You taste like a killer;
May. 31st, 2011 11:37 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
skeletonlettersTitle: The Painter's Complex.
Author:skeletonletters
Pairing: Frank/Gerard (non-con Bert/Frank)
Rating: NC17
Warning: Past mentions of rape and torture.
Disclamer: Don't own the boys.
Summary: Frank's new date turns into something along the lines of a nightmare, and it's only a matter of time until Gerard realizes that something is very, very wrong.
“Hey, you've got to be careful tonight, you know?” Gerard looks up at Frank as he puts on his coat. Frank nods, smiling – he's trying to look unworried by his nerves. It's a big date night for Frank, and ever since he moved in with Gerard, he hasn't gone out much. Gerard understands – half because he rarely leaves the house, and half because he knows all of the things Frank has been through. Although a few years older than Frank, the 26-year-old does know a thing or two about dropping out of college. He's seen it enough times – although admittedly, never a situation quite as upsetting as Frank's.
But Frank isn't going out because he feels cooped up; he'd be more than happy to stay home all night and watch his friend draw. Because the truth is, the guy he's about to go see is nice, but hardly anything like Gerard. And Frank knows he always wants what he can't have, so he doesn't ask. He knows better than to try to make a move on an older guy, especially one he's known for so long. And especially since everyone has been treating him with fucking kid gloves since 'the incident'.
As he moves to the door, Gerard stands up, knocking over a few of his pencils in the process. This other guy that Frank is about to see – he's an artist too, although even more awkward that Gerard, if that's even possible.
“Hey, Frank --” Gerard starts, but he cuts himself off. Frank stands there expectantly, hand poised on the door knob.
“You look really great.” Gerard says, breathing out.
Frank runs over to give him a hug. “Thanks, Gee.” He says quietly, wishing that it was Gerard he was going with instead. He smells like cigarettes, and what it feels like to be taken care of. But he ignores the wish and runs downstairs, knowing that his new date is waiting for him in town.
The bar is smoky, and Frank fights his eyes from watering as he enters it's dim light. Other college kids and post-graduates are talking; this is one of the more popular bars on this side of Jersey, and Frank cranes his neck to look for Bert.
He doesn't have to look very long, as he sees the long-haired artist and musician in the corner, brooding over a drink. By the looks of it, it isn't his first.
“Hey” Frank says brightly, taking a seat next to him. Bert immediately perks up as he sees Frank, and gives him an approving once-over.
“Wow, you look great.” He says, brushing the dirty hair out of his eyes. Frank blushes and gives a small thank you, thinking back to the way that Gerard said the same thing only minutes ago. Bert says it differently, with a heat. Gerard's compliment is more like a quiet hum in his heart.
Bert buys him a drink and asks him lots of questions – how his day went, work, the band. Frank nods and talks, a little bit shy because he never really gets asked theses things. Except with Gerard of course, but that's so much more familiar. But Bert seems very interested, occasionally touching his hand or moving in really close. Frank is sure that with a first date, there's supposed to be a flurry of emotions, thoughts and new feelings. But Frank doesn't feel that way – as happy as he is, he just feels a little bit preyed upon, like meat.
It reminds him of a certain memory, but he pushes it down. As much as he usually relies on his instincts, he knows that Bert is just a little bit off-centered, and he's just used to the oddity of Gerard. Frank tries to stay engaged, but Bert's easy lull of conversation makes him a little bit sleepy, and his thoughts redirect to Gerard once more.
He pretends to be invested in making his drinks disappear while he thinks. Trying not to think of Gerard is a pointless thing; it's like attempting to not think about your mom naked once someone mentions it. The thought parasites it's way through the folds of your brain until it's on fire, daring. Bert starts laughing at his own joke, and Frank laughs along with it. He's a funny, eccentric guy, and Frank actually likes him – a lot. But as a friend. He hopes that Bert can take it well, once the date is over.
“You know, you've got a really nice smile." This snaps Frank a little more out of his trance. Bert says it like it's a confession.
"Ever since I saw you working, I haven't been able to get it out of my head.” Bert smiles and puts his fingers on top of Frank's, squeezing gently. Frank's face goes a little pink and he nods, feeling wobbly from all of the mixed drink. He doesn't remember it ever being that strong, but it is. He's always been a light weight anyhow, so it's probably since him and Gerard don't drink.
