Folie a Deux

Hey everyone! So, not much of an author's note today; I finally posted a blog on my website again, though, so if you want to check that out it's got a bit of an update on my life and all that personal crap. (My website is contentsofmymess.webs.com. Yeah, I know, I have way too many social networking accounts/sites, but I'm working on making a complete lists of all my accounts and such so it's easier to sort out haha. I'll probably post the list on my website [which you should subscribe to, hinthintnudgenudge] when it's done.)

Anyway, I'm sorry if this chapter is a little off, but if you read that post on my website you'll understand why. Stuff in my life right now is, like, super fucked up. It's weird.

Also, I'm gonna' post a thing on my website (it'll be up right after I post this chapter) that's a bit of a preview for the fic that I want to write after Folie. It'll be all from Frank's POV and there's quite a bit of Ryan of P!ATD and Bert of The Used and also in the fic Gerard sees ghosts so... Yeah, haha, it's gonna' be intense. I'm really looking forward to sharing it with you guys, I've really enjoyed writing it so far, almost more than I'm enjoying Folie right now. (But then again, as my awesome friend Lauren said, new fics are always fun to write...)

Besides that, though, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! It's kind of awkwardly written in places but I think I got it to where it needed to be.

---

Showering with Frank was nice. At first I wondered if it would be weird or awkward, naked and standing so close together, doing such a mundane thing, but it turned out to be nice. He kept his eyes on my face, most of the time, letting his hands do the looking at the rest of my body. I was thankful for that, it was like he was reading my mind and understanding how nervous I was to be fully unclothed in front of another human being, in a place that had good lighting and nowhere to hide.

"I'm in love with your hair," I told Frank, moving wet strands away from his face. We were sitting in the living room, fully clothed again, and he was curled up in my lap. My mom had left for the store, Mikey informed us before retreating back to his room, and was getting us ice cream.

Frank leaned his face into my cheek, closing his eyes. "I can't decide what I want to do with it next. It's always a scary decision."

"I like it when it's just long enough to get curly," I told him, kissing the top of his head, my hand touching his cheek.

He turned his face to press a kiss against my hand before taking my fingers in his. He was sitting sideways, in my lap, legs stretched out on the couch. The TV was turned on, the news serving as easy background noise.

He rested his head against my chest. "You're warm."

I wrapped my arms around his waist, resting my chin on top of his head and closing my eyes. "So are you."

We sat there in silence for a while, just enjoying being close to each other.

I was the first to break the silence; "I've been thinking about applying for a job somewhere. I mean, the thing with the newspaper comic that I went for- remember that? It feels like forever ago. They never even called me back or anything."

He kind of shifted, moving his head away to get a better look at me, meeting my eyes. "A job?"

I nodded. "Something dumb and stupid, probably. At a fast food restaurant or some shit. Maybe the diner if they're hiring."

He just looked at me. "Why?"

I looked back, feeling myself blush. "Well, we have to have money, for uh-"

"We? Gerard, what-"

"For an apartment," I said, soft, looking at him. I was blushing and I knew it. "I mean, our apartment. That's the plan, right?"

He was kissing me before I even finished the sentence, his hands cradling my face gently. "Our apartment," he said against my mouth. "Fucking hell, Gerard, I love you."

"I love you too," I said. He hugged me, pressing his face against my neck. He was so close and so warm and I was in love with how easy it was to be with him, how right he felt wrapped up in my arms.

"You don't need to do that," Frank said softly. "You don't need to get a job."

"Frank, I-"

"You're going to be miserable," he said, and I sort of knew he was right. "I can't see you waking up every morning and going to some lame job like that. Maybe you should wait until you can do something with art."

I frowned, trying to ignore how honest he was being. He was right, I was going to be miserable if I went through with this. But I also knew that it was the best way to handle the situation. Getting a job now was a lot faster way of getting money than if I waited, and I knew how much Frank hated living with his mom; and I knew my mom wouldn't want us to stay living with her forever. She'd let us if we asked to, but eventually we'd have to get our own place, so the sooner the better.

