Crash Into My ***ing Arms

I had already gone to bed when my cellphone rang, startling me. Shaking, I grabbed for it and blinked. The number on the screen matched the number on my skin. “Frankie?”

“Gerard, Gerard, something b-bad happened-” His voice was choked with tears. “-I need help, I’m outside, I’ve b-been walking, can I come to your house; please, oh god, Gerard, please...”

My heart was already pounding uncomfortably against my ribcage. “Shit, Frankie, Frankie, are you alright?!”

“N-no, no, I’m a b-block away, could I m-maybe-”

“Of course, Frankie... shit...”

“B-be right there.” Click.

“Wait, but-”

He had already hung up. I bolted out of bed and tried to smooth out my rumpled clothes.

Nervous, I went down the hall and down the stairs. The house was pitch-black and kind of creepy, and I didn’t turn on any lights for fear of waking Mikey.

I rubbed my eyes and conscientiously turned on the porchlight before slumping miserably onto the living room couch. Inwardly, I realized what a good thing it was that my parents were out of town.

Finally, the doorbell rang; once, then a second time hurriedly. I got up and pulled the door open, butterflies in my stomach.

Frankie looked like shit.

It wasn’t just the new bruises on his neck, looking a lot like finger marks, accented by the eerie halogen glow of the outside bulb, or the raw red cuts and scrapes up the inside of his thin arms... There were streaks of dirt and tears down his face, and his makeup was smeared again. But worst out of it all was the haunted terror in his eyes. He looked... god, I’d never seen anybody with such unbearable pain on their face.

“Gerard-” he gasped, staggering forward and ending up in my arms.

He didn’t even speak; wouldn’t tell me what had happened, just pressed his mouth hard against mine. I wasn’t about to stop him; couldn’t help leaning into him.

Kissing desperately, holding tight; I could feel his thin hips bump mine and his shirt was somehow suddenly somewhere by my feet. I could feel him shiver vulnerably against me in the cool nighttime air, skin meeting skin.

Still touching, still kissing harder, harder; we’d somehow found the stairs, his hand was in mine as I pulled him up towards my room... Fumbling for the doorknob, the lock; wall, bedframe, mattress.

Trying to make one last decent effort to find out what had happened, I unlocked my lips from his and whispered the question into his soft skin.

He still refused to answer, pressing his lips almost clumsily back against mine, desperately trying to chase away the pain. He was crying, and I could taste the salty tears on his face, prompting me to pull him even tighter to me.

“Frankie, Frankie, don’t cry...”

He whimpered into my chest, the sensation of his lips gently brushing my collarbone sending shivers dancing through my body. I moaned quietly, trying hard not to let my hands slide from his waist to his belt buckle, trying hard not to lose control...

“P-please...”

Could he tell that I was trying to stop myself? I knew exactly what he wanted me to do; hell, I wanted it too, my whole body was aching for it, but some small part of me was saying that it was wrong, probably the part that Mikey and I both shared. It was telling me that I should sit him down and talk to him, try to take the pain away for good, not just give him this impermanent solution and leave him feeling even more like shit later...

Fuck. I moaned again, because regardless of what my conscience (it was my conscience?) was saying, we were still kissing, touching... I just hadn’t made the next move yet.

“G-gerard...” he whimpered plaintively.

Was sex really all he wanted?

Our bodies were pressed together so tightly that I could almost hear the blood pulsing through the faint cerulean veins snaking along beneath his pale skin. Every breath he took, his fragile ribcage expanded against my chest. I could feel his warm breath against my neck in the instant before his lips touched it.

I ran a shaky hand down the length of his spine, making him shiver and cling closer to me. I was refusing to meet his eyes; even in the nearly pitch-black room, the thought scared me.

He let out a shuddering sigh against my neck and slid both his hands down my back, lips hitting mine again.

I realized that in a lot of ways, he was mimicking what I did, and my stomach flip-flopped. God, he was so... innocent. If I gave in, I would be taking advantage of him...

“Gerard...” he moaned once more, begging, face buried in my neck so that his cool, wet tears trickled down over my collarbone, making me shiver.

Fuck fuck fuck, I wanted him, I fucking wanted him-! The pressure was literally building up inside my bones, my muscles tight with pent-up emotion and with trying not to lose myself. It didn’t make any sense, but my skin was burning under the touch of his cool fingers. I let out a shaky moan with a string of swearwords. My breathing was racing almost completely out of control, and every one of my senses was heightened to the point where I was fighting not to let them overpower me.