Bert's eyes look expectant, and Frank stares at the stubble on his chin. “I remember that, too.” Frank says, still concentrated on the tiny, rough hairs. He doesn't want to think about kissing that, he just likes to think about Gerard's smooth skin on his own.
“I kept coming back for the coffee, just to see that smile.” Bert's eyes are shining in the hazy light, and Frank just smiles again. He brings coffee home to Gerard every night, just to see him smile.
The drinks are over and done with, and Bert and him stand up, Frank's legs feeling heavy beneath him. He almost falls and Bert stands him back up, concern wavering in his features. “You okay walking home?” He asks, firm grip on Frank's slender waist. He suddenly becomes all too aware of how strong Bert's arms are, and it reminds him of that memory he really, really doesn't want to remember. Gerard's arms are strong, too, but they're never encroaching.
The one drink starts feeling heavier and heavier in Frank's stomach as he walks, and before he knows it, he's stumbling against the brick wall.
“Maybe you should come stay at my house for a bit, shake this off.” Bert looks friendly, maybe even a bit scared. Frank wavers, wanting to call Gerard but not wanting to be a burden. He thinks of Gerard's face whenever alcohol is mentioned, the way he tries to keep his composure but just can't. Frank cringes; he doesn't want to make things harder on Gerard than they already have to be.
Frank nods and lets Bert take him, and he's almost crawling by the time they're at his house. And right before they go inside, something starts to scream in the back of his head. Something is off, something isn't right. He wants to head to the door, but he can't quite make it in time before something cold and metallic collides with his skull.
*
Slicing skin is like licking on batteries, and Bert just can't stop. His eyes are slit with malice and he breathes in, letting his how of gore and broken skylines of tattoos pour from that pretty half-dead cadaver. And when he smiles, he really lets those wicked incisors go all out.
“You don't have to do this.” Frank begs him, clutching the mass of tendons bleeding out from his pale skin. There's red and there's tattoos, living in cohesion against him. And Bert looks at him like he's lost his fucking mind. He doesn't have to do this.
He takes the razor-edged knife and digs it into Frank's thin skin, coating his pretty white ribcage that Bert is just dying to expose. “I don't have to do this.” He says quietly, looking at the fear in Frank's eyes as he gasps. The ropes are bound tightly against his skin and it's beautiful. “But I want to.”
Tears roll hotly on Frank's cheeks and Bert licks them off. When Frank went home with the messy artist, he didn't know what he'd be getting into. He couldn't say no – although he didn't know the man for much more than a few weeks, he didn't see any reason to be alarmed. He didn't know he had been drugged by the man offering to help him.
Now he realizes how Bert paints muscles with such exact precision.
He almost forces out a laugh as Frank's whole body moves silently away from the knife, and Bert knows Frank can't move much in his confines. He takes the delicate skin of Frank's thigh and caresses it, then drags the knife against the filthy white. “Please,” Frank gasps out, begging for release. Murder is sex, and Bert can play this game like he has with the others; slow and cruel and dirty.
Frank feels that hard edge of confusion and sickening disappointment as he realizes that he is going to die there, and there is nothing he can do to make it stop. “Bert.” He whispers quietly, feeling like he might vomit in the cold draft of his basement. “You'll get caught for this – I won't tell if you stop, Bert, fucking, please.” Frank hisses and clutches at his side, a fresh wound biting into him.
Bert stares at the blood pouring, and moves to catch some in his hands. Frank is losing so much blood that he can't speak right, he's fighting for consciousness as he loses out on breath. “Don't hurt me.” He chokes out, a bizarre plea for someone with a razor sticking out his kneecap. “Don't hurt me anymore.”
Bert feels like smashing something at his cries; how many times has he heard another person cry, beg for something? He just stares at Frank with pity, or maybe depreciation. He's been doing this for years, he's an expert at the art of death.
“Your old roommate asked me to do this.” He says suddenly, causing Frank's tired eyes to look into his own.
Bert takes a step, then runs his fingernails down Frank's spine. “It's not that I haven't done this before or anything, but it's the first time I've been paid to do something I enjoy – besides art.” He flashes his oversized teeth at Frank, and Frank's whole body collapses in sobs. Him and Matthew were never friends, but ever since he ratted Matt out for not paying rent, it's been more than frightening. Matt was always on the wrong side of the tracks, but Frank knew that he was falling deeper when he started getting violent with Frank. He squeezes his eyes shut; Matt knew about his trust issues, knew how scary it was for him to have a relationship. He's never had a real boyfriend, and although he wanted Gerard to be the one, he would have given Bert the chance. This goes beyond sick, especially coming from Matt, and inside source.
