Dancing Bruises.
Lucky Number.
This is the third night and he's getting sick of it here. So sick of the moves, the dances, the bodies clawing at each other's last bits of emotions and integrity.
But he's waiting now; waiting for his golden-plated boy with the chipping elbows to strap himself to his neck and waist and mutter nonsensical babble on his head. Hopefully an answer would merge from within that usually aggressive flood of words.
Frankie's there; a streak of sensual red and black swirling around like a panicked whirlwind. He's there but so so lost like a puppy in a dog hound.
And that's a part of it; so he doesn't look so dazed and confused, like a lover with no heart and a heart with no pulse.
Frankie was so lost and that was part of the puzzle; his frustrating facade of teasing straps of flesh and incredulous brashness that set him out as an attractive leech, nothing less, nothing more.
A sweet sweet parasite bathing in a high voltage shower of rainbow lights.
He's watching hazel eyes watch the small body sunken within masses of candy-coated dancing bones. Somehow Frankie's body was so painfully prominent between the other animated forms; an only dancing bruise.
He'd dance into walls, he'd dance into boys, he'd dance into girls, he'd dance within anything that'd break him and paint him with uncaring brushes. He's just a smudge on someone's pants or a taste in some girl's mouth. Just a piece of candy gone sour and a painting so abstract it just repels anyone unable to understand it.
A blunt "Why?" left Pete's lips after he felt the familiar touch of warm skin against him, registering the sight of the tattoo-tainted Frankie swerving between frolicking figures to grasp onto him, with panting pink lips parted into an elusive grin. A grin that soon faded as the younger boy stared at him
uncomprehending looks pouring from his indecisive greens.
"Why?" Pete repeated, holding Frankie's stiffening body with the boozed-up glances shooting all over his face. "Why do you dance like this every night? Till you're painted black and blue?"
Silence landed between them as Frankie chewed on his bottom lip and his words before retorting back, "Why?"
It was Wentz's turn for shooting confused glances.
"Why do you wanna know?" Frankie's teeth lets his lower lips loose when he senses it seeping droplets of rusty carmine onto his taste buds.
"Because... I do," came the response. He couldn't let that cursed I care to glide down his lips.
"Figures." the boy with the drawn out features mutters, a hesitant bitter smile losing its temper and surfacing upon his lips.
"What?"
"I knew there was a reason behind that occupied haunted stare in your eyes; the reason you didn't fuck around like everyone else." The corner of his mouth is upturned now in half a smile, devouring his olden facial expression. "I'm just a question to you, right?" The pace of his moves thickens.
Pete could only feel the twirls of confusion and embarrassment flooding through his stomach and ears which caused the dark-haired boy on his arms to smile. A genuine smile that practically lit his face up. And with that smile he let go adding, "You should stick around this time and maybe... maybe then you'll get your answers 'cause you know... third time's the charm."
"Always the fucking charm." Pete mutters as he sees the hastily scribbled digits across his palm.
Then it all crashes down on him once more: he cared about this boy, but not in the way he intended to.
"Always."
But he's waiting now; waiting for his golden-plated boy with the chipping elbows to strap himself to his neck and waist and mutter nonsensical babble on his head. Hopefully an answer would merge from within that usually aggressive flood of words.
Frankie's there; a streak of sensual red and black swirling around like a panicked whirlwind. He's there but so so lost like a puppy in a dog hound.
And that's a part of it; so he doesn't look so dazed and confused, like a lover with no heart and a heart with no pulse.
Frankie was so lost and that was part of the puzzle; his frustrating facade of teasing straps of flesh and incredulous brashness that set him out as an attractive leech, nothing less, nothing more.
A sweet sweet parasite bathing in a high voltage shower of rainbow lights.
He's watching hazel eyes watch the small body sunken within masses of candy-coated dancing bones. Somehow Frankie's body was so painfully prominent between the other animated forms; an only dancing bruise.
He'd dance into walls, he'd dance into boys, he'd dance into girls, he'd dance within anything that'd break him and paint him with uncaring brushes. He's just a smudge on someone's pants or a taste in some girl's mouth. Just a piece of candy gone sour and a painting so abstract it just repels anyone unable to understand it.
A blunt "Why?" left Pete's lips after he felt the familiar touch of warm skin against him, registering the sight of the tattoo-tainted Frankie swerving between frolicking figures to grasp onto him, with panting pink lips parted into an elusive grin. A grin that soon faded as the younger boy stared at him
uncomprehending looks pouring from his indecisive greens.
"Why?" Pete repeated, holding Frankie's stiffening body with the boozed-up glances shooting all over his face. "Why do you dance like this every night? Till you're painted black and blue?"
Silence landed between them as Frankie chewed on his bottom lip and his words before retorting back, "Why?"
It was Wentz's turn for shooting confused glances.
"Why do you wanna know?" Frankie's teeth lets his lower lips loose when he senses it seeping droplets of rusty carmine onto his taste buds.
"Because... I do," came the response. He couldn't let that cursed I care to glide down his lips.
"Figures." the boy with the drawn out features mutters, a hesitant bitter smile losing its temper and surfacing upon his lips.
"What?"
"I knew there was a reason behind that occupied haunted stare in your eyes; the reason you didn't fuck around like everyone else." The corner of his mouth is upturned now in half a smile, devouring his olden facial expression. "I'm just a question to you, right?" The pace of his moves thickens.
Pete could only feel the twirls of confusion and embarrassment flooding through his stomach and ears which caused the dark-haired boy on his arms to smile. A genuine smile that practically lit his face up. And with that smile he let go adding, "You should stick around this time and maybe... maybe then you'll get your answers 'cause you know... third time's the charm."
"Always the fucking charm." Pete mutters as he sees the hastily scribbled digits across his palm.
Then it all crashes down on him once more: he cared about this boy, but not in the way he intended to.
"Always."