against the works of the flesh//frerard

chapter one

So then indeed I, of myself with the mind and heart, serve the Law of God, but with the flesh the law of sin. — Romans 7:25.
"Fuck."

Frank moans. He's got his mouth mashed against the side of this guy's head. His hair is dark and short, scruffy against Frank's mouth. The guy moans back with a muffled growl, his face hidden on Frank's neck as he jacks Frank's cock off.

Frank can't see his face, and doesn't remember ever having seen it, but his hands feel very powerful. His palms are large and his fingers long, but the most impressive feature of the hands is their firm movements.

Frank has never felt like this before. It's too intense to be a dream and still, this faceless guy has been in Frank's dreams for over a year.

"You're so fucking good," he moans in response, falling back on the couch and relaxing. He wants to enjoy this. After all, there's someone else touching his cock for him and that is something pretty new in Frank's life. He's in his last year of High School, but the fact that he's not into girls and that he's been in the closet until last week hasn't guaranteed him much action except for a few sporadic kisses.

The guy mumbles something against his neck, but Frank can't even hear him right. The guy's hand slides in that perfect angle and he feels like he's in a rollercoaster or experiencing a major sensory overload.

He just moans and moans, and comes. Dream Guy is pressing Frank hard against the couch, but Frank has found little space to move and he can't stop squirming. The hand on Frank's cock doesn't stop until Frank's all spent and completely boneless on the couch. The guy breathes heavily against his skin and Frank really wants to reciprocate.

Frank wakes up before the guy can even lift his face off of Frank's neck, though.

He wakes up and he's hard as a rock in his pajama pants. "Fuck," he says, rolling in his bed so he's lying on his side. The movement doesn't make anything better, because the fabric of his pajamas, no matter how thin, slides against the head of his cock and it hurts. He can't go back to sleep with that rock between his legs.

It's Monday morning and he's hard as hell from another wet dream. What a crappy way to start this week.

He turns to lie on his back again and slips his hand beneath the bed covers, beneath the thin pants, wrapping it around his shaft. He wants to get rid of it quickly so that he can go back to sleep. He feels pretty drowsy, even after this hot dream, so he closes his eyes and gets in on the action.

Frank's hand is soft compared to the Dream Guy's one. It's soft and small, and he can't get half the experience he was having while asleep. He could feel it so perfectly. Frank has no idea how, though, since he's never had a hand like that wrapped so firmly around his cock.

"Who are you, fucking bastard?" Frank asks to himself, within a moan. This faceless dream isn't the first one Frank's had. It started a couple of weeks before he decided he wanted to come out to his family, meaning about a year ago. Night after night, the dreams get stronger in intensity and Frank can't avoid them. "Why do you make me feel like this?"

Frank isn't even focused on anything but this Dream Guy. He's been there a lot, giving Frank only the best sexual sensations and making Frank an expert at letting himself be led through sex. He hopes he can find someone in real life with this Dream Guy's skills.

For now, Frank tightens his hand around his cock and moves it faster, jerking off to the images of the previous dream that still cling to his mind. He probably won't be able to get rid of them before lunch time; he's so used to their presence that he already knows what to expect of his own brain. Since they're so damn persistent, Frank will enjoy them and jack his cock as fast as he can without being too noisy.

His mother has caught him jerking off at least four times and it wasn't good after any of them, so he's trying to keep it down. Still, his moans come out against his will and he gasps, fisting at his middle with more ease now. He's almost there and wants to control his body before the moans get the best of him.

In the end, he manages to finish in silence. He still has to throw his free hand over his mouth, to cover the unavoidable gasp that comes with the first spurt. His stomach boils and his hips buck up, sending strong shivers up his spine that render him helpless on the bed. His hand comes off all dirty and sticky, and Frank feels the satisfying afterglow of climax and is too lazy to wash up, so he just wipes his hand off on a corner of the sheets.

His alarm clock saves him, though. It rings loudly and he is surprised that it's time to begin another day. He had thought it'd be earlier in the dawn, but he's actually glad it isn't. Now he has an opportunity to wash up in his usual morning shower. He gets up and gets a towel from the right drawer in his closet, throwing it over his shoulder so he can open the door with his clean hand. He keeps the other one safely hidden under the towel and leaves his bedroom.