Bodysnatcher

Dammit

Gerard doesn’t remember his dream the next morning. Though it is one that has played through his subconscious mind for years, the cold sweat, sticking him to his bed sheets, is the only thing to remind him of the fires when he wakes up. 

Gerard dresses quickly and pads down the stairs. Frank is still asleep on the couch like he doesn’t know that he has his own bed now, like he hadn’t wanted to go to sleep at all.

Frank doesn’t look especially peaceful or angelic in slumber, but he looses that edge, just a little. His face is smooth but aged by desperate years and his hands are balled into loose fists, but he isn’t scowling or smoking or telling Gerard to go to hell. Gerard’s grateful for that, at least. 

He feels guilty then, for loving his housemate so much more when he’s unconscious. But it’s not his fault; Frank’s such a pain when he’s awake. 

Gerard’s still in an odd mood from the night before, he can feel bad vibes clinging to his skin and worries nagging at his brain as he pulls out his notebook from its place in the drawer. He flicks through a couple of pages, filled with his spidery black scrawl and vampire doodles that he always does his best to scribble out-- it simply won’t do to have a Priest obsessed with chibi un-dead demons—and onto a clean page. The naked lines tearing his focus away from Frank and his moods and all the things in the world that he just can’t fix. The pen is familiar in his hand and he starts scribbling all the things he should forget. 

If his Lord can prevent him from touching for just one more day then maybe he will sleep well tonight.

Gerard is still scratching away at his notebook when Frank’s senses begin to surface. The sound of pen on paper and small sighs drawing him back to his conscious mind. There’s dribble hanging from his chin and his flesh sticks to the plastic of the couch. He’s still too hot. 

He lays there for a while, not wiping his face or peeling away his skin, just taking in Gerard’s profile; the point of his nose, the shell of his ear, it’s all so familiar. Safe, his mind supplies. The desire to reach out and touch is just as familiar but these feelings don’t supply the same safety net. They stick though, like an itch in the back of his skull. 

Gerard looks over then, his mouth slightly undone; like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Though, Frank knows that’s impossible, Gerard would never do something against his god. 

Frank still hopes though, sometimes, when he’s awake at night and listening to the rosary beads clicking. Gerard’s too good, Frank just wants to break him, turn him upside down and inside out, show him the madder part of life. He likes to think then about the other sounds Gerard could be making, tucked away in his little box room, embarrassed and sinning in front of his Virgin Mary. 

These thoughts only make Frank hate Gerard more. How is he supposed to tolerate him when that blush is so innocent? Frank has probably just caught him putting shrimp on his shopping list. 

“Morning Frank.” he greets.

At least he isn’t in his uniform, at least he looks normal. 

“Do we have coffee?” Frank asks.

“Only De-Café.” 

Frank heaves a sigh with great effort and forces himself off the couch. God forbid him to have any cheap pleasure in this house.

“You going out today?” Gerard’s voice drifts through to the kitchen. 

“Meeting Ray,” Frank says, “maybe Bob.”

“Oh.” Gerard pauses on his way into the small kitchen, he’s frowning a little, like he wants to object. Frank wants him to. “Okay.”