He's taken out of his thoughts as Bert removes the razor stuck into his knee, allowing the blood to flow like champagne, freshly uncorked. He screams and Bert stares in awe, watching it flow smoothly down his bare flesh. “You're so beautiful, Frankie.” Bert says lowly, eyes raking his bare frame. Only Gerard calls him Frankie, only Gerard. Frank cringes and looks down; he hates being referred to as beautiful, not since –
“He told me about your date rape, too.” Bert simpers, kneeling down so that they're on the same level. His eyes look so sincere, so caring. Frank breathes in shallowly as he cups his cheek, and he feels like a wounded, wild animal.
“Told me to be careful with you, treat you well before it happened.” He bites his lip and looks away, shaking as the tears crash onto the cement floor. He didn't want Bert to see his tears.
“He really must have wanted it to hurt, huh?” Frank's breath keeps catching as the tears transition again into sobs, and his shoulders ache from his restraints. Matt was homeless because of him, and even after Frank offered to help him find a cheaper place – Matt just refused. It wasn't his fault, he couldn't pay the price of two people. Suddenly, all Frank can thank about is Gerard – he knew that Frank was going out tonight. He gave Bert's address to him, knowing that he would come if things got too late. He just needed to hold on. Gerard had to come find him.
Frank wriggles against the rope, gritting his teeth against the burn. “Rape is fucked up.” He says quietly, forcing himself to meet Bert's eyes.
“So is necrophilia, but that doesn't stop me.” Frank gasps as Bert's lips crash into his own, and he shudders and cries against his mouth, the cool silver of his pocket knife upper-cutting into his stomach. The blood pours out, maybe faster than Bert intended, and he puts his fingers over the wound, as if to prevent more of the blood from spilling over his fingers.
Frank knows he can't fight it much longer as he looks at the puddle forming around him. “You've got about twenty minutes.” Bert says, kissing his lower lip. Frank tries to bite it, and is met with a sharp hiss and a quick gash to the leg.
“Don't fight it, Frankie. I won't make it nice if you fight.” Bert sucks gently at a small wound on Frank's inner wrist, and Frank just prays for Gerard. Or prays for death, or prays for a miracle. He knows he just has to hold on, if only for a moment.
Bert starts unraveling the rope, knowing that Frank couldn't get far away if he tried. Frank sways a bit as the resistance he's fought is suddenly gone, leaving him feeling weightless, but in the worst way. Bert holds him against the chair, and Frank hisses in pain as something warm and rough enters him. Frank realizes in horror that Bert's fingers are pushing inside of him, and it's enough to make him vomit. Bert takes the blood from Frank's leg and uses it to help him slide up and inside, like a lubricant, and Frank crumples against the chair, knowing he's going to break and die.
“I want you to die now, Frank.” Bert whispers, using his free hand to brush away the hair from Frank's eyes. “You can die now.” But Frank can't stop thinking about Gerard, and goddamnit if he's going to die without telling him the truth. Frank just is silent, trying not to breathe as he feels the searing pain, and hopes he can make it until help comes – Gerard is to nervous to not come. But it's getting hard to hold on, and the pain shooting up his spine is only one of the many humiliations.
In his quickly-forming haze, Frank hears a slam to the door and a jolt as Bert falls down onto the ground, falling into Frank's hot pool of blood. The pain of Bert's fingers getting ripped out of him makes Frank cry out, but it's a tiny whisper against the night. He sees black figures fighting, slipping and sliding in his own blood. And then he hearts one set of lungs breathing, and the glint of a knife entering a chest.
“Holy shit.” He hears the voice say weakly, and he's so excited that he falls forward from his chair, letting himself be caught by the warmth of the figures arms.
“Gerard.” Frank whispers brokenly against his chest, naked body vulnerable and bloody. He feels drained, tired somehow. Gerard is whimpering into his neck, trying not to jostle him as he dials for an ambulance.
The dampness of the room surrounds them, and Frank doesn't care how or when or why Gerard found him – he's just glad he's there. “Gerard, I never wanted to go.” He whispers hoarsely, listening to the tears of cloth as Gerard uses Frank's scattered pike of clothes to staunch the bleeding.
