Cold Dead Flesh
folder
My Chemical Romance › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,123
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
My Chemical Romance › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,123
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of My Chemical Romance. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Cold Dead Flesh
M/M Frank and Gerard
P.O.V.=Gerard
Rating:NC-17
Summary: oh yes secks.
Authors note: tee hee
Disclaimer: This isn’t [I]real[/I]
Cold Dead Flesh
Today Frank and I got in a fight. Our only fight in almost fifty years of the eight-hundred we’ve been together. It was only an accident really, but that vase was priceless; given to me lifetimes ago, from a time when I could remember the smell of arose and the feeling of warmth. We were chasing each other around, through the halls from the parlor to the kitchen and he knocked into the ivory pedestal, sending it crashing to the marble floor. He said sorry. Said sorry so many times. But that was lifetimes of memories broken into a million pieces.
“Would you just come to bed already?” I shake my head at him. “C’mon it was an accident you know I didn’t mean to.” He’s laying on the bed, begging me to forgive him, but I don’t want to. I just want to sit here in the corner and ignore him. “Please?”
“No.” He groans with aggravation.
“What do I have to do to make you happy?”
“You could start by shutting up and leaving me alone!” I snap, standing to leave the master bedroom, but he gets up too and follows me.
“It was only a vase, why do you insist on making it into such a big deal?” He stops me, turning me around and forcing me to look him in the eyes. Those same piercing eyes I fell in love with so long ago.
“It wasn’t [I]just[/I] a vase. Do you even realize how much that [I]meant[/I] to me?”
“You have plenty of other nice things, that was one our of a million. The only reason you care about losing that one is because you’re a selfish moody bastard.” Without thinking twice I slap him across the face, listening to the crack of skin and seeing the hurt on his face. The pain turns into anger and as quick as lighting his palm is slapped against my cheek. I fell its sting. Pain. Something I haven’t been able to feel in years.
I like it.
He’s starring in my eyes; starring me down; daring me to say something smart or hit him again and I break. Our lips crash together with such anger-fuelled passion that I can feel the cold of his lips against mine as our tongues move against each other. He moans into me and wrap his arms around my neck as I pick up his small dead body, his legs wrapped around my hips and I carry him across the room to fall onto the bed with him.
He pulls at the buttons of my velvet blazer and tries to undo them as fast as he can. My lips leave his as I reach down to get his pants open and I listen to how heavy our breath is becoming.
“Does this mean you forgive me?”
“No.”
“Fair enough” I silence him as my lips fall to his soft scarred neck, kissing the two smooth pink circles of flesh, where I’d first bit him, some eight-hundred years ago when he confided that he wanted to spend an eternity with me, dead but walking. He is a young vampire. Almost 3768 years younger than me. But his body is still 24 (mine 29) not aged a day since we’d been bitten, but I’ve seen more days than he has.
I want to bite him and taste his smooth creamy blood blowing down my throat, but I can’t. Not yet. My hand has found its way under his slacks, pulling moans from his throat, and I can feel the vibrations of his vocal cords beneath my pale lips. He’s tearing my shirt from my body, no longer bothering to figure out the buttons. I pull his shirt over his head, letting my lips fall back down to his collarbone as he works his pants off his hips. My hand leaves him and I pull his pants down over his feet before pulling off my own, letting our skin press together as we find ourselves locked in a hard, needful kiss. I haven’t had anything like this in 4568 years.
He’s practically begging for me and I can’t resist it. I push into him and allow him to adjust, my jaw set and eyes closed. This feels so perfect. I pull out of him and push back in, watching his face to make sure this isn’t hurting him.
“I want it rough.” He breaths and I shhh him. It’s nice when he doesn’t talk and I can see the words in his eyes; his feeling and what he wants, or by the sounds of his moans.
I press my lips to his as I start moving inside him and he opens up to me, his tongue running over mine, careful to avoid the rigid canines. He moans at me, pleading with lust strangled cries and I thrust harder in and out of him, listening to his cried of satisfaction. [I]God damn it he loves this.[/I] My lips break away from his and I pull back to look into his eyes. They’re closed and he’s biting his bottom lip, his teeth almost piercing the flesh and I can’t help but run my hands over his cold, soft, translucent blue skin. Collarbone, ribs, hips. Without realizing it I’ve dug my nails into the skin that stretches over his hipbones, crimson droplets slowly seeping from the crescent moon cuts and dotting his skin. My fingertips become covered in that perfect red liquid and I shudder at the site. He opens his eyes and sees the red staining my fingertips, our heavy breath matching so perfectly as I hold my fingers our to him, letting him lick at the metallic sweetness of his own blood. I moan, partly of the friction between us and partly because of his tongue working around my fingers, getting every drop of scarlet red. Once it’s gone his eyes close again and he’s moaning helplessly beneath me and I find myself licking up more of the sticky red that comes from his hips. The blood. Oh god. My inner thighs burn and I imagine how good that blood would feel pumping down my throat. Those cuts will be healed by the end of the hour.
