FicWad

Crawl, but I don't get too far
I know I should run
But I just keep running back
I know I should run
I know I should...
I have this reoccurring dream
Where you admit that you're not happy
I know that you will never leave
You're here just to torment me
I know I should run
I know I should run
I know I should...
-Tell me you love me-
I have a new dream
And everything is perfect
The sky is pink, yellow, green, blue and orange
And all the past has been forgotten
And we fell in love
And we fell in love
And we fell in love...
And I fell into your trap!

Shaking hands grope at me, and I moan. Relinquishing control of my body, I let him ravish me; his hands everywhere on me at once. Gerard licks my neck, and then bites my ear lobe. Pleasure explodes through my body at his touch, and he fumbles to try and get my pants off. His naked body is entwined with my half clothed one, his erect cock pressing hungrily against the straining member in my pants. And then, I’m naked too, and he’s pushing himself into me. Riding me like a horse, he rocks backward and forward on my back, grappling for my cock. His impatient hands tug at it. Anyone else would be hurting me, but the intensity and the speed we are at is too distracting. Instead, I just feel amazing pleasure.
“Fuck yeah Frank, FUCK YEAH” He screams into my ear, pumping faster and faster at my cock whilst he continues to buck wildly into my arse. “Fuuuuuckk! Oh fuck, I love you! Oh shiiiiiit” he groans as I feel him come, releasing hot come into my body. He still continues to push in and out, trying to prolong his orgasm for as long as possible. I’m close to coming, but his hands are moving slower now; less intensity is being applied. My hand creeps to my cock, and I join his sticky hand in pumping up and down. “I love you t- fuuuck!” I moan.
I tense up as I prepare to come, and Gerard begins to cover the tip with his palm. I roll my eyes at the familiarity. He catches most of the come when I finally orgasm, and puts it to his mouth, his pink tongue darting in and out as he laps at it. Our bodies are sticky with sweat, and Gerard still continues to grind against me, his now flaccid cock smearing come on my tummy. Sex with Gerard is always incredible. He gets so lost in the moment, and wants to have the best orgasms possible.
“Want me to give you head?” He pants, his hand travelling down my tummy, lost in the mass of pubic hair, which he absentmindedly threads his fingers through. I do, but I know he hasn’t got time and wants to go. So I shake my head and brush his hand away.
“Nah, it’s okay. I know you need to go.” I breathe, my heart still beating erratically.
Gerard nods, and clambers up off the bed. He rakes a sticky hand through his hair, and asks, “Is it okay if I shower?” I needn’t answer: He always showers after fucking me.
He walks out of the room, and I hear him open the bathroom door; the shower being turned on.
I too stand up, and begin to collect his clothes into a neat pile, in order of what he will put on first. Underwear, jeans; socks, t-shirt, leather jacket. Gerard’s routine has become my own, and I put my clothes on in that order too. Even though I have nowhere to go, I still want to be changed by the time he comes out of the bathroom.

I know Gerard’s going out for dinner with his girlfriend. I know I’m not the only person in this relationship.
Gerard’s bi, and even though his girlfriend, Sasha, doesn’t know about me, I know Gerard loves me. We first met at a party a year ago. Sasha was there, but went home early because she felt sick. I’d been eying Gerard up all evening, so when I saw Sasha leaving, I made my move. I’d gone up to him and briefly engaged in mindless chatter. I’d noticed the lust in his eyes as he looked at me, and, ten minutes into flirty small talk, I’d kissed him. Then I’d let him fling me into a closet and he’d fucked me better than I’d ever been fucked ever before. We’d swapped numbers, and, not long after, he’d called me up.
He’d come over to mine at about 3am, saying Sasha was asleep and ‘I need so you badly right now Frankie.’ He’d fucked me sprawled across my dining table, and then left as soon as we’d both climaxed. I’m not the sort of guy, even though gay, who wants to cuddle, so I was fine seeing him go.

