Sun Rays and Paintbrushes (Frerard)

Sun Rays and Paintbrushes

(just cute and sappy frerard)

7:32 am

(Gerard)

I'd always been an early riser, but there was never really any reason. I wasn't ever compelled to wake up in the morning and start my day immediately, and going back to sleep was out of the question. Sometimes I'd wake up extra early, the sun's light stabbing me in my eyes, as if mocking me, and I'd lay around for maybe another hour before dragging myself out of bed. On good days, I would make a cup of coffee and maybe even sit on my porch. But like I said, those were the good days, and there weren't many.

Now, it's like the sun's rays roll over me in gentle waves, and I don't even mind if they slip underneath my eyelids and make me cringe slightly, because I've got something, more so someone, to wake up to. If I'd known this is what I had been missing out on for the past years, I would've gone hunting for it at the crack of dawn.

I smile slightly to myself, my heart rotten with happiness and love. I blow puffs of air at the tousles of hair in my face, and turn to watch the only angel in my life sleeping peacefully. I guess you could say this is the best thing about waking up, I don't even need that cup of coffee, although I admit that I will give into the bitter drug later in the morning.

The blinds contort the brightening light on Frank's face, and my artistic thoughts burst about at the array of abstract lines across my boyfriends body and mine as well. The sheets ruffle as he turns towards me, and little specks of dust and fuzz are highlighted as they float around in the morning light. I grasp this particular moment in time within my fingers, in a state of selfishness, because this is the only time I'm able to see him as utterly and completely vulnerable; untouched by his thoughts.

I take in the peaceful expression on his face, the curves of his features, the flecks of fuzz on his eyelashes, and the glint of his nose ring, which he refuses to take out when he sleeps, despite my pleading, because that would be too much for him. Even with his tattoos and varying piercings, he's told me that removing that ring would expose him in a way that makes him extremely self conscious. He would feel too clean, or bare, he explains. I have yet to understand why; Frankie is simply gorgueous, no matter how much he refuses to believe it.

I reach my hand across a span of mere centimeters and brush the screen of hair from Frank's forehead, and press a soft kiss to the scorpion tattoo on his neck, deciding I was finished observing him. He hums quietly in response, and brushes a warm hand against mine.

"Were you watching me again, Gerard?" He questions sleepily, yet without hesitation, cracking one eyelid open to peer up at me.

"Of course not Frank, why would I do such a thing?" I retort, intertwining our fingers.

"You're blushing, babe." He says matter-of-factly, and leans to press a kiss to my temple. "How long have you been up?"

"Only since seven thirty, I slept well for once." I mumble, fitting myself in Frank's arms easily. I let my fingertips trace his tattoos slowly, and Frank sighs.

"Well, it's great that you slept, yeah?" He says, tipping my chin up so I would look at him. I nod and let my face fall to his chest, yawning quietly. Frank's hands rest solidly on the ridges of my spine, and I try to snuggle into him further. "Hey, I know this is out of the blue, but would you ever want to paint me? Not on a canvas and not like, in a weird way, just like on my back or something." He stutters, and I look at him with widened yet sleepy eyes.

"You'd let me do that?" I ask apprehensively, not sure that I should be so excited about this, but it takes a lot for Frank to open up to me in certain ways, and being touched in a manner that painting takes is one of them. He was never intimate with anyone but me, and it's been years, but we're still working things out. Not that I'm complaining, it's just that things like this for Frank are big steps, and I want him to be comfortable.