Frank is a prostitute working the streets of New Jersey. Gerard is a college art student struggling to make ends meet. After a twist of fate throws these two together, how do they cope with the aft...
The Sharpest Lives are the Deadliest to Lead
Frank really hated the rain.
The nineteen-year-old stood, shivering, on the sidewalk. Every now and then a car would pass, and the young man would stop shaking and lounge against the street lamp, smiling mysteriously and trying to look appealing in the frigid rain.
Sometimes being a male prostitute was tough.
He hadn't always been selling himself on a New Jersey sidewalk. There had been a time when Frank Iero had lived in a nice college dorm. Frank had been studying music at an art school, and things had been going well until some genius had gotten him kicked out.
This random kid had decided to dump a bag of pot in the hallway rather than smoke it. As the only student with a lip ring, tattoos, and 'emo' bangs, Frank had been blamed.
So the college kicked him out, his parents had moved to Indonesia the year prior, and he was so broke homeless people pitied him. Fan-fucking-tastic.
The prostitution had happened by complete accident. He'd been washing his clothes at a dime-per-wash laundromat every few days, but he wasn't that great with proper machine-washing techniques. Frank had somehow managed to shrink his shirt and tear up his jeans in the same machine, much to his intense displeasure.
Frank had been walking down the street feeling like a complete idiot when the first car pulled up. A balding man wearing a suit and tie stuck his head out his driver's side window and offered to 'put some use to that pretty little mouth.' Frank had shown the guy his middle finger and stormed off. This happened three more times with different cars before he realized what was going on.
That night, he returned to his cheap motel room feeling sore, but nearly four-hundred bucks richer.
Frank sighed as a black sedan drove by without slowing. Usually he'd be in some stranger's car, sweating from the heat and, of course, the closeness of another sweating body. But today had been slow; it was nearly three and he hadn't been picked up once. The boy fiddled with the torn edge of his shirt, wondering if it wasn't sexy enough. The jeans were certainly tight enough, but perhaps his pitch-black tee was a bit too loose.
A dark blue toyota pulled over, and Frank decided to drop the mysterious act and pull out the big guns. His green eyes widened innocently as he approached the car, and his black bangs were hanging in front of them like a shield. He licked his bottom lip, sliding his tongue slowly over his lip piercing. From behind the tinted window, he could see the driver of the car flinch violently and dive for the door handle. The passenger door was flung open and Frank slid inside, looking shyly down at his hands. After a while, Frank peeked up through his bangs.
The driver was everything Frank had expected him to be. The man was about thirty-five, with dark-blonde hair that was silver in a few places and gray-blue eyes. He was handsome, but judging by the way he avoided eye-contact, unused to picking up prostitutes.
Frank smiled sweetly, and the John swallowed. "Thanks for getting me out of the rain," said Frank softly, leaning closer to the John. "It was so cold out there, but now I'm warm."
The John nodded quickly, staring at Frank's mouth as it got closer. Frank giggled quietly.
"My name's Frank," said the boy, now breathing softly into the John's ear. " And yours?"
The blonde man shuddered, and Frank thought he heard the beginning of a moan. He hadn't even touched the dude!
"Peter," said the man hoarsely. "Peter Be-"
Frank crushed his lips to Peter's mouth and ran his young along the other man's teeth. This time Frank was certain that he heard a faint moan.
"Shh," whispered Frank when they broke apart. Peter's face was flushed, and his eyes were wild. "We don't need last names."
Without waiting for a response, Frank leaned in and put his mouth back on Peter's. His tongue slipped out and lapped at Peter's lip, seeking entrance. Peter didn't hesitate too long before opening his mouth and allowing Frank's tongue inside.
Frank snaked his hand between their bodies and stroked Peter's chest and stomach. His slender fingers explored the slightly-defined muscles eagerly, lingering in places and just barely touching others before moving on.
Not to Frank's surprise, Peter pulled away. "Not here," the man panted, eyeing the sidewalk nervously. "We need to... to f-find a p-parking lot or something."
Frank nodded. This was just procedure; show them what they'll get, and they'll take you somewhere private to get it.
"Okay," said Frank, not even out of breath. His voice was thick and husky, the same voice he used with his other customers. After placing another slow kiss on Peter's lips he retreated back to his seat, intentionally leaving his hand on Peter's thigh. 'Motivation,' thought Frank with a smirk.
Peter swallowed loudly and clumsily put the Toyota into drive. The dark blue car was soon zooming down the streets of New Jersey, eventually parking in the lot of a run-down motel.
An obnoxiously loud beeping jarred the boy from his afternoon nap. Groaning in protest, Gerard Way slammed his hand down on the snooze button and rolled out of bed.
"I am twenty-fucking-years old today," he snarled at the offending alarm clock. "Why must you torture me this way?"
The alarm clock was silent. Snorting, Gerard stumbled out of his bedroom and into the tiny kitchen of his apartment. The birthday-boy yawned widely before reaching for his coffee machine.
Gerard was currently attending an art college in upper New Jersey. He'd been obsessed with comic books since he was young, and decided that he wanted to make some of his own. He liked his classes, but so far nothing had made him think 'this is what I was meant to do.' He didn't see how his drawings were going to change anything, and that's all he'd ever wanted to do. So far the only interesting thing that'd happened was that kid who'd been busted for smoking pot last semester.
That Saturday afternoon wasn't much to look at. Rain poured down from the sky, and Gerard thanked whatever God had made this messed-up world that classes were out that day. The black-haired young man stared out his window, pitying the fools that were unfortunate enough to be outside.
His apartment view consisted of a Starbucks (I know, right?) and a filthy motel that had a habit of swallowing multiple prostitutes and Johns every day (pun completely intended).
As Gerard poured his coffee, his dark-green/hazel eyes stared intently at the motel. He wondered why such a busy place looked like such a dump. 'Must be cheaper than I thought,' he decided.
A dark-blue Toyota was the only car in the lot today. Gerard guessed it had to do with the weather; there weren't too many prostitutes desperate enough to stand in the rain.
A figure walked through the front door of the motel; a blonde man with a brown sweater. He stormed out of the building and yanked open the door of the Toyota. Within seconds, the man tore out of the parking lot and disappeared into the storm. Gerard barely had time to wonder why he was leaving alone when another person stumbled out.
This new person was shorter than Gerard liked. Suppose it was a kid? The small figure was wearing tight jeans and a black t-shirt; no doubt a prostitute.
"SHIT!" Gerard shrieked. He had been so interested in what was going on outside that he forgot he was pouring steaming coffee. He hastily put his cup and pot down on the counter, still swearing. Whimpering slightly, the young man sucked on his burnt hand and continued to stare at the prostitute at the motel.
The prostitute took three steps, swayed dangerously, and toppled over.
AN: What do you think? New chapter on Wednsday? Sooner? Review!