"Frank..."

"If you get a job I will too," he said, tilting his head back to look up at me. "I'm not just gonna' let you suffer through that shit on your own."

I kissed his forehead. "You're too good to me," I told him.

He just pressed his face against mine, his cheek soft and warm squished against mine.

We were quiet for a moment, and then I said; "There's seven thousand dollars in a savings account with my name on it."

He didn't speak for eight seconds exactly. "What?"

I swallowed. "Seven thousand dollars," I repeated, nervous. "That my grandma left me. When she first got married she put a lot of money in the bank and just kept it there and when she died it got transferred to me."

Frank was very quiet. "So...?"

I swallowed again, feeling fidgety. "If we rented a place for a thousand a month that covers the entire first six months with a thousand extra for whatever we need it for. That gives us six months to come up with the next few month's rent..."

He was kissing me again. It lasted for twenty-two seconds and then someone cleared their throat on the other side of the room. I parted my lips from Frank's and blushed, looking at my mom.

"Hi," I said, echoed faintly by Frank.

She just smiled. "Hi boys. Ice cream is in the fridge and Frank's mom called."

---

Two hours later and Frank and his mom were still arguing on the phone. We were in Mikey's room- he was trying to learn this song on the guitar and I was doing the best to help with with Frank silently putting in his advice while his mom's voice shouted angrily from the other end of the line.

Mikey strummed the note on the guitar again and groaned. "What am I still doing wrong?"

I just blinked at the guitar, biting my lip and glancing at Frank. I honestly didn't know much about this.

Frank glanced between us and then looked at Mikey's hand, pointing at a spot on the neck of the guitar. Mikey raised eyebrows, shifting his hand slowly in that direction. Frank nodded and Mikey strummed the note, his face still unsatisfied until Frank gave an encouraging nod, saying "I know, mom, I know," into his cellphone.

Mikey practiced the few chords he had memorized so far and Frank just said, "Mom, listen. I'm trying to help someone with-" He rolled his eyes. "Mikey Way, mother. Gerard's little brother. He's trying to learn this song on the guitar and I'm helping him. He's a good kid." He didn't speak for a moment, hesitating. "What? When?" He frowned. "Oh. Just tell him to text me, okay? Or tell him to call or something. Whatever." Frank sighed. "Bye, mom, I- Yeah, I love you too." He paused for a moment, listening to her talk. "Okay. Okay, yes, I'll be there, I swear. And you're sure it's okay if-? Okay. Thanks. Bye, love you."

He hung up his cellphone, rolling his eyes. "My mom is insane."

Mikey laughed. "I guess we know where you got it from."

Frank held his middle finger up, glaring at my little brother. "I am nothing like her," he swore. "And I never will be."

"What was she going off about?" I asked.

He rolled his eyes. "She's pissed because I'm never home anymore. She wants me to come home tonight so I talked her into letting you stay the night."

"I've never seen your room," I realized, blinking in shock. "You practically live in my room and I've never even seen your bedroom door."

"It's lame," he said flatly. "It's small and the only good part about it is that my mom doesn't get pissed when I practice guitar since I'm upstairs."

"Speaking of guitar," Mikey cut in. "I think I'm just going to stick to bass. Guitars are bullshit."

I laughed. "When did you develop such a vulgar vocabulary?"

"He got it from me," Frank observed.

"Yeah, I think he's right, Gerard. He's a bad influence. You should kick him out."

Frank just ruffled Mikey's hair, making him flinch away and nudge his glasses higher on his nose. "You're learning fast, you little shit," Frank said affectionately. "I feel like I should give you an award."

Mikey just rolled his eyes.

"Oh, and, uhm-" Frank hesitated. "Pete evidently called last night."

Mikey froze.

Frank sort of chewed at his lip. "He's supposed to call or text me or something tomorrow," he said, looking at Mikey. "If you want to talk to him..."

Mikey nodded, eyes wide. "I, uhm- Yeah. Yeah, uh. That would be nice. Thank you."

