Folie a Deux

Hey guys, here with another Folie chapter! This one rounded in at just about 10 pages exactly in my word document and I wrote it in 3 days, so I'm super proud.

Little bit of an update on me and such:
-My birthday is January 23rd, so this Sunday (19th) I'm going to a Reggie and the Full Effect concert with some friends.
-As you guys all know, I've been out sick from school with mono since, like, October, but I'm going back ON MY BIRTHDAY and I am so terrified.
-My girlfriend broke up with me, like, yesterday. So. Uhm. Yeah. Sorry if the end of this chapter seems weird or awkward, everything after the line "Do you want to see the paint now?" was written after we broke up. For the most part I think I shoved through it pretty well but I'm just hoping my mood didn't affect any of my writing.
-I'm going to try to not let this affect my writing, and honestly I've been writing so fast lately I hate to break the streak, but between school and that issue it might be a tad bit longer before the next chapter of Folie, sorry about that.

Anyway, that's it for now, really. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! I'm sorry to disapoint anyone who's was hoping for any form of smut but I didn't write any because honestly, it just didn't seem to fit in for some reason. I thought it would be better to just skip straight to the next morning. (Don't worry, there's still quite a bit of them talking about sex, though, haha.) If anyone is interested in reading any of the more "smutty" frerard stuff I've written, just drop a comment/private message me/drop me an ask (ask.fm/capillarystatic, ask.fm/frerardadeux, or youhitlikeagxrl.tumblr.com/ask) and I can give you a link to the mass-post I put on tumblr a while back.

Anyway, that's it for now! Enjoy!

---

I woke up next to Gerard, something familiar to me; but it was a bit different this time. I was half-draped over him, one of my legs tucked softly between both of his, my face was pressed warm against his neck.

He was so pretty when he was asleep- calm and peaceful, not a worry in the world, his face relaxed beautifully.

I lifted one hand up to his face, pushing his hair off of his cheeks.

"You're awake," he murmured softly, shifting. I blinked in surprise, having thought he was asleep.

"Yeah," I said. I shifted up so I could kiss him, warm and soft and happy.

He responded to my kiss with a smile, tilting his head and pressing his nose against my cheek.

"How long have you been up?"

He shrugged. "Not long."

I put my hand on his chest. "Did you sleep well, then?"

He kissed me shortly. "Mostly, yeah."

I moved my hand from his chest to his face, touching his forehead and cheeks. "You look so stressed once you start using that pretty little brain of yours," I told him. "You look so much more relaxed when you don't stress yourself out."

He sighed. "I know. I'm not stressed though, it's just- just too many thoughts, y'know? My thoughts just get a little too loud sometimes."

I sighed, frowning. "I wish I could help that."

"You already are," he promised, taking my hand in his and kissing my fingers. "I love you."

"I love you too," I said, turning my head and dancing my lips across his nose playfully.

He laughed at me, grinning. "You're so cute," he told me.

I responded by kissing him, smiling back, rolling softly onto my side and dragging him to face me. We just looked at each other for what felt like forever, until he said, "My ass is cold."

I laughed, resting one hand on his hip. "Put on some fucking clothes, then."

His hands were on my chest, my shoulders, dragging me back in for a kiss, lazy and easy and sweet. "I was gonna' take a shower first," he said.

I moved my hand from his hip up to his head, curling my fingers lightly into his hair. "May I join you?"

His lips floated across mine, like he couldn't get enough of me. "I would like that."

I closed my eyes, dragging my hand softly down from his neck, skimming down the side of his body. He sort of shivered, pressing closer to me.

"You're so warm," he murmured.

I kissed his chin. "Let's go take that shower, yeah?"

He started to move away, to sit up, but then realized an important thing. "I'm not wearing pants."

I rolled my eyes. "No need to get all self-conscious, now. There's not an inch of you I haven't seen."

He just kind of looked at me for a second, blushing. "But it was dark," he said. "And you were a little... preoccupied."

