Passing Looks and Disappointed Faces

[Frank's P.O.V.]

Hours passed in silent reflection, the clock steadily ticking on the wall. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Incessant, annoying. The bright red numbers flashed each passing minute on the alarm clock, coupled with the ticking second hand of the clock on the wall. 9:43. 9:44. 9:45. Still there was silence, the gentle atmosphere of solitude. Nothing stirred; the sheets remained pressed against the bed, wrinkled and worn. A soft ray of light peeked in through the small pane of glass, barely existent, barely warm. Gentle, swaying shadows partially obscured the sun, casting strange shapes on the creased sheets.

I couldn't take it anymore. The stress was building with each passing minute, the silence overbearing. It was annoying, frustrating, the way everything seemed so unchanged, so similar. The dust motes still danced in the air, golden and still so inaccessible. Dancing, dancing. Just out of reach, just barely within grasp but still so far away. And it was quiet-the kind of early morning quiet when the world is still sleeping, never rousing. When all the birds are still holed up in their nests or perched on their leafy twigs, wings tucked close to their fragile bodies. When even all the late-night hookers have returned to their homes, leaving the memory of their heated bodies imprinted in dirty hotel beds. When happiness is a warm gun, the muzzle still smoking from a fired bullet. Mother Superior jump the gun.

Nothing changed. Every object was in its place: the books, the CDs, the lamps. There was nothing different, nothing that revealed that something had taken place. But something had to have taken place; there was no way that everything would just remain unchanged. The air hung heavy with events, stagnant and putrid. They wouldn't reveal themselves, wouldn't reveal what had occurred in the still room. But still they hung, hinting at events that could only be guessed at. There were lies hanging thick in the air, clinging to the walls, the bookshelf, the television, the bed. It appeared as though they would remain there forevermore, just barely out of reach, taunting, mocking.

It was becoming too oppressing, the air so thick it was burning, choking. His gentle face forced me to remain where I lay. The curves that made up his rounded features were so peaceful, eyelashes kissing his cheeks gently. His cupid-bow lips were a pale rose, relaxed and silken among his pale skin. His chest rose and fell gently with each breath, the only true movement in the room. Occasionally, his brows would furrow, his body twitching as something came to his pretty sleeping mind. After a while, he would relax again, tense muscles falling limp. It had been this way for the past two hours; nothing changed.

The clock still ticked steadily on the wall; the alarm still proclaimed the time. 10:06. 10:07. 10:08. He slept peacefully as torrents of thoughts flooded my mind. I wished I could sleep as he was, so peacefully. But it seemed as though every single time I closed my eyes, there came the dreaded event. It was lurking, just lurking beneath my eyelids, waiting for that moment when I dared close them. Bags were probably forming beneath my eyes from lack of sleep, my hair tousled from all the fretful moving I had done, trying to find a comfortable place to sleep. It was all in vain; there was no place to escape those horrible demons of the past.

Impatient suddenly, I shifted on the bed, laying on my stomach, still keeping my gaze fixated on him. It was too hot all of a sudden; it seemed the room had become an oven, trapping all those stupid thoughts and hot-wiring them. 10:34. Still he didn't wake, hopelessly lost in his dreams, in whatever it was his mind thought up while I lay tortured next to him, trying desperately to destroy those demons. It was a good while before he stirred again, pretty little lips parting to moan softly, his body taking away the sheets as he turned onto his back, hands clutching at the fabric gently. He lay still for another few moments, breathing still as shallow and calm as it was for the past few hours. Unable to lay still for much longer, I shifted as well, laying myself on my side, gaze still fixated on him. 10:51. His lids fluttered, another moan parting his lips as he gripped the blankets tighter in his hands. Dead, sleeping hands.

He finally opened his eyes, blinking countless times as he tried to focus in on his surroundings. A flash of confusion tinted his glazed hazel eyes, his gaze falling on the depths of the basement, his room. He looked so pretty there, the early rays of sun just draping themselves over his prone body, eyelashes fluttering as he blinked in recognition. His hands released their tight grip on the sheets, slowly making their way to his eyes, rubbing at them. Rub away the grains of sleep the Sandman left. He tilted his head to the side, a small smile curving his lips as he noticed my presence beside him. "Morning," he whispered, voice hoarse, husky from sleep. I couldn't help but let a smile mirroring his cross my lips as I looked back at him, completely devoid of sleep.