By the look on his face and the sound of his desperate moaning I can tell he wants it harder…needs it rougher. And oh fuck I’m gonna give him what he wants. I pull out of him quickly and turn him over before he has a chance to realize what’s happening. I pull him up by his hips so his knees are tucked underneath him, noticing that the little cuts are already fading way. I plunge into him, hard and deep and he moans my name under his breath. [I]God damn it I love this.[/I]
My hands are above his shoulders, my fingers tangled into the sheets as I try to hold him in place my heavy, fierce, violent thrusts –eager and laborious – move his body up and down against the bed. Dear god this feels so good. My jaw muscles are clenching and flexing, my teeth seaming to pulse in my gums, wanting to clamp onto flesh.
“You ready for it?” I ask, my words ragged, said through quivering breath.
“Un…yes.” He sounds so…so…[I]defenseless[/I]
“You want it?”
“Yes.” [I] Needy[/I]
Without another word I lean down and sink my long teeth deep into his shoulders and hold my forearm in front of his mouth, letting him drink from me. My body trembles as I cum inside him, at the feeling and taste of his blood trickling down my throat, my thrusts slowing but not loosing their ferocity.
I hear him release a moan of gratifyingly overwhelming satisfaction and smile at myself. I am the only one on earth who has, can, and will ever make him feel this way.
My thrusts slow and weaken, but I don’t stop sucking until the last bit of pleasure has eluded me. I pull my teeth from him and he takes it as his sign to stop drinking from me. I watch as the puncture wounds he left heal almost immediately, my breath uneven and heavy. Small drops of blood are running down his shoulder. His will take longer to close. I’m older and stronger. I lick those last traces of blood from his skin and fall to his side in exhaustion, letting him curl up into my body.
Cold dead flesh on cold dead flesh.
“You fucking bastard?” I breath.
“I know.”
“I hate you.”
“I hate you too.” He says with a sigh, his lips stained red and the blood at the corners of his mouth turning darker as it clots together. “But I love you just the same.” He says and I kiss him softly, licking the red from his lips before burying my face in his neck, inhaling the scent of his hair and the still fresh wound on his shoulder.
“I love you too.” I pull the blankets over us and huddle close to him, our legs woven together as we hold each other so close that it’s almost…warm.
Cold dead flesh on cold dead flesh.
“Does this mean you forgive me?”
“If I must.”
“You must.”
“Okay…I forgive you.” He smiles and I cradle him in my arms. [I]Cold. Dead. Flesh.[/I]
To be honest. I don’t even know what I’m forgiving him for.
P.O.V.=Gerard
Rating:NC-17
Summary: oh yes secks.
Authors note: tee hee
Disclaimer: This isn’t [I]real[/I]
Cold Dead Flesh
Today Frank and I got in a fight. Our only fight in almost fifty years of the eight-hundred we’ve been together. It was only an accident really, but that vase was priceless; given to me lifetimes ago, from a time when I could remember the smell of arose and the feeling of warmth. We were chasing each other around, through the halls from the parlor to the kitchen and he knocked into the ivory pedestal, sending it crashing to the marble floor. He said sorry. Said sorry so many times. But that was lifetimes of memories broken into a million pieces.
“Would you just come to bed already?” I shake my head at him. “C’mon it was an accident you know I didn’t mean to.” He’s laying on the bed, begging me to forgive him, but I don’t want to. I just want to sit here in the corner and ignore him. “Please?”
“No.” He groans with aggravation.
“What do I have to do to make you happy?”
“You could start by shutting up and leaving me alone!” I snap, standing to leave the master bedroom, but he gets up too and follows me.
“It was only a vase, why do you insist on making it into such a big deal?” He stops me, turning me around and forcing me to look him in the eyes. Those same piercing eyes I fell in love with so long ago.
“It wasn’t [I]just[/I] a vase. Do you even realize how much that [I]meant[/I] to me?”
“You have plenty of other nice things, that was one our of a million. The only reason you care about losing that one is because you’re a selfish moody bastard.” Without thinking twice I slap him across the face, listening to the crack of skin and seeing the hurt on his face. The pain turns into anger and as quick as lighting his palm is slapped against my cheek. I fell its sting. Pain. Something I haven’t been able to feel in years.
I like it.
He’s starring in my eyes; starring me down; daring me to say something smart or hit him again and I break. Our lips crash together with such anger-fuelled passion that I can feel the cold of his lips against mine as our tongues move against each other. He moans into me and wrap his arms around my neck as I pick up his small dead body, his legs wrapped around my hips and I carry him across the room to fall onto the bed with him.
He pulls at the buttons of my velvet blazer and tries to undo them as fast as he can. My lips leave his as I reach down to get his pants open and I listen to how heavy our breath is becoming.
“Does this mean you forgive me?”
“No.”