“I wanted to be with you.” He says, tears falling from the corners of his tired eyes. “I want to be with you.” Gerard shakes a little at his words, but keeps working, propping Frank up with his arms. He raises Frank's arms and legs, trying to slow the time and pressure of the wounds. Gerard's tears are warm and hot on Frank's neck, and he can't believe this is the second time Gerard has to find him like this; naked, bloody and broken.
He hears the ambulances outside, a faint light pouring through the open door. “I'm so, so sorry.” Gerard says quietly, voice thick as he holds Frank's arms above his heart.
“Jesus fucking Christ, it should have been me.” He leans down to give Frank a kiss, and it's so soft and quick that Frank barely knows it happened. But he does, and that's all that matters.
The paramedics are pouring downstairs, policemen in hand. Frank's body is slowly slipping, and all he can feel is Gerard's hands on his arms, all the way to the door, where they're shut and it all goes blank.
*
Waking up in a hospital is not something that Frank is unfamiliar with. With as many colds and little ailments he's been so prone to over the years – along with admittance for his injury-attracting self – he's slept in more hospitals than houses. The white light is almost blinding, and he can tell that it's morning by the dull throb of yellow blasting through the shades.
He can't remember anything at first, but he sees a bag of blood feeding into his skin and something starts to crawl inside of him. “Oh my fucking God.” He breathes out, slowly through his nostrils. He's on his back, and he cranes his neck to the left to meet face to face with a black mop of hair, breathing in a sleep pattern.
“Oh my fucking God.” Frank repeats, fists clenching and jaw tightening. The heart monitor beeps faster, and Gerard jerks awake, hands flailing to meet Frank's.
“Frank! Do you need the doctor, I –“ Gerard is about to press the call button, but Frank's face makes him put it down.
His eyes are leaking tears as he stares down at his ruined body, covered in bandages. Underneath all of the morphine, Frank knows it hurts, knows that there are going to be bloody scars all over his forearms, tracing over his ribcage and back. “Oh my God.” Frank chokes out, trying to lift himself up. A gash on his stomach stops him, and more tears slip past his cheeks.
“I'm so sorry, Frankie.” Gerard says, eyes nervously darting from the monitor and back to Frank. His fingers skim along the outside of a thick gauze wound, and Frank bites his lip. He feels like a mummy, covered in medical tape to hide a fresh corpse.
Frank looks at Gerard's tired eyes, red-rimmed and bloodshot. “Your mom came a while ago, but I got her to go home and rest a while. Bob and Ray came, too – Mikey is on his way.” Frank just shakes his head a lot, and reaches his hand to Gerard's. His fingers feel small against his, and he can't stop shaking.
“Bert.” Is all Frank says, looking up at the ceiling. “I can't believe Matt, and Bert. Just, fuck.” He bites his swollen lip and uses his free hand to touch his face – it seems unharmed.
Gerard nods his head, rubbing slow circles into Frank's palm. “Bert killed nine other people, Frank. They found bodies in his cellar.” Frank feels sick at that – it could have been him in a cellar, if it wasn't for Gerard.
“Oh, Gee.” He takes looks into Gerard's weary eyes. “Thank you.” Gerard just shakes his head, and he can't believe they're both crying. He can't believe that something like this happened again.
Gerard presses his lips to Frank's forehead, and then slowly moves to his cheeks, then presses a gentle one to his lips. “I shouldn't have been so fucking afraid to tell you how I felt.” He says, brushing the hair out of his eyes. “You wouldn't have ever had to go through with it.” It's Frank's turn to shake his head, and reaches up for another small, chaste kiss.
“We just don't have the time to waste.” Frank whispers, a little wistful a nurse walks in, followed by a set of doctors and a policeman. Gerard nods, then stands up, ready to stand by with Frank through his perils, and all his pitfalls.
~~fin~~~
(A/N: Well, this actually started as Gerard killing Frank, but when I sent this to my Beta, she got really upset by it, so I just slapped on some random shit and called it even. Anyways, I still hope you like it. Here is some arabic I Google translated: أنا أحب الأولاد تقبيل الأولاد. xD)
Author:
skeletonlettersPairing: Frank/Gerard (non-con Bert/Frank)
Rating: NC17
Warning: Past mentions of rape and torture.
Disclamer: Don't own the boys.
Summary: Frank's new date turns into something along the lines of a nightmare, and it's only a matter of time until Gerard realizes that something is very, very wrong.
