My Chemical Rammance

*
Frank’s face flustered and he turned a sheer, midnight, opaque. “Thanks, I guess,” mumbled Frank, turning his back to Richard. Richard raised a thin, seductive, eyebrow, as he watched the diminutive boy take flight.
“You’re just leaving, like that? No comebacks? None at all?” Richard’s taunting tone made a defensive Frank turn back. “No, sorry… I’m not really into immature things like that.” With his nose in the air, Frank proceeded to walk forward, but a warm, strapping, arm, clung to his modest shoulder.
Frank peered around to see Richard beaming at him with a crooked grin. “What—what are you doing?” inquired Frank tensely. “And how’d you get over here so quick?”
Richard cracked his neck every which way for a few moments and then ceased. He gazed at Frank for a long time in stillness – as if reading a book that had been left without opening for too long.
“You interest me,” remarked Richard, a hint of sapphire in his eyes. Frank felt a shiver go up his spine, and all the words he could muster came out as an inaudible sound. Finally, after taking a legated breath, Frank stuttered, “What… what do you mean by that?”
“I mean exactly what I said,” stated Richard with a cool and perplexing tone about him. “But who said that was a good thing?” Frank’s left eyebrow shot up, and he bit his lip. Richard was such a vexing character – it bothered Frank to be lead around the ball park by this fiend. Why was he even considering talking to him?
“Well, I’m going to leave now… bye,” said Frank, vehemently storming away from Richard.
“Why go back?” sung a well-mannered voice – it was so well-mannered, for a moment Frank thought someone else was calling him. Frank turned to look at Richard, who was still smiling a devilish smirk.
“I think that question has already answered itself,” countered Frank, a look of deviancy scowled upon his face.
“It has? I don’t think so, Pansy. First of all, there’s so much to discuss, isn’t there? You’re Frank Iero from that wannabe-punk-band My Chemical Romance, am I not correct?”
Frank shot Richard a searing glare. “I take pride in my band’s name. We’re not wannabes. Who the hell do you think you are?”
“Richard Kruspe. Nice to meet you, Frank Iero.” Richard shot out his hand as if to shake, but Frank looked at it and spat on the ground with heated audacity.
“Just what kind of game are you pulling here, Richard Kruspe?” remarked Frank with brazen nobility. Richard’s face grimaced. “I’m not playing any games here at all. Just trying to get to know you.”
Frank shook his head in outrage, but for some peculiar reason he began to chortle his effeminate giggle. “You’re…. you’re the strangest person I have ever met. What the hell is this? Some Rob Zombie movie? Stop trying to freak me out with these awkward conversations. First you care what I have to say, then you just wanna call me a pansy or take on my band – well fuck you, Richard Kruspe. FUCK. YOU.”
“Why, Mr. Iero. I find that language quite unacceptable,” roused Richard, a toothy grin appearing on his face. “But your statement made me smile. ‘Fuck you, fuck you’ – would you fuck me?”
“Yeah, that’s right – wait, what?!”
There was a silence, an evil, almost transparent, grin from Richard, and a look of alarm on Frank’s face that left the whole entire forest bed empty. Only the crickets cried, and the locusts hummed.
“You heard me,” pressed Richard. “Defend your own insinuations. Would you, Frank Anthony Thomas Iero, fuck me?”
Frank’s eyes widened, and his mouth gaped. “How do you – how do you know my full name?”
Richard’s eyes twinkled in the twilight, translucent, dawn. “You’d be surprised to know that I can read people exceedingly well. No, I’m not clairvoyant – but I told you, you interested me. I’ve learned a lot about you from that fool Gerald.”
“You talked to Gerard?”
“Unfortunately.” Richard shrugged, and then continued to smile at Frank. “So tell me Frank, after all your years of high school ridicule – after all those boys who would beat the crap out of you – and after, well, you know… being the pansy that you are… would you fuck me? Richard Kruspe?”
“What the fuck kind of question is that?!” snapped Frank, his eyes set ablaze and his nostrils fuming.
“Don’t take another swipe at me. I don’t want to hurt you, Frank. I actually am growing a wee bit fond of you, garden pansy.”
