Boonetown

[Author's Note:: Finally, I'm back to the writing again. I know so many of you loved "Learning to Communicate", and I'm happy to bring you (at last) another story.

That said, the following is dedicated to M.M. for being the inspiration & everything else. Without further ado, ladies & gentlemen....]

Boonetown

He'd been sitting there all afternoon, pen poised in his fingers and his eyes glued to the television. No matter how hard he tried to think, his mind kept drifting. People left him alone. He doubted anyone recognized him. G. A. Way was not too much of figure anyway. So here he was, hunched over a cup of coffee and smoking yet another cigarette.

Gerard glanced around at the commercial. This was a local place and he was no local. Oh sure, he picked up his mail in the Post Office, but he lived more or less off by himself. Boonetown was nice and quiet, tucked far away in the upper part of the state. Perfect for writing, and it used to be perfect for curing writer's block. So far, it seemed to be prolonging it. He couldn't afford that. His last novel had gone completely bust, sliding him off the best seller's list so fast he felt dizzy. Suddenly, he was in fear of losing his mile-a-minute lifestyle in New York City. Not to mention his loft, his gorgeous friends, and the priveledge of endless booze-filled parties. In light of this, here he was, bar hopping in hopes of some elusive muse.

"More coffee?"

Gerard looked up. The bartender was not that old woman who had been there all afternoon. It was some boy. With a hole in his nose. He lifted his eyebrows and shook the coffee pot at Gerard like he was stupid. He nodded, and nose-hole poured him a new cup. He had on a long-sleeved black shirt with tiny white hairs all over it. Gerard was certain that was unsanitary on so many levels, and he checked his cup before drinking from it. The boy lingered. His nametag read FRANKIE in bold letters.

"Yes?" he said, wanting to get rid of "FRANKIE" as fast as possible. Gerard frowned. That prying little creep was looking at his notebook. He covered it with his hands.

"Um...nothin'," he said, smiling like he was seven and stealing cookies. He got out of there fast though. Gerard hunched over just that much more and took a last drag from his cigarette before grinding it out. Stupid kid. Annoying voice too.

He closed his eyes. Ideas! Where the fuck were they? Ideas used to pour into his head faster then he could get them onto paper. Sometimes, he would work on two novels at once. That was how he had gained such popularity so fast, though their subject matter helped. G. A. Way was a writer of horror in it's most basic, macabre form. The New Yorker hailed him as "the Stephen King for a new generation". Fans told him they could only read his stories in the daylight. His first huge hit, Early Sunsets, was now in production to be a major motion picture. And as much money as that would fetch him, he couldn't bear the thought of losing his craft just because he got lazy. Gerard really wasn't all about the money. He was incredibly vain. If he didn't write something new, people would say he lost the gift. He hated the thought of that so much, he had forced himself to come back to this nowhere's-ville and hide away in his little cabin until he forced something worth publishing from his brain.

There was one other thing that kept his high-end lifestyle afloat. In addition to his horror writing, he wrote erotic novels under the alias Jack Reese. The name was a combination of two things he loved: hard liqour, and candy. It had come to him while he was busy puking up both after a fight with Scott, his on-again/off-again lover. Scott Mitchell was an actor who was lucky enough to make it into Broadway. He was in some of the best musicals in the world, right in the exciting heart of NYC. Scott bitched at Gerard about how he never came and saw his shows. Gerard bitched at Scott about how he was too stupid to even pick up one of his books and read it. They would have angry sex and not talk for six weeks. So was his life, and Gerard liked it as such.

His erotic novels were among the most popular gay/lesbian fiction. They never included his picture, and less than a handful of his friends knew who he was. Not even Scott knew Gerard wrote them. He had once spotted one of his Reese novels by Scott's bed. He asked him if he was reading it. Scott had laughed and said he just skipped to the sex parts.

The biggest problem with those kind of novels was the inspriration. It had to be right, or Gerard scrapped them. He rarely worried about them though, because he relied on his mainstream writing. The others were more like a hobby he could produce at his leisure. Currently though, all inspiration seemed to be drained from him, horny or scary. He glanced back up at the TV as an annoying voice filled his ear.

"So, are ya waitin' for someone?"

He turned. "FRANKIE" was back. Grinning.

"No."

He hoped his abrupt answer would end this unwanted conversation. Nose-hole, who apparently had lip-hole as well from this angle, made his way around the bar.

"Don't wanna go home?" he asked.

"At home, I wouldn't get to enjoy this delicious cold coffee, would I?" Gerard returned sarcastically. He forced a smile in hopes of looking annoyed. Frankie turned and grabbed the pot again, pouring fresh coffee in the little cup. "Now, it's just delicious," he said cheerfully, shaking the pot again. He looked down. "Smokin'?" he asked. Gerard just stared at him. Clearly, he was smoking. Hence, the lit cigarette in his fingers.

"It's been a long time since I had a cigarette," Frankie continued, filling the silence.

"Do you want one?" Gerard asked.

Frankie hesitated, his eyes fixed on the curling smoke. On second look, he was an attractive kid. He had soft, brown hair that fell over one side of his face and big brown eyes to match. Gerard wondered if he had somehow wandered into his own world though, and was about to lean over and wave in front of his face before his lips moved. "No. I quit. Besides, I'm working."

