“Face it, Frank, you need a roommate.” Mikey’s voice echoes down the phone line, sounding irritatingly smug. Frank rolls his eyes as he shifts the phone on his shoulder, trying to turn the tap on with his elbow while his hands are full with bloody saw and bloody cloth.
“You are so annoying when you’re right, do you know that?” He replies, grunting as he finally manages to get the tap to turn on and promptly cursing when it sprays all over his shirt – “Fuck!” He shoves at the tap, and the water begins to trickle out instead.
“You alright?” comes the distracted reply from Mikey, who sounds mildly interested for a second, before his tone becomes his usual bored drone again. “Anyway, my brother needs a place and you need a roommate, so sounds like an ideal solution.”
“Says who?” Frank retorts; shifting on his feet as the blood on the saw slides off and begins to pool around the plughole. Leaving the saw and cloth to soak in the sink, he grabs a towel from the counter and wipes his hands dry, grimacing when he sees the rust colour staining the towel. He grabs the phone, rolling his neck to get rid of the crick that’s developed and listens absentmindedly to Mikey’s babble about how his brother and Frank are totally suited to one another and why it’s the answer to your money problems, Frankie!
After a few minutes of staring into space whilst Mikey lists reason after reason, Frank swaps his phone into his other hand and wanders into his living room, poking the body on the floor with his toe. He grimaces when more blood slops out of the gaping hole in its neck, congealing next to its rapidly purpling cheekbone.
“Yeesh! Fine, fine – I’ll sort something out with your brother about this roommates shit” Mikey woops down the phone excitedly, and Frank talks over him, “If you shut up about this now, okay? I’m sick of hearing you earnestly listing reasons about why this is super or whatever.”
“I’m zipping my lips now about this, honest. What are you up to?” The sudden burst of background noise tells Frank that Mikey’s put him on speakerphone. He sits down heavily on this sofa, eyes drinking in what he knows might be the last body that’ll grace his tiled living room floor; his new roommate probably wouldn’t be impressed with lumps of decaying flesh hanging around the apartment, no matter how much Mikey told him how weird his brother was.
There’s weird, and then there’s “I’m totally cool with having dead bodies sharing living space with me” weird and Frank was pretty sure that he was one of the few that fit in the latter category and that his roommate would, most likely, fit in the former.
“I’m not up to much, really” – well, Frank wasn’t up to much now, because by now, he’d finished butchering the unlucky sod on the floor. Had Mikey called half an hour earlier, the answer would have been the very different. Well, it would be if Frank were going to tell Mikey the truth if he had called.
Half an hour earlier, he was slowly and painfully slicing into the neck of the body that was now crumpled on the floor with the saw that was now in the sink – Shit. It was going to rust if he left it there much longer. Frank picks himself back up off the sofa and hurries into the kitchen, shoving his phone back onto his shoulder as he dunks his hands back into the rapidly cooling water.
“Sounds like you’re washing up, dude” Mikey says absentmindedly, accompanied by the sounds of tapping.
“And it sounds like you’re on the computer – and it’s hardly like washing up is something you want to describe in detail to your best friend, is it?” Frank grabs his washing up liquid, drizzling it over the saw and beginning to scrub at it with the wet cloth. He scowls at it when some of the blood seems determined to be stuck there.
“True, true. Anyway, I’ve gotta go to work, so I’m gonna hang up now” Mikey sounds like he’s moved a little away from the phone, his voice becoming fainter and more static ringing in Frank’s ears.
“Before you go, you wanna give me your brother’s number so I can call him and sort out this roommates thing?”
“I already told him that you were fine with him moving in, so he’s coming over Wednesday with all his stuff.”
Frank drops the saw in the sink and spins around, one hand flying up to clutch at the phone, the other gripping the counter - not caring that both of his hands were sopping wet. “Wednesday…! Mikey, it’s Monday!”
“Yeah, and…?” Mikey sounds as indifferent as he usually does, the tapping of his computer keys never stalling, even for a moment.
“You’ve only given me two days to sort the place out!” Frank mentally scrolls through all the various items he has to hide in the next two days; all his tools, his souvenirs from all his victims, the fucking body on the living room floor, the condoms and his industrial strength cleaner that was specifically advertised for cleaning factory floors and had no place being in any home…
“Your place is always spotless! It’s not like you’ve got a body lying around or anything, is it?” Frank tries hard to supress his giggles at the sheer irony, throwing a glance at the living room where the body is still crumpled on the floor. “Chill out.” Mikey continued. “Anyway, I really have to go now, so I’ll probably see you this Saturday at the show, yeah? Bye Frankie!” The dial tone sounds, loud and piercing after Mikey’s quiet voice.
