FicWad

Facepalm. Next time I write a story in first person, please someone ask me 'what the fuck is wrong with you?'! I... This was probably one of the hardest things for me to write in the history of forever, and I'm still not satisfied with it.
Oh, I'm also sorry for the random update that updated nothing. I noticed the first and second chapter got switched around, which annoyed the fuck out of me and I couldn't not change it, yanno?
Anyway, I can't stand to read my own work (such a mess) so there ere probably more mistakes that a cheese grater has holes... Le sigh. Enjoy and review! Please!

Lindsey left with some of her friends a half hour ago, to a strip club. If it was any other night than tonight, I would have had to pretend to be very cross at this knowledge. But tonight, I kept with just looking mildly irked. After all, it is her pre-marital final party, and as long as she does cheat (Hell, even if she does cheat, what do I care?) we should be good. 

Besides, tonight's my own bachelor's party.That means me, Frank and a bottle or two of Vodka. Maybe some rum or a couple of beers, but the point of the matter is really to just get fucking hammered. 

Being who I am, doing what I do (killing people) makes drinking of any kind something of a luxury. I have to do it with someone who knows me well enough to be able to handle what i say, who I absolutely trust with my most dangerous secrets. I have to do it somewhere I won't be found with said person as well, for safety precautions. Wouldn't want my secrets spilling out and being overheard, would I? No, that could lead me to death, to the quite literal lethal injection or death sentence.

But tonight- tonight I'm going to hang out with my best friend and accomplice. We've reserved a hotel room, and enjoy each other's company and the drink. I can't wait for it, It's more exciting to me than the wedding tomorrow. It's really strange; I'm almost as ecstatic about spending some good time with Frank as I am about killing Lindsey. Not quite, but almost. Something must be wrong with me, but I'm too eager to care. I'm always happy to see Frank, though, so maybe it's not that odd. 

I put on a bit of eyeliner, just enough to further define my eyes and make the irises shine. It's something I've taken to doing ever since high school. After all, if you can accent your eyes, you should. Besides, Frank and I used to do each other's eyeliner in the bathrooms before classes back in school. It's been a habit ever since.

I grin when I hear a familiar four knock pattern on the door, and yell for my visitor to come in as I give one last feeble attempt to perfect my wild and unruly hair. I hear the door open and shut, light footsteps walking across the living room in confident strides, and an arm hooks around my waist.

"You ready to go get wasted, groom to be?" A familiar low voice breathes hotly in my ear. I barely suppress a shiver I get from the warm breath and his close proximity to me. I can smell Frank's new aftershave, a delicious pine odor that I could just live in, mixed with coffee and cigarettes. 

"Aw, yeah." I smile, flattening out my hair  again. I turn to Frank, still grinning. He's a bit tan, his lip ring poking out of his trademark smirk. His black hair is mostly cut short, all except for a side of his bangs that curl down just t the left of one of his two hazel eyes. It's... well, it's very attractive. Absolutely fucking perfect.

Well, maybe its not perfect to everyone else in the world, but oddly perfect to my mind. But that's enough, isn't it? Frank's got that slick, tough attitude that i absolutely adore. He doesn't crack under the glare of the authorities, he keeps his head. I've seen him at his worst and best, and I still like him. No one can really read Frank well, the closest of anyone to accurate Frank-readings is me, and it's still difficult after years of knowing him. You never really know where you stand with Frank.

I finish putting my hair in place, a fairly stupid thing because the only person that's going to be seeing me is Frank. He's seen me in worse states, I've seen him in some pretty awful ones , but judging by the way we both try to dress up relatively nicely we do actually care for appearances. Maybe that's a stupid thing to care about, but even with each other we're half on guard, trying to not to look like killers. That does, sadly, require a bit of personal grooming. Not too much, of course, but not too little. Plus, it looks nice. Besides, we'll both look awful tomorrow morning. Hangovers... the worst part of drinking as  much as we're going to tonight. 

But it'll be worth it, I'm sure. Getting drunk of my ass with Frank is always fun. It doesn't happen enough for it to not be considered an occasion or celebration, and they do say absence makes the heart grow fonder. I think that 'they', whoever they are, are right. 