Frank just nodded.

---

The walk to Frank's house was nice. We held hands, walking easily next to each other. "It's weird," I said, "Knowing I'll be spending the night there but not bringing anything with me."

Frank shrugged. "Half of your clothes are in my closet, anyway."

"True," I nodded, squinting up at the sun. "When did it get so fucking hot out?"

"I don't know but I don't like it," Frank said. "It was so fucking sudden, too. Ugh."

I wrinkled my nose. "The only good part about summer is that I'll get to spend it with you."

He kissed my cheek. "You have every summer for the rest of your life to spend with me."

I smiled, nodding. "Yeah, true."

As we approached Frank's house, he faltered, pausing a bit before we got there. "I don't want to let go of your hand," he said, staring at his house like it would burst into flames if we walked any closer.

"Then don't."

He looked at me and then back at his house. "I don't want to have to pretend to not be in love with you," he said, quieter this time.

I lowered my voice, too. "Then don't."

He laughed faintly. "I don't want my mom to kick me out of the house because of my sexuality."

"If she does you can come live with me until we work something out with an apartment. My mom wouldn't mind."

He took a deep breath and started walking again. "I don't think I'll say anything," he said. "About us being in a relationship. Let's not do anything differently than what we would in your house and if she asks about it, we can tell her the truth."

"Okay," I said, kissing his cheek. "That sounds like a good plan."

I let him guide me inside, his fingers tightening around mine in terror. I knew this was hard for him.

"Hey, mom," he said, as we walked into the kitchen together.

"Frank," she said, giving a tight smile. "Hi, Gerard."

"Hi Mrs. Iero," I said.

"Is Henry here?" Frank asked.

Mrs. Iero shook her head. "No, it's just the three of us for dinner tonight." She looked between Frank and I. "So Gerard is spending the night?"

I nodded, even though I was pretty sure she'd been addressing Frank. "Yes ma'am," I said. "We only thought it was fair since Frank's been over at my house so much."

She nodded stiffly, her eyes flickering to Frank's fingers tangled with mine. He noticed her glance, too, and his hand tightened around mine so much his knuckles turned white.

"Frank," she said with a positively fake smile. "Show Gerard up to your room and then come back down and talk to me for a moment."

"But, mom-" He sounded like he was choking.

"You okay?" I said, soft, interrupting him.

I squeezed his fingers back for a few moments, reaching my other hand over and touching his elbow softly.

He looked at me, terrified looking but nodding. "I think so."

I kissed his forehead and hoped desperately that his mother wouldn't yell at him for that.

"Frank," Mrs. Iero said, her voice rising slightly in both pitch and volume. "Now."

Frank just nodded and practically ran away- I followed him up the stairs and into his room, just barely slowing him down with my hand in his.

Frank was crying. "I don't want to lie about this anymore."

I just hugged him, not even bothering to look around his room the way I wanted to. I wrapped my arms around him and let him clutch onto my shirt, his face pressed against my neck.

"It's okay," I told him, pressing my lips against the top of his head, his hair tickling my cheeks. "Shh, Frankie, it's okay."

"I don't want her to hate me," he said, voice trembling. "She already hates me enough, I can't-" He took a deep breath. "She can't hate me for who I choose to love, can she?"

I moved my hands up to his face and brought it gently towards mine, placing my lips on his for a short few seconds. "She doesn't hate you," I promised him. "And if she does get mad at you for this and you don't feel comfortable here anymore, you can come live with me, okay? You know that?"

He nodded and kissed me again, quickly and gently. "I know," he murmured, fingers trembling. "I just wish she loved me."

I looked at him, sighing. "Oh, Frank..."

He sighed, too, wiping tears off of his cheeks. "I should go down there," he said.

I kissed his forehead. "Good luck."

He kissed my cheek. "Thank you, I'll need it." He glanced around his room. "You can look around if you want," he said. "Just don't, uhm..." He bit his lip. "God, I don't like hiding stuff from you."