"Okay..." Gerard stongly felt the urge to roll his eyes, but he stopped himself. He tried not to be out and out rude to people. At least in their face. Scott said Gerard was a "secret Queen", which basically ditched the flaming image, but not the gossipy backstabbing he tended to instigate everywhere. Gerard had promptly told Scott he was uncultured ass. Then, escaped to their friend Jean's house to get drunk and pout while talking about how Scott was getting fat and not very good in bed anymore.

Frankie was still here, watching the cigarette. Gerard studied his face while he wasn't looking. He had round cheeks, but a good jawline. Finally, he looked up. "Do you live here?" he asked.

Gerard shook his head. "Normally, I live in the city, but I come out here to write," he said. To write. He sighed internally. That phrase meant more questions would be coming. Frankie nodded. Gerard waited, but nothing more came out of his mouth. They stared at each other for a moment or two. "This would be a good place. It's quiet," said Frankie, his eyes still on his face.

"I'm Frank," he said.

"I know."

"The nametag?"

"Mhmm."

"Who're you?"

"Does it matter?"

"No."

They didn't say anything else. Frankie went back to wiping the counters, serving coffee, and dissapearing into the kitchen every now and then. Gerard closed his noteboook, grinding out his cigarette. He'd had enough for now. His head felt heavy. He turned enough to look over his shoulder. The daylight was gone and the soft replacement of twilight was coming in the windows. When he turned back, Frank was behind the bar once more. He dumped a few mugs into a sink of dishsoap, and mumbled a greeting to another girl who was coming in from the kitchen. The place was filling, and the neon beer signs in the windows flickered to light with their electric hum. A new kind of crowd would be coming in. Gerard found this to be his time to leave. Before he had made any move though, Frank had come over and stood in front of him behind the bar. He stood there without saying anything, looking down at the counter a little. Gerard raised an eyebrow.

"Well, nice meeting you."

"I'm leaving. My shift is over," said Frank, almost right ontop of Gerard's words.

Gerard slid off his barstool. So that's what he wanted. He knew this scene really well. He was being asked home, but the invitation was awkward and extremely understated. Frank stood there stiffly, his tongue running out quickly to lick his top lip nervously. If Gerard hadn't known the feeling, he would have completely over looked this. Any straight man would not have even known what was being offered.

Gerard casually leaned his elbow back on the bar, his notebook tucked into an old tote bag he carried around all the time when he was in Boonetown. Never in New York would he be caught dead carrying that around, but here he didn't care. He leaned heavily into his shoulder, cocking his head and looking at Frank from under his brows.

"Where do you go when your shift is over?" he asked. The simple and standard answer he always gave when he was being offered something. Gerard was surprised. Looking around, Boonetown was no place for anyone who thrived in the gay scene.

"Home."

In the city, sometimes that question was met with parties, or the name of some celebrities friends cousins apartment, or whatever other faniciful thing the homosexuals were suckers for. Home was the answer that got straight to the point. You might have well just said 'I wanna fuck you'. Here though, things worked a little different. For one thing, Gerard knew the number of gay men around here was lower. Much, much lower. Boonetown was isolated as well. It was conservative. The way people did things here were maybe a little outdated by some standards. Saying 'home' was not the same either.

Gerard nodded and decided to make this a whole lot less painful. "Sounds cool."

Frankie's stiffness seemed to deflat and he smiled a little crookedly, though more to his shoes than to Gerard. "C'mon, uh, we can go this way," he said, motioning to a backdoor out where the restrooms were. He paused just before the door, taking off the apron he had around his waist and hung it on a hook, taking from the same hook a backpack which he tugged up one shoulder. Gerard was zipping up his coat, and took his scarf from his own bag, wrapping it around his neck. Frank leaned into the kitchen, shouted bye, and opened the door for his companion. He stepped out after him, zipping up a hoodie and throwing the hood over his head. It had some band logo on it. Gerard watched him as he fished in his pocket as he began walking. He pulled out something small and pulled on his lip. He stuck the little silver ring through, and produced a second one for his nose. He looked over.

"I can't wear them during work," he said. Gerard nodded. "Do you have any?" he asked.

"I don't like needles I'm afraid," said Gerard honestly.

"Ohh, so I guess you have no tattoos either."

Gerard smiled just a bit and nodded. "No tattoos."

They were crossing through a backlot, past a few garbage dumpsters. Frank turned, leading them out into the street. "What do you think of them though?" he wanted to know. Gerard shrugged. "I don't mind them. I guess." Scott had the ugliest tattoo right on his hip. It was a dolphin with a little rainbow coloured wave. Gerard hated that one for sure. Most of the guys he knew indulged in a little body art though. Something about it drew the queers. Probably because most of them liked to show off their little sculpted bodies. Gerard was perfectly happy being artless on his own very non-perfect body. Another thing Scott often said: "Get off your ass, fattie. You're so disgusting. Why won't you stick to the diet I gave you?"

Frank smiled. He seemed a world less nervous. Gerard figured that he felt like he had won something. Proud that he had successfully asked home an attractive stranger. It occured to him Frank still didn't know his name. He wouldn't offer it. He would wait to be asked again. Frank turned, pointing up towards a more residential street. There was very light frost in some places on the ground, and they could see their breath. Gerard was always cold, so he usually wore an extra layer anyway.

"So what's New York like?" Frank asked.

