Anorex-a-Gogo

Remember what I said about the scariest thing being waking up in someone else's bed? Well, I've changed my mind. It is undoubtedly much scarier, as I've just found out, to wake up in your own bed, accompanied by a sleeping boy you've developed inexperienced, irrational feelings for. Let's call it infatuation, for lack of better words.

I roll over in my bed as my 6:30 AM alarm clock buzzes annoyingly, only to be met with Gerard's warm breath on my cheek. Not only that, but his arm snaked around my waist, lightly gripping my hip in sleep. His words from yesterday come to mind. 'Frankie, I'm gonna keep you safe tonight.' Suddenly his grip seems protective, and I am thankful to whatever powers that be that Gerard was here last night to keep me safe like he promised to.

He mumbles incoherently as I disentangle my body from his limbs, moving to slam my palm down on the alarm clock. I consider burying my face back in his neck and staying there all day, but I haven't actually attended a full day of school this entire week, and I've got a whole shitload of work to catch up on. So I unwillingly slide out from under the warmth of Gerard and my blankets, stumbling towards the bathroom for a shower. I've come full circle once again, it is Friday.

He's still blissfully asleep, it seems, when I emerge from the bathroom about twenty-five minutes later, feeling groggy, cold, and envious as hell. I'd sell my left leg just to be able to crawl back into bed. Unfortunately, Mom comes pounding on my door about three seconds later, "Frank, are you up?"

I glare at Gerard. "Lucky bitch," I mumble bitterly.

He grins, his eyes still closed. "You better kiss the lucky bitch goodbye before you leave for school, little boy. He won't be here when you come home."

My heart sinks as I dutifully crawl back onto the bed and into his arms. "Why not?" I ask, hating the whine and weak disappointment in my voice.

"I'm going to an art convention in New York," he replies, one tired eye peeking open to gage my reaction. "But no worries, I'll be home by late tomorrow night."

This doesn't make me happy like it should have. I'm not thinking about the time he'll be getting back, but only about the time during which he'll be gone, and I'll be alone. And I can't explain the sudden feeling that comes over me, like I just might cry. I've got this overwhelming urge to crawl into his pocket and hide in there until he comes back.

"Frankie, kiss," he demands almost impatiently, tapping his lips. I smile a little bit at his child-like voice and order, but him leaving is not the best way to start off a day that will undoubtedly suck. I'll admit it, I had this image of him in my head, still sleeping here or drawing when I got home. It's an image I connect with safety, and I long to be safe. But I don't kiss him.

Gerard sighs. "You're over-thinking again, Frankie. Stop it." He flops back against the pillows, one hand shoved behind his head as the other idly plays up my tee-shirt, tracing lazy circles on my stomach.

"What if I come with you?" I offer meekly, trying to resist squirming as he unknowingly torments my ticklish spots.

His look is disapproving. "And miss more school? I don't think so."

"But it's Friday, Gee, and--"

"And you've already missed school all this week. So no."

I furrow my eyebrows. A part of me knew he'd say no because he cares about my being in school like he cares about Mikey being in school, by my self-conscious monster is reeling its ugly head, whispering almost subconsciously in my ear that he just doesn't want me there with him. Damn me for listening to it against my better judgment.

I quickly stand and pull out of his arms, reaching for my bag. Then I pull on a sweatshirt and fumble around for my shoes. Gerard's hand closes around my wrist, yanking me back onto the bed. I stumble back and end up sprawled across his legs, fighting to get back to my feet.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Frank?" he asks, his voice sharp and irritated. I feel the sting of him using my regular name, no soft-added extra syllables or pet names. Just embedded frustration.

"Lemme go," I grunt, fighting against his arms, but he's got me pinned to the bed. Stubbornly I refuse to meet his eyes, huffily looking anywhere but his face.

"Not. Until. You tell me. What's. Up. Your. Ass," he says, most of the words separate from each other as he struggles to hold me down. I don't even know why I'm fighting, but I am. In a moment he's straddling me, his knees locked around my waist so that I can't move, and his hands pinning my wrists above my head. "Is this all because I won't let you come to some stupid convention?"