My eyebrows pulled together in confusion. "Huh?"

He shook his head, looking at his feet. "Just don't open my desk drawer," he pleaded. "I know I shouldn't ask that, but-"

"Frank, you don't need to hide anything from me, I-"

"Just please," he said, as he was walking out his bedroom door, still looking terrified. "Please don't."

I listened to his footsteps go down the stairs and of course the first thing I did was look at the desk drawer.

I shouldn't... I shouldn't, he asked me not to.

But what did he have to hide from me? What could possibly be in a damned desk drawer that I wasn't allowed to see?

I almost felt guilty just for considering it. I had secrets, too, didn't I? The old journals I never showed him, the art I chose not to show him, the dirty details of just how bad my depression got sometimes that I chose not to share with him.

But Frank... He never kept secrets from me. This was weird for him.

I couldn't help myself.

I held my breath and opened the drawer, not sure what to expect.

A camera, a few sheets of torn and half-crumpled papers, and- I moved one of the papers to the side.

"Oh," I said, softly.

I felt dizzy.

I turned away, blinking in shock. I knew Frank had scars but I'd never actually seen what had caused them in person, but now there it was, glinting softly against the dim light streaming in from Frank's window.

It was the part of the pencil sharpener that does all the sharpening.

I couldn't just... Leave it there. I felt fidgety, unsettled.

I couldn't just close the drawer and know that Frank would open it again one day, fingers trembling, maybe crying, his body scared and desperate for the silver, the gleam, the cut, the blood...

I felt like I was going to throw up. "Oh, god," I choked out, softly. I couldn't leave it there but if I took it he'd know exactly who'd done it and I'd be caught for snooping.

But which was a worse punishment, Frank bleeding lonely on the bathroom floor or him upset at me for invading his privacy?

I didn't want Frank to hurt.

I carefully pocketed the silver piece of self-destruction, fingers trembling as I wondered how many times it had torn through Frank's skin.

He had so many more scars than me, I knew that much. I felt like I would pass out, just thinking about it. I found myself sitting on Frank's bed, my hands shaking.

I needed him. I needed him in my arms, I needed to hold him, to hug him. I needed to know he was okay. I needed to kiss the pain away.

I was curled up in Frank's bed. It felt like heaven, there in his room, everything screamed with obvious signs of all things Frank.

However, that didn't stop my fingers from trembling.

I tugged Frank's blanket up around me. It smelt like him and like cigarettes, which intrigued me considering he didn't smoke in his own home. I guess it was just a part of him; no matter where he went he couldn't escape the smoke.

I counted as I waited for him, I got to one thousand and sixty-seven and was half way through thinking the words "sixty-eight," when he walked in.

I just looked at him as he walked into his own room. He looked at me in his bed and faltered. "So I told her," he said. He blinked rapidly. "And she... She was okay with it."

I paused, shocked. "Really?"

He nodded, smiling slowly. "She was bitchy about it but all she said was to do whatever makes me happy. She was pissed to find out that I've been more or less living with my boyfriend without telling her the truth about our relationship, but... I mean, she's totally mad about it but she didn't kill me or anything so I guess it's alright."

"That's good."

He nodded, grinning. "You're the only thing she's ever approved of."

I moved over on the bed and he settled in next to me, hugging me and nuzzling his face into my neck.

"I love you," he said.

I held him close, looking at the ceiling as he hugged me.

He was very quiet for a few moments before he realized that I hadn't said it back.

"Gerard?" he said softy, shifting. "Hey, you okay?"

I nodded and we both moved around a bit, laying on our sides and facing each other.

"I love you too," I said.

He leaned in and kissed my forehead. "You look bothered," he observed.

I just looked at him, sighing, studying his face. Honey-hazel eyes, butterfly lips, hair that curled at just that perfect angle... But I knew behind all that he wasn't as beautiful as the image he reflected out for the world.

Frank was scarred, he was damaged. He had a mother who didn't love him and a father that he had never known. He didn't have many friends- me, Mikey, and Pete more or less made up his entire social group. He was depressed, he didn't like his body, he had the lowest self-esteem of anyone I'd ever known.