"Um. Big." Gerard kind of smiled. "It's a nice place if you like the lifestyle," he said. "Everyone's always going somewhere, being busy, and generally staying up late or working too hard."

"Sounds fun," said Frank positively. Gerard wondered if he was always like that.

They didn't say much on the rest of the way to the house. Frank would point out other houses and say a little about the people who lived in them, though it meant next to nothing to Gerard. He could always nod, listening or not. Gerard lived away from the main part of Boonetown, in a cabin down near the river that was a popular attraction during the summer. It was comfortable for just him. He lived in his pajamas most days, shuffling about the cabin in socks, with a bag of Doritos stuffed under one arm and tuna sandwhich in hand. He had his laptop set up oh-so-nicely on his cluttered desk, waiting for whatever crappy notes he had taken down during the day.

Finally, Frank turned up a driveway towards the very end of the street. Gerard paused, looking up at the house. It was small. "Do you live by yourself?" he asked, following after him.

"Yeah, but the house came from my Mom. She and my dad used to live here, then they divorced. It was just my mother and I for awhile, but then she moved herself into a little apartment and gave the house to me." He had pulled out a few jingling keys and worked his way through the screen door, pushing open the front one after a moment. He held it for Gerard. Gerard walked in, mentally taking note that he thought Frank was holding his breath as well. He carefully shuffled his shoes on the rug. He didn't get very far before two white-brown little fluffs came tumbling down into the front door area.

"Ohh babies! Daddy's home!" Frank exclaimed, stepping over the little dogs. Gerard had never been a dog person. He perferred cats greatly. They kept to themselves and were silent, much like himself. However, he found himself caught up in the frenzied excitement of the moment, turning a few circles to get a look at the little things. He suppressed the urge to giggle.

"Ha, oh, don't mind them. They love everyone," Frank said brightly.

Gerard continued up a short set of steps into the house. He was in a large kitchen, brightly lit. Everything had a 1970's feel to the design, ecspecially the low light fixtures and the lattice cabinets. It was rather pretty in Gerard's opinion. There were clusters of grapes stenciled on the walls, a few wandering vines painted over the cabinets as well. He turned. Small living room, but it was absolutely dominated by the bookshelves. They went from floor to ceiling and were on every wall but one, even spilling into the kitchen along a shared wall. Each one was almost full as well. Frank had come up and slid into the kitchen. Gerard turned, placing his hands on the bar. "Have you read all of those?" he joked.

"Almost," said Frank, dead serious. He was pulling two glasses from a shelf. "Drink?" he asked.

Gerard had turned back around in his own amazement. Really? All of them? "Uh, yes...please," he said, giving his attention back. "What do you have, if you don't mind...?"

"Milk, soda, water," said Frank, pulling open the refridgerator. Drink. He had been expecting something a little bit different at the offer. Frank pulled out a big bottle of Sprite. Gerard felt a little weird requesting a drink when the other wasn't, so he said the soda sounded good to him. He ambled over to the nearest bookshelf, looking over the titles. They were thick leather books labeled THE CIVIL WAR, each one an edition about a certain aspect. The next shelf up had a similar series detailing the Revolution.

"Here."

Gerard turned. Frankie was holding out a glass to him. He took it from him, his fingers closing over his for a second. Frankie looked out at him from underneath his eyelashes, smirking slightly. Another infamous look Gerard knew well. Hell, he used that one himself. Frank turned slowly, walking rather deliberately to an armchair and sinking down into it, taking a sip of his glass, his eyes meeting his over the rim. Gerard took a breath and restrained the urge to eye-roll again. He humoured him a bit and let his eyes run over his body. He liked to refer to that as 'play back'. It meant you were either getting somewhere, or someone was leading you on terribly. As for now, he actually hadn't decided what to do with Frank. As his eyes ran over the lithe little thing that had brought him home, a thought occured to him.

"How old are you anyway?" Gerard asked, lifting an eyebrow. He reached over and set his glass on the bartop. Frankie smiled, shifting in his chair.

"Guess," he said shyly. Gerard shrugged and frowned a bit. He ran a finger down along the spine of an old WWII book. Frank couldn't have been that old, and Gerard was pretty sure he wasn't as old as he was either.

"Twenty one," he said, guessing the drinking age. At least. Frank laughed a little, shaking his head and setting his face in his hands. He peeked out between his fingers. "Lower."

"Twenty?"

"Lower."

"Nineteen?"

Frank nodded, still smiling out from between his fingers. Gerard stiffened a little. "Nineteen?" he asked again. They were a decade apart in age. "You're a kid."

Frankie sat up suddenly. "I'm not a kid!"

"You're still a teenager," Gerard pointed out, which couldn't be argued. Frank stuck out his lip a little. Didn't he just say he wasn't a kid? He picked himself out of the chair and came closer. Gerard was fully aware of him, even though he had stubbornly turned his eyes back to the bookshelf.

"I'm very mature for my age." His voice had gone low and it hovered close to Gerard's ear. Gerard was tempted to turn around and make it easy for the kid, but his seduction attempts were quite amusing. Besides, something had caught his eye.

"Jack Reese?" he said, pulling the book from the shelf. This particular book had been one of his firsts, The Club Circut. Frank seemed to be knocked off his game for the moment.

"Uh, know him?" he asked.