I leaned up and kissed him. "You're the most beautiful boy in the whole wide world," I promised him. "Trust me."

He finally gave in and stood up, and I couldn't help but sort of giggle at how pale his ass was.

"You're so white," I teased.

"Shut up," he muttered, glaring at me. "You're not exactly tan, either, Frank."

"At least I'm not the color of paper, Gerard."

He paused, but then said, "Yeah, yeah true."

"What was that pause about?" I asked. Watching Gerard walk naked across his room was far more interesting than the conversation we were having, but I couldn't help but be curious.

"You gave me an idea," he said, glancing over his shoulder at me.

I raised an eyebrow. "What sort of idea has to do with your ass being pale?"

"Not me being pale," he said, digging through his desk drawer for something. "The paper part."

"I don't get it," I said, feeling dumb.

He held up something and I squinted at it.

"Paint?"

"Washable paint," he clarified. "The kind kids use."

"I still don't get it."

He just sat the paint down on his desk and crossed the room, kissing me lightly before tugging on a pair of jeans. "I'll be right back, need anything from the kitchen?"

"Coffee would be nice."

"Coffee it is, then."

He left the room, leaving me to stare curiously after him.

I felt kind of awkward, alone and clothes-less in Gerard's bed, but I ended up just stretching out, tugging the blanket up around my neck. I waited for Gerard, closing my eyes and replaying images from last night in my head.

Gerard had been so fucking beautiful, black hair clinging to his forehead and cheeks, pale skin such a stark contrast to the dark sheets on his bed. He was so soft, so warm, so strangely fluid beneath me. He'd moved like water last night, like I was the current and every move I made commanded his body. It had been strange and lovely and a total turn on, how easily he let me control the situation, how willing he had been to give in to my body.

Even if he has trouble expressing it, it was obvious how insanely much he trusted me. That was one of the things I loved about him, though. He trusted me just as much as I trusted him.

Gerard during sex was a fucking beautiful thing. His lips parted just slightly, his head tilted back, his voice soft and sort of desperate and absolutely gorgeous. He was the most stunning creature on the face of the planet and seeing him so relaxed yet so very tense at the same time was by far one of the most visually amazing things I had ever seen.

I pressed my face slightly into the pillow, breathing in deep. It smelt like Gerard's skin, like his hair, his breath, like cigarettes and coffee and art supplies and sex and sweat. It smelt like home to me, like all things comforting, like a sense of belonging.

I belonged here, with Gerard. I belonged in Gerard's home, in his room, in his bed. It was the only thing that felt right to me.

He came back into his room a few minutes later, balancing two mugs of coffee and a glass of water, a paper plate tucked beneath one arm. I sat up and took my coffee from him, and he sat the glass of water and plate down on his bedside table.

"What's that for?" I asked, sipping from my mug.

"You'll see," he said, sitting on the bed next to me, sipping at his mug, too. We sat in silence for a few seconds.

"Last night," I said, quietly. "That was-" I blushed. "You're so amazing, Gerard, have I ever told you that? You're so beautiful."

He just looked into his coffee mug, blushing. "You're perfect," he told me. "You're completely perfect."

I just kissed him.

He tasted like coffee and like the cigarettes that would probably end up killing us both. I wondered if he could taste his own skin on my lips from all the times I had kissed his neck last night.

He moved his lips away from mine but kept his face close, his nose touching my jaw. "I love you," he said softly.

I turned my face, my cheek pressing against his. "I love you too."

We just kind of sat there, close to each other, until we'd both finished our coffee.

Gerard sat his empty coffee mug with the water, moving back over to his desk with the plate. I watched him cross the room, curious.

"Front or back?" he inquired, randomly.

I stared at him. "What?"

He held a paintbrush up and wiggled it slightly, not turning around, looking for something on his desk still. "Which side would you rather me paint?"

