calmly as if he were a priest, though they were the only two people for miles around.

"Damn it all, sweetheart!"

Frank barked at him, his strong legs carrying him to Gerard in a few strides.

"Didn't you listen to anything I said Saturday?"

"Yes, of course I listened. That doesn't mean I agreed."

He unlocked the trunk and smiled at him.

"While you're here, would you please carry this box in for me? I'd really appreciate it."

"That's why I stopped."

He snapped.

"I knew you couldn't handle it."

His ill temper didn't seem to faze Gerard. He merely smiled at him again as he lifted the box onto his shoulder, then led the way to the back door and opened it.
The first thing frank noticed was that the house had a fresh, sweet smell to it, instead of the musty smell of an old house that had stood empty for a long time. His head lifted, and against his will he inhaled the faint scent.

"What's that smell?"

Gerard stopped and sniffed delicately.

"What smell?"

"That sweet smell. Like flowers."

"Flowers? Oh, that must be the lilac sachet I put in all the drawers to freshen them. So many of the sachets are overpowering, but the lilacs are just right, don't you think?"

He didn't know anything about sachets, whatever they were, but if Gerard put them in all the drawers, then his underwear must smell like lilacs, too. His sheets would smell like lilacs and the warm scent of his body. Frank's body responded strongly to the thought, and he cursed, then set the box down with a thud. Though the house was chilly, he felt sweat break out on his forehead.

"Let me turn up the heat."

Gerard said, ignoring his cursing.

"The furnace is old and noisy, but I don't have any wood for the fireplace, so it'll have to do."

As he talked, he left the kitchen and turned down a hallway, his voice growing fainter. Then he was back, and he smiled at Frank again.

"It'll be warm in just a minute. Would you like a cup of tea?"

After giving him a measuring look..

"Make that coffee. You don't look like a tea-drinking man."

He was already warm. He was burning up. He pulled off his gloves and tossed them on the kitchen table.

"Don't you know everybody in that town will be talking about you now? Sweetheart, I'm Indian, and I'm an ex-con—"

"Gerard."

He interrupted briskly.

"What?"

"My name is Gerard, not 'sweetheart'. Gerard Arthur."

He added the second name out of habit because his Grandma had always called him by both names.

"Are you certain you don't want coffee? I need something to warm up my insides."

Frank's hat joined the gloves, and he raked an impatient hand through his hair.

"All right. Coffee."

Gerard turned to run the water and measure the coffee, using the activity to hide the sudden colour in his face. Frank's hair. He felt stupid, but he'd hardly noticed his hair before. Maybe he'd been too upset, then too bemused, or maybe it was just that Frank's midnight-black eyes had taken his attention, but he hadn't noticed before how long his hair was. It was thick and black and shiny, and touched his broad shoulders. He looked magnificently pagan; Gerard had immediately pictured him with his powerful chest and legs bare, his body covered only by a breechclout or loincloth, and his pulse rate had gone wild.

Frank didn't sit down, but propped his strong body against the cabinet beside him. Gerard kept his head down, hoping his blush would subside. What was it about the man that the mere sight of him triggered erotic fantasies? He had certainly never had any fantasies before, erotic or otherwise. He had never before looked at a man and wondered what he looked like nude, but the thought of Frank nude made him ache inside, made his hands itch to touch him.

"What the hell are you doing letting me even come in your house, let alone inviting me to have coffee?"

Frank asked in a low, rough voice.
Gerard blinked at him, his expression startled.

"Why shouldn't I?"

He thought he might explode with frustration.

"Sweetheart—"

"Gerard."

His big fists clenched.

"Gerard. Don't you have any better sense than to let an ex-con into your house?"

"Oh, that."

He dismissed it with a wave of his hand.

"It would be wise to follow your advice if you were truly a criminal, but since you didn't do it, I don't think that applies in this instance. Besides, if you were a criminal, you wouldn't give me that advice."

