Demolition Lovers (Frerard)

7: Pancakes. Fuck It, Pancakes Are Like The Pivotal Point Of This Chapter

Frank's head was spinning when he woke up, and the fact that he woke up next to Gerard fucking Way didn't help things in the slightest.

Frank did fucking and well, everything but waking up next to people: it was so utterly, sickly domestic and he fucking hated it. 

However, hating Gerard himself seemed to present itself as an entirely different matter, and really, there wasn't quite anything as painfully confusing as that; the twenty four year old just wanted a fuck and someone to make squirm and scream out his name and not someone to wake up cuddled up next to.

Frank spent far too much time in other people's beds, but not a second of that time was spent sleeping.

It did however, take the twenty four year old just a few minutes of sanity crushing self-reflection to actually untangle himself from the arms of the sleeping artist - thankfully, Gerard didn't seem to stir at all, and that was probably just about the only thing that had gone right since he'd met the asshole.

And perhaps Frank would just be absolutely fine with a secret and some coffee or maybe even whatever ever pharmaceuticals Gerard had in his cupboards, or perhaps not, but he'd do whatever he could in aid of stopping the sinking feeling in his stomach as his eyes drew back to that stupid little smile on Gerard's face.

Frank just hated to think that Gerard was thinking about him: no one should think about him and smile like that - it just wasn't natural, and yet the only thing that felt right had Frank on the edge of some sort of mental breakdown in the apartment of the guy he'd fucked last night.

Perhaps it was just the matter of fucking people and not getting fucked himself: Frank was getting arrogant, and he was getting ideas about people falling in love with him when in reality, they felt nothing, and perhaps that was nothing more than something being choked and slammed against the bed by a rough pair of unfamiliar hands could fix.

He wondered if he could get fucked and get back before Gerard even woke up - sure, it was a long shot, but sure, Frank reckoned he could just about doing anything, and with a smirk upon his lips, the twenty four year old lit himself a cigarette, leaning against the kitchen wall and smoking with a certain air of pretentiousness that Gerard's apartment just seemed to radiate.

And with seconds, he was pulling out his cellphone and texting someone he knew all too well: someone who'd come whatever the circumstances, someone who would be here within minutes and someone who wouldn't care about keeping quite to unsure that the guy that he'd slept with last night didn't wake up.

For some godforsaken reason, Frank didn't want Gerard to know about this, and it wasn't as if Gerard had painted him as the fucking virgin Mary or something: he knew what he did for a living, and he knew that some casual, but not quite as casual as he'd wanted it to be, sex last night would never change that.

Gerard wasn't Frank's boyfriend - Frank didn't do boyfriends, and Frank didn't do waking up with someone's arm around him, and perhaps maybe it just made sense that he'd snap this situation in two with the guy on his way over to Frank's flat next door.

He felt guilty because Gerard cared and Gerard didn't do three different people a day and call it business. Gerard didn't deserve to get his head up caught up in this shit, and he most certainly didn't deserve to care about someone who was just going fuck him over completely.

The only positive that Frank could see in this situation at all was the fact that he was going to earn like thirty dollars in the next fifteen minutes and for something that was to entirely his own benefit: god, he fucking loved his 'job', and he'd never give it up, even if it destroyed him completely, and really, it most certainly looked like it was on the way to doing so.