I didn't understand. "Gerard, what?"

He turned around, sort of leaning on one foot, looking at me like I was stupid. His jeans were slung low on his hips, his hair was unruly; he was absolutely beautiful. He held up the paintbrush again. "Am I painting your front or your back?"

I just blinked, finally understanding. "Me? You're painting me? As in on my skin?"

He nodded. "Now, front or back?"

"I, uhm-" I blinked again. "Do I have to lay down?"

"Yes."

"Paint my back."

"Lay down, then."

I did as he asked, sitting my coffee mug on his bedside table and then stretching out on his bed, folding my arms beneath my head and resting my cheek on my hands, facing the wall. "What are you going to paint?"

"You'll see," he said, sounding condescending. "Don't ask so many questions about it."

"What, you don't like questions?"

"I love questions, you know that, but I don't like questions that'll answer themselves, dumbass."

"Someone's taken an extra dose of sass in their coffee," I observed.

He just sort of laughed at me, coming to sit on the bed by my side. I observed what I could of him from this angle, which was luckily most of him, but I couldn't see the colors of paint on his plate. He seemed to notice me stretching to look, so he held the plate at an angle.

"Are you painting a fucking rainbow?" I asked, sitting up slightly to get a better view.

He smiled, shaking his head. "Just lay down and shut up."

I laughed, resting my head back on my hands. "During sex you're a lot less feisty about telling other people to lay down and shut up and a lot more willing to do it yourself."

All of a sudden there was something cold and soft pressed against my back, between my shoulders, making me curse as loud as I possibly could.

He just giggled at me, pushing the paintbrush softly down my skin.

"You didn't tell me it would be cold," I whined.

"It's paint, Frankie. Of course it's going to be cold. And also, that was revenge for you bringing up my... Trust during intercourse."

I laughed so hard I snorted. "'Trust during intercourse?' What are you, a fucking sex education teacher? Just admit it, you're totally fucking submissive during sex."

"Shut up," he muttered, blushing red. "It was just the first time."

I glanced up, grinning up at him. He was cute when he got flustered like that. "But next time, you're still going to be begging the whole time, don't even deny it."

"Just let me paint you in peace," he muttered.

"Fine, fine..."

I don't know how long I laid there, but it was nice. Gerard's paintbrush was soft and smooth, the paint was cold and wet against my skin. He had the blanket settled just below my ass, and sometimes when he had to lean to reach a certain angle he would put a hand there to hold himself steady. I didn't mind, of course, and it was sweet how he massaged the few patches of paint-less skin on my back when I complained of being uncomfortable or cramped.

"There," he said eventually, resting his paintbrush in the now murky cup of water. "First layer is done."

"First layer?" I asked, trying not to sound whiny.

Gerard nodded, leaning down and pressing his lips against the back of my neck. "Give it a bit to dry," he said, soft. "I'll try to do the second layer faster."

I just nodded a bit, trusting him. "I still can't know what you're painting?"

"Not yet."

I wiggled a bit. "Can you cover my butt? I'm getting cold. Your mom must've turned up the AC or something."

He did as I asked and then patted the back of my head. "I'm gonna go get some more coffee, okay? Don't touch the paint or sit up or anything, I don't want the colors to smear."

"Okay," I said.

He left the room but returned soon enough, sitting on the bed next to me and counting the minutes as the paint on my skin dried, his fingers playing with my hair.

There was a light tapping at the door and I turned my head awkwardly to face it, resting my cheek smushed against my hands.

"Who is it?" Gerard asked.

"Your brother," Mikey said coldly.

"It's unlocked, yknow."

There was a pause. "Are you both... Decent?"

I sent Gerard a glance, trying not to turn my head more than I had to. Gerard's eyes flickered downward to make sure the blanket was still covering my butt and then he said, "Yeah. Shirtless, but yeah."

Mikey pushed the door open and looked between us curiously. "Frank, you look like a rainbow took a shit on your back."