“SHUT. UP. Just shut up! Stop playing these head games with me! I’m leaving. And leave me the fuck alone you sick son of a bitch – ”
Before Frank could get the chance to storm off, Richard grabbed hold of his arm so tightly, he felt his strong, bold, fingers, touch his arm ligament that was sensitive due to so many years of guitar playing.
“Ahh…” Frank moaned as hit the ground, his arm still held by Richard in midair. Frank looked like a rag doll as he helplessly squirmed in Richard’s grasp. “Please…” begged Frank, his eyes watered with painful tears. “Put me down…”
Richard’s eyes glimmered in the night – they didn’t frighten Frank, for he was in too much pain to care about his abnormally gorgeous eyes.
Richard just kneeled down beside the moaning Frank. “You like pain. I can tell,” mused Richard, with a smile on his face. Frank just winced, and tried to look away.
“You use to cut yourself in high school,” continued Richard. “Like the overdramatic queer you truly were and still are.”
“SHUT UP!” gasped Frank, still in pain. “You – you sick German bastard! Let me go!” Richard just beamed. He laid Frank’s arm down gently to the ground, but he still held it tight. “You cut yourself because why…? Well, looking at you it wasn’t for attention – you have a fetish for pain, don’t you, Frank? Is that why you let Gerald walk all over you and treat you like crap? Because you enjoyed heart ache? So you could have an excuse to hurt?”
“That’s – that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. And his name is GERARD. Get it right!”
Richard began to pull up Frank’s shirt sleeve. “What if I hurt you?” asked Richard. “Just beat the crap out of you – would you care?”
Frank’s eyes widened. “Let me go – !” Frank began to struggle, but to no avail. Richard was five times the willpower he was. Frank felt defeated – this was the first time that he actually couldn’t take someone on and win. He breathed heavily as Richard pulled out a pocket knife.
“I like blood, don’t you, Frank?” inquired Richard as he raised the knife to Frank’s skin. “What… what are you doing to me?” Frank quivered.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle. Trust me… you’ll like it.”
Richard began to slice at Frank’s arm – Frank gasped, and hollered. The pain was an adrenaline rush that seemed to spur him in and out of reality. The whole forest spun around in his mind’s eye, and all he could see and hear was that of Richard.
“That’s it – what a beautiful crimson you have… shhh, shh… don’t moan. You don’t have to be afraid in my eyes…”
Frank’s world was spinning out of control. His amber eyes glimmered in the night as well as he caught hold of Richard’s jade, green, jewels, in the night. They sparkled like precious stones that could set a wild heart aflame.
Frank saw the gash on his arm, and the constant flow of sinful red upon it, but all he could manage to get out was a slight moan… it was pitiful, but not a moan that was meant to be pitiful at all.
Richard brought Frank closer into his arms and began to massage his head in silence. Blood stained his suave, Armani, shirt, in the night… but Richard just beamed at his bloody comrade.
“Shh,” he hummed harmoniously. “Shhhh…. Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Frank’s eyes were closed, but he hummed a “mmm hmm” and simply stayed silent.
“I’m going to lay you on the ground now,” hissed Richard. “And then I’m going to take you – but just this once…. Do you understand, little boy?”
Frank put his hand to Richard’s face and simply nodded. “Good,” grunted Richard. Throwing his clothes aside, Richard took his big, masculine, hands, and cascaded them over Frank’s almost limp body. Richard hummed a tune that relaxed Frank and put him in a state of ease.
Richard was careful with taking off Frank’s close, and respectfully put them to the side of their passionate arena.
Richard turned Frank over on his back, and saw that Frank had quite the sort of tattoos – on his back was a pumpkin that leered at Richard with impending doom; for some reason, Richard found this all the more amusing. In fact, it even turned him on.
“Shhh,” hummed Richard in Frank’s velvet ear. “Now’s time to do the deed...” Richard pressed his hands on Frank’s shoulder, and slowly, he began to merge himself with his counterpart for a twilight’s hour of deadly folly.
Tossing and turning, clawing and moaning – the two engaged in their act of unsystematic sexuality on the forest’s roots. The wind was silent, and the night cloudless and humid – morning would not arise until the nightingale sung her last song.