Like the mature guy I am, I glare at him, stick out my tongue, and then proceed to give him the silent treatment.

"It is, isn't it?" he sighs, and closes his eyes. "I should've known you'd get attached."

"What is that supposed to mean?" I ask, then remembering that I'm not speaking to him, I seal my lips again.

He's quiet for a minute, and I feel like I'm making too much noise with my breathing, labored because of struggling against him and because he's sitting directly on my cock. "You think I don't want you with me? That I wouldn't love to bring you out of the state with me for a couple of days? That I wouldn't kill to get you alone in a hotel room in New York, away from all these distractions? Do you really think that?"

I'm now completely still beneath him. That may have been exactly what I was thinking.

"Because that's bullshit, Frankie. I want all of that and more. I'm almost selfish enough to kidnap you anyway, just to have you all to myself."

"So why don't you?" I ask. My cheeks are flushed pink, and I can feel my blood boiling.

He dips his head and nibbles gently on my neck, up my jaw to my earlobe. As if he's stalling for time. "Because I care too much," he murmurs when he reaches my ear.

He hungrily catches my lips, taking me by surprise, his tongue playing with my lip ring. I can't help it, I squirm around as I feel the beginnings of arousal beneath him. This guy can perform better miracles with just his tongue than any biblical figure turning water into wine ever did. My hands, still pinned above my head, intertwine with his, fingers threading and connecting like wire mesh. With a little bit of wriggling and fumbling around, he manages to lay down between my legs, somehow keeping his greedy mouth on mine. He grinds his hipbones down into mine, and I swear I'm about to spontaneously combust. I am on fire. My body seems to have recently hidden my brain somewhere down in my crotch, because without even thinking, I shove my hips up into his, creating the most beautiful friction I've ever experienced. Something animalistic growls up out of my throat and past my lips, and that ends it.

Gerard roughly pulls away from my lips, and I'm awakened by this sudden loss of heat and contact, as if from a dream. My chest and stomach are heaving wildly, and I desperately wish I could control this embarrassing display. He is no more composed than I am, though, so I just concentrate instead on getting air into my deprived and shriveled lungs.

I'm thinking, Holy ravioli, I've just had my first sexual encounter with Gerard fucking Way.

"Frankie..." he mutters, looking shocked and embarrassed and I even think I see a little blush creeping across his usual pallor. Quickly, he crawls off of me and kneels on the bed for a half-second before getting up and putting some space between us. Because he's supposed to be the mature one in a situation as close as this one, right? And that was pretty goddamn close.

He's shaking his head as he glances around and pulls on a pair of my jeans from the floor. They're dirty and too short at the ankles since he's nearly five inches taller than me, but he doesn't seem to notice or care. "I shouldn't have...you just...I'm..." he trails off, his face still surprised and blank, never quite reaching a full sentence.

He grabs his messenger bag and sketchpad from the desk, still open to the sketch of me that had gone unfinished last night. The former he slings across his chest and shoulders, shoving the latter under one arm. He fishes his car keys out of the front pocket in his bag and then he turns to stare at me, where I'm still sprawled across the unmade bed. After a moment, he carefully makes his way back over.

"I'll see you soon, Frankie, I promise," he murmurs low in my ear. Leaning over me, he presses a long kiss to my cheek, a short one fleetingly to my lips. When I blink he is gone, silently making his way out of the house undetected by anyone but myself.

Meanwhile I lay shell-shocked and a little rumpled, absorbing what just happened. A couple of minutes later I realize that he isn't coming back anytime soon, so I better get my ass moving to school. It doesn't hit me until I'm walking out into the fresh morning layer of snow : I'm going to actually miss him.

~ ~ ~

Mikey is just walking out the door when I stumble up his driveway. He looks pale and tired, his brown hair hanging limp in his eyes. When he looks up, his expression brightens for a moment, but upon seeing that it's just Frankie, it falls back into an unhappy pout.

