Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance
Unclean
She closed her eyes, waiting for the steam to fill the tiny bathroom she stood in. Only once the mirror had fogged over did she begin to undress, still having her back to the blurry object that was reflected. Without a word she stepped into the shower, and her first thought was the water was too hot. But after a few stinging moments she thought better and allowed the hot water to prick her skin. She deserved the mild discomfort. Perhaps it would let her atone for her impure thoughts. How she could ever consider those thoughts about Frankie. Jamia was her best friend, her kindred spirit they had once compared it to. That was when they were young and boys had nasty cooties that killed, not sweet kisses that made you feel alive. This hot water, turning her skin pink like the blush that consumed her every time his boyish smile lit up for her.
She turned in the hot water, allowing the fiery pricks to caress down her back. This could burn away the sin she longed to commit. Even though Jamia had left Frank some time ago, she still wanted to be hers. So in slid Anayla, into the tiny gap Jamia had left in Frankie’s life, without even meaning to. When he invited her out on tour, she thought it was just a friendly visit. They had been friends for some time, even during the barren times in Frank and Jamia’s relationship. It had never been like this before. Jamia had never kept another man close enough to her side before. But she seemed so sure of this new man. Anayla had met him only once and hated him instantly. Though Anayla couldn’t tell Jamia why she hated this new common boyfriend, but she did. It hurt Anayla to know that Frank was so unhappy. He seemed ok, but Anayla could see his pain. So Anayla thought going there would be beneficial to the both of them. But the hug at the airport, the lingering smiles; it all worked together to paint a portrait much more intimate. So she hoped the heat would clean her soul and take away the thoughts of someone so untouchable.
She tried to imagine the hot water as something else. If she couldn’t have the real thing, Anayla could at least imagine something fake. Thinking wasn’t as bad as doing, and here she could then lather up and wash away any trace of her improper thoughts. Soon the hot water was warm hands, gently massaging her tense shoulders. The stinging drops were massaging fingers, running down her back. His hot hands wrapped around Anayla’s body, his tattooed fingers forming a cup around her pillowy breasts. Soon the steam became his hot breath in her ear. She could hear his panting, the breathing matching her own heavy sighs as his skilled fingers teased her harden nipples. They seared down her tight stomach before spinning her, using the wet floor to his advantage.
Anayla’s eyes snapped open and she looked up into the hazel depths of her fantasy. She opened her mouth to talk, but it was filled suddenly with his kiss. This was beyond anything she could have imagined. She could feel his fingers working their way into her long, wet hair. Jamia was long gone from her mind, and clearly Frank was no longer concerned with what his ex would say. His large hand, the one she had seen him use so many times to make the sweetest music, cradled the back of her head as his lips moved down her jaw. Anayla’s breath was breathing loudly, but she was unashamed and unable to stop as his lips traveled across the swell of her chest. Her hands began to move, reaching out to cradle his swelling need. His moan buzzed along her skin before it was echoed out of her mouth. Suddenly he had her up against the wall, without stopping to say a word, filling her need with his own. The groan ripped from his throat at the satisfying feeling of her walls contracting around him. The times each had entertained this fantasy; it was always sweet, beautiful, long and pleasurable. But there was no time. They were consumed as he longingly drove into her, pounding away any thought of her best friend. As the final wave of passion overtook them both a loud moan ripped its way from Anayla’s heaving chest. The denied passion and misplaced longing speared its way through them both.
With gentle kisses Frank righted Anayla, holding her up until her wobbly knees would support her. Anayla’s eyes, wide with fear and horror, locked with Frank’s. His eyes held a different range of emotions, ones closer to adoration and devotion. His mouth covered hers in sweet kisses, tastes of honey on her tongue. Her breath still came in ragged pants as he refused to let her even take a second to think. Anayla knew if she thought she would know how wrong it was. The kisses, while sweet, kept Anayla’s brain spinning. When Frank finally gave Anayla her mouth back his sweet lips pulled into a pure smile, one that she hadn’t seen in months. She wanted happiness to flow from her mouth, but this which was clearly not a fantasy brought forth all the emotions that she wrote off as lust. Even though she had never wanted to entertain theses thoughts, the poor would be Guinevere loved her Lancelot. And he was here, for her, holding her in his arms. And then Frank pulled back, the grin still held on his face, and Anayla realized how cold the water had become. Her hand rushed forward, grabbing his from the air and capturing it again with hers.
“Please don’t leave me alone tonight. Not after… this.” His face softened after that, the smile less joy and more adoration. He reached around Anayla, turning the water off. Gently Frank helped Anayla out of the shower, grabbing a towel and wrapping her in it before pulling her in close again, placing his lips softly against her forehead.
