•Tonight • Frerard • Completed•

Chapter Three

Tonight.

It was just one word, but it sent off a thousand different fantasies. I knew what I was thinking, but what did he mean? What tonight? More kissing? In my room? More than that? Or, my stomach twisted, maybe he wanted to apologize. To take it back and say we should pretend it never happened. My skin flushed hot then cold. Who knows what he meant or if he'd even show. He could wind up going home with some random girl from Bar Nine. Everyone knew that was the bar you went to if you wanted to hook up with a football player, which plenty of women did.

Oh God.

In a matter of hours I'd gone from lovelorn, to basking in a moment of perfection, to being worried I was about to get dumped. How the fuck had all that happened? All I'd planned on doing today was drawing.

"See ya, Gee." Mikey twirled his keys on his finger.

"See you later, Gerard." Frank held my gaze until I nodded, and then, God help me, he winked. He fucking winked like we had a code or a secret, only I didn't know what either one was. Does Frank like me? Does tonight mean we'll continue where we left off?

The door slammed behind them, and I listened as they trotted down the stairs and out the front door. Their laughter filtered through the window until I heard the slam of Mikey's car doors and the rumble of his engine as they drove away.

Flushing morphed into hot and cold sweats. I need a shower to clear my head and my dick. Get us both on track with nice clean thoughts. Yeah, right.

I made it into the bathroom on autopilot. Shower on. Clothes off. Within ten seconds of getting under the rhythmic shower spray, my hand wrapped around my cock. I'd been at half-mast for the better part of the last several hours. My dick practically sighed with relief, pumping to fill my fist and thrusting back and forth against my wet palm. It didn't take much. Fucking hell. I made out with Frank. Just remembering the taste of his lips was enough to get a stream out of me.

Thinking about that tongue in my mouth, our crotches lined against each other, rubbing. Oh God, the friction, the weight of him on top of me. I stroked faster, swiveling around the head, wondering if his tongue would circle my cock like that - hard and wet with just the right pressure to make me crazy. The thought of my dick in his mouth did me in. I came hard and fast all over the shower wall.

I let the calm seep through me. The warm water soothed away the remaining tension as I shampooed and rinsed. Then I grabbed the soap, and the more I lathered, the more my mind wandered back to that word. Tonight. I scrubbed harder. Exactly how clean would I need to be? My brain had recovered from the last orgasm and was actively planning the possible ways to achieve the next one.

Stop. Just stop. He's not gay.

The words made me drop the soap. Mikey's brainwashing now had me repeating the mantra. Jesus Christ.

I gave myself a vigorous rinsing, making sure all the soap was off and that the wall was clean. Even toweling my hair so hard I got a little dizzy didn't shake the nervousness from my brain. Billows of steam followed me into the living room. I glanced at the clock by the couch. Seven o'clock. All I could think of was that Frank would be out with Mikey for at least a few more hours. That seemed like a supremely long time to hold my sanity together.

The sketches on my desk weren't helping. Every time I looked at them, all I could see were Frank's eyes when we broke from the kiss - that crazy, hot kiss that wouldn't stop playing over and over in my mind - to go to the couch.

I'd been waiting five years to see that look in his eyes. Lust, passion, need, desire. Five years. Frank was it. The be-all, end-all of my crushes. Through all that fime, it didn't even occur to me that someday the fantasy might come true. The way he'd looked at me mirrored all the things I felt every fucking time I looked at him. Eyes heated with lust. Face, so serious, but so seductive, as the dirty thoughts in his head were the most important things in the universe.

To me they were. He could do any filthy thing he wanted to me - I just wanted to be with him. For five years I'd wondered how his groans would sound, how his skin would smell close-up, I'd his eyes stayed closed or open during an orgasm. Does he grunt, moan, curse, or come in total silence? How far does he shoot? Does he aim? Cup a hand? Come into a towel or tissue? I'd spent thousands of nights thinking about all these things. Would I finally find out the answers? Tonight?

My hands shook at the thought. If I wasn't careful I was going to wreck the drawings I'd spent all afternoon on. I placed the stack of papers into my leather portfolio for safekeeping.

A movie. That would get me mind off things. Hell, maybe I'd even fall asleep.

A car door slammed, and I froze for five full seconds, holding my breath as I listened. Nope. Not them. And not a chance in hell am I fallin asleep before Frank gets home.

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