FicWad

Frank had put his trench coat on and left. Gerard seemed uncomfortable at first, making Frank wonder if it had been his first time drawing someone naked. He shrugged it off.
The whole time Frank had actually been squirming. Normally he could expose himself to the whole world and not give a fuck, but then he wanted to cover himself up much as possible. He had also been thinking of horrible things to stop from getting “Little Frankie” excited. Images of blood dripping from a pig's slit throat had blocked out thoughts of Gerard using his mouth for certain things. Also the cold breeze didn't help any.
He jimmied the lock with the key in attempt to open the door. Once he succeeded, he stepped into the shabby apartment. This was why he liked Gerard's so much, it was beautiful and covered in art and personality. This place had gray walls and dusty floors. He clicked the door close behind him, trying to be as silent as possible..
“FRANK!”
Guess he wasn't silent enough.
Frank nearly tripped over his own feet on his quest to get to the next room. A man sat in a grayish blue recliner full of holes with the stuffing poking out. He looked to be in his mid thirties with slight crow's feet. His square jaw was gruff and needed to be shaved. He was attractive in his own way. His hair was a reddish brown and was cropped to his ears. His dark gray eyes narrowed. His thin, pale lips tightened. Frank was extremely familiar with this. He knew he was in some sort of trouble.
“Yes, Master Clayton?” Frank said in a monotone voice.
“Where were you?” Clayton growled.
“Work, sir.”
“The job you were supposed to be at is modeling, not whoring yourself out, got that?” He grabbed Frank by the collar of the trench coat and pulled him to his eye level.
“Yes, sir.” He didn't even flinched.
“Good.” He released Frank. “Now get the fuck out of my sight.” He jabbed his thumb in the direction of a door in the corner.
Frank stumbled back slightly and quickly made his way to the door. He entered and shut the door behind himself. The room was extremely small, only a five by six. The room was completely bare expect for the small box of clothes for Frank. The gray walls were cracked and the rough concrete floor scrapped his skin when he slept on it. He grabbed a pair of boxers and laid the trench coat on the floor. He sat on it and tried to make himself as comfortable as possible.
His home wasn't the happiest place in the world. Clayton Dalton was his master. He did what he told him, when he told him. Frank would drop everything with no hesitation and do as he was told. Frank didn't remember how he got into Clayton's hands in the first place. The only thing he was told was that Clayton had gotten him – as if he were a puppy – when he was only a baby. It left his with a lot of unanswered questions. Was he stolen? Did his parents give him up? Why would they give him up? Frank didn't have the guts to ask.
He had a lot of options of when to runaway. So many doors were open. But he never did. Frank had no where to go. The only life he knew was Clayton and once in a while traveling somewhere else in the world. He had no friends. Well, expect Mikey.
Ever since Frank was little he had seen bogeymen. They weren't creatures from normal kids' imaginations. These were ghouls who looked for Frank for help, not to eat him. It was his job to put them to rest. Clayton must have known about this power from the beginning because he quickly taught Frank how to control it once he heard about these ghosts. Clayton used Frank for odd jobs like modeling and stripping. Once he was even a belly dancer in Egypt, dressed as a woman. But Frank was never a hooker. No one laid a hand on Frank, not even Clayton. He wasn't pure, he had given plenty of hand and blow jobs to guys and girls, but he had never gone all the way. Clayton would get a little rough with Frank, but he never full out beat him. He did threaten to though.
Anyways, back to Mikey. He was a tough case to crack. It was almost as if he was resisting moving on. Every time Frank tried to talk to him about it, he would either disappear and not return until later, or he would grow silent and refuse to speak. He was troubling and Clayton had told Frank to give up. He hadn't, he just wasn't working as hard as before. True, his hopes of Mikey coming to peace was slipping away, but at least Mikey made good company. He was quiet most of the time though and rarely expressed himself facially.
He was Frank's only friend and he wouldn't have anyone else.