Bodysnatcher

Gives You Hell

It was a godless thing, creeping through his bones and crushing the air from his lungs with every one of its own suffocating breaths. It worked its way through his veins, pushing away blood until it was the only thing left residing there. When it spoke, it spoke with Frank’s voice.

-

Frank wakes up not on the bathroom floor, not bleeding through his every pore, but in his bed, body sore and used and so empty. There’s a gap of lost time in his memories and far too much space in his brain. He wants to call out for Gerard, he must be near, he must have been the one to put Frank to sleep. But he can’t get any sound out, his lips feel too far away, all bodily functions wasted on his paralyzed form. 

The door slams shut downstairs, the noise loud and intruding. Frank stays laying still, his limbs still lost to his nerves. Gerard brought him here, he will come visit. 

“Frank?” Gerard’s voice is small and tentative, winding up the stairs and into Frank’s bedroom, his footsteps following his words a moment later. He’s pale, hovering in the doorway like a nervous bird, lips pursed, hands clasped. Frank makes what he hopes is a reassuring face.

He has missed his man of god, missed the light and safety his presence provides. 

Frank looks small amongst the bed sheets, fragile and doll-like. He’s too pale, sickly pale and his face is carefully hopeful, like he’s happy to see Gerard, like Gerard might not be happy to see him. His hair is stuck to his face with sweat, the house, still too hot for comfort. 

“Frankie,” He says and hurries to the side of the bed. Temptations or no temptations Frank looks a wreak, he needs Gerard’s help. “I knew you were sick.”

Frank coughs and hardens his face, shifting away from Gerard’s outreached palm. “Yeah,” he grumbles, “How’d ya figure that one out?”

Gerardfrowns, withdrawing his hand.“Do you needanything?” 

“Aspirin.” Frank croaks.

“Where do you hurt?” Gerard’s worrying his lip again, tugging too hard on the soft flesh. It’s a habbit he really needs to quit.

“Fucking everywhere.” Frank groans, tossing his head away so that the tendons in his neck are exposed. His skin is lily white, pure as the driven snow.

“Okay.” He says, eyes still glued to Frank’s neck. “I’ll be right back.”

-

Frank sleeps the rest of the day, curled in on himself amongst the sheets. Gerard tries to get on with his work, but he’s too distracted. Memories of earlier curling like snakes around the corners of his brain, sneaking into the corners of his vision. Frank, Frank, Frank.

-

Frank starts work the next night. It’s probably a bad idea, he still feels weak and oddly vulnerable but he supposes he should at least show up to his first day at the bar. He doesn’t have to wear a uniform, at least, which is a fucking plus, but he is still giving up a precious evening he could have spent jerking off or sleeping. He mutters about it to himself as he draws near to the bar, hands shoved deep into his pockets as protection from the cold. He’s already starting to miss his fever; the winter air is freezing his balls off. 

Jamia is taking down chairs from the bar’s tabletops when he arrives. She smiles at him as he enters, this adorable pixie smile that does disturbing things to his insides. She has a really sweet face.