Frank couldn't believe the casual way he disregarded any possibility of his guilt.

"How do you know I didn't do it?"

"You just didn't."

"Do you have any reason for your deduction, Sherlock, or are you going on good old intuition?"

Gerard jerked around and glared at him.

"I don't believe a rapist would have handled me as tenderly as you—as you handled me."

He said, his voice tapering off into a whisper, and the colour surged back into his face. Mortified by the stupid way he continued to blush, he slapped his palms to his face in an effort to hide the betraying colour.

Frank clenched his teeth, partly because Gerard was white and therefore not for him, partly because he was so damned innocent, and partly because he wanted so fiercely to touch Gerard that his entire body ached.

"Don't build any dreams because I kissed you Saturday."

He said harshly.

"I've been too long without a man, and I'm—"

"Horny?"

Gerard supplied.
Frank was staggered by the incongruity of that word coming from his prim mouth.

"What?"

"Horny."

He said again.

"I've heard some of my students say it. It means—"

"I know what it means!"

"Oh. Well, is that what you were? Still are, for all I know."

He wanted to laugh. The urge almost overpowered him, but he changed the sound into a cough.

"Yeah, I still am."

Gerard looked sympathetic.

"I know that can be quite a problem."

"It's hard on a guy."

It took a moment, but then Gerard's eyes widened, and before he could stop himself, his gaze had slid down Frank's body. Instantly he jerked his head back up.

"Oh. I see. I mean—I understand."

The need to touch him was suddenly so strong that Frank had to give in to it, had to touch him in even the smallest way. He put his hands on Gerard's shoulders, savouring his softness, the delicacy of his joints under his palms.

"I don't think you do understand. You can't associate with me and still work in this town. At best, you'd be treated like a leper, or a slut. You would probably lose your job."

At that, Gerard pressed his lips together, and a militant light came into his eyes.

"I'd like to see someone try to fire me for associating with a law-abiding, tax-paying citizen. I refuse to pretend I don't know you."

"There's knowing, and there's knowing. It would be bad enough for you to be friends with me. Sleeping with me would make your life here impossible."

He felt Gerard stiffen under his hands.

"I don't believe I've asked to sleep with you."

He said, but the colour rose in his face again. He hadn't actually said the words, but Frank knew he certainly had thought about what it would be like.

"You asked, all right, but you're so damned innocent you didn't realize what you were doing."

Frank muttered.

"I could crawl on top of you right now, sweetheart, and I'd do it if you had any real idea of what you're asking for. But the last thing I want is to have some prissy little Anglo screaming 'rape' at me. Believe me, an Indian doesn't get the benefit of the doubt."

"I wouldn't do anything like that!"

Frank smiled grimly.

"Yeah, I've heard that before. I'm probably the only man who has ever kissed you, and you think you'd like more, don't you? But sex isn't pretty and romantic, it's hot and sweaty, and you probably wouldn't like the first time at all. So do me a favour and find some other guinea pig. I have enough troubles without adding you to the list."

Gerard jerked away from him, pressing his lips firmly together and blinking his eyes as fast as he could to keep the tears from falling. Not for anything would he let Frank make him cry.

"I'm sorry I gave you that impression."

Gerard said, his voice stifled but even.

"It's true I've never been kissed before, but I'm sure you aren't surprised by that. If my—my response was out of line, I apologise. It won't happen again."

He turned briskly to the cabinet.

"The coffee is ready. How do you take yours?"

A muscle jerked in Frank's jaw, and he grabbed his hat.

"Forget the coffee."

He muttered as he jammed the hat on his head and reached for his gloves.

Gerard didn't look at him.

"Very well. Goodbye, Mr. Iero."

Frank slammed out the door, and Gerard stood there with an empty coffee cup in his hand. If it really was goodbye, he didn't know how he would be able to stand it.

Notes

Hi there chipmunks... How you doing?...

Nothing much to say, except..

Please comment, stay safe, and peace out babies!
<3