"Thanks," I said, cooly.

He rolled his eyes and then paused, sending us both glares that I'm surprised didn't actually kill us.

"Did you fucking forget," he said coldly to Gerard. "That your little brother sleeps in the room next to you? I don't want to hear you moan like a fucking prostitute in the middle of the night."

No one spoke for a moment, but Gerard managed, "Uhm..."

Mikey glanced at me. "And you, Frank," he said, sounding disgusted. "Keep your voice to yourself next time, please."

I just kind of laughed, not sure what else to say. "Will do, Mikey. Sorry."

He rolled his eyes and left the room, leaving me laughing and Gerard with a mortified look on his face.

"Oh my god."

I just shook my head, resting my forehead on my hands and staring at the pillow.

"Oh my god," he said again.

"Your brother knows we had sex," was all I could say, laughing. I honestly didn't know how else to react to this.

I glanced at Gerard and he wrinkled his nose, horrified. "He heard us have sex."

"Next time maybe we should wait until we're completely alone," I decided.

"Yeah, that would've been good to realize last night."

I just laughed at him.

---

By the time Gerard had finished the second layer of paint, I was almost asleep. He used one color consistently this time, making me wonder what he on earth he was doing. It felt like an intricate pattern, swirling across my shoulders and down my spine and everywhere else, too, but I had would have no idea what it was until either he told me or I got to see it for myself.

Being painted by Gerard was almost better than sex. (It's a big almost, but it's still an almost.) The paintbrush was smooth and soft against my skin, and he spoke softly to me while he painted, talking about absolutely nothing but still managing to keep me engaged in conversation. We talked about all the things we wanted to do this summer, about how Gerard was thinking maybe we could ask his mom to borrow the car and we could drive as far south as we could and spend the night in some random hotel, just the two of us. I told him that that sounded nice and he smiled, looking proud of the idea.

He told me about how he wanted to take me to his grandmother's grave, how he wished I could've met her.

"You would have loved her," he said, softly. "And she would have loved you, too."

I didn't say anything for a few moments. "Would you-" I felt like this was such a sensitive subject. "How would you have introduced me to her?"

"As my boyfriend," Gerard said, almost immediately. "She was always okay with my sexuality. She was the first one I told, actually."

"Really?" I said, sort of surprised. "If I had told my grandma she would have had me burned for, like, witchcraft or something."

Gerard laughed. "Are you comparing love to witchcraft?"

I just kind of shrugged, looking at him. "They both make people do some pretty crazy things."

"Yeah," he said, nodding. "That's true."

"So your grandma was... Okay with it?"

"She was okay with everything," Gerard said softly. I watched him carefully, his hand moving gently with the paintbrush. "She was the only person who ever really... Got me. Y'know? She was the only one who loved me unconditionally."

"Even- even more than Mikey and your mom?"

Gerard nodded, once. His jaw shifted slightly and I could tell this was a weird thing for him to talk about. "My relationship with my mom has always been so relaxed," he said. "She's like a best friend to me but she's also still a mom, y'know?"

I blinked a few times. I didn't know, not really. My mom and I had never been nearly as close as Gerard and his mother seemed to be. "I- uh. Can you expand a little more on that?"

Gerard glanced at my face, blinking once before going back to his art. "Uh, yeah. My mom, she- she gets me. But she also still looks out for me, more than she should sometimes. When I started with cigarettes, she didn't try to stop me because she understood why I did it. She just sat down with me one day, read me the warnings on the labels and told me about how badly smoking has damaged her lungs. She let me be an adult about it and let me made the decision. And when-" He faltered. "When my thing with alcohol started up, I, uh..." He blinked a few times.

"Hey," I said, soft, cutting him off. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

He gave me a small smile. "It's okay. I just never really talk to anyone about this stuff. It's weird saying it aloud."

I nodded. That was understandable.