Now he comes round about every week when he’s in town. Sasha works long hours as a hotel secretary, and Gerard’s part time work serving in an art store is minimal. So he’ll knock on my door, or call me up, growling that he’s coming, and to ‘get horny’. Not hard, when just his face makes me want to come. Gerard likes screwing me in abstract places. I’m lucky enough to have a flat with a balcony, and one day, in broad daylight, he fucked me leaning precariously against the balcony (scary). He’s also made me fuck him on a bench in Central Park at night (creepy), and in a tree (leafy).
He says he loves me, but can’t be with me as everyone will disapprove.
I’ve always listened to him and believed him when he’s said this, but recently I’m starting to wonder, what would happen if I broke it off? I can’t ever be with anyone else because I feel like I’m betraying Gerard. But then I think about what it would be like if I never saw Gerard’s beautiful face or feel him completely relaxing around me. What would my sex life become?!

“Hey Frankie.” He smiles to me as he enters the room, completely naked and dripping wet; He’s got no modesty. But then, when you’ve screwed as much as we have, there is nothing to be embarrassed about: I know every inch of his body.
Gerard goes over to the pile of clothes and methodically begins to dress, chatting casually to me. I learn he’s going on holiday with Sasha tomorrow for two weeks.
“You didn’t tell me sooner?” I snipe shocked that I know so little about what is going on in his life. He shrugs indifferently. “It was sorta a last minute thing. I’m going to ask her to marry me.”
“WHAT?!” I gasp, shocked. Sure, it’s not great knowing he has a girlfriend, but I’m willing to share. But marriage?! That’s a (supposedly permanent) bond between two people. There can’t be room for me in that arrangement.
“Chill.” He calmly say, walking, fully dressed now, over to where I stand, and begins to start rubbing my shoulders. “We’ll still see each other Frankie babe. You know things won’t change. I mean, maybe we won’t screw as much, but I could never forget you.” I hate his strangely patronising tone; I’m not a little kid.
Standing up, I brush his hands off me. “You’re getting married. You think it won’t change.” I say, deadpan.
His eyes go moist, and his voice cracks slightly. “Baby... you know I love you...” He turns away, and puts his head in his hands. “I don’t want to hurt you.” Now he’s crying, and hugging his waist with his hands.
I immediately go to him, and press his head to my chest. “I love you Gee, I’m sure we’ll be okay.”
“Really? Oh good Frankie baby. I swear it’s not the end of us. I just can’t be with you. I can’t stand the prejudice that would be against us.” His eyes are big and emotive, and his lip still quivers.
“Gee, it’s fine. I swear. I’d do anything for you hon.”
Gerard straightens up, and pulls his trainers onto his feet. “I’ll see you later Frank.” He walks out the door without a backwards glance and then I curse him when I hear the door close. I can’t believe he’s marrying her. I don’t know why I didn’t tell him it was over. I just guess I love him.
Gerard’s like my drug. I know he’s bad for me, but I need him so much. He plays with my emotions, yet I’m addicted to him.

--

One week into Gerard’s holiday, I’m cleaning my apartment. I find, slipped behind my sofa, a key. I immediately know its Gerard’s apartment key, because of the tag attached to it. The tag has a picture of him and a pretty girl on it. I know the girl is Sasha. She has long, brunette, curly hair and mischievous looking green eyes. Gerard’s hand is rested gently on her bare shoulder, such a loving gesture that he’s never given me. When I find the key, a wicked thought creeps into my head. I decide to go and snoop around his apartment.
I know where he lives. Even though I’ve never been, he’s told me before. Said Sasha was going to be away for a week and could come visit. Unfortunately, Sasha cancelled, so I never actually got to go.

