ONE: Vanilla on My Hands

6: Oh... Go Hug a Landmine

Frank woke up the next morning in a still-as-foul mood, his hand sticky with sweat as it clung to the now empty can of Cool Whip. He stared at it before scowling and setting it down on the ground. He grabbed the television remote and turned the screen off, stifling a yawn. The stretch in his jaw finally alerted him to the fact that his neck was killing him. He cringed at the pain in his spine from contorting himself on the sofa and carefully sat up, eyes still heavy and thick with sleep. He looked up at the clock on the wall beside the front door and scowled. It was only seven in the morning. Way too early to be fully functional or assimilated.

Frank let out a small whimper at the realization, at the sudden coming-around of what had transpired last night. Had they really fought over a damned can of whipped cream? Had he and his boyfriend really hit the dregs at the bottom of the barrel? Frank sighed as he mentally checked 'yes' and 'yes'. He sighed as he stood up slowly, his joints protesting at the stretch, his arms coming up to reach for the ceiling before he bent over and touched his toes. He stifled another yawn, his muscles sighing in relief as he straightened up.

Frank was also now waking up, he was also now trying to fathom whether or not he was still angry with Ryan- angry? Was he angry? Well, angry was a rather harsh word situationally. Frank would have to have said he was confused and annoyed more than angry. Confused as to why it was such a damn big deal for Ryan, annoyed at the way Ryan had acted and had not-so-brashly kicked him out of bed. Sure, Frank chose to sleep on the sofa, but it was only because he knew Ryan would cold-shoulder him and make it all the worse, like a huge crack dividing down the middle of their bed.

Frank carefully and quietly wandered back towards the bedroom, taking the stairs one at a time, noting which places to avoid for the loudest of creaks. The house was in total silence, which meant Ryan was most likely still asleep. Frank peered into the bedroom to see that Ryan was, in fact, comatose within the sheets. He had his back to the door, curls a-matte on his pillow like the dark chestnut roots of a tree. Frank sighed, scowling as he tip-toed into the bedroom and walked over to the bed, leaning over to climb in when he paused.

Frank usually never got hard in the mornings anymore, as though his body just knew after six years that Ryan wasn't the type for a morning session. Hell, Frank almost wept real and actual tears the one morning Ryan woke up, rolled over, and gave him a sloppy handjob. But this morning, Frank was still on the rebound- physically- from last night and it was evident that his body wanted some sort of release. Frank frowned at the back of Ryan's head and realized that maybe Ryan didn't deserve his dick, a laughable thought that Frank tried hard to push down, a smirk fighting its way onto his pierced lips.

Did Frank really want to get himself off in bed beside his unaware and sleeping boyfriend? Did he really want to stoop so low after the 'stunt' he pulled the night before? Frank was still hunched over, one leg lifted, when he looked down under his armpit at the shower behind him, contemplating one hell of a soap up. Was it the fact that it was a shower somehow making it seem less tacky, less wrong? Somehow the adage of some soap and water took away from the fact that Frank was trying to get himself off because he just didn't want to bother Ryan with his pesky problem. Or was Ryan the problem?

Frank pushed that thought aside almost as soon as it fell into his mind because no, he wasn't ready to think of his boyfriend that way. Frank straightened up and turned, undressing from his pajamas, tossing them in the hamper before he padded into their en-suite bathroom. Frank left the lights off, knowing it would lighten up outside soon enough, and he opened the shower door. He closed the bathroom door behind him before opening the faucet, turning the washer until the water was a decently scalding temperature. Frank grabbed a towel from the rail and flung it over the top of the shower before carefully stepping in.

He let out a small sigh, the hot water was like magic on his shoulders, unraveling knots in his flesh that he didn't even know he had. He looked down at his feet, closing his eyes as he carefully stepped back into the water and let it rain down on him. He could feel the heated torrents run down over his face and his front before he turned, facing the wall, drenching himself fully. He raised his head up for a moment before hanging it again, running a hand through his hair. It caught on a few knots, to say the least, and with Frank feeling as fired up as he was, he couldn't deny how the accidental tugs made his stomach flutter.