Frank sighs at his utterly rude and useless best friend who pimps his house out to his apparently weirdo siblings without running it by him first. But, more pressingly, that body ought to be bagged and dumped and the floor needs a scrubbing with that industrial cleaner… Frank sighs again, and finally turns back to the sink and rinses the now clean saw, before he dries it with the stained towel and wanders back into his bedroom and drops it in his toolbox.
After wrapping the body in several plastic bags and driving it down to the nearby river to dump it and coming back home again, Frank sits in his room, sorting through his extensive toolbox and considering how best to hide the entire thing from his soon-to-be roommate.
Hiding it in his room was probably the best bet, but having next to no clue what Mikey’s brother would be like meant that he had no idea whether even keeping it in the house was a good idea. What if he was the nosy type that no sense of what privacy was? What if he was the kind to drink heavily and collapse into the first bedroom he saw and discovered the toolbox the next morning?
Frank feels the first tendrils of worry curl in his gut. He knows, rationally, that he needs a roommate, his job at the restaurant doesn’t quite cover all the bills and after his visit to the emergency room a couple of months ago, money was even tighter. But the potential loss of privacy to kill in is worrying him. Killing is the only thing he enjoys; it makes his tiring weeks better and gives him something to look forward too and now he might need to limit himself.
He frowns. He hopes he’s not going to regret wanting to continue living in this house and forsaking his privacy.
He could always kill Mikey’s brother, he muses. Only he can’t, because his roommate is going to be Mikey’s brother and Frank prefers his life to be quiet and not having Mikey trample through it whilst looking for his brother. Really, it would be better off for everyone if he doesn’t kill the guy. Even if he turns out to be a terrible roommate.
Frank sighs and pushes himself off his bed, wandering into his kitchen to find the heavy padlock that he knows in a drawer somewhere. To his surprise, he finds both the padlock and key in the first drawer he looks in, and returns to his bedroom, locking the toolbox shut and shoving it under his bed. It wasn’t ideal, but it would do. For now. Maybe.
Wednesday rolls around a little too quickly for Frank’s taste, but he’s satisfied that anything incriminating is locked away from any communal areas. All that is left to do now is wait for Mikey’s brother to show up with all his shit and sort out the rent and bills and other boring details with him before shoving him into the spare room.
It occurs to him that he doesn’t even know the guy’s name, and in less than twenty-four hours they’re going to be living together and sharing the same shower and the same kitchen and the same living room… And that thought makes Frank shudder, so he decides to stop pacing back and forth in said living room and go and start his laundry.
He’s halfway through his first load when he hears the doorbell ring and Mikey’s quiet but distinctive voice through his flimsy front door, and another, deeper voice replying. He glances at the coffee pot and is suddenly grateful that he had an urge for coffee right at this moment – it means he’s going to have something to offer the brother’s Way and look like a semi-decent host. He knows Mikey loves coffee like nothing else, and guesses that his brother is probably similar.
He moves into his living room, and then the hallway, pushing the catch all the way down before lifting it back up in order to get it open. He’s probably going to have to write a list of all the things that don’t really work in this house for his roommate. Frank shudders at the thought of having to explain his crappy little house to anyone. It may be crappy, but it’s his.
Only now it’s not. It’s Mikey’s brother’s house too now.
Frank finally wrenches the door open, only to be faced by Mikey and what he assumes to be his brother, even though, at first glance, they look nothing alike. Mikey’s all lean angels and pointy bones, while this guy is all soft edges and curves; but a closer look and Frank sees the same shaped nose and the matching hazel eyes.
Another thing that strikes him is how pretty Mikey’s brother is. The two don’t seem to have noticed that he’s opened the door; Mikey’s got his back to it and even though his brother is facing Frank, he’s too wrapped up in his and Mikey’s conversation to have seen Frank open the door. Frank clears his throat for lack of a better way to get their attention.
“Oh! Hey Frankie!” Mikey spins around and seems excited to see Frank. He gestures to the now slightly awkward looking guy standing next to him. “This is my brother, Gerard. Gee, this is Frank.”
So now Mikey’s brother had a name. Frank pastes a smile on his face and thrusts his hand forward. “Pleasure to meet you.”
Gerard grins back, uninhibited and a little crooked, and grasps Frank hand, shaking it firmly. The guys seems nice enough, so Frank smiles back a little more genuinely, before turning and inviting him in. Mikey doesn’t need an invite, he wanders in as and when he pleases. He shows Gerard into the living room, asking him if he wants coffee.
