The Hue of Autumn is Blood (Frerard)

Chapter 4 - Beautiful Boys on a Beauitful Dancefloor

Frank placed his beer on the nearest table. He tried to push past a drunk gay punk, however, he couldn't push strong enough, and the punk collided into his side. The empty wine glasses on a circular table smashed on the club floor as Frank staggered into it.

Gerard dashed and grabbed Frank's hand, balancing him, "Don't worry, Frankie, I've got you."

Frank stood inches away from Gerard's chest and stared at Gerard's hand in his.

Someone's elbow jabbed into Gerard's back, and they swung forward, hitting Frank's shoulder, "Sorry," Gerard stepped back and squeezed his hand, "Frankie, dance with me."

Gerard possessed a group of gays blocking their path to move and guided Frank onto the dancefloor. Frank didn't try to escape as if he indulged his dumb vampire boyfriend in whatever they wanted—well if only.

Surrounding them, queers swung their arms and shook their hips to trashy dance music that blasted from the speakers. Gerard couldn't have this.

Next request: Michael by Franz Ferdinand, Gerard suggested with a hint of commandment. A gay song about beautiful boys on a beautiful dance floor, what else would they dance to.

Silence swallowed the dancefloor for a moment, some humans stopped dancing. The guitar riff to Michael roared through the speakers.

Frank let go of Gerard's hand which made them want to again weep. The floor radiated a dull purple glow as Gerard made sure it never flashed a bright colour.

Gerard shook their shoulder to the beat, closed their eyes and waved their arms above their head.

Yet Frank didn't move, only scratched his palm, "Frankie, why aren't you dancing?"

Frank glanced down, mumbled something, and licked his lip ring, but Gerard couldn't hear him over the blasting music.

Leaning in, Gerard's lips hovered next to his ear and shouted, "I can't hear you."

Before Frank leaned in, he hesitated. And then shouted, "I can't dance."

Gerard gasped, "Frankie, everyone can dance!"

Frank danced all the time—well rocked—though, Gerard categorised it as a form of dancing. He needed some encouragement and who better to give it to him than them.

Gerard shook their hips and danced backwards until they bumped into the femboy behind them.

On Frank's right, a woman with orange bangs danced with her arm wrapped around her girlfriend. He stared at them with growing pinker cheeks—was Frank blushing or was it the strobe lights?

Peace signed fingers moved in front of Gerard's eyes, accidentally, jabbing their elbow into adjacent ravers' backs. They wiggled their hips to the beat and stuck their tongue out.

How seductive.

When an older femboy with stubble bounced into Frank's back, Frank propelled towards Gerard, headbutting their Bauhaus t-shirt. Dancers filled the space he once occupied. He stood inches away from them.

Frank licked his lip ring and yelled, "You look dumb."

Despite Gerard dangled their arms on Frank's shoulder, attempting to sway Frank side to side, he didn't move. "That's the point!"

Temptation overwhelmed Gerard and their hands—somehow—slid down Frank's patched denim sleeves into his hands. They placed his hands on their hips and draped theirs around his shoulder. Even then the master of rocking back and forth refused to sway.

All Gerard wanted was to dance together, was that too much to ask?

Gerard bent over to shout into his ear, "Frankie, why won't you dance with me?"

"I told you I can't dance."

Since Frank acted so stubborn, why not go out with a bang.

From their hip, Gerard stretched Frank's hand to the ceiling. Under it, they twirled. Again, and again, and again. To Gerard's astonishment, Frank's hand stayed raised. After a few rotations, he even helped them spin.

Two boys dancing together in a gay nightclub—sounded like density wanted them to date.

No matter how attractive the platforms made Gerard, in this moment, they regretted wearing them. Without the five inches, they stood taller than Frank. It became uncomfortable bending their knees at a weird angle to twirl under Frank's arm, though, they wouldn't stop for anything.

They wished they could see the expression on his face: shock, annoyance, frustration, perhaps, even joy...

A six-foot-seven gay with purple mullet elbowed Gerard. They tripped over their boots. Frank caught them. His hands around their waist, touching the sliver of skin between their skinny jeans and their t-shirt. The warmth of his hands spread like an infection to their heart.

They added this to the list of things to suggest strangers to do when Frank hung around.

The tall gay snickered at Gerard and, saying something to his boyfriend they couldn't hear.

Frank screamed, "What the fuck, dude?!"

Obviously, the gay couldn't hear him and nodded, waving at Frank.

Frank stuck up his middle finger as the gay's boyfriend elbowed some other ravers further into the crowd.

Gerard's head fell into the crook of his neck, "You saved me..."

Again, Frank defeated their honour. If only the whole vampire hunter situation didn't mess things up or they would have fucked already.

"Get off me, vampire." Despite not wanting to escape Frank's grasp—no matter how uncomfortable their position was—they did as he commanded.

When they regained their balance, Frank pushed other dancers out of his way and strode out the club.

Gerard sighed. Perhaps, they pushed Frank too much tonight—almost convinced him to dance with them.

They suggested the bartender pour them three shots to quell the pain of Frank deserting them—it didn't work. In fact, the sadness transformed into misery. Sucking homosexual blood didn't work either. As their fangs pressed into an emo boy's neck, they wished that boy was Frank. That almost made bloodsucking boring—almost.

After French kissing another man farewell, they misted to the scent of garlic.