Three Cheers for Tragic Ends


August 23rd, 1897

The dusk was warm with mid-autumn wind, and with it came the laughter of the two boys, heavy and intoxicated as they danced through the graveyard as if it was their own. They smiled to each other as they stumbled over rocks, and shivered as the wind ran a symphony through the trees, sending the older boy’s hair into whipped curls and the younger boy’s hat near flying.

The older of the two teens laughed gaily, and he gripped the younger’s arm, dancing him past headstones and tarnished iron gates, up to the paint-chipped white wall of the church, which loomed higher than the oldest tree in White Oak Grove.

He pushed the younger boy against the white church side, and he leaned down and pressed his lips slowly to the other’s; and he giggled against his lips, “Gabie… you look absolutely stunning…” and he ran a hand through the younger boy’s hair, knocking his hat off in the process.

“Frank!” the boy whined, and bent down to pick up his hat. He dusted from it a few specks of dust and a strand or two of grass, before placing it atop the older boy’s head. “Oh, see… now you look beautiful,” and he kissed Frank’s lips. “The wonders this hat does…”

Frank leaned in again, and he whispered, “So modest,” before capturing the younger boy’s parted lips in a heated kiss. His fingers trailed nimbly up Gabe’s sides, and the younger boy giggled, and pulled away, backing up into the wall.

“Frank, darling,” he chuckled, cheeks rouged with the autumn heat, flushed with excitement. But the older boy’s hands didn’t cease, and soon the younger teen was doubled over with laugher, and he threw his head back and parted his lips, and pushed at Frank and he gasped, “I plead mercy, hail Mary.”

Frank smirked, and his eyes hazed over as he watched the younger teen squirm underneath him; and he trailed one hand up Gabe's white dress shirt, popping open the buttons with nimble fingers. He moved his mouth down to the younger's neck, kissing along the skin as it was revealed to him.

Gabe moaned lightly underneath him and reached his hands up to grip into Frank's brown curls, pulling the older boy's mouth away from his collarbone and to his own pouted, pastel lips. Frank smirked into the kiss, and his hands shifted; he gripped the younger boy's hips and brought them against his own, canting upward slightly, and Gabe giggled nervously into his mouth, one hand slipping up the older boy's shirt.

“You are really,” Gabe muttered into Frank’s mouth, his lips parted wide against the older teen’s, “really perfect. Perfect and– oh!– dirty,” and he giggled again. The corner of Frank’s mouth quirked up and he squeezed Gabe’s hips, before letting his hands slip down ever so much, so the tips of his fingers brushed just barely underneath the waistband of Gabe’s pants.

He pulled away, and returned his mouth to Gabe’s neck, and he muttered, “I can be.” And then he laughed, “You’re one to talk, Gabriel.”

“Ooh, you shouldn’t call me that when you’ve got me pressed up against a church, legs spread. I’m most certainly no angel now,” the younger boy panted, and Frank laughed.

“See? You’re as clean as the mind of a teenage cherry,” he chuckled, and nipped at Gabe’s collarbone, milking a moan from his throat.

“They’ll find us,” he breathed, and he didn’t sound worried. Frank wasn’t worried; his skin was on fire everywhere he and Gabe touched, and the younger boy’s hips rutting up to his own every so now and again did wonders to blow his mind from sensibility.

“Don’t worry,” Frank said, despite the younger boy’s attitude. “Let them.” And Gabe snickered lightly in response, until Frank had him pinned against the church again, under the older boy’s scarred and inked-up arms.

And Frank blinked, because it took merely seconds for Gabe’s expression to turn from lust to terror, and the older boy could barely get out a, “What ever is the matter?” before he heard a loud, booming voice from behind him, one that he would recognize anywhere.

It was Pastor Harmse, and as Frank turned around he noticed the older man pointing directly at him, and the word that barely reached his ears hung heavy in the air, in a disgusted, authoritative tone.