"I know him," Gerard answered loosely. He pulled it open to a spot where it was marked off and began reading. " 'He smiled at him, gazing up from the level of his beltbuckle through the dark. The flash of lights glinted across his perfect face. Marc sucked in a breath as his beautiful stranger unfastened his jeans'...." He skipped a few lines down. " '....back against the wall, clenching his teeth together to keep himself silent as his mouth moved expertly over his-' My, my, Marc's getting a blowjob. From a stranger no less. Naughty Marc."

Frankie's face had flushed pink. He reached for the book, but Gerard moved and continued. " 'He gasped, one eye open in case of interruption, but even so he doubted he could make the sensation stop of his own will. His lips'-" Frank took the book from his hands, pressing it closed. He looked embarrassed. Gerard smiled a little darkly, turned, and pulled another from the shelf. Another Jack Reese. He pulled it open, discovering it, too, had marked pages of smut. He laughed and tossed it aside, pulling out another.

"Please don't," pleaded Frank, rescuing his second book. Gerard continued though. He pulled out romance book after romance book, searching out all the parts that Frankie had marked. Dog-eared pages, bookmarks, and hi-lited passages were in each one. While Frankie squealed and blushed and proceeded to put them all back, Gerard noticed something about all his marked books. It was not all sex, ecspecially in his own novels. Frank marked off heavily on imagery, the life of the big city or the sight of the skyline or the feeling of kissing a snowflake off your lover's lips. It struck a cord in Gerard. Frank was young. Young people still believed in things like true love. That's the reason they read books like that. Unlike Gerard's usual unenlighted partner, Frankie didn't just skip to the sex scenes. He read the romance part.

Frank finished setting all his books back with a sigh. He cast a look at Gerard, but Gerard couldn't read it.

"It's not bad you read those," said Gerard awkwardly.

"What kind of books do you read?" Frankie asked. His hands touched Gerard's arm, brushing it casually as if they were normal day-to-day friends.

"Everything. But I do more writing than reading," he said.

"Anything I would know?"

"G.A. Way?"

Frankie suddenly stared at him. He almost looked like he was going to laugh. "You're kidding?" he said with a bit of a giggle. Gerard shook his head. "You're G.A. Way?" he asked again.

"It's Gerard," he said. He was kind of looking at the floor. Frankie crossed the room, pulling a hard-back book down from another shelf. He flipped open the back cover and held it out. Gerard waited. Frankie turned, looking at Gerard. "You are!" he finally conceeded, more to the little black and white photo than to the man himself. He looked back and forth from the picture to Gerard. Gerard knew what he was looking at as well. It was a small portrait of him leaning against a wall in a black sweater, his arms crossed over his chest casually and a hint of a smile on his face. The photo shoot had been a real bitch. The photographer couldn't get him to smile "right". He said he either looked creepy or depressed. Gerard had almost walked out of the whole thing, yelling about how he was just going to hand paste his picture in all of his books himself!

"Um, I've never actually read one of your books, but I have all of them," he said, gesturing. Gerard came closer and looked at the shelf Frankie had pulled the book from. It was full of his own writings. He mused on how funny it was that Frank had actually collected both of his writing genres.

"Why haven't you read any? I'm not offended, just curious," asked Gerard, taking the book from Frankie. It was a copy of Lovely Corpse, one of his personal favourites. It was the closest he had come to running horror and romance together.

Frank rubbed his neck a little. "Well, I've wanted to, but I don't really like scary stories," he said guiltily. "I love the covers though," he said, pulling out a copy of Vanity Broken. "They're all so pretty and morbid."

"Would you like me to sign one?" Gerard asked. Normally, he wouldn't have offered, but this was a little different. He was feeling nice. Besides, he didn't think Frank would have enough nerve to ask.

"Oh, would you? That would be so nice!" Frank said, his eyes lighting up. He bit his lip and smiled.

"Sure," said Gerard. He looked around and went to the bar where he had set his bag over the back of a barstool. He dug around and pulled out a special pen. He kept it for the purpose of signing things. He crossed back to the armchair Frankie had been sitting in and seated himself. He opened the front cover and wrote out a message, followed by his signature. He shut the book again and held it out to Frankie. He took it and peeked inside curiously.

"Dear Frankie-
Don't bring home strangers.
Most of my novels start that way.
- Gerard A. Way"

He started laughing. Gerard smiled to himself, recapping the pen and shoving it into his pocket. "Thank you," said Frankie at last, setting it on the coffee table. "I can't wait to show it off."

"It's nothing," said Gerard, waving him off. "I was happy to...."

Frank had come back, closer. He stood in front of him, his eyes fixed on the figure lounging in his chair. Gerard didn't move to look at him, moving just his eyes instead. Frank leaned down close. One of his hands came up and touched a few dark strands of Gerard's hair, moving them back from his forehead. His first instinct was to pull away. Gerard had never been fond of being touched, even when it came to Scott (ecspecially lately when it had come to Scott...). He sat still and Frankie's fingers continued their clumsy touching in his hair. His other hand moved, pulling Gerard's face around to his.

"No really, thank you," he said a little huskily. Gerard felt like he really ought to get away all of a sudden, but Frankie's lips found him too fast.

