Anorex-a-Gogo
Diffused
A/N: So I took a little advice here and there from a couple of readers. And I really really appreciate all of your comments. Seriously, you know who you are when I tell you that your comment really probably made my day. Insight into the what you're thinking about A-A-G is what I'm looking for, and some of you just practically bathe me in it. So thank you thank you thank you, and thank you so so much.
Oh, and by the way, just to straighten things out, nobody walked into the bathroom. I realize that was probably a stupid mistake, writing that at the very end, but it was supposed to be sort of humorously symbolic, you know? The whole one door closes and another door opens? Well, the door closing was the door to Frankie's house, and then Gerard left the bathroom door open, inviting Frankie in, so that was the second door of opportunity opening. Sorry if things got a little confusing with that last chapter. It was just sort of one of my more hidden meanings chapters that did little more than completely backfire.
Anyway, the show must go on. Or some shit like that.
Love,
Fink
* * *
It's funny how easy the human mind can forget things. How, in the matter of minutes and seconds, nothing matters but the absolute most present of presents. How the past can be so easily forgotten by the human mind with one simple distraction.
Gerard and I are a frenzy of tangled limbs as we exit the bathroom, sopping wet and clad only in light blue towels with various members of the X-Men team scattered across the cotton fabric. My legs are mixing with his ankles, his arms are around my waist, my back, my hands are in his dripping hair, his hands are on my ass. My lips are connected with his earlobe, his lips are attached to my neck. I'm not even quite sure where Frankie ends and Gerard begins at this point, not that I really care.
We retreat to Gerard's bedroom as one drenched human mass, trying to go as noiselessly as possible. This remains to be seen, as all I can hear are the loud smacking noises of our lips against various body parts and my heavy breathing going all out of whack. Either Mikey is hiding away in his bedroom for protection, or he really is asleep. I'm really hoping it's the second option. I stumble over my feet or Gerard's, and it is only by pure luck that his bed happens to be right there, ready to catch us as we fall back onto the sheets. He chuckles at my clumsiness.
"Such a beautiful spaz..."
He cuts his own sentence off by taking my lips with a hunger that intimidates me. My hands roam of their own accord, down his water-slick chest, around his girlish hips. I find myself almost in shock when I realize they've undone the knot holding the towel around Gerard's waist. My, I am adventurous tonight.
This, of course, only motivates him even further. He wriggles away from the material, fumbling with my own knot in the process (wow, that sounds dirty), concentrating purely on ridding my body of the thin piece of cloth. My towel comes away, hitting the floor with a muffled 'thump' when Gerard tosses it somewhere behind him. Hips grind, friction causes my insides to implode. A beautiful warmth spreads over me, seeping inside every pore of my body. My skin feels electrically charged, each nerve popping and sizzling. My blood boils with the intent of spilling on the floor before him, a sacrifice to the boy who is planting love bites along my collar bone.
Sensation. Something I've never quite felt before. Oh, God.
Burning.
Stroking.
Purring.
Melting.
In.
His.
Arms.
Like.
A.
Fucking.
Firecracker.
I.
Am.
Going.
To.
Explode.
Oh.
God.
Spinning.
Out of Control.
Like a Ferris Wheel.
After Too Many Glasses of Champagne.
Oh Jesus. Oh Christ. Holy Fuck. I must be in Heaven. His lips are magic, pure magic. The new copyrighted drug. Friction. Beautiful friction and sparks and his wet skin on my wet skin and the fire that's burning at my fingertips. His hazel eyes luminescent in the dark, his shaggy hair tickling my cheeks. Like sand running through an hourglass figure, curves and heat and ticking out the time left until I explode into a zillion little pieces that will rain down on us like the sweat that's beading on his hairline that is dripping down onto my face. Like his voice, "Frankie, my Frankie," rough and strained and garbled as if he's trying to speak through the stars, through our Destiny, a million miles away, yet so close, so close I can almost grab it, but I just....can't....reach. Like we're floating in an ocean, and the only thing that's keeping the current from carrying us away is our lips fused together like they were made for each other.
Like we were simply made for each other.
And then his hand reaching for my own that's unconsciously heading South towards Paradise. And my own sweat making my eyes blur and sting as he whispers, "Not tonight."