Gerard’s face absolutely lights up. “Lots of milk and sugar please!” He calls after Frank as he vanishes back into the kitchen. Once in there, Frank looks at Mikey, who’s already pouring himself a mug and putting a little milk into the mug, before taking a quick slurp.
“I’m slightly annoyed at you, you know” Frank states, leaning his hip against the counter and folding his arms as he watches Mikey grab another couple of mugs out the cupboard and pour coffee into both of them. He pushes one mug towards Frank without putting anything in it and dumps an unholy amount of sugar and milk in another. “What the fuck are you doing to that cup of coffee?”
“It’s how Gerard takes his coffee. And why are you annoyed at me?” Mikey doesn’t sound that bothered by Frank’s statement.
Frank lowers his voice, overly aware of Gerard sitting in the next room by himself, “because you’ve just pimped my house out to your brother without checking with me beforehand!”
Mikey shrugs, taking another sip of his coffee. “You totally agreed to it, and you needed a roommate, and I can vouch for my brother not being some guy that’s going to steal your TV in the middle of the night. Really, you should be thanking me.”
Frank raises his eyebrows before rolling his eyes. “Whatever. I’m still annoyed that you didn’t check with me before you told your brother he could move in.”
Mikey shrugs again, before scooping the mug with the murdered coffee and walking back into the living. Frank picks up his mug and follows Mikey in. Gerard is pottering around the room, looking at the giant bookcase that Frank’s spent a lifetime filling with books and DVD’s. By the look on his face, Gerard approves of his choices.
Frank looks his new roommate over properly; giant, stretched, paint-spattered sweatshirt that hangs to mid thigh, black jeans that look like they might deteriorate and fall apart at any moment. His clumpy boots are next to the couch and all that’s left on his feet are a pair of holey socks that expose his little toe on his left foot to the air. His black hair hangs over his forehead and slightly over one eye; he flicks it out of his face as he continues to examine the bookcase.
If Frank had to describe Gerard, he’d say he looks like a happy, harmless homeless person. The contrast to Mikey is stunning; Mikey’s all tidy, straight legged, pressed jeans and immaculate band t-shirts and converse, unsmiling and sat neatly. Gerard’s got smiling eyes and a grin lingering at the corner of his mouth and when he sees Frank hovering at the edge of his own living room, smiles even wider, displaying tiny teeth. He slumps on Frank’s couch, and sprawls, kicking one leg up onto it.
Frank sits down next to Mikey. There’s a pause, although Frank’s surprised to find that it’s not uncomfortable in the slightest. After a few minutes, in which all of them drink their coffee – Frank’s unsure when Mikey gave Gerard his mug, but seeing as Gerard is cheerfully draining it, he assumes the exchange must have happened – before Mikey finally states; “well, are you going to give him a tour or something?”
Gerard perks up. “Oh, yes please! I’d like to learn where everything is, so I don’t have to ask you shit all the time, at the very least”.
Gerard likes the house, and the guy who owns it. Frank seems prickly, but he’s pretty and is just about playing at polite, leading Gerard around the house, pointing out where all the cleaning products are for the bathroom and kitchen and where the coffee is kept and how his bedroom door kind of locks if you wiggle the bolt up before sliding it across.
He also points out his own room, and asks that Gerard doesn’t come in unless it’s an emergency, and that he’ll do the same for Gerard. So far, so good. The room Frank’s given him is roomy and very clean. There’s a faint smell of polish and wooden floor cleaner, suggesting that it’s only been cleaned in the last couple of days, but considering how tidy the entire house is, Frank might have cleaned it regularly anyway.
After his tour is over, Gerard sits back down in the kitchen, and puts another pot of coffee on, whilst Frank goes to grab the spare keys and the contract he’s drawn up from the study; a pokey little room with a computer and filing cabinet in it. He’s halfway through drinking his second mug of coffee when Frank returns, looking a bit flustered.
“You alright, man?” Frank grins ruefully at the question, putting what Gerard assumes to be the contract on the kitchen table before walking over to the counter and pouring himself a cup of coffee. Gerard notices Frank puts nothing in it, yet he knows from his own cup of coffee that Frank has milk in the fridge and sugar on the counter next to the coffeepot, making him wonder who Frank keeps both of these things around for. A girlfriend? Boyfriend? Mikey?
He’s shaken out of his thoughts when Frank sits across from him, smiling somewhat genuinely nicely for the first time all day, tattooed hands cupped around his mug. He pushes a small stack of paper towards Gerard, who grins back and begins to flick through it. It’s pretty standard stuff: how much he’ll pay a month, his contribution to the bills, what time of month he wants paying so that both rent and bills can be paid.