It was not a good kiss. It was tight-lipped and nervous. It was hard too. Gerard could feel his teeth pressed into his lips. Ugh. Frank was really terrible at this. Gerard had to stop it. He reached up and put his hands on Frankie's shoulders, pushing him back just a bit. His lips pulled away. "Frankie, no offense, but you got me home. You really don't have to try and win me over at this point." He trailed his eyes up to look at him.

Frank's face was pink again. "I'm sorry," he blurted out.

Gerard shook his head. "Just...don't be so nervous." He sat forward and pressed their lips together again, trying to illustrate his point. He made it light on purpose, tilting his head to the right a little. Frank was standing perfectly still, Gerard's hands still set upon his shoulders. Gerard waited, his eyes closed. He figured he could let the other take it from here. Under his lips, he could feel the spot of cold metal that was his lipring. Curious, he formed his lips around it and pulled lightly. Frankie shivered, but it went unnoticed. Gerard continued though, remembering in his head what the little silver ring had looked like perched on Frank's lip. He stood, still kissing his young admirer, letting his arms casually drape around his shoulders and his fingers hang loose down his back. Frank responded, his own hands placing themselves gingerly on Gerard's hips. That was a good enough response for him.

He pulled one of his hands around and placed his thumb on Frankie's chin, shoving it down roughly and parting his lips with his own. He plunged his tongue into his mouth without asking permission or even caring to get it. After all, he wanted it. Why else was he here? Frank stiffened and made a noise, but it was cut short as he moved his own tongue against Gerard's. It was cautious at first, like most supposed "first" kisses, but it soon gave way into a push and pull for control between the two. Gerard laced his fingers around Frank's wrists and pushed his back into a bookshelf, claiming himself the winner and getting a tiny "Ow" from Frank. Pleased with himself, he let his wrists go. Frank instantly made a grab for them and turned them both around before Gerard realized what he was doing, his own back suddenly slammed into a new shelf. "Ow," said Gerard. Frank just grinned up sweetly.

This was something Gerard found missing from his own sex life. The sense of urgency had long gone away from most of his relationships. Frantic, needy sex was something younger boys did. Gerard liked it all the same, and suddenly realized he really missed it.

Frank grabbed both his hands and pulled him away from the bookshelves, backing towards the kitchen. "C'mon," he said in a breath of air, smiling darkly under his bangs. Gerard followed him straight down a small hallway and right through a bedroom door. It was a total mess. Gerard was a complete slob by nature, but his loft was immpecible neat. It was a combination of Scott's anal retentiveness and the Spanish girl who cleaned for him every week. His cabin here in Boonetown looked more like Frankie's bedroom though. There were piles of dirty clothes in the corners and empty soda cans covering almost every surface. There was a piece of half eaten toast just sitting on the dresser, and glasses of dusty water on the bed's headboard. Frank seemed quite at home in his own clutter though. He was already kicking off his old ratty tennis shoes.

He bounced up on the bed, sitting up on his knees. Gerard was still lingering in the doorway. He watched, his face not showing a hint of what he was thinking. Frankie crossed his arms over his body slowly, and lifted the edges of his long sleeved shirt. He was deliberate about it, absolutely making sure the other was watching. He pulled it over his head after a moment, letting it drop to the floor. His whole left arm was covered in tattoos. No wonder he had asked about them. He had a few on his right, and some down his torso. He was kind of small, even for his age. He had a dark patch of hair just under his navel that descended somewhere past his waistline. He licked his lips, tucking some of his bangs away from his face. He cast an eye over his guest. Gerard took his cue and walked forward, standing in front of him and the bed. Frank didn't waste time. He reached out for his shirt. It buttoned all the way down, and his long, thin fingers artfully freed each one. He reached up and pushed the shirt off Gerard's body, pushing it down his arms with his hands. Gerard let his eyes wander up and down his body art, taking in the different symbols and pictures his new friend had decided to display upon his flesh.

Gerard had always been fairly concious of his body. For one thing, he was not the most likely candidate for model of the year. By far. He was pudgy, he was super white, and he sported a few thin, purple stretch marks from fast weight gain as a teenager.

Either Frank didn't mind or he was just a lot less picky about men than Gerard was. Gerard was kind of hoping it was the former though. He let his fingers run over his pale shoulders, his eyes moving down his chest and back up again. Gerard suppressed the urge to move away, but couldn't help the reddish tinge that spread across his cheeks like he had run up a flight of stairs. Frank leaned in and kissed the center of his chest, his bangs brushing his bare skin. His hands gently circled his wrist's and pulled him forward. Frankie had slender fingers. Gerard watched them as they touched the button on his waistband. He was wearing loose blue jeans, something he found rarely in his closet in New York, but had plenty to spare here. Even as that thought passed through his head, Frank had already opened them and pulled the zipper down. His hands deftly slid inside, against the material of Gerard's boxer shorts. He pulled in a deep breath of air as his hands came up again and moved under the elastic of his shorts.

His fingertips curled into the wiry body hair, and his face pressed against his bare skin, kissing it lightly. His hands withdrew though. He hooked his thumbs and pulled both jeans and underclothing from Gerard's hips. He took his cue to step out of them as they pooled around his feet in a soft scrape of clothing. He had always felt awkward being naked, but he ignored it in favour of watching the other. Frank was still balanced up on his knees, but his hands were working his belt off carefully. He tossed it off the bed, his fingers going for his own zipper. He shoved his jeans off his hips as well, and squirmed out of them awkwardly. Gerard looked down his nose at the naked boy. Frank was smiling, his hair in his face. He had an innocent face. Gerard sighed. Innocent faces attracted him like a moth to a flame. Something about the wide eyes and the round cheeks and that delicious guilty feeling like you were doing something naughty, corrupting something. Gerard lifted his hands to Frank's shoulders and leaned down, pushing him over gently. The bed creaked and shifted as his knees slid up and unto the mattress. Frankie resisted, sliding to the side and leaning into his neck.