And he hurt himself because of that.

For some unknown reason, he blamed himself for the way the world had screwed him over.

His insides, his mind- they were fucked up. I knew that. Frank Iero was the only person on earth who was maybe just as fucked up as me.

But I loved him for that. I loved him for his issues, his problems, his self-hate. It was the things that made him so screwed up that made him even more beautiful to me.

"I looked in the drawer," I said.

His lips parted instantly in protest, he was speaking but I wasn't listening, I was talking too.

"Frank," I said. "Frank, don't get upset with me, please-"

"-invasion of privacy!" he was saying at the same time. "Gerard, fuck, I-"

I held his wrists, efficiently silencing him. "I love you," I said, sternly. "Fucking listen to me, okay?"

He just stared at me.

"I love you, Frank Iero," I said, my voice soft. "I don't ever want you to hurt, especially not from a self-inflicted wound."

I watched him as he reacted, closing his eyes, swallowing a breath of air so deep I saw it move down his throat.

"I love you too," he said, carefully. "But, Gerard, I asked you not to look in the drawer. I asked you not to do something and you did it anyway. Why'd you have to look in the fucking drawer?"

I sighed. "We shouldn't be keeping secrets from each other."

He sighed, too. "I know Gerard, but- it's not anything that you didn't already know about."

I kissed his cheek, gentle. "It's in my pocket," I said. He was trembling. "Is that okay?"

He pressed his forehead against my chest, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths. "Gerard, you don't understand-"

"I just want to help."

"I just want to hurt."

I hugged him closer, not sure what else to do. "You deserve so much better than that, Frank."

He was taking deep breaths. "I don't want you involved in this," he said. He was shaking his head. "I don't want you to have to put up with my self-loathe. I don't want to be a burden."

"Oh my god," I murmured. I put my hands on his face, tilting it back to make him look at me. He shifted until he was comfortable, staring at me. "Oh my fucking god," I said again.

"Wh- what?"

"You're not a burden," I told him. "You have never been a burden and you are not one now and you never will be." His eyes had that strange, wet look about him that meant he felt like crying. "You are not a burden," I repeated. "I love you and the only burden here is your own, the only burden is your unhappiness."

He was just looking at me. "Gerard..."

"I want you to be happy," I whispered.

He moved his hands shakily to my face, his fingers cradling my cheeks. "Thank you," he said, kissing me.

I kissed back, moving my hand to the back of his head to hold him there.

"Will you help me- Will you help me quit hurting myself?" He rested his forehead against mine. "I want to get better," he said softly. "If you think I should."

"I think you should," I said immediately. I faltered. "This- it's not going to be easy, you know that, right?"

"I know."

He kissed me again.

"Thank you."

"Anything for you," I murmured back, pressing my face against his.

---

Sleeping at Frank's house was lovely. Frank's mom went to Henry's house after a slightly awkward dinner that involved her asking a lot of weird questions about our relationship, so we had the place to ourselves.

We stayed up late that night- I listened to him play guitar for at least an hour.

"I've been, uh-" He smiled nervously, pausing. "I've been trying to write lyrics to go with this."

We were sitting on the floor, leaning against his bed. "Will you sing for me?"

He blushed. "I've never really sung for other people besides myself," he admitted.

"Please?"

He sighed, strumming a note on his beloved acoustic guitar. "I haven't really worked out the whole song though."

"Improvise," I suggested.

He rolled his eyes. "Only because I love you."

I grinned and kissed his cheek.

He started the song on the guitar, nodding softly as he settled into the music, and then broke off into singing.

His singing voice was so sweet, it had a slight whine to it, and he closed his eyes when he sang.

His voice was sweet and soft and lovely and it made me want to kiss him.

I let him get about half way through the song before I had to stop him.

He blinked his eyes open in surprise as I took the guitar from him, laying it on the floor.

"What's wro-?"