After he’s finished looking through, Frank raises an eyebrow, silently asking him what he thinks. Gerard smiles in a reassuring manner.
“It’s all totally reasonable. Have you got a pen so we can sign this? And I assume you have a copy for your own records?” Frank nods, gesturing to his own small stack of paper. He produces a pen out of nowhere, and scrawls his name on the line. Gerard steals the pen and does the same.
“It’s official then – nice to meet you, roomie” Frank grins at the lame joke, before looking slightly confused.
“Where did Mikey go?”
Gerard cocks his head for a moment, considering. “I think he left when you started the tour of the house. I bet you a buck he’s left his coffee mug on your coffee table.”
Frank shakes his head, somewhat despairingly, Gerard thinks. After a moment, he shrugs, before leaning across the table towards Gerard. “So, Gerard, tell me a bit
about yourself – I have to admit, before today, I didn’t even know your name.”
Gerard laughs – for a tattooed punk that initially looked unhappy to see him, Frank seems to be warming up to him pretty well. He figures either Frank isn’t fond of strangers or that one particular tattooed punk is harbouring a little crush on him. From the polite interest though, he guesses that it’s the former.
“Well, I’m an artist –”
“An artist?” Frank’s tidy eyebrows shift upwards. “What sort of art?”
The fact that Frank hasn’t insinuated that Gerard won’t be able to pay the bills because he’s an artist means Frank is now a better man that Gerard though of him before. Not that he though Frank was a bad man earlier. He’s now just… better.
“Comics, mostly, although I do a couple paintings occasionally, as well as taking on commissions here and there if other work is thin on the ground and bills need to be paid, so don’t worry about me missing any payments.”
Frank looks enthusiastic about the comic art, and grins somewhat guiltily when Gerard mentions paying the bills. Gerard raises his eyebrows and Frank bursts out laughing.
“You hear that ‘how will you pay the bills’ shit a lot then, being an artist?”
Gerard laughs, smiling a little wider when he sees Frank looking especially apologetic.
“Like you wouldn’t believe.”
As Frank’s shoulders rise and fall with his stupid giggle, Gerard gets the feeling he’s going to enjoy to sharing a house with him.
A few months pass, and Frank doesn’t really see Gerard all that much – he spends his evenings and early mornings working shift after shift at the restaurant, whilst Gerard rises very early and is asleep by the time that Frank leaves. The only trace that Gerard even lives here is the fact that the coffee is drunk faster and the bills are paid on time.
Despite Gerard being the most unobtrusive roommate that anyone could ever ask for, Frank is itching, itching, and itching. He needs to kill someone. But he can’t fulfil his usual routine of picking up some guy from a club and slitting his throat once at home anymore, can he? Not with Gerard asleep in the next room. He could wake up at any moment, wander out of his room to use the bathroom or get a glass of water or even have a sleepless night and hear Frank’s victim struggling for their life in another room of the house. But the chase is the best part, watching the hope bloom on the sucker’s face before he manages to pin them, straddle them and dig whatever tool he has to hand into their delicate throats.
He’s getting desperate. The last guy he killed was two days before Gerard moved in and that was approximately three months ago. He needs to feel blood under his nails and one of his favourite tools clenched in his fist. He’s craving the fear in his victim’s eyes, to watch them gasp and choke on their dying breaths and finally go limp, blood pouring freely.
He needs it, he wants it, he’s gagging for it.
But Gerard is in the next room. Gerard could end up turning him in. He could go to jail. But right now, he’s not sure he cares.
So, tonight, he’s taking the most dangerous risk of his life, taking a guy home and slaughtering them whilst his roommate sleeps less than fifteen metres away. The thought of the risk he’s taking makes him sick to his stomach, but it reminds him of his very first kill, all those years ago. How shaky his hands were, but how sure they were around the twink’s tiny little throat, squeezing the life out of him with every flex of his fingers.
Gerard’s asleep already, and Frank called in half an hour ago to work, claiming he’s sick. Well, he is, but not quite in the way that the restaurant thinks. But’s he free from work, and provided that he doesn’t wake Gerard up, he can have a night of fun that he’s needed more and more urgently recently. But tonight, that craving is going to be satisfied.
Frank is twitching with excitement. The new gay bar that he’s planning on stalking through this evening isn’t open yet. He just has to bide his time for a few more hours, and then he can sink his claws into a brand new victim.