"Hold on," he said, his lips crushed against his throat momentarily. He turned, streching out over the bed and pulling open the drawer to his night stand. Gerard watched as he rooted about. He felt frozen to the bed anyway, and ignored his shallow breathing as he watched the smooth muscles in his back strain under Frankie's skin while he moved his arms. Finally, he pulled out a familiar bottle and a little foil square clenched between two fingers. He rolled back up, giving them both to Gerard. Lube and condoms really weren't atypical of homosexual sex. Gerard set the bottle aside for now, and ripped open the package.

"I...You're not offended, right?" asked Frank. He was trying to fill the silence. "It's not like I think you have anything, or anything...."

Gerard shook his head. "You can't be to careful," he said, glancing up. Frank was sucking on his lipring. "Really. It's ok."

Frank nodded and finally came closer again, hovering his lips along Gerard's collarbone. He kissed tentatively. Gerard laced an arm around his back to keep him there. Frank was pleased. He continued with an air of confidence, his teeth scraping against him every now and then. His hand dropped into his lap, and he stroked along the insides of his thighs with his long fingers. Gerard shivered. He dipped his head, licking along Frank's ear. He pressed closer, a noise of appreciation escaping his lips.

Gerard's body gave another slight shiver, and he felt his nerves twitch. He moved, pushing Frankie over again. This time, he went willingly, streching out on his side. Gerard came up next to him, kissing him breifly up his side as he moved. He didn't know what he was doing. Something about Frankie made him feel wanted though. He liked that feeling. Even though this was what it was, he pretended he was needed here. Just for a little while. He kissed his shoulderblades as he gently turned him over to his stomach, his cheek hitting the pillow. He groaned, muffled a little. Gerard's hands ran down his back, and he took in the view. More tattoos, more spanses of smooth skin with dormant muscle. He leaned down and bit into the back of his neck. He could smell hair chemicals and cheap shampoo. Frankie moaned a little, his hips arching up and brushing Gerard's lap. Gerard pressed down, his senses going a little haywire.

He reached across the bed and grabbed the little bottle of lubrication. Frankie pushed himself up on his elbow a little to watch as he poured a small amount into his palm, and closed it, rubbing it all through his fingers. He reached for Frank. His teeth sank back into his neck gently as he expertly slid a finger into his entrance. Frankie gasped, pushing his face down into the pillow. Gerard licked at his skin coyly, letting another slick digit dissapear inside the younger man's body. He very subtly arched back into his fingers, groaning softly to himself. Gerard shut his eyes, letting his lips comfort and still him. He clenched his teeth for a moment. Frank's entrance was narrow, like his little hips. A small body and a small space inside. He felt a flush of renewed arousal course through his body, and his fingers thrust in a bit deeper, causing still more soft, calling noises from the body below.

"Shhh," Gerard mumbled into his shoulder, though he didn't know why. A need to comfort, perhaps. The noises were part of it though. The noises added flavour to sex. His eyes flicked down. He could see a little of the boy's face, his lips pressed together. The two fingers in his body were still slick, working in and out, in and out at a gentle pace. He gingerly hooked them upwards, feeling out the inside of Frank. He whimpered. Gerard dropped his face into his back, a smile suddenly finding its way to his mouth. His fingers moved faster as the body they were teasing began to rock with need. Gerard had a preparation routine he always found himself using. He pushed his fingers in deep for the final thing, and scissored them suddenly, spreading the walls of his entrance apart. Frank gasped, loud but ready.

Gerard finally moved, his hand reaching for the little bottle again. Frank didn't pick himself up. He shivered where he was, his eyes fluttering closed and his cheek smushed against the pillowcase. Gerard poured a larger amount into his palm and looked down. He set his hand around his shaft, more careful than normal, and began working it gently around the latex. Just enough to make it slick like his fingers. It dripped, and patches of his body hair glistened with the liquid. "Up," he gently commanded, screwing the cap back on the bottle. Frankie didn't even have to ask. He simply pushed up on his knees.

Gerard set his hands on his hips, wrapping his fingers around the bone and gripping them tightly as he too sat up on his knees behind him. He let his member press against him. Frankie whined, feeling the pressure. Gerard adjusted his grip. He glanced up to watch his face. Frank whimpered again, his eyes closed tightly and his teeth around his bottom lip. "It'll be alright," he whispered softly into the darkness. He pushed forward, feeling the way the flesh he was holding started giving way around him. "Ohhh...Oh, oh, oh..." Frank's vocals started rising. Gerard stilled himself. He was greatly resisting the urge to thrust in all at once, but the sick streak inside him wanted to prolong the little one's agony. He could feel his chest rise and fall sharply. His eyes were glued to his actions, watching the slow motion of pushing himself into Frank's tightness inch by inch. He felt incredible. Hot, and so tight. There was no way Frank did this often. He felt too good. Virginal. If he didn't already know better, he would have started wondering.