"Anyway," he continued, hesitant. "When my thing with alcohol started up, my mom went totally insane over it. The cigarettes she could deal with, because it was something she understood but with the alcohol... She never understood. I think she looked at me and saw my father."

I paused before I spoke. "Your dad drank?"

Gerard shrugged. "He was a complete alcoholic. Good man, but a complete alcoholic."

I didn't know what to say.

"My mom, though, and you know this, enjoys the occasional beer, but she never, ever gets drunk. But after a while she noticed the bottles or cans or whatever we happened to have missing..."

"And she connected the dots?"

"Yeah. I was pretty bad with it."

"I'm sorry," I said, not knowing what else to say.

"It's okay," he sighed. "I mean, I'm alright now, yeah? I can hold my beer and I know when to stop."

"Why did you stop?"

"Mostly just because it turned me into an asshole. When I'm drunk I'm... I'm not me. I turn into this complete idiot who only cares about himself. Partially because of you."

"Me? I've only ever seen you drink once, though, and that was the other day."

"Yeah, but... I'd been stopped mostly for a while before I met you. I had a beer maybe once a week, maybe once every two weeks if I was doing good. Once I met you at the coffee shop that day I just sort of stopped all together without realizing it."

I blinked up at him, shivering as the paintbrush moved against my skin, soft and delicate. "I love you," I said softly.

He sent me a small, thankful-seeming look, and a smile. "I love you too, Frankie."

"Tell me more," I said. "About your relationships with your mom and with Mikey and with your grandma."

"Well. That pretty much sums up my mom and I. Some things she lets me be an adult about some things and lets me handle some things by myself, other things she flips out over and gets totally overprotective about."

"What about me?" I asked. "How did she react in private to you bringing me home?"

"Honestly? She's never really commented on it. She just... Went with it, sort of. Accepted you into the family, just about. She doesn't mind you staying here all the time, when she asks me what I want for dinner she asks if 'that's okay with Mikey and Frank too.' Like she just knows and accepts that you're here to stay."

"Really?"

"Yeah. She's never questioned our relationship. She never asked me if we were dating or how serious we had gotten and she never brought up all the stupid shit she used to with my relationships, she didn't ask me about your grades or if you were a 'good person' or if I really cared about you. She just... Saw us together, I guess. She's understood from the beginning that we're what's best for each other and the only comment she ever made on any of it was asking me if I loved you or not."

I didn't have anything to say accept for, "Wow."

"Yeah."

"What about Mikey?" I asked. "How did he react to me?"

"He never really commented much on it either," Gerard said, shrugging. "But then again he's never had much input on my relationships. I think he understands that I've always fallen way too hard way too fast and he's ended up just dealing with it all these years when I lost it over someone I barely knew."

It was weird hearing Gerard talk about his past relationships. "What were your relationships like before me?"

"Weird," he said honestly. "Ridiculous. I'm an over-dramatic fool about most of it, to say the least. When people didn't call me back I treated it like the end of the world. Exes who I didn't even care for anymore, I talked about them like they had died or something. I've grown out of that, now. I've realized that everyone before you was just dull in comparison."

I sort of smiled at him. "Really?"

"Really," he said, nodding. "I mean, they've all made marks on me, y'know? Some people my OCD got worse after being with them, some made me feel better about some stuff and others worse about some things. But you're the only person I've ever clicked with."

There was so much I wanted to say but I didn't know how to say it, so I turned the conversation back on him. "What did your grandma think about your relationships?"

"She stayed out of it, mostly," he said. "But she gave me a lot of warnings that I ignored."

"Warnings? What type of warnings?"

"Obvious stuff. Stuff I wish I had listened to. Things like, oh, don't fall in love too fast. Don't listen to her when she says you're a slob, don't put up with him when he doesn't want to be with you in public. She always told me to find someone I wouldn't have to change for, someone who loved every piece of me for what it was. That's why she would have adored you so much."

I smiled up at him. "I wish I could've met her."