“Fair enough” I silence him as my lips fall to his soft scarred neck, kissing the two smooth pink circles of flesh, where I’d first bit him, some eight-hundred years ago when he confided that he wanted to spend an eternity with me, dead but walking. He is a young vampire. Almost 3768 years younger than me. But his body is still 24 (mine 29) not aged a day since we’d been bitten, but I’ve seen more days than he has.
I want to bite him and taste his smooth creamy blood blowing down my throat, but I can’t. Not yet. My hand has found its way under his slacks, pulling moans from his throat, and I can feel the vibrations of his vocal cords beneath my pale lips. He’s tearing my shirt from my body, no longer bothering to figure out the buttons. I pull his shirt over his head, letting my lips fall back down to his collarbone as he works his pants off his hips. My hand leaves him and I pull his pants down over his feet before pulling off my own, letting our skin press together as we find ourselves locked in a hard, needful kiss. I haven’t had anything like this in 4568 years.
He’s practically begging for me and I can’t resist it. I push into him and allow him to adjust, my jaw set and eyes closed. This feels so perfect. I pull out of him and push back in, watching his face to make sure this isn’t hurting him.
“I want it rough.” He breaths and I shhh him. It’s nice when he doesn’t talk and I can see the words in his eyes; his feeling and what he wants, or by the sounds of his moans.
I press my lips to his as I start moving inside him and he opens up to me, his tongue running over mine, careful to avoid the rigid canines. He moans at me, pleading with lust strangled cries and I thrust harder in and out of him, listening to his cried of satisfaction. [I]God damn it he loves this.[/I] My lips break away from his and I pull back to look into his eyes. They’re closed and he’s biting his bottom lip, his teeth almost piercing the flesh and I can’t help but run my hands over his cold, soft, translucent blue skin. Collarbone, ribs, hips. Without realizing it I’ve dug my nails into the skin that stretches over his hipbones, crimson droplets slowly seeping from the crescent moon cuts and dotting his skin. My fingertips become covered in that perfect red liquid and I shudder at the site. He opens his eyes and sees the red staining my fingertips, our heavy breath matching so perfectly as I hold my fingers our to him, letting him lick at the metallic sweetness of his own blood. I moan, partly of the friction between us and partly because of his tongue working around my fingers, getting every drop of scarlet red. Once it’s gone his eyes close again and he’s moaning helplessly beneath me and I find myself licking up more of the sticky red that comes from his hips. The blood. Oh god. My inner thighs burn and I imagine how good that blood would feel pumping down my throat. Those cuts will be healed by the end of the hour.
By the look on his face and the sound of his desperate moaning I can tell he wants it harder…needs it rougher. And oh fuck I’m gonna give him what he wants. I pull out of him quickly and turn him over before he has a chance to realize what’s happening. I pull him up by his hips so his knees are tucked underneath him, noticing that the little cuts are already fading way. I plunge into him, hard and deep and he moans my name under his breath. [I]God damn it I love this.[/I]
My hands are above his shoulders, my fingers tangled into the sheets as I try to hold him in place my heavy, fierce, violent thrusts –eager and laborious – move his body up and down against the bed. Dear god this feels so good. My jaw muscles are clenching and flexing, my teeth seaming to pulse in my gums, wanting to clamp onto flesh.
“You ready for it?” I ask, my words ragged, said through quivering breath.
“Un…yes.” He sounds so…so…[I]defenseless[/I]
“You want it?”
“Yes.” [I] Needy[/I]
Without another word I lean down and sink my long teeth deep into his shoulders and hold my forearm in front of his mouth, letting him drink from me. My body trembles as I cum inside him, at the feeling and taste of his blood trickling down my throat, my thrusts slowing but not loosing their ferocity.
I hear him release a moan of gratifyingly overwhelming satisfaction and smile at myself. I am the only one on earth who has, can, and will ever make him feel this way.
My thrusts slow and weaken, but I don’t stop sucking until the last bit of pleasure has eluded me. I pull my teeth from him and he takes it as his sign to stop drinking from me. I watch as the puncture wounds he left heal almost immediately, my breath uneven and heavy. Small drops of blood are running down his shoulder. His will take longer to close. I’m older and stronger. I lick those last traces of blood from his skin and fall to his side in exhaustion, letting him curl up into my body.
Cold dead flesh on cold dead flesh.
“You fucking bastard?” I breath.
“I know.”
“I hate you.”
“I hate you too.” He says with a sigh, his lips stained red and the blood at the corners of his mouth turning darker as it clots together. “But I love you just the same.” He says and I kiss him softly, licking the red from his lips before burying my face in his neck, inhaling the scent of his hair and the still fresh wound on his shoulder.
“I love you too.” I pull the blankets over us and huddle close to him, our legs woven together as we hold each other so close that it’s almost…warm.
Cold dead flesh on cold dead flesh.
“Does this mean you forgive me?”
“If I must.”
“You must.”
“Okay…I forgive you.” He smiles and I cradle him in my arms. [I]Cold. Dead. Flesh.[/I]
To be honest. I don’t even know what I’m forgiving him for.