Story of my life.

"Have you seen Gee?" he asks as soon as we meet up on the frosty lawn.

My heart gives an unexpected leap at just hearing the name, and I unconsciously press my hand over it. This was one feeling I hadn't been anticipating to break free from the numbness--the jolting ache of missing someone. Even if they've only been gone for half an hour. Even if you've only really known them for a week. It still hurts to miss someone.

Another shocker is the feelings that bubble up with his words. Gee. I feel protective of it, it's mine. And I know that technically it was Mikey's first, a mistake too. But Gerard gave it to me, and I don't quite like him using it.

Why do I feel so threatened?

Of course I already know the uneasy answer to that question. They're brothers. There's a bond there that I couldn't even try to overpower, it's just that strong. Whatever Gee and I forge, it will never equate to that invisible tie he has to his little brother.

I swivel my thoughts back to Mikey, who's looking more depressed than ever. And I feel guilt replacing my resentment. Here he is, worrying himself sick over his brother, who he hasn't actually seen or heard from in two days. Then here I am, getting all huffy and protective over a stupid nickname.

"He actually came by yesterday afternoon," I reply, trying to be sympathetic.

Is that jealousy flashing behind Mikey's normally passive greenish eyes? Are those his fists clenching at his sides? Is that pout becoming a glare directed towards me?

"Where is he now?" he asks in a controlled voice.

"Art convention. In New York." Is he actually jealous of me? All-time Champion of Be Invisible? "But he'll be back tomorrow," I add.

The thing is, I think I may understand what Mikey is feeling. I mean, if I were that close to my older brother, and he suddenly decided to spend all his free time with some puny punk instead of me, I'd be pissed too. And jealous. I'd be green with jealousy.

"And he came to your house yesterday? Where'd he go after?" Mikey asks.

Blood rushes to my cheeks. Oh God. "Um, he, um..." I stammer.

I can tell he's enjoying watching me squirm uncomfortably. This may be the most embarrassing situation in my entire life so far.

"He stayed over," I choke out, "And left this morning."

For a moment, we just stare at each other awkwardly, both completely shocked at the words I've just said. He looks at me like, "Did you fuck my brother?", his eyes questioning, and maybe even amused.

"No!" I shout to answer his silent question. "No, it wasn't...we didn't...well, I mean....we didn't do..." I find myself sputtering, at a loss for coherent words.

"Oh. My. God," he says in a rare high school-girl tenor he takes on when he gets too excited. "You love my brother."

If there really is a God in Heaven, let him strike me down right now. Let there be no remains. Just let me die.

"Frankie, you've got a thing for Gee Gee!" he cries, hopping around like a rabbit on crack. His jealousy is miraculously forgotten. "And you want to fuck my brother," he cackles gleefully, as if he's never heard anything funnier.

"No," I try to reply calmly, but it sounds like a whine.

"You want to fuck my brother, you want to fuck my brother," he sings, unaware of how loud he is as he dances in circles around me.

I'd like very much for a rare Bengal tiger to jump out and snatch me up in its jaws. Or to be abducted by Klingons. Or slaughtered by some prehistoric tyrannosaurus Rex that happened to somehow become un-extinct.

Mikey suddenly stops and pulls a face. "Ewww," he whines, "You want to fuck my brother." And he collapses into laps of hysterical laughter once again.

"Jesus, could you stop screaming that?"

"So you admit it!"

"No."

"You love him."

"No."

"You lo-ove him."

"No."

"You luuuuuurve Gee Gee!"

"Fuck you, Mikey."

I turn and begin walking out towards the street. Maybe if I'm lucky I'll get hit by a car. He jogs to catch up, a wide grin stretched across his face.

"Don't worry, Frankie, I won't tell," he whispers secretively, crossing his heart.

Hope I die.

Only my cheeks respond by flushing a deeper shade of red.

Then, less than a minute later. "Hey, Frankie, how awesome was it that you actually freaked out on Mr. Stokes!"

Bless Mikey and his amazingly short attention span.