“Hey, you've got to be careful tonight, you know?” Gerard looks up at Frank as he puts on his coat. Frank nods, smiling – he's trying to look unworried by his nerves. It's a big date night for Frank, and ever since he moved in with Gerard, he hasn't gone out much. Gerard understands – half because he rarely leaves the house, and half because he knows all of the things Frank has been through. Although a few years older than Frank, the 26-year-old does know a thing or two about dropping out of college. He's seen it enough times – although admittedly, never a situation quite as upsetting as Frank's.
But Frank isn't going out because he feels cooped up; he'd be more than happy to stay home all night and watch his friend draw. Because the truth is, the guy he's about to go see is nice, but hardly anything like Gerard. And Frank knows he always wants what he can't have, so he doesn't ask. He knows better than to try to make a move on an older guy, especially one he's known for so long. And especially since everyone has been treating him with fucking kid gloves since 'the incident'.
As he moves to the door, Gerard stands up, knocking over a few of his pencils in the process. This other guy that Frank is about to see – he's an artist too, although even more awkward that Gerard, if that's even possible.
“Hey, Frank --” Gerard starts, but he cuts himself off. Frank stands there expectantly, hand poised on the door knob.
“You look really great.” Gerard says, breathing out.
Frank runs over to give him a hug. “Thanks, Gee.” He says quietly, wishing that it was Gerard he was going with instead. He smells like cigarettes, and what it feels like to be taken care of. But he ignores the wish and runs downstairs, knowing that his new date is waiting for him in town.
The bar is smoky, and Frank fights his eyes from watering as he enters it's dim light. Other college kids and post-graduates are talking; this is one of the more popular bars on this side of Jersey, and Frank cranes his neck to look for Bert.
He doesn't have to look very long, as he sees the long-haired artist and musician in the corner, brooding over a drink. By the looks of it, it isn't his first.
“Hey” Frank says brightly, taking a seat next to him. Bert immediately perks up as he sees Frank, and gives him an approving once-over.
“Wow, you look great.” He says, brushing the dirty hair out of his eyes. Frank blushes and gives a small thank you, thinking back to the way that Gerard said the same thing only minutes ago. Bert says it differently, with a heat. Gerard's compliment is more like a quiet hum in his heart.
Bert buys him a drink and asks him lots of questions – how his day went, work, the band. Frank nods and talks, a little bit shy because he never really gets asked theses things. Except with Gerard of course, but that's so much more familiar. But Bert seems very interested, occasionally touching his hand or moving in really close. Frank is sure that with a first date, there's supposed to be a flurry of emotions, thoughts and new feelings. But Frank doesn't feel that way – as happy as he is, he just feels a little bit preyed upon, like meat.
It reminds him of a certain memory, but he pushes it down. As much as he usually relies on his instincts, he knows that Bert is just a little bit off-centered, and he's just used to the oddity of Gerard. Frank tries to stay engaged, but Bert's easy lull of conversation makes him a little bit sleepy, and his thoughts redirect to Gerard once more.
He pretends to be invested in making his drinks disappear while he thinks. Trying not to think of Gerard is a pointless thing; it's like attempting to not think about your mom naked once someone mentions it. The thought parasites it's way through the folds of your brain until it's on fire, daring. Bert starts laughing at his own joke, and Frank laughs along with it. He's a funny, eccentric guy, and Frank actually likes him – a lot. But as a friend. He hopes that Bert can take it well, once the date is over.
“You know, you've got a really nice smile." This snaps Frank a little more out of his trance. Bert says it like it's a confession.
"Ever since I saw you working, I haven't been able to get it out of my head.” Bert smiles and puts his fingers on top of Frank's, squeezing gently. Frank's face goes a little pink and he nods, feeling wobbly from all of the mixed drink. He doesn't remember it ever being that strong, but it is. He's always been a light weight anyhow, so it's probably since him and Gerard don't drink.
Bert's eyes look expectant, and Frank stares at the stubble on his chin. “I remember that, too.” Frank says, still concentrated on the tiny, rough hairs. He doesn't want to think about kissing that, he just likes to think about Gerard's smooth skin on his own.
“I kept coming back for the coffee, just to see that smile.” Bert's eyes are shining in the hazy light, and Frank just smiles again. He brings coffee home to Gerard every night, just to see him smile.
