Demolition Lovers (Frerard)

1: An Introduction To Faggot Number One & Faggot Number Two

Frank Iero was a mess.

His apartment was a mess, his family was a mess, his social life was a mess, his mind was a mess, and right now, his bed was an absolute mess, or at least it was most certainly going to be.

Frank always made sure that people came. It was just manners, really, or at least he thought so, or at least those were the only manners that the twenty four year old apartment dweller both knew of an abided by, at least on a regular basis.

Maybe he'd say thank you to the girl with the tits who worked at the off license down the road, or maybe the guy that lived upstairs and made sure to jack off really loudly in an apartment building where the walls were as thin as paper.

But, really, Frank didn't seem to real care about anything at all, he just knew he liked a good fuck and getting so high that he'd forget all about it, and the next night would be a whole new experience once again, and Frank liked ignoring his parents and telling his sister that 'yes, he could keep living this', and watching as she turned her nose up at him and disowned him for the hundredth time.

And Frank liked to take pills - two everyday. Not the ones he was prescribed, but the ones he prescribed himself, and the ones that seemed to be entirely more effective, because maybe those little blue capsules were the only sure-fire way that he forget who he was and what on earth he was doing in this shitty apartment for an hour or two.

That was Frank's second favourite kind of bliss. First, of course, being a good orgasm, but he hadn't actually, properly came in months now - it had juts been other people just for a bit of cash or because he was far too intoxicated to properly annunciate the word 'no'. He didn't mind, though, it was just life, it was just business, and as long as it ensured that he still wasn't homeless, then it was totally fine in his eyes, even if this shitty apartment building was only one step up from being homeless, it was still that.

Frank found himself with strangers in his bed a lot, and Frank had a lot of casual fucks and by now he reckoned that he didn't have a side of the sheets that weren't stained to shit with things he'd rather not think about, so there was one of the advantages of passing out on the floor every night, and the other was of course forgetting all about it in the morning.

He liked forgetting - it was like existing without the living and breathing without the life, and fucking without the fun, and maybe the latter was the only downside in his eyes, because Frank really liked fucking, and this just wasn't any kind of fun, this was just the same old every night, and the only different being the person he was with.

Not that Frank would remember them anyway.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck me!" Frank always made people come, and this time was most certainly no exception, especially with this guy's face, and really Frank had better make at least some attempt to remember his name before he asked for the money he offered, or he doubted that he'd be tipped at all.

Frank wasn't a prostitute, not really. Well, he was just that kind of guy that had a reputation for sleeping around and being good at it, and when you had a reputation like that, it didn't hurt to make something off it, surely? Especially when you could barely afford a flat like this.

Frank pulled his jeans on in silence - his CD player had broken last week after some guy had kicked it off the table, and he hadn't managed to get someone drunk enough to guilt trip them into somehow getting him a new one; actually buying a new one was most certainly nothing but a ludicrous dream right now.

"Do you want paying in pills or cash?" The gruff voice broke his thoughts like a wine glass against concrete when your hand was trembling just far too much to hold onto to the fragile glass anymore. "Well?"