He wanders out of his room and down into the kitchen, grabbing a mug and sticking it under the spout of the coffee machine, before punching the button for an espresso. As he watches the black liquid being shot into the mug, he fantasises about what he’s going to do the guy he gets hold of tonight. How the guy’s muffled screams are going to sound, how the guy’s blood is going to look flowing over Frank’s own inked fingers and how watching the life seep out of that unlucky sod’s face is going to feel.
He’s practically shaking. As he gulps down his coffee, he idly considers the fact that coffee probably isn’t the best thing to drink while he’s so het up. But never mind that now: he’s drunk it and it’s over and he has other things to be doing. Frank lets a grin slip onto his face as he turns to go back into his bedroom, only to mind he’s walked straight into something warm and unusual smelling…?
“Frank? You okay?”
Gerard. He’s walked into Gerard, who is supposed to be in bed, even though it’s only 8pm. He is not supposed to be awake and walking around the apartment when Frank is planning on killing someone later this evening.
Frank pastes on a smile out of nowhere; “yeah, man, I’m fine – I just spaced out y’know?”
Gerard raises an eyebrow. Frank continues to display his teeth in what he hopes is a smile.
There’s a pause.
Frank suddenly registers that Gerard looks cleaner than he usually does: his hair’s clean, his clothes are also clean, there’s eyeliner artfully smudged around his eyes and the unusual smell that’s emitting from him is… a lack of body odour. It’s a bit odd, and Frank idly notes that Gerard looks pretty fucking good, actually. It’s a bit disconcerting, all told, but Frank just continues to smile.
Which is when he happens to notice that Gerard is talking to him and apparently has been doing so for the last few moments.
“…-ing to a club this evening, seeing if I can blow off some steam and let my hair down for a bit, all that jazz – ”
Gerard is going out. Fuck his fucking life. This means that the timing of his kill would way too unpredictable; Gerard could return at any moment! The itch under his skin slowly warps into a buzz and the urge to grab the knife from the side and plunge it into Gerard’s neck is overwhelming. He swallows the urge down and mutters something non-committal as he wanders back out of the kitchen, feeling Gerard’s eyes on his back until he closes his bedroom door.
What do you guys think so far?? I will love you forever if you leave comments/kudos :))
So far, this is... tame. At least compared to what I have written next. Yay? Yay. Maybe.
Title from Deap Vally's song of the same name. I dug it up long after I wrote this story, but the feel of the song fits the story, or I think so anyway.
Chapter 2: Bad Moon Rising
Gerard gets fucked, and Frank gets frustrated.
Hey guys! Thans for all the commments/kudos so far, they made my day and encouraged me to keep writing this mess of a story.
I'm (a little bit) sorry about the wait for this, but if it helps any it's a pretty huge chapter, with lots of things happening!
This chapter has quite a lot of pretty explicit sex in it, as well as some murder (although it's not bloody!), so just a heads up for y'all that might not be into that.
(Also if you know me, I apologise cause this got a bit out of hand).
I hope you guys enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Frank’s acting weird. When Gerard walked into the kitchen, he looked ecstatic, blissful, like a heavy load was slipping from his shoulders. As soon as he saw Gerard, though, his brow clouded over, and as the conversation continued, his fingers began to twitch.
Gerard isn’t even sure if Frank was aware of it. But Gerard’s very proud of his ability to read other people, and everything about Frank’s behaviour indicated that he was fucking mad. He continues to muse about his roommate’s weird behaviour as he walks toward the bus stop. Really, seeing Frank so angry – dude looked like homicide was a completely plausible action in that moment – should really have shaken him up more. But Gerard also knows that Frank is tiny, and he would be able to take him, even if Frank was a seasoned serial killer. Not that Gerard thinks that Frank is one – it seems absurd. Frank’s tiny, pretty, endlessly polite and obsessively prim. There’s no way in hell that he spends his time picking out victims in dark crowd, plotting the best way to end a life. Not like Gerard does.
It’s at that moment that the bus arrives at the stop, braking a little too abruptly and making dirty water from the puddles at the side of the road slosh all over the sidewalk. Gerard briefly scowls at the driver of the bus, but makes his way over to the doors of the vehicle, pulling the corners of his mouth up into what he knows is a convincing polite smile. The driver stares blankly back, and takes the money Gerard hands over without a word, before handing him his ticket and his change. The bus ride is dull; two drunks sleeping at the back of the bus, obnoxious teenagers and their too loud music pouring through tinny phone speakers and a mother desperately trying to soother her crying infant.
Eventually, the bus pulls up at the club – Gerard nearly missing the stop as lost as he was in thoughts of Frank’s flickering behaviour.
He scrambles off the bus, listening to the hiss of the doors close behind him and staring up at the grimy club that he was looking forward