The drinks are over and done with, and Bert and him stand up, Frank's legs feeling heavy beneath him. He almost falls and Bert stands him back up, concern wavering in his features. “You okay walking home?” He asks, firm grip on Frank's slender waist. He suddenly becomes all too aware of how strong Bert's arms are, and it reminds him of that memory he really, really doesn't want to remember. Gerard's arms are strong, too, but they're never encroaching.
The one drink starts feeling heavier and heavier in Frank's stomach as he walks, and before he knows it, he's stumbling against the brick wall.
“Maybe you should come stay at my house for a bit, shake this off.” Bert looks friendly, maybe even a bit scared. Frank wavers, wanting to call Gerard but not wanting to be a burden. He thinks of Gerard's face whenever alcohol is mentioned, the way he tries to keep his composure but just can't. Frank cringes; he doesn't want to make things harder on Gerard than they already have to be.
Frank nods and lets Bert take him, and he's almost crawling by the time they're at his house. And right before they go inside, something starts to scream in the back of his head. Something is off, something isn't right. He wants to head to the door, but he can't quite make it in time before something cold and metallic collides with his skull.
*
Slicing skin is like licking on batteries, and Bert just can't stop. His eyes are slit with malice and he breathes in, letting his how of gore and broken skylines of tattoos pour from that pretty half-dead cadaver. And when he smiles, he really lets those wicked incisors go all out.
“You don't have to do this.” Frank begs him, clutching the mass of tendons bleeding out from his pale skin. There's red and there's tattoos, living in cohesion against him. And Bert looks at him like he's lost his fucking mind. He doesn't have to do this.
He takes the razor-edged knife and digs it into Frank's thin skin, coating his pretty white ribcage that Bert is just dying to expose. “I don't have to do this.” He says quietly, looking at the fear in Frank's eyes as he gasps. The ropes are bound tightly against his skin and it's beautiful. “But I want to.”
Tears roll hotly on Frank's cheeks and Bert licks them off. When Frank went home with the messy artist, he didn't know what he'd be getting into. He couldn't say no – although he didn't know the man for much more than a few weeks, he didn't see any reason to be alarmed. He didn't know he had been drugged by the man offering to help him.
Now he realizes how Bert paints muscles with such exact precision.
He almost forces out a laugh as Frank's whole body moves silently away from the knife, and Bert knows Frank can't move much in his confines. He takes the delicate skin of Frank's thigh and caresses it, then drags the knife against the filthy white. “Please,” Frank gasps out, begging for release. Murder is sex, and Bert can play this game like he has with the others; slow and cruel and dirty.
Frank feels that hard edge of confusion and sickening disappointment as he realizes that he is going to die there, and there is nothing he can do to make it stop. “Bert.” He whispers quietly, feeling like he might vomit in the cold draft of his basement. “You'll get caught for this – I won't tell if you stop, Bert, fucking, please.” Frank hisses and clutches at his side, a fresh wound biting into him.
Bert stares at the blood pouring, and moves to catch some in his hands. Frank is losing so much blood that he can't speak right, he's fighting for consciousness as he loses out on breath. “Don't hurt me.” He chokes out, a bizarre plea for someone with a razor sticking out his kneecap. “Don't hurt me anymore.”
Bert feels like smashing something at his cries; how many times has he heard another person cry, beg for something? He just stares at Frank with pity, or maybe depreciation. He's been doing this for years, he's an expert at the art of death.
“Your old roommate asked me to do this.” He says suddenly, causing Frank's tired eyes to look into his own.
Bert takes a step, then runs his fingernails down Frank's spine. “It's not that I haven't done this before or anything, but it's the first time I've been paid to do something I enjoy – besides art.” He flashes his oversized teeth at Frank, and Frank's whole body collapses in sobs. Him and Matthew were never friends, but ever since he ratted Matt out for not paying rent, it's been more than frightening. Matt was always on the wrong side of the tracks, but Frank knew that he was falling deeper when he started getting violent with Frank. He squeezes his eyes shut; Matt knew about his trust issues, knew how scary it was for him to have a relationship. He's never had a real boyfriend, and although he wanted Gerard to be the one, he would have given Bert the chance. This goes beyond sick, especially coming from Matt, and inside source.
He's taken out of his thoughts as Bert removes the razor stuck into his knee, allowing the blood to flow like champagne, freshly uncorked. He screams and Bert stares in awe, watching it flow smoothly down his bare flesh. “You're so beautiful, Frankie.” Bert says lowly, eyes raking his bare frame. Only Gerard calls him Frankie, only Gerard. Frank cringes and looks down; he hates being referred to as beautiful, not since –
“He told me about your date rape, too.” Bert simpers, kneeling down so that they're on the same level. His eyes look so sincere, so caring. Frank breathes in shallowly as he cups his cheek, and he feels like a wounded, wild animal.