I was already kissing him before he could even ask for an explanation. He made a low, soft, surprised sound in the back of his throat, but let me kiss him anyway, closing his eyes and reaching his hands up to my hair.

We just kissed for a little while, and then I said, "I fucking love your voice."

I was standing, pulling him with me.

"This is the first time we've ever been alone in my house," he pointed out.

I sat on his bed, dragging him down with me as I leaned backwards. He just smiled as my head hit the pillow and he was on top of me, straddling my hips and kissing me again, making a soft sound that sort of made me want to have sex with him right then and there.

"I love your voice," I mumbled again, struggling with Frank's shirt.

He laughed at me, cute and happy. "Are you trying to tell me to be more vocal from now on?"

I nodded and let his shirt fall to the floor. "Please."

"Anything for you," he said, kissing my jaw. His hands were on my hips, my chest, peeling my shirt away from my skin, over my head. "I love you."

I curled my fingers into his hair and dragged his head back close to mine. "I love you too," I said, kissing him.

---

We ended up falling asleep before anything too serious happened, Frank's head tucked softly against my shoulder. It was weird falling asleep in his bed; I almost didn't. It was strange for me to be anywhere but my own home in the middle of the night.

Frank woke up around two in the morning, though, talking softly about how I needed to rest, so I'd tried my hardest to sleep for him.

He woke up around noon the next day to find me sitting on his desk, papers and such all moved to make room for my folded legs. I hadn't bothered to put my shirt back on, his house got pretty fucking warm at night.

I was going through his camera, hoping he wouldn't mind. When he woke up he sort of coughed at me like I should be feeling guilty for it, but honestly the quality of the pictures was worth him being pissed at me.

"Gerard," he snapped, eyes wide but still tired. "What the fuck?"

I just glanced over at him, grinning. "You're a really good photographer, Frank," I said honestly.

He glared at me. "If you keep invading my privacy I'm fucking throwing you out of my house."

"You wouldn't do that," I said, raising my eyebrows at him. "You love me too much."

He rolled over and made a grumpy sounding noise that told me I was right. "What picture are you on?" he asked, giving in to accepting my curiosity.

"There's a lot of snow," I said. I pressed the button to flip to the next picture. "It looks like you were in a park or something." I clicked the button again. "Oh, I really like this one."

He rolled back over to face me. "Which one?"

I slid my legs off the desk and crossed the room to sit on the bed with him, tilting the camera so he could see.

"Oh, yeah," he said. "The scarf in the snow. I remember when I took that."

The picture was simple, really; just a basic snow scene of a park filled with trees, a small metal bench in the left of the photo. The interesting part of it was the red scarf that was draped over the bench, soggy and dotted with snow. It stood out stark against the otherwise mostly monotone photo.

"Who's scarf is that, is it yours?"

Frank shook his head, sitting up and rubbing tiredly at his eyes with his fingers. "I have no idea, it was already there when I took the picture."

"Huh," I said. I passed him the camera. "You're really good at photography," I said for the second time. "Why haven't you shown me that before?"

He shrugged, messing with a few buttons on the camera, flipping it around to inspect the front for a few moments before going to the back again to press more buttons. "It's sort of embarrassing," was all he said.

"How on earth is that embarrassing?"

He shrugged again, glancing at me. "I take pictures of random shit in my free time instead of hanging out with the friends that I don't actually have. It's lame."

"No it's not," I insisted. "It's art."

He held the camera up, pointing it at me. "Smile."

I rolled my eyes but grinned at him, hearing the small click of the camera. He turned it so I could see my face on the little digital screen. "You're pretty," he said.

"Thank you," I said back, even though I didn't agree.

He handed me the camera and let me take a picture of him. "You're prettier," I said, handing him back the camera.

He blushed as he sat there and fiddled with the camera for a moment. "My mom still isn't home, I guess."

"Yeah. How long have you had that camera?"

"Two years now, I think. It's got, like, thirty different settings on it. For portraits, landscapes, stuff at night, snow scenes, bright lighting, low lighting, back lighting..." He glanced up at me with a small smile. "I started saving up money for this camera when I was, like, five."