“Frankie, please tell me what-” He pushed his mouth hard up against mine, cutting me off. I knew he wasn’t going to tell me...

One of his hands was resting at the small of my back, lined up perfectly with my spine. I wished he would move it, I wished- Oh fucking god, I couldn’t take the stinging adrenaline collecting in my taut muscles like a toxin any longer. Shitshitshitfuck. My fingers began to slip slowly past his navel.

He moaned, open mouth warm against one side of my neck.

My fingers hit the cool metal of his belt buckle, sending a shiver of cold and something else shooting along my veins like an injection. Frankie tensed against me as I slid the silver-studded leather strap out of the first loop.

I unfastened the button on his jeans, anxious, barely conscious of his lips on my throat anymore. I was shivering, shirtless, in the cool room myself as I slowly pulled the zipper down. Things were suddenly a blur again as time seemed to speed up and I found that I could feel Frankie’s hands sliding down around my waist once more. I was kissing him hard again, through with asking questions, just pulling him close in an effort to satisfy the need in my body.

His hands were undoing my belt, unzipping my pants; I was whispering meaningless shit about how badly I wanted him into the space between his shoulder and his neck and tracing his shoulderblades with my fingers.

“Frankie, angel-” Hands, hips, mascara-painted eyelashes brushing my cheek. I reached out again, hitting the wall, the nightstand, the mattress... Pulling him with me, “Gerard...” A moan, whimper, shifting position... I could smell the blending scents of bleeding makeup, sweat, and melting cocaine powder- “Sonofabitch, oh, damnit, sonofa-” Shit, fuck, Mikey was asleep, “God, we gotta be quiet-” Another moan, stifled midway this time; shit, oh boy, shit; wanting him... ribcage, waist, thighs, he was something else, all right, oh, oh hell, “Frankie, Frankie..!” Oh hell. This was... The room was exploding in my vision, sorta like fireworks, but more like a loaded gun with the barrel pressed up against my jaw... damn, shit, hell “Frankie,” hold on, hold on... That felt- oh shit, god.

-

I woke up and realized that Frankie looked even worse in the daylight than he had even under the harsh glow of the porchlight. He was lying beside me, half of his face pressed almost childishly into the pillow, arms hugging a bundle of the comforter to his chest. He looked so sweet, but not the picture of innocence that he could have been. The bluish-black watercolor bruises were striking against the paleness of his skin, and the contusions and cuts up and down the insides of each arm looked like they had been made by the hard leather edge of a belt... My eyes traced the veins up and down his arms, then wandered to his crumpled jeans on my bedroom floor, his black studded belt still hanging from the belt-loops. The little metal studs no longer looked innocent. I flinched. Could he still stand to wear it, if it had been used to..?

I got up abruptly, trying not to think about it any longer, and picked up my own jeans from their heap on the hardwood. I pulled them on over my boxers, shooting a glance at the still-sleeping Frankie. He looked almost angelic, in a broken way, with his dark bangs falling over his forehead and into his eyes. When I had fastened my belt buckle, I looked around for my shirt, quickly realizing that I must have left it downstairs on the living room floor. Shit. With another look at Frank, I quietly went outside into the hall and towards the stairs. If Mikey was still sleeping, I sure as hell didn’t want to wake him up.

Just as I reached the top of the stairs, a sarcastic voice behind me made me whirl around, heart beating faster. It was Mikey. “Here’s your shirts,” he spat, holding my shirt and Frankie’s out to me.

“Holy shit! You almost scared me to death.” I swallowed. He looked pissed. “What?”

“You managed to get the little whore to fuck you twice in almost one day. Pretty good, don’t you think?”

I stared. This was so unlike my brother it was almost frightening. ‘‘What the fucking hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You know damn well what it means. You leave him alone, Gerard. That kid does not deserve another twisted bastard in his life; he’s already got one!”

“I thought we talked about this!” I hissed. “You agreed that I wasn’t out to hurt him!”

“Yeah, well, I was wrong.”

“What the hell do you mean, you were wrong? What’s the matter with you, Mikey?! I bring someone home and suddenly you have a fucking cow- Are you fucking jealous?”

“What?! Hell no! I’m fucking pissed off! You’re using that kid, and I’m sorry, but I can’t stand seeing how you’re hurting him, Gerard!”

“I’m not using him, I’m not trying to hurt him; why the fucking hell can’t you see that?” I was trying hard to keep my voice down, but it was difficult. How could Mikey say that about me?

“I don’t know if you’re trying to hurt him or not, Gerard-”

“I’m not!”