"Are...Is it...are you in?" His voice quivered from the pillows to Gerard's ears. "Almost, how is it?" he asked, releasing the grip on his hips and running his fingers lightly over his back. "It hurts...." Frank said quietly. "I know...I'm not moving. I won't move til you want me to, til it feels good," he said. He sounded sweet to his own surprise. His words were calm and caring, and deep down where he didn't want to admit it, he liked it.

He waited, his anticipation building in him like a quiet storm. He wanted to move, to push, to fuck the hell out of the narrow little hips surrounding his cock, but he waited. His hands trickled down, his palms running the flesh on Frank's perfectly little ass. He grinned. Smooth.

Frank groaned a little. "Gerard?"

"Hmm?"

"I want more," he requested. Good, Gerard thought to himself. He began to move his hips very gently against Frank. He made another sound of displeasure. "Just wait," Gerard said suddenly, his hands beginning to caress his sides to take away from the streching sensations he was feeling. He nodded, brown hair damp and stuck to his forehead. His whimpers gradually changed, the edge in his cries dissapearing and replaced with slight moaning every now and then. Gerard pulled his hips away from Frank's body, putting space between them before pushing again. "Oh!" It was Gerard's turn to gasp, the feeling of the little thrust simply wonderful to his body. Frankie made no protest. He took that as a good sign.

"Tell me...if I need to go slower," Gerard whispered, leaning down across his back and aiming his voice to his ear. He was starting to move, really move his body against the kid's. "How do you feel?" Gerard asked, glanicing up towards his face. He gave a little groan. "Full," he replied. Frankie panted something else that was lost in the hot, stuffiness of the bedroom. "Oh man...." Gerard felt his lip curl slightly as his eyes dropped between their bodies to watch his own shaft stroking the inside of the body below him. Frankie's back was arching with each one. Gerard withdrew, taking a deep breath and pushing into him roughly. Frank yelped. Gerard open his mouth to utter an apology, but was cut off by a sizzling "yes!" that hissed out of Frank's clenched teeth.

"You like it?"

"I want it harder, yes, yes," he whined. One of his hands crept out from under him, and appeared as long fingers just barely stroking along the inside of Gerard's thighs. They were encouraging him to do just as their owner said.

"Then you should probably brace yourself Frank."

He reached out weakly, grabbing blindly for his headboard and wrapping his hands around what he could. Gerard grabbed the narrow hipbones for all they were worth. He withdrew once more. He took a moment and swallowed back on a dry throat, one hand closing on himself and giving it a few pumps. He thrust himself back in, feeling the pressure in the pit of his stomach building intensely. "Oh god....oh god....oh god...." Frank sounded like a skipping CD, a yelp on his lips for each moment his body endured such violent pleasure. His hand abandoned Gerard's body and closed around his own shaft after yanking it back around to lick it wet. His shoulder was killing him, still braced into the headboard. There was a pillow shoved between the headboard and the top of his head for which he was greatful.

"Fuck me harder!" Frank whimpered, picking his head up enough to be heard. Two pairs of knees went sliding across the bedsheets with the force suddenly and Gerard's hands reached out in time to keep them from both crashing their heads into the board. He straightened his arms, his knuckles turning white, and the air in his lungs dissapearing faster and faster. His knees threatened to give out and his ears were filled with a symphony of rustling sheets and panting breaths, of the bed bouncing and the hollow sound of their pelvic bones pounding together under muscle and flesh. Loudest of all was the pounding rush of his own blood.

That's when he felt it, the soft spot at the very back of Frank's passage. He pushed his head against it. Frank moaned louder than ever. "Ohh, what? That feels...oh yes, please." He could see stars in the back's of his eyes, like someone had tried to knock him out. Whatever Gerard was doing, he wanted more. Gerard knew what he was going through. He could vaguely remember the first time he'd ever had anyone touch his own and the burst of white-hot pleasure that shot through you like a lightening bolt.

"I, uh...I-ha, ha..." Frank suddenly breathed out, his mouth dry. "I'm gonna c-c....cum." His own hand was slicked over with saliva and glistening pre-cum, rubbing so hard his arm had long become numb. His free hand however shot out. "Hold my hand!" he suddenly demanded. Gerard hesitated. It was an odd request. Frank grabbed his hand desperatly since Gerard had been too slow to offer and drove his fingers between the writer's, clutching. Gerard's own fingers came back to life in an instant and squeezed back. "Gerard, ohhh." Frank's back went ridgid and his body shook under his orgasm.

Gerard felt his own muscles shaking without oxygen. He felt like a spring inside of him had been wound as tight as possible. His body was begging him for release. Frank's sudden jerking clenched him even tighter, Gerard unable to pull away. He gasped again. "Me now," he suddenly panted, realizing it was comming. The words barely tumbled out as the hot, thick cum escaped and his body shuddered involuntarily. They stayed, frozen to the spots and trying to inhale as much air as possible. Gerard felt like his lungs were only working at half capacity or that the air in the room had been used up by now. A minute ticked by before Gerard gingerly withdrew himself from Frank's body.

"Trash..." Frank mumbled, pointing to a can near the nightstand. Gerard delicately removed the latex from his body and disposed of it. He returned, seating himself on the edge of the bed and savouring how cool it felt only a foot away from the other body in the room. Frank was streched out on his back, one arm flung over his face and his chest starting to slow down the pace of his breathing. Gerard closed his eyes almost, letting them fall to his toes on the carpeting. Breathe in. Breathe out. He concentrated on the silence of the room and his body slowing back to normal.