I pull on my army issue combat boots (they're sturdy and quiet, and perfect for a murder. Not that I'll be taking a life tonight, as much as I long for it. Sigh.), my black leather jacket and we're out the door. Off to the liquor store to get some mouth scorching, headache inducing, absolutely fucking fabulous and intoxicating substance called liquor. You only live once, correct? At least, in my current state of atheism you do. 

Together frank and I walk into a middle class hotel, earning themselves raised eyebrows as they saunter in. Two men in New Jersey getting a hotel room with a bag full of alcohol isn't that uncommon, in fact it's among the least conspicuous  thing the employees have ever seen, but there's a strange air about us. I'm used to being observed in places like this, where homophobia thrives and people make false assumptions to satisfy their vendettas laced with prejudice. 

Besides, both Frank and I are reasonably attractive (or ridiculously attractive in Frank's case), and us partners in crime also exude an aura of confidence and much sought after mystery. It's quite sexy, at least on Frank. I'm mostly just hoping to follow suite.

When we enter the hotel room-- an ugly little thing with a full size bed and awful color scheming-- Frank rents some lame ass horror movie on the TV to keep us entertained as we eventually lose our minds and I open the bottle of vodka. I take a gulp right from the bottle, and damn, I missed the scorching feeling of the liquid hitting my throat. 

While there may not really be enough people for any fun drinking games, I can still have fun with Frank. Not, of course, in the sleep with him way (he would fucking murder me, I think), but in the friends way. Regrettably. I would like very much to sleep with Frank, and I imagine if I did sleep with him it would be much better than sleeping with my fiancé. Then again, I think almost any man would be better in bed than my fiancé. Not that she's bad, I'm just gay. It's a wonder with the amount of sperm I was putting out Lindsey even got pregnant.  Fiancé. I'm really starting to hate that word. I can't wait to kill her. It's a burning i can't extinguish, a deep felt desire coursing throughout my body and sending signals of want o my brain. I want it, and I know i want it when I hold her close to me, when i feel my hands start to shake with anticipation i must hide. 

Frank and I each have a cup of vodka, and we gradually get drunker and drunker, savoring the time we have to just let our minds go. We become less and less aware,  we talk to each other about anything and everything with loose lips. We don't talk about my upcoming marriage or his, we just converse with each other like any friends would. No, we're even more loose with our secrets than friends. Frank and I aren't thick as thieves; we're as thick as murderers.

While I don't necessarily trust Frank with my feelings on certain subjects (namely him), I certainly do trust him wit my life. No, it's not that I trust he won't take it, I trust that if he does he'll give me an unforgettable death, unmasking me as a murdered and showing my violent,  malevolent, blood lusting side the  light of day. I can trust him to do that. 

I'm practically sitting on Frank's lap by the time the movie's over, and we're sharing sips of vodka from the same cup. It's easier to talk this way, or at least that's my excuse. Frank is used to me sitting on him, though, and doesn't seem to mind. I really want to do something daring, touch Frank in ways I've never touched him before. My judgement is obviously impaired by the abuse my liver's taking, it's not even funny how fearless I've become. It's not bravery, or fearlessness; it's stupidity.  I giggle rather girlishly as I have this stupid monologue in my head. Everything's funny right now. The angle of the phone, how my face is just a pinky's length from Frank's...

My face is almost touching Frank's when he connects our lips. He doesn't hesitate to put his tongue into my mouth rather sloppily, and after the initial reaction of OH MY GOD FRANK IS KISSING ME, HIS TONGUE IS IN MY MOUTH, I kiss back in an equally uncontrolled manner. I'm surprised he initiated it, I thought it would be me doing something fucking retarded, but I happily go along with it. More than happily, actually, but I can't think of words to describe the way my drunken body feels. 

Hid tongue invades my mouth, discovering every depth of it, clearly in charge and at large. One of his arms is threaded around my waist, his hand kneading one of my ass cheeks, his other arm across his lap, his hand squeezing my thigh, shooting pleasure up my spine and sending the blood down south.

