Death's Muse

Chapter Ten;

Mikey lay in Armando's bed, his eyes gazing out the window where a light snow was falling. It danced against the wind, swirling against the windows and then falling towards the ground. Mikey clutched his arms against his bare chest, bringing his knees closer as he watched the flakes slowly drift on past where he could see them through the window pane.

His heart ached. After comforting Armando in the hallway, his boyfriend had saw that as an invitation to initiate a sloppy, wet make out session in the entryway to their apartment. Mikey had tried so desperate to push him away, but Armando was stronger, and he had sooner found himself pushed against the brick wall, the buttons to his pants coming undone.

After the frantic rocking was over, Armando had decided he wanted to sleep, and he had carried Mikey off to his rickety old bed. He had claimed he didn't want to be alone since Aniese wasn't yet off work, but Mikey knew he had ulterior motives for when he would awake after several hours, horny as ever.

Mikey felt cheap. All he really was to Armando, so it seemed to him, was a cheap, sleazy whore who would put out any time a man touched him the right way. Mikey buried his face in the pillow, gasping almost inaudibly. He wasn't a whore, he knew that. He just had needs, and Armando barely filled them. Mikey rolled onto his back, and he could hear a loud snore from his boyfriend behind him. The sound reminded Mikey of his internal turmoil, so he slapped his hands over his eyes.

The entire time he and Armando had been together this evening, he had tried so desperately to imagine that it was Frank pleasuring him rather than Armando. It was a filthy and disgusting, but Mikey had somehow found the replacement... Enjoyable. It made the time with his boyfriend more tolerable, except for when the imagination would be ruined by Armando's loud, throaty moans. Mikey could only imagine what his neighbors must think by now.

Even as he lay there, wrapped in a worn, holey blanket, Mikey could not seem to get his muse off of his mind. He thought back to earlier in the evening, reminding himself of how it felt to lay his hands on Frank, run his fingers over his cold, marble-like skin, like how it felt to watch a paintbrush move along the canvas. He thought of how strong his muscles in his arms and legs were, sturdy and muscular, but not in a weird way. Almost like they had been carved by gods. His black, well kept hair that skirted nearly to his shoulders. Mikey always wanted to run his hand through Frank's hair. It just looked so soft.

Mikey couldn't keep his brain from Frank. He just couldn't. Every thought continued to run back to the man who was naked on his couch only a few hours ago. He thought all kinds of thoughts. He wandered over the idea of what Frank's lips may taste like. He imagined they were sweet, like candy canes. Something desirable, unlike Armando's sour, stale taste. Mikey wondered why Armando tasted like that everywhere, all the time.

He thought about what it would be like to be in a relationship with Frank. He wondered what it would be like, sitting in his foyer, waiting on Frank to drive him to their very first date. He wondered what type of flowers Frank would buy, if he would buy flowers. He thought about how it would feel to fall asleep in Frank's emerald bed for the very first time, his whole body curled around Frank's, both men breathing softly, arms tight around each other.

And lastly, before Mikey decided he had gone too far, Mikey allowed himself one sexual thought, or rather fantasy, about Frank. He imagined visiting Frank at the hospital, faking illness just to be around his muse. He thought about Frank coming in the room, saying in a low, husky voice that Mikey needed a 'thorough examination'. From there, the thought continued on until Mikey finally had to roll onto his stomach to push away the imagination. It was a good one though, a very good one.

Even just the thought was enough to drive Mikey crazy though as he rolled his head to the side, so he could continue to watch the snow, laying on his arms and stomach now. Half of his conscious wanted to take his phone out and open the picture of Frank that he had on his phone, the naked one where he is reclined so suggestively on the sofa. He still hadn't deleted it even though every single time he opened it, Mikey had every intention to.