One simple distraction. Though Gerard as a distraction can hardly be considered simple. But just one person, one boy, can erase sixteen years of bad memories. Just with the glimmer of a little boy's smile on his face.
Oh, and by the way, just to straighten things out, nobody walked into the bathroom. I realize that was probably a stupid mistake, writing that at the very end, but it was supposed to be sort of humorously symbolic, you know? The whole one door closes and another door opens? Well, the door closing was the door to Frankie's house, and then Gerard left the bathroom door open, inviting Frankie in, so that was the second door of opportunity opening. Sorry if things got a little confusing with that last chapter. It was just sort of one of my more hidden meanings chapters that did little more than completely backfire.
Anyway, the show must go on. Or some shit like that.
Love,
Fink
* * *
It's funny how easy the human mind can forget things. How, in the matter of minutes and seconds, nothing matters but the absolute most present of presents. How the past can be so easily forgotten by the human mind with one simple distraction.
Gerard and I are a frenzy of tangled limbs as we exit the bathroom, sopping wet and clad only in light blue towels with various members of the X-Men team scattered across the cotton fabric. My legs are mixing with his ankles, his arms are around my waist, my back, my hands are in his dripping hair, his hands are on my ass. My lips are connected with his earlobe, his lips are attached to my neck. I'm not even quite sure where Frankie ends and Gerard begins at this point, not that I really care.
We retreat to Gerard's bedroom as one drenched human mass, trying to go as noiselessly as possible. This remains to be seen, as all I can hear are the loud smacking noises of our lips against various body parts and my heavy breathing going all out of whack. Either Mikey is hiding away in his bedroom for protection, or he really is asleep. I'm really hoping it's the second option. I stumble over my feet or Gerard's, and it is only by pure luck that his bed happens to be right there, ready to catch us as we fall back onto the sheets. He chuckles at my clumsiness.
"Such a beautiful spaz..."
He cuts his own sentence off by taking my lips with a hunger that intimidates me. My hands roam of their own accord, down his water-slick chest, around his girlish hips. I find myself almost in shock when I realize they've undone the knot holding the towel around Gerard's waist. My, I am adventurous tonight.
This, of course, only motivates him even further. He wriggles away from the material, fumbling with my own knot in the process (wow, that sounds dirty), concentrating purely on ridding my body of the thin piece of cloth. My towel comes away, hitting the floor with a muffled 'thump' when Gerard tosses it somewhere behind him. Hips grind, friction causes my insides to implode. A beautiful warmth spreads over me, seeping inside every pore of my body. My skin feels electrically charged, each nerve popping and sizzling. My blood boils with the intent of spilling on the floor before him, a sacrifice to the boy who is planting love bites along my collar bone.
Sensation. Something I've never quite felt before. Oh, God.
Burning.
Stroking.
Purring.
Melting.
In.
His.
Arms.
Like.
A.
Fucking.
Firecracker.
I.
Am.
Going.
To.
Explode.
Oh.
God.
Spinning.
Out of Control.
Like a Ferris Wheel.
After Too Many Glasses of Champagne.
Oh Jesus. Oh Christ. Holy Fuck. I must be in Heaven. His lips are magic, pure magic. The new copyrighted drug. Friction. Beautiful friction and sparks and his wet skin on my wet skin and the fire that's burning at my fingertips. His hazel eyes luminescent in the dark, his shaggy hair tickling my cheeks. Like sand running through an hourglass figure, curves and heat and ticking out the time left until I explode into a zillion little pieces that will rain down on us like the sweat that's beading on his hairline that is dripping down onto my face. Like his voice, "Frankie, my Frankie," rough and strained and garbled as if he's trying to speak through the stars, through our Destiny, a million miles away, yet so close, so close I can almost grab it, but I just....can't....reach. Like we're floating in an ocean, and the only thing that's keeping the current from carrying us away is our lips fused together like they were made for each other.
Like we were simply made for each other.
And then his hand reaching for my own that's unconsciously heading South towards Paradise. And my own sweat making my eyes blur and sting as he whispers, "Not tonight."
One simple distraction. Though Gerard as a distraction can hardly be considered simple. But just one person, one boy, can erase sixteen years of bad memories. Just with the glimmer of a little boy's smile on his face.