Before Killing Was Cool ➊ FRERARD

16: My Love And Hate Are Infinite

C h a p t e r | S i x t e e n

Present Day - Frank

The phrase 'reborn' comes to mind when I slam open the bedroom door and push my lover inside. He's given me a second chance, a brief shot at another life, the eager glow of his aura beckoning me out of my own shadowy existence. I want to swim in him, touch every inch of his body, worship at his feet if he'd let me.

I push Gerard gently against the wall, my face buried in the crook of his neck, the deep V at the bottom of his throat where my lips rest. I try not to let my own fears of inexperience hinder the passion, letting each moment come to pass like a deep breath. I would space out were it not for the imploring touch of his nails into my hips, breaking the skin without realising when I suck on his throat.

I yank his shirt over his head and push him against the bed frame, feeling dizzy whenever I close my eyes. I almost crush him with the heat of his body, restless and impatient to explore all that he'll allow me.

"I've wanted you," I hiss against his slick chest which heaves with anticipation, "for so long, you have no idea."

He doesn't need to say anything in response because the meek hush of breath, the gentle breeze on the hairs of my head say enough. His hands are all over me, stripping off my belt, my sweatshirt. Each item of clothing that comes undone is a step closer to never, ever taking this back, but I already know I could never stop.

His hands move up to rake through my hair, tugging a bit, and I groan into his mouth. Our teeth and tongues collide in a hot mess of desperate, angry kissing, my lips pressed against his like he's my source of oxygen, the wet heat of his mouth like the point of no return to a black hole. Through four layers of fabric, I feel him rubbing against me so I can't stop the rhythmic rocking of my hips, teasing him, smiling when I see his head loll back.

"Don't test me," he whines, attempting to pull me closer as if it's possible when the friction gets to his head. Human bodies don't fit together as well as I would have thought; my hands are bigger than his so when our fingers intertwine, I almost get stuck. The angular tautness of my muscles is sharp against the softness of his skin, imposing into his space. I forget where my legs are when I lay him down on the bed.

I blindly toss my shirt to the other side of the room and am reminded of how much of a masochist he can be when I bite into the curve of his shoulder. A purple mark rises with my assault. My wandering hands are tentative and insecure but I let them drift down further on him.

Nobody should hear us. The walls aren't soundproof but I know how to keep him quiet as well as I know how to make him shout. Besides, Ray and Bob aren't home. My own nails come to scratch at his stomach in slow motion, a warning, bidding for his patience. I want this to last forever.

I won't pretend to love him. He can tell me whatever lie he wishes but I need this to be powerful and raw in its honesty. I have the physical desire to be with him in this way and I refuse to snap out of it but I won't make love to him, not the way he might need it. I won't make a fool out of us.

"I want you too," he says then, as if reading my mind and responding with equal lust, uncaring to the tragic circumstances and how against all fates, we shouldn't be here together. "Please."

I have to hesitate and peer up at him through hooded eyes, testing his expression. He raises his own head to gaze at me, his warm eyes twinkling in my reflection, their pupils dilated. For the first time, there is trust in those eyes and I try hard to keep myself from melting at the sight.