“-but you’re going to, regardless. Fucking him is not going to take away the pain he’s feeling... I don’t care if he’s a slut and says he wants it, it’s only hurting him in the end!”

“He’s not a fucking slut! He called me last night, late... He was a mess again, Mikey...”

“That’s what I mean! Even if he thinks a fuck will take the hurt away-”

“It’s not that; something happens when we’re around each other... It’s fucking amazing. He... he takes my breath away.”

Mikey gave me a long, hard look, then abruptly turned away with a curt “Fine.” He quickly disappeared down the stairs, leaving me standing with two crumpled t-shirts in my hands.

With a sigh, I pulled mine over my head and started back towards my room. To my relief, Frankie was still asleep. I debated briefly over whether or not to wake him up, then decided that he was better off asleep, where he could forget the world. Looking him over in the light made me nervous, because now that I could see each cut and bruise clearly, I could also feel guilty over fucking him when he was in such bad shape... Maybe my brother was right.

I just stood there watching him breathe for a long time. The quiet rhythm of the rise and fall of his thin ribcage was almost seductive, and I was content just to watch it until finally, Frankie gave a quiet moan and his eyelids flickered open.

“Hey,” I said softly.

He blinked and gave me a shaky attempt at a grin. “Hi.”

“You okay?” I asked, wishing that I could erase the pools of black and blue collected beneath his semi-translucent pale skin.

He nodded a little. “I’m g-good.”

“You sure?”

He knew that I was really trying to ask him what had happened. “Gerard... I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“It wasn’t me though, was it?” I had to know the truth. “He didn’t find out about...”

“He always thinks I’m out screwing with somebody,” Frankie murmured to my floor, voice very, very quiet. “It’s not that he actually found out.”

I felt slightly sick. “So it is because-”

“N-no! It wasn’t your fault... He doesn’t know that it’s the truth this time; he always says the same thing...”

“Then why did you come back here?! Won’t he just think-”

“I had to see you.”

“Why? D-didn’t you know that all I’d do was f-fuck you? I’m not any help...” My guilt was coming out in my voice.

“Gerard, don’t think like that... You know I wanted it more than you did. You kept asking me what had happened, but all I wanted was sex...” Frankie stared miserably at the sheets. “I think I’m a whore.”

The words had been so quiet that they were almost unintelligible, but as soon as they sunk in, my stomach dropped. “No, shit, Frankie, no!” I crossed to him, one hand on his shoulderblade. “You’re not a whore.”

He smiled weakly. “Thank you....”

“Frankie...” My eyes wandered across his jeans lying on my bedroom floor. “Your dad... that b-belt...”

He shuddered. “Y-yes.”

“Frankie! Oh god-”

He was in my arms in an instant, clinging to me as I pulled him close against my chest.

“I d-don’t try to piss him off, I n-never do...” he mumbled miserably, and I kissed his neck gently.

“I know. I know, Frankie...”

After his slow sobs had faded to sniffles, I let him go, hands sliding reluctantly from his naked shoulders. I got to my feet and handed him his jeans from the hardwood. His tears had dampened the fabric of my shirt at the shoulder.

He nodded a thank you and pushed back the covers to pull on his boxers. It was awkward as hell, and even though I wasn’t sure, it felt like the polite thing to do to turn away as he dressed.

A hand touched my shoulder, and I spun to find Frankie now wearing jeans, with only his shirt missing.

I looked around, then picked up his shirt from where I had thrown it after getting it from Mikey. “Here.”

“Thanks,” he said shyly, and I watched as he pulled it on over his head. It stretched over his shoulders and clung to his collarbone and ribcage like a second skin. As I watched him, my stomach gave an uneasy flipflop. He was something else, alright. It was amazing how you could know every inch of someone’s body without really knowing them at all. I knew a fair bit about Frankie, and I’d gotten several glimpses into his head just from things he said and did, but I still didn’t really know his thoughts... On the other hand, I knew every fucking millimeter of him, I knew how to touch him, how to make him whimper... moan... scr- Oh god. I forced myself to stop looking at him until he turned to face me once again.

“S-should I go, or..?”

“Uh, no, no; you can stay for breakfast. I mean, if you want to...” I replied awkwardly.

“If it’s not any trouble...”

Trouble? No, it wouldn’t be any trouble, if I could just get myself to stop staring at his fucking body... “Um, no, it’s not any trouble... I want you to stay,” I said, swallowing.

He gave me a shy smile and nodded, glancing down. “Okay.”