"I do, too. She's- she's the only person to ever know me better than you," he admitted. "She said when she was my age she made all the same mistakes. She tried to- to kill herself once, but she got over it and fought past that type of stuff. She helped me handle stuff, the shitty stuff, the intrusive thoughts and how much I hated myself."

His fingers were trembling so much he had to stop painting.

"Sorry," he said, quietly. He looked like he was about to cry. "Sorry. I don't mean to get emotional about it."

"Hey," I said, stretching my hand in his direction as much as I could without moving my back too much. "It's okay."

He took my hand lightly in his, squishing my fingers. "Yeah," he said, soft. "I just miss her. It's dumb, really, I know."

"It's not dumb," I said, attempting to lift myself up just a bit, using my elbows to support me. "Any emotion that means something to you isn't dumb."

He leaned down and kissed me, chastely, not so much because he loved me but more because he needed it. I didn't mind. "Lay back down before you screw up my painting," he said, soft, forcing a bit of a smile. "I'm fine, really. I've cried over her enough already."

I did as he said and laid my head back down, my cheek smushed against my hands again.

We fell silent for a while and I watched him paint, his jaw relaxed and eyes focused.

"When can I sit up?" I asked tiredly, after a while.

"Soon," he promised.

After about ten or so more minutes, he placed his paint-covered plate on his bedside table, resting the paintbrush in the now mostly black cup of water. His fingers were on the back of my neck, massaging and soothing and sweet.

I yawned, resting my chin on my hands and closing my eyes. "How long 'till it dries completely?"

"I dunno," Gerard said. "It's been a while since I've painted on anyone's skin."

I opened my eyes, glancing at him. "You've painted skin before?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes I used to paint my hands when I got bored."

"Really? What did you paint?"

"Nothing in particular," he said, stretching out on the bed next to me, laying on his stomach like I was. "Sometimes just clusterfucks of colors. Animals, clouds, flowers."

I couldn't help but laugh, turning my head to face him. "That may be the gayest thing you've ever said."

"Really? Asking you to fuck me last night wasn't gayer than painting flowers on my hand?"

I giggled at him. "Okay, okay. You repeating my name, like, a million times may have been a bit more gay than flowers."

He stretched over and kissed my nose. "Stop teasing me about my begging. If you didn't want me to beg you shouldn't have gone so slow."

"It was our first time, man, of course I wanted to take it slow." I closed my eyes, laughing a bit. "I can go faster next time, though, if you want."

I heard him laugh, soft and pretty, his breath warm against my skin as he pressed his lips gently to mine. "I kind of liked begging," he said, so quiet I wasn't even sure if I heard him or not.

I giggled, looking at him. "You're such a fucking tease. I'm still naked in your bed and I can't sit up or move or I'll screw up the masterpiece you just painted on my back. Don't do this to me."

He kissed my neck. "Consider this revenge for you making fun of me."

"I haven't made fun of you," I pouted. "I like hearing you beg just as much as you enjoy begging."

He rolled his eyes, smiling. "You're an ass."

"And you're a fine piece of ass," I said, doing my best to wink.

He just laughed, sitting up. "The paint is probably dry by now."

I sat up, carefully, very aware of the fact that I had yet to put pants on.

"Clothes?" I requested. Gerard handed me a pair of jeans.

"Keep 'em low on your hips," he ordered. "Partially because I really like your hips, partially because I don't want you to screw up my art."

I rolled my eyes and tugged the jeans on before I stood up.

He glanced at me, clicking his tongue. "You couldn't have waited a few seconds to put on the pants?"

"You just want to see me naked," I said defensively.

"You got to see me walk around nude for a few minutes this morning," he said. "It's only fair."

I rolled my eyes. "You can undress me later if you want."

He grinned. "That sounds lovely."

I kissed his cheek, the paint on my back feeling weird and dry. "Only you can make the word 'lovely' sound sexy."