"That's dedication," I said, nodding in admiration.

Frank kind of laughed. "Yeah." He glanced over at me again. "I have an old Polaroid camera in my closet... Fresh roll of film, y'know? I've been saving it for something special."

"Yeah?"

The way he talked about his cameras made them sound like something sexual.

He leaned over and kissed me. "I've always wanted to take pictures of you with it," he said, like it was a confession. He lifted his left hand up to my chest and let his fingers brush across my collarbone, right hand on his bed, supporting his weight as he leaned towards me. "Pale skin looks so fucking gorgeous on camera."

I leaned into another kiss, his fingers on my collarbone, delicate and careful.

"I'd be, uh- I'd be a perfectly willing model."

His palm was flat against my collarbone, now, his fingers warm against my skin. "Stay here," he murmured, kissing my jaw. "Don't move a fucking inch."

I just nodded and did as he asked, watching him cross the room.

"So you've been into photography for a while, then?" I asked quietly.

"My whole life," he said, nodding, digging through things in his closet. "I got one of those disposable cameras when I was four, and got one every year on my birthday until I was able to buy the digital and the Polaroid." He turned back around to face me, Polaroid camera in hand. "Smile."

I did as he asked and tried not to blink at the bright flash and the sound of the camera. The Polaroid pushed the photo out the front immediately and Frank laid it out on his desk.

He came back over to the bed and stood in front of me. "Look straight forward," he said. He pointed to the little dip in skin at the bottom of his neck. "Right here. Your nose is cute from this angle."

I sort of laughed, but I did what he said and waited for the flash to go off before I looked back up at him. He laid the Polaroid photo on the ground. "Lean back."

I did as he asked and laid back on his bed; he sat himself on my hips like he had last night, one knee on either side of my body.

"You're so pretty," he said, taking another picture of me. When the picture rolled out of the camera he sat it on the bed next to us. He looked fucking adorable behind the camera, like it's where he belonged. He looked as comfortable with the camera in his hands as he did with a guitar, something I'd never really seen before now. He looked content, happy; natural, almost. Like the camera was supposed to be in his hands all the time and he felt better when it was there.

I held my hands out, wanting to try it myself, and he passed the camera.

"Run your hand through your hair," I requested. He did as I asked and I grinned, snapping the picture. "I love it when you do that," I admitted, laying the picture on the bed next to the one he'd taken of me.

He rested his hands on my hips. "Can I take off your pants?"

I laughed. "You don't have to ask. I think these are your pants, anyway, they're too tight."

He grinned and moved his fingers to my jeans, carefully undoing the button. I took a picture of him; he looked so cute like that, head tilted down, hair hanging in perfect, soft curls.

By the time he'd gotten both my pants and his off I'd already taken two more pictures of him.

"Hand me the camera," he said, one hand on my hips. I did as he asked and he took a picture of me without warning, balancing the camera carefully in one hand. "Close your eyes," he ordered softly.

I did as he asked, humming as he let his hand slip lower than hips. I heard the click of the camera and saw the light change briefly as the flash went off, and I heard the gentle sound of the picture rolling out of it. I didn't bother questioning how he managed to get the picture out of the camera and to a safe place to develop with both hands occupied, and to be honest I didn't really care.

The only thing that mattered right then was how soft and warm his skin against mine was.

I heard the click again, and saw the flash, and I heard the picture roll out of the camera.

His hand was warm, gentle.

Heard the click, saw the flash, heard the roll.

His fingers curved carefully.

Click, flash, and roll.

I parted my lips without meaning to, sighing.

Click, flash, roll.

"I fucking love your hands," I mumbled, curling my own fingers into the sheets.

Click, flash, roll.

He didn't take any more pictures for a few minutes, putting all of his focus on that one fucking hand of his.

I made a noise without meaning to, soft and low and needy.

Click, flash, roll.

"You're so pretty," was all he said. "So fucking pretty."

Click, flash, roll.