“Told me to be careful with you, treat you well before it happened.” He bites his lip and looks away, shaking as the tears crash onto the cement floor. He didn't want Bert to see his tears.
“He really must have wanted it to hurt, huh?” Frank's breath keeps catching as the tears transition again into sobs, and his shoulders ache from his restraints. Matt was homeless because of him, and even after Frank offered to help him find a cheaper place – Matt just refused. It wasn't his fault, he couldn't pay the price of two people. Suddenly, all Frank can thank about is Gerard – he knew that Frank was going out tonight. He gave Bert's address to him, knowing that he would come if things got too late. He just needed to hold on. Gerard had to come find him.
Frank wriggles against the rope, gritting his teeth against the burn. “Rape is fucked up.” He says quietly, forcing himself to meet Bert's eyes.
“So is necrophilia, but that doesn't stop me.” Frank gasps as Bert's lips crash into his own, and he shudders and cries against his mouth, the cool silver of his pocket knife upper-cutting into his stomach. The blood pours out, maybe faster than Bert intended, and he puts his fingers over the wound, as if to prevent more of the blood from spilling over his fingers.
Frank knows he can't fight it much longer as he looks at the puddle forming around him. “You've got about twenty minutes.” Bert says, kissing his lower lip. Frank tries to bite it, and is met with a sharp hiss and a quick gash to the leg.
“Don't fight it, Frankie. I won't make it nice if you fight.” Bert sucks gently at a small wound on Frank's inner wrist, and Frank just prays for Gerard. Or prays for death, or prays for a miracle. He knows he just has to hold on, if only for a moment.
Bert starts unraveling the rope, knowing that Frank couldn't get far away if he tried. Frank sways a bit as the resistance he's fought is suddenly gone, leaving him feeling weightless, but in the worst way. Bert holds him against the chair, and Frank hisses in pain as something warm and rough enters him. Frank realizes in horror that Bert's fingers are pushing inside of him, and it's enough to make him vomit. Bert takes the blood from Frank's leg and uses it to help him slide up and inside, like a lubricant, and Frank crumples against the chair, knowing he's going to break and die.
“I want you to die now, Frank.” Bert whispers, using his free hand to brush away the hair from Frank's eyes. “You can die now.” But Frank can't stop thinking about Gerard, and goddamnit if he's going to die without telling him the truth. Frank just is silent, trying not to breathe as he feels the searing pain, and hopes he can make it until help comes – Gerard is to nervous to not come. But it's getting hard to hold on, and the pain shooting up his spine is only one of the many humiliations.
In his quickly-forming haze, Frank hears a slam to the door and a jolt as Bert falls down onto the ground, falling into Frank's hot pool of blood. The pain of Bert's fingers getting ripped out of him makes Frank cry out, but it's a tiny whisper against the night. He sees black figures fighting, slipping and sliding in his own blood. And then he hearts one set of lungs breathing, and the glint of a knife entering a chest.
“Holy shit.” He hears the voice say weakly, and he's so excited that he falls forward from his chair, letting himself be caught by the warmth of the figures arms.
“Gerard.” Frank whispers brokenly against his chest, naked body vulnerable and bloody. He feels drained, tired somehow. Gerard is whimpering into his neck, trying not to jostle him as he dials for an ambulance.
The dampness of the room surrounds them, and Frank doesn't care how or when or why Gerard found him – he's just glad he's there. “Gerard, I never wanted to go.” He whispers hoarsely, listening to the tears of cloth as Gerard uses Frank's scattered pike of clothes to staunch the bleeding.
“I wanted to be with you.” He says, tears falling from the corners of his tired eyes. “I want to be with you.” Gerard shakes a little at his words, but keeps working, propping Frank up with his arms. He raises Frank's arms and legs, trying to slow the time and pressure of the wounds. Gerard's tears are warm and hot on Frank's neck, and he can't believe this is the second time Gerard has to find him like this; naked, bloody and broken.
He hears the ambulances outside, a faint light pouring through the open door. “I'm so, so sorry.” Gerard says quietly, voice thick as he holds Frank's arms above his heart.
“Jesus fucking Christ, it should have been me.” He leans down to give Frank a kiss, and it's so soft and quick that Frank barely knows it happened. But he does, and that's all that matters.