"Never again."
She closed her eyes, waiting for the steam to fill the tiny bathroom she stood in. Only once the mirror had fogged over did she begin to undress, still having her back to the blurry object that was reflected. Without a word she stepped into the shower, and her first thought was the water was too hot. But after a few stinging moments she thought better and allowed the hot water to prick her skin. She deserved the mild discomfort. Perhaps it would let her atone for her impure thoughts. How she could ever consider those thoughts about Frankie. Jamia was her best friend, her kindred spirit they had once compared it to. That was when they were young and boys had nasty cooties that killed, not sweet kisses that made you feel alive. This hot water, turning her skin pink like the blush that consumed her every time his boyish smile lit up for her.
She turned in the hot water, allowing the fiery pricks to caress down her back. This could burn away the sin she longed to commit. Even though Jamia had left Frank some time ago, she still wanted to be hers. So in slid Anayla, into the tiny gap Jamia had left in Frankie’s life, without even meaning to. When he invited her out on tour, she thought it was just a friendly visit. They had been friends for some time, even during the barren times in Frank and Jamia’s relationship. It had never been like this before. Jamia had never kept another man close enough to her side before. But she seemed so sure of this new man. Anayla had met him only once and hated him instantly. Though Anayla couldn’t tell Jamia why she hated this new common boyfriend, but she did. It hurt Anayla to know that Frank was so unhappy. He seemed ok, but Anayla could see his pain. So Anayla thought going there would be beneficial to the both of them. But the hug at the airport, the lingering smiles; it all worked together to paint a portrait much more intimate. So she hoped the heat would clean her soul and take away the thoughts of someone so untouchable.
She tried to imagine the hot water as something else. If she couldn’t have the real thing, Anayla could at least imagine something fake. Thinking wasn’t as bad as doing, and here she could then lather up and wash away any trace of her improper thoughts. Soon the hot water was warm hands, gently massaging her tense shoulders. The stinging drops were massaging fingers, running down her back. His hot hands wrapped around Anayla’s body, his tattooed fingers forming a cup around her pillowy breasts. Soon the steam became his hot breath in her ear. She could hear his panting, the breathing matching her own heavy sighs as his skilled fingers teased her harden nipples. They seared down her tight stomach before spinning her, using the wet floor to his advantage.
Anayla’s eyes snapped open and she looked up into the hazel depths of her fantasy. She opened her mouth to talk, but it was filled suddenly with his kiss. This was beyond anything she could have imagined. She could feel his fingers working their way into her long, wet hair. Jamia was long gone from her mind, and clearly Frank was no longer concerned with what his ex would say. His large hand, the one she had seen him use so many times to make the sweetest music, cradled the back of her head as his lips moved down her jaw. Anayla’s breath was breathing loudly, but she was unashamed and unable to stop as his lips traveled across the swell of her chest. Her hands began to move, reaching out to cradle his swelling need. His moan buzzed along her skin before it was echoed out of her mouth. Suddenly he had her up against the wall, without stopping to say a word, filling her need with his own. The groan ripped from his throat at the satisfying feeling of her walls contracting around him. The times each had entertained this fantasy; it was always sweet, beautiful, long and pleasurable. But there was no time. They were consumed as he longingly drove into her, pounding away any thought of her best friend. As the final wave of passion overtook them both a loud moan ripped its way from Anayla’s heaving chest. The denied passion and misplaced longing speared its way through them both.
With gentle kisses Frank righted Anayla, holding her up until her wobbly knees would support her. Anayla’s eyes, wide with fear and horror, locked with Frank’s. His eyes held a different range of emotions, ones closer to adoration and devotion. His mouth covered hers in sweet kisses, tastes of honey on her tongue. Her breath still came in ragged pants as he refused to let her even take a second to think. Anayla knew if she thought she would know how wrong it was. The kisses, while sweet, kept Anayla’s brain spinning. When Frank finally gave Anayla her mouth back his sweet lips pulled into a pure smile, one that she hadn’t seen in months. She wanted happiness to flow from her mouth, but this which was clearly not a fantasy brought forth all the emotions that she wrote off as lust. Even though she had never wanted to entertain theses thoughts, the poor would be Guinevere loved her Lancelot. And he was here, for her, holding her in his arms. And then Frank pulled back, the grin still held on his face, and Anayla realized how cold the water had become. Her hand rushed forward, grabbing his from the air and capturing it again with hers.
“Please don’t leave me alone tonight. Not after… this.” His face softened after that, the smile less joy and more adoration. He reached around Anayla, turning the water off. Gently Frank helped Anayla out of the shower, grabbing a towel and wrapping her in it before pulling her in close again, placing his lips softly against her forehead.
"Never again."
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