I can't believe Frank is doing this to me, I never imagined he would want me in any way besides as an accomplice. I've wanted it, of course., but maybe he's had too much to drink and won't want me later... but my mind can barely register that thought before I find each of my legs on a different side of Frank, his hand hot against my butt as he squeezes. While I may be on top of him in this drunken session, there is no doubt in my mind Frank is in control. He's dominant, as he always seems to be.

My shirt is off almost the instant Frank wants it that way, my flushing chest exposed to him. Frank's tongue isn't ravaging my mouth any longer, instead it's latched deliciously onto my neck, a wet suction making me gasp. There's a tongue in that wetness, melting away my brain. I can't help but let out a moan that I would be ashamed of if sober as Frank sucks harder on my neck, drawing more blood to the surface. 

I'm flipped over and thrown on the bed, and Frank is over me, shirtless. He rubs his crotch down on mine-- Oh god, the feeling is simply devine. It feels so, so good in our sloppy movements, but I still want more. I thrust up to meet Frank, trying to get an even more perfect pleasure from our clothed contact. 

My pants are undone as quickly as manageable and pulled down, and Frank's hands near my legs makes my breath hitch. It feels so good, the light teasing of flesh nearly but not quite on skin on my thighs. My head wants to explode with what he's doing to me, and we really haven't even done too much thus far. 

I try to get Frank out of his pants, and after a few failed attempts with fumbling fingers I manage to succeed, dismissing his pants from the situation. It feels good, his thighs pressed against mine, the rubbing of our flesh and he rolls our hips  together is simply mouth wateringly good.

Before I ca even register what's happening my boxers and his have disappeared, and our skin on skin in the groin area is making us both moan. his fingers are in my face, so I take them into my mouth and suck. I love these fingers in my mouth, I love the person they're attached to and  love the accuracy these fingers can kill with. I wrap my tongue around them, trying to coat as much saliva onto them as possible. 

When frank takes his fingers from my mouth, dripping in spit, I can't help but feel a slight loss. So slight I don't really even notice it. Frank flips my over and commands me to get on my hands and knees, which I do without hesitation. It's not long before I feel the pain of him working his first finger into me, the sting that i just have to get used to. It hurts, and I whimper. I'm a killer, for christ's sake, I shouldn't whimper! But i'm a drunk killer, so I guess it's okay.

I feel the tears prick to the front of my eyes as Frank ungracefully inserts his second digit, this stretch hurting so much more than the first one. He waits an impatient moment before he starts to scissor his fingers into me, and it's not comfortable in the least but he's giving me something, and that's better than no preparation. 

Frank takes out both of his fingers, and I feel something larger pushing into me. Frank slowly, but not as slowly as I would llike, pushes into me. He fills me up completely, and moans as I clench around him, trying to get used to the feeling. But after a moment of this clenching I'm doing, Frank decided to move. he pulls out a little, only to thrust back in with power. I let out a mix of a scream and a moan, and he pulls out further and slams back into me harder.

It's a strange combination of pain and pleasure, and the pleasure eventually overrides the pain and I'm thrusting back to meet Frank, my body and (presumably) his covered in sweat. This feels so good already, but when he hits that spot and I scream his name in what must be illegal volumes I know it can only get better from here. 

He hits that spot again, harder, harder and faster, abandoning any pretense of a rhythm as we both near the end. I burst all over the bed, and my mind goes blank as my toes curl in pleasure, and I clench as my hands dig into the beddings. He comes inside of me, and hell, we should have used a condom, but this feels so right. It's a good minute before I can even think relatively straight, and Frank pulls out of me. We clumsily clean ourselves off and get back lazily into our boxers. 

"This.. this neve' happen'" Frank said to me as he fell asleep. My heart sunk a little, but I fell asleep the next instant.

When I wake up, my head is splitting. 

Frank's already up, I can hear him. He mummbles a hello, or something like that. 

Once I've gotten a cup of coffee and sunglasses, he asks me. "do you remember what happened last night?"

Oh.

Shit.

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