Now how to tell him that Mikey had changed his mind since the past day; had decided once again that I was out to take advantage of Frank, and would possibly be very vocal about it, too. I wasn’t sure what had gotten into my brother, and I was even less sure about how to break it to Frankie. “Um... Frank..?”

“Yeah?”

I bit my bottom lip. He looked so fragile. I didn’t want to hurt him. “Frank, my brother... He’s... he’s pissed again.”

Dark, deer-in-headlights eyes flickered anxiously upwards to mine. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No! No. You didn’t do anything- Look. He’s just pissed at me because... because he’s jealous.” I was lying through my teeth, and I felt guilty over it because I knew perfectly well that Mikey wasn’t jealous. He was upset, and I didn’t know why, but I’d known Mikey for a long time, and jealousy was the most unlikely option. Still, I had to tell Frank something.

“Jealous?”

“Uh, yeah. Y’know.”

He didn’t believe me; I could see it all over his face. He didn’t fucking believe me. “Gerard... If I did something bad, I can leave. It’s okay. I... I promise.”

“That isn’t it! That isn’t it, okay?!” I looked away, choked with uncomfortable emotions that I couldn’t name and couldn’t understand.

A gentle hand touched my shoulder, and I glanced awkwardly up at Frankie. Part of me wished he would fucking leave me alone. “What?”

“You okay?” His voice was so quiet that I couldn’t snap at him. When I nodded curtly, he continued. “...If it’ll piss Mikey off, I just won’t stay for breakfast. It’s... it’s not that big of a deal, I guess, Gerard.”

“Please stay,” I managed, torn between still wanting him there and wanting to be left alone.

“Really?”

“It’s fine. He won’t make a big deal out of it.”

“Mmkay.”

I went out into the hall and started for the stairs, and Frank followed me nervously down to the kitchen.

Mikey was sitting at the table drinking a glass of orange juice, the folded newspaper resting on the table next to his place. He looked up when we walked in to shoot me a steely glance, then got to his feet and took the glass and paper as he left the kitchen.

Trying to ignore the cold look he had given me, I pulled a chair out from the table and motioned Frank to sit down. Not used to being a host, and not wanting to look stupid, I wasn’t sure what to do. My brother was much better at this kind of thing than I was. “Um... What do you want to eat?”

Frank shrugged a little. “Whatever you have, I guess... Got anymore orange juice?”

I nodded and went to the fridge to pour him a glass. I was trying to think of something to say; the silence felt awkward, to me at least. “So. What’re you gonna do today?”

“I don’t know... Fix the front window?” He smirked a little. “Or anything not to go home.”

I looked at him. “What do you usually do?”

“Draw. Drink. Listen to music. Play guitar. My life is not that fucking interesting.”

I set the orange juice on the table in front of him and put a bagel in the toaster for myself. “You want one?”

He nodded an okay, then said, “Thank you.”

“Sure.” After a pause, I glanced at him. “Frank... Why do you let him?”

He knew exactly what I was talking about, his fucking father again, and flinched. Watching his shoulders shudder slightly, my stomach twisted a little. “‘Cause I’m scared.”

I wanted to press the subject, but I was fucking scared too, in a way. So I didn’t say anything until I set his toasted bagel in front of him. “Anything else?”

“No, thank you.”

When we were finished eating, he looked at me nervously. “Can you please drive me back?”

I didn’t even argue. Breakfast had been so awkward that I couldn’t imagine trying to make conversation with Frank all day. I was starting to get anxious, though I was also determinedly trying to ignore the way my guts were trying to remind me that maybe Frank and I really didn’t have anything in common; maybe my brother was right, maybe... Oh god.

Frankie followed me to my car, and the whole drive to his house passed in silence except for a few mumbled directions and street names.

When my car was turning into Frankie’s driveway, he looked around briefly, then said, “No one’s home.”

“What does that mean?” I asked quietly.

“He’s out drinking or something..? I don’t know... I’ve got time to fix the window, I guess.”

I was staring at the messily duct-taped glass pane. “How’re you planning to do that?”

He swallowed and gave me a sheepish half-smile. “I guess you can tell it looks hopeless, huh? To be completely honest, I have no fucking idea. I can peel off all that duct-tape and use clear tape- it’ll take forever, but it’d look better, I think...”

“Do you... do you want some help?”

His gorgeous eyes locked on mine and I shivered without meaning to. “Would you do that?”

“Sure, Frank, of course...”

“Then... if you really don’t mind...”

“I don’t mind,” I told him, putting the car into park.

He smiled, and that made it all worthwhile.