When I get to his apartment, I’m shocked how big it is: Almost twice the size of mine. The doorman lets me in when I lie and tell him Gerard and Sasha asked me to visit and water some plants.
The apartment is untidy. The dining table is littered with Vogue magazines and sketchbooks. I flip through them (not the Vogue magazines; the sketchbooks). However, they appear to be Sasha’s, and feature crudely drawn scantily clad models. I know Gerard loves art, and had hoped to find some of his sketchbooks.
I go into the bathroom to snoop around, but the only things I find that could be Gerard’s are a razor and a packet of open condoms peeking out from and open medicine cupboard. Her tampax boxes, multiple razors and washcloths litter the floor.
In their bedroom, it’s easy to tell who sleeps on which side. Her lipstick stained pillow is puffed up, and a black bra is on the bed. On his side, the pillow is flat and he has scattered packets of graphite pencils and paints on his part of the cover.
I go over to the bedside table on Gee’s side. It’s hard to open, but I give it such a yank that it shoots open, and I trip backwards. Sketchbooks topple out of the draw, and I catch the first one. Opening the cover carefully, I see a beautifully drawn Sasha sketch.
Angrily, I flip the page over, only to be confronted with a small picture of me. On the opposing page, the picture has been sketched. I see it is me laying down, my eyes closed. My cheeks are shaded a crimson colour, and it looks like a slick covering of sweat covers my body. I realise he must have taken It not long after sex. Underneath the picture, my name is written in beautiful cursive. A smile creeps onto my face. He must love me to spend this much time sketching me. It’s even more detailed than the sketch of Sasha.
Beaming, I turn the next page, hoping for more pictures of me. But I’m confronted with a sketch of a man I don’t recognise. He’s in a similar position to me, except he has a mass of afro hair on his head. His lips are big and curved into a contented smile. Underneath, the name ‘Ray Toro’ is inscribed. My stomach drops. Is Gerard seeing someone else? Feeling sick, I turn the page again. A guy with straight ginger hair and a lip ring stares back at me. He must have known Gerard was taking the picture. ‘Bob Bryar’, is written underneath. I flip through the rest of the book, and see more post coitus men, eyes either closed or looking happily into the camera.
With an angry growl, I hurl the book onto the floor. “Bastard!” I screech, and kick at a pile of clothes on the floor, scattering them. I storm into the main room, and tip the table of magazines and sketchbooks onto the floor. I spit onto the ground and grind an unused cigarette into the carpet. I only realise I’m crying when wet patches appear on the floor, and I realise they’ve leaked from my eyes. I kick at the kitchen door, and chuck a pan that had been drying on the side onto the floor, spitting on it again.
Then I leave, trying to appear calm even though I’m dying inside.

--

The final week passes agonisingly slowly. I call Gerard up a couple of times, but it just rings out. Then, ten days after I went to his apartment, I get a call from him. His voice is calm, and he obviously doesn’t blame me for what brief destruction I did to his apartment. I guess considering it’s a tip, they probably didn’t even notice I’d played out my heartbreak there.
“I’m outside your apartment baby.” He purrs into the phone, “Buzz me up and get horny.”
Deciding to end it in person instead of the phone, I buzz him in. A minute later, he appears at my door. He’s pretty tanned, and his hair is wavy and casually pushed back with black aviators. Gerard swoops forward to kiss me, but I duck away from him.
“You motherfuckin’ bastard.” I snarl at him.
“What?!” He replies, shocked.
“I’m not the only person you’ve been seeing, am I?!”
“What are you on about Frankie? “ He asks, feigning ignorance.
“Ray Toro. Bob Bryar. Countless others, whose names I haven’t learnt. You’ve been messing with. Every. Single. One. Of. Them.”
I watch the colour drain from his face. “I... how do you? It’s not...I swear...” He mutters, tugging at his hair.
“Don’t try and think of an excuse,” I hiss, “I don’t know how you don’t choke on every lie you’ve ever told me.”
“I’m sorry babe,” He whimpers, moving closer to me. “You’re the only one for me though...”
“NO!” I shout, shoving my hand roughly against his chest to restrain him. “You kept me sick. You kept me complacent. But not for long.”
He straightens up. “Frank, stop thinking you’re so special. I could never be with just one person. And you didn’t want to go along with it. I have so much fucking love to go around. But you don’t want me. I can’t turn off my love for you.”
“Oh SHUT UP!! You have so much bloody bullshit spilling out of your lying face! I’ve wasted a year of my life loving you. Loving ONLY you. And you think, telling me that you love me, straight faced with a smile, means you do love me. Well, FUCK NO IT DOES NOT!”
His eyes go blank and his mouth is set into a grimace. “Frank. It was good. Best sex you ever had; best sex I ever had. But you want it to end. I don’t, of course. But I respect your wishes. I just want you to know you’ve broken my heart.”
“I don’t know how you don’t choke on every lie you’ve ever told me. Now leave. Don’t come back ever.” I spit angrily.
And I push him out of my apartment, and close the door on him. Forever.

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