The paramedics are pouring downstairs, policemen in hand. Frank's body is slowly slipping, and all he can feel is Gerard's hands on his arms, all the way to the door, where they're shut and it all goes blank.
*
Waking up in a hospital is not something that Frank is unfamiliar with. With as many colds and little ailments he's been so prone to over the years – along with admittance for his injury-attracting self – he's slept in more hospitals than houses. The white light is almost blinding, and he can tell that it's morning by the dull throb of yellow blasting through the shades.
He can't remember anything at first, but he sees a bag of blood feeding into his skin and something starts to crawl inside of him. “Oh my fucking God.” He breathes out, slowly through his nostrils. He's on his back, and he cranes his neck to the left to meet face to face with a black mop of hair, breathing in a sleep pattern.
“Oh my fucking God.” Frank repeats, fists clenching and jaw tightening. The heart monitor beeps faster, and Gerard jerks awake, hands flailing to meet Frank's.
“Frank! Do you need the doctor, I –“ Gerard is about to press the call button, but Frank's face makes him put it down.
His eyes are leaking tears as he stares down at his ruined body, covered in bandages. Underneath all of the morphine, Frank knows it hurts, knows that there are going to be bloody scars all over his forearms, tracing over his ribcage and back. “Oh my God.” Frank chokes out, trying to lift himself up. A gash on his stomach stops him, and more tears slip past his cheeks.
“I'm so sorry, Frankie.” Gerard says, eyes nervously darting from the monitor and back to Frank. His fingers skim along the outside of a thick gauze wound, and Frank bites his lip. He feels like a mummy, covered in medical tape to hide a fresh corpse.
Frank looks at Gerard's tired eyes, red-rimmed and bloodshot. “Your mom came a while ago, but I got her to go home and rest a while. Bob and Ray came, too – Mikey is on his way.” Frank just shakes his head a lot, and reaches his hand to Gerard's. His fingers feel small against his, and he can't stop shaking.
“Bert.” Is all Frank says, looking up at the ceiling. “I can't believe Matt, and Bert. Just, fuck.” He bites his swollen lip and uses his free hand to touch his face – it seems unharmed.
Gerard nods his head, rubbing slow circles into Frank's palm. “Bert killed nine other people, Frank. They found bodies in his cellar.” Frank feels sick at that – it could have been him in a cellar, if it wasn't for Gerard.
“Oh, Gee.” He takes looks into Gerard's weary eyes. “Thank you.” Gerard just shakes his head, and he can't believe they're both crying. He can't believe that something like this happened again.
Gerard presses his lips to Frank's forehead, and then slowly moves to his cheeks, then presses a gentle one to his lips. “I shouldn't have been so fucking afraid to tell you how I felt.” He says, brushing the hair out of his eyes. “You wouldn't have ever had to go through with it.” It's Frank's turn to shake his head, and reaches up for another small, chaste kiss.
“We just don't have the time to waste.” Frank whispers, a little wistful a nurse walks in, followed by a set of doctors and a policeman. Gerard nods, then stands up, ready to stand by with Frank through his perils, and all his pitfalls.
~~fin~~~
(A/N: Well, this actually started as Gerard killing Frank, but when I sent this to my Beta, she got really upset by it, so I just slapped on some random shit and called it even. Anyways, I still hope you like it. Here is some arabic I Google translated: أنا أحب الأولاد تقبيل الأولاد. xD)
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Date: 2011-06-04 05:17 am (UTC)I think the end was too... naive for the plot. Just a little bit too much closure for the trauma. I don't know... I kind of think it'd be a lot harder for Frank to approach in his head. (This could also be my cynical view of happy endings.) Since Gerard is a dues ex machina and this is a one-shot then he's allowed whatever psychological traits you want to give him.
All in all very... unforgettable. Though it would have had much more impact and disturbance if it had indeed been Gerard as the killer. But those are only my thoughts.
I love you and your brain.
no subject
Date: 2011-06-06 03:11 pm (UTC)I really just slapped on an ending, because I originally had it being Gerard as Bert and this whole build up of a relationship, then BOB saving him, but ... I changed it because I thought it'd be too weird. So yeah, I'm not wild about this one, but I'm glad that you kind of picked up on that. I'm thinking about editing the end at some point. :)
♥
no subject
Date: 2011-06-06 07:57 pm (UTC)