He kissed my forehead. "Do you want to see the paint now?"

"Yes," I said immodestly.

He took my hand and tugged me towards the door. "Don't hit your back on anything," he told me.

"Of course not," I said.

I followed Gerard down the hall and to the bathroom- he paused just outside the door, putting his hand over my eyes, one hand carefully on my shoulder.

"Really?" I chuckled.

"Yes really," he laughed, steering me into the bathroom.

I moved without resistance as he turned my body around.

"Okay," he said. I opened my eyes, facing him. "Look over your shoulder."

I twisted my body around as much as I could, looking at my back in the bathroom mirror.

"Oh, Gerard..."

"Do you like it?" he said, sounding nervous. "I didn't know if it was too, uhm- too delicate of a pattern, but it worked out, I think..."

I turned back around and kissed him as fucking passionately as I could, and his hands went to my arms, holding me close.

I broke the kiss just so I could look at it again, resting my cheek on Gerard's chest and glancing at the mirror the best I could.

"It's beautiful," I told him, running my fingers down his chest. "It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

Of all the things Gerard could've painted on my back, he's chosen butterflies. There were at least a hundred of them, in all different colors.

Intricate, delicate butterflies, tessellated across my skin.

I couldn't stop staring. "How long did this take?" I said, disbelieving. "How long was I laying there?"

"Quite a while," Gerard said, quietly.

I turned around and kissed him again, my hands on his cheeks, his fingers curling around my wrists softly.

"Why butterflies?" I asked, kissing his neck.

"Honestly," he said. "I don't know. I've just always associated you with butterflies."

"Really?"

He nodded. "It's just become a habit. I see a butterfly, I think of you. It's weird."

I turned my head again to get the best view of Gerard's butterflies gracing my skin as I could. They were all different colors, the outlines of the wings painted in delicate black lines. "I love them," I said, honest. His hands rested on my elbows. "I wish it were permanent."

We stood there for a few minutes, just looking at my painted skin.

Eventually, his fingers slipped down from my elbows to my wrists, and I

turned to look at him, his lips touching mine softly.

I didn't question it when he put his hands gently on my hips, my breath the only thing hesitant as his fingers moved to get the pants I'd barely been wearing fifteen minutes away from my body.

We were in the shower before I knew what his happening, the water not on but his back pressed gently against the tile wall, my lips soft against his.

"Do we have to?" I murmured as he reached to turn the water on.

"No art is permanent," he said carefully, as the shower water started falling gently against our skin. I watched the bottom of the tub sadly as the colors were already beginning to bleed, sighing.

Gerard just watched with me, for a moment, until I found myself kissing himself again, my lips on his neck.

I listened to the quiet sounds he made, my fingers skimming down his chest.

"I love you," I said, tracing a careful path with my lips across his jaw and down his neck.

He responded with a soft sound, somewhere between a sigh and a pleading whimper, and I couldn't help but kiss him again, gentler this time, more carefully.

We just kissed for a few seconds, but after a few moments he turned me around, running his hands softly down my back.

I looked at the floor of the tub, watching the colors drip onto the tiles.

"I wish it were permanent," I said for the second time.

"No art is permanent," he repeated, his palms moving down my spine, fingers massaging softly, speeding the drip of the paint.

We just stood there and I let him wash the paint off of my back, sighing. "How did I get so lucky?" I asked him. "How did I end up the most perfect boy alive?" He kissed my back, right between my shoulders.

"I ask myself the same thing all the time," he said, his arms around my waist. "I think it must've been fate."

I hummed in agreement, every inch of his skin soft and warm against mine.

"Y'know somethin' funny, Frankie," he murmured, his lips carefully against my ear.

"Hm?" I leaned back against him, letting the shower water hit my front and feeling his solid form against my back.

"Your ass is just as pale as mine."

I laughed quietly, turning my head to press our lips together. "I love you, asshole."

"I love you too, fucktard."