His pale fingers stretched out towards me, pulling me close to his body with the minimum amount of strength he could exert. I willingly crashed into his arms, allowing him to wrap them around my torso, pressing my small frame against his larger one. I found that I liked watching him this way, when the world's troubles had yet to affect him, when he could smile with ease and press me tenderly against him. We probably smelled horrible, not having been able to shower for the past day or so but I found that I didn't mind either, not even caring that he had morning breath as he looked into my face. I found the smile wouldn't slip from my face; I couldn't bring myself to let it drop. Still, I pulled away from his gently, slipping out from under the sheets, standing next to the bed, a hand extended toward him.

He grasped it gratefully, crawling out of bed only to wrap his arms around me again, spinning me around briefly. Chuckling at his display of affection, I tugged lightly on his shirt. "Let's go shower," I muttered, pressing my lips against his neck tenderly, pulling away to look into his face, features still ridden with sleep. He grinned and nodded, taking me by the hand, leading me up the stairs. He brought a finger before his lips, warning me to stay silent as he opened the door to his room, slipping out, pulling me along with him. He walked quickly, glancing fervently around him as if he were afraid that someone would find him with me there. He locked the door rapidly once we were both safely inside, a crooked smile brightening his features.

He wasted no time in stripping himself of his clothes, tossing them aside as if they weren't at all important. He seemed to have no time for shame or embarrassment this morning, hands tugging impatiently at the jacket draped over my shoulders when he noticed that I had moved none. I was only too willing to oblige, stripping myself of my own clothes, tossing them aside as he had. It seemed he couldn't resist himself as I hesitantly placed my hands over the hem of my boxers, his hands pinning me roughly against the wall. At my shocked gasp, he moved forward, pressing his lips against mine, taking advantage of the situation.

There was no resistance on my part, my hands automatically wrapping around his torso, pulling him close, lips working hungrily against his. With a smirk, he pulled away, releasing my shoulders, hands trailing down to pull off the last vestige of clothing either of us had carelessly, letting them drop down to our ankles. His lips met mine again, fingers tangling in my hair, tugging on the locks gently. I couldn't control myself, a soft moan welling in my throat, dissolving into the heated kiss. The fact that he had morning breath bothered me none; it was his lips against mine that did it, his hands tugging at my hair, his body pressed against mine, arousal evident in every movement. I pushed him away lightly, breathing heavily, fingers trailing down his chest.

I shook my head as he tried to inch closer again, a smirk still on my face even as I panted. He pouted, a look of disappointment taking over his face. "Brush your teeth," I demanded with a smirk and his features turned to embarrassment as he turned towards the sink, arousal painfully evident with the way he moved. Laughing, I sat myself on the edge of the tub, watching as he obediently obliged, brushing his teeth rapidly before advancing towards me again. Giggling, I pushed him away, motioning for him to sit down on the closed toilet seat. Whining and grumbling, he sat himself, looking expectantly at me. I looked down at him as I stood, swaying my hips slightly as I walked towards him, watching as his eyes hungrily feasted on my body.

Laughing, I kneeled before him and his eyes lit up, his legs spreading. "You have such a dirty mind," I teased, letting my fingers dance across his thighs, hearing the soft moan that dropped from his lips. Before his mind could stray any longer, I lifted my hands, tugging at the bandages that obscured his side. He whimpered softly, disappointed that I was paying no mind to his obvious arousal, instead focusing on the stained white bandages littering his side. He watched me curiously as I tried to peel the bandages from his skin gently, trying to ignore his flinching. Wadding up the used bandages, I tossed them aside, standing to better press my lips against his, gently placing my hands over his warm shoulders.

"Shower?" I asked with a smirk, pulling away from him. His eyes lit up again, getting to his feet, arms wrapping around my torso. He bent forward, gently, ever-so-gently, pressing his lips to mine, pressing me against the wall. I let my hands dance over his skin, focusing on his movements, on the texture of his soft skin. Forbidden silk. Pushing every thought aside, I gently tugged on his hand, forcing him into the tub with me, ignoring his slight protests as I separated our feverish bodies. I fumbled with the tap, trying to figure out which way was which, having forgotten since I took a shower here. After getting doused with a blast of cold water which left us sputtering and shivering, I was able to discern which way was which, effectively causing the water to warm.

His lips found mine again, hands pressing me against the wall, hips grinding in a tandem rhythm against mine. "Touch me?" he asked with a pout when he pulled away, fingers gently tracing my cheek. I was only too happy to oblige.