"You can lay down." Frank's voice filled the silence after a moment. Gerard looked over his shoulder. Frank had removed the arm from his face and was looking at at him, twirling some of his hair idly between his thumb and forefinger. Gerard nodded without saying anything and gave a little groan as he slid over and layed back. His head hit the pillow and he felt all his energy rush out of his body. Frank was still looking at him. "Nice bed, isn't it?" he said, that adoring smile coming back. Gerard nodded silently.

"Old mattress I guess, but it's comfortable," Frankie continued. Gerard didn't protest when one hand came and rested itself on his chest. Gerard took a moment to make second thoughts, but put his own hand over Frank's anyway. It was relaxing. It felt good. Even if it was pretend. Frank's body came close, his hand....his head near Gerard's shoulder. Don't fall asleep, Gerard thought to himself, but he was fairly aware it was too late.

Gerard ran his hand over his face, waking with a muffled groan. He rubbed his eyes. He didn't have to look at the clock for him to know it was still night. He blinked into the darkness. He turned his head. Frank was still asleep, like he expected. He had kicked off half of his covers. Gerard sat up and swung his feet to the floor, careful not to disturb Frankie. He rubbed his face again and then ran his fingers through his hair a few times. He stood. He felt a little wobbly. He groped the swivel on the blinds and slatted them open, allowing enough blue night-light flood into the room to find his way around.

He started at the foot of the bed, finding his jeans in a heap. His boxers were still crumbled up inside them. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled each article on. I need a shower, he thought to himself. He reached down again. He pulled up Frankie's long sleeved shirt. He set that on the bed and tried again. He struggled into his own shirt and buttoned it all while sitting silently and listening to the soft breathing behind him.

Gerard began pulling his socks back on. He glanced over his shoulder. Part of him was immensly glad Frank was still sleeping. Honestly, he didn't want to have to talk to him. That other part felt guilty for what he was about to do. Which was get up and leave. Gerard had never intended on staying the night anyway. Surely even Frankie knew this was a one night-stand. Only. He pulled his shoelaces. He was nineteen. Nineteen year olds knew shit like that. He glanced back again. Frankie was still undisturbed.

Gerard, now dressed, stood and walked over to his side of the bed. He leaned down and frowned, studying the lines of his face. God, Frankie was pretty. What a lucky bastard. If he lived in the city, he'd probably never be alone. Gerard reached out and very swiftly flicked a piece of hair back from his face. He didn't stir.

"Good sleeper," Gerard mumbled. He hesitated. Frank's back was exposed, the sheets tangled up around his waist. His tattoos looked out of place at this time of night because they were just dark blurs on his skin. Gerard leaned over as carefully as possible and pulled his side of the bed over, covering the body still in the bed. He didn't want Frank to wake up, but he wasn't sure he was ready to leave. He barely knew where he was, and if he left, the dogs might bark at him.

Taking his chances, he silently let himself from the room. He held the doorknob until he heard it click softly shut.

It was a few hours more before Frank awoke. He streched, kicking the sheets off. He rolled over and instantly remembered that Gerard should have been there. But he was not. He pushed himself up on his elbows and looked around the room. Nothing looked out of place, but the sinking feeling settled on him, telling him his guest had already left for the night. He immediately struggled out of bed. Sheets still clinging to his hips, he made his way to the door. Living alone, he never payed much attention to being naked around the house.

"Gerard?" he asked automatically once he stumbled out into the hall. His empty house said nothing back and Frankie slowly made his way into the kitchen. Even though he knew he would find no one there, he felt a second wave of dissapointment. Yes, the house was empty. Both dogs were sleeping by the door. Gerard's glass was still on the bar. Frank reached for it, intending to pour it out and wash it. He stopped though, his fingers poised above the glass. He changed his mind and left it. Maybe it was because he felt like leaving it meant he wasn't really gone.

Frank wasn't so naive to believe sleeping with someone meant they loved you, but for the time being, he didn't feel very well. He wished that he would have at least said good bye. He wouldn't feel so bad if Gerard had stayed the night. And if he stayed the night, maybe Frankie could have made him stay longer.

He turned to the living room. He sank back into his armchair, pulling his legs to his chest. He closed his eyes. Boonetown was quiet at night. No sirens were heard and no cars honking floated through the windows. Sometimes, Frank took the night shifts at the bar, just so he could sleep all day and stay awake all night. He fancied himself living like a vampire, getting a tiny thrill out of playing pretend even at his age.

When he opened his eyes again, they fell upon the book on the coffeetable. It was open. He instantly leaned for it, getting up just enough to snatch it into his fingers. There was something new written under the previous message.

"P.S. - I've taken the liberty of giving you my phone number.
In another book.
-G"

Frank looked around. Every single book was in its place on the shelves. Not a single one lay about the room, nor were any more conspicous looking than another. There were no clues to tell him where he should even begin looking. He was sitting in a giant scavenger hunt.

He pressed the book in his hands to his chest and let his eyes trace the writing over and over. He smiled to himself. Writers.


[AN2:: Thanks for reading guys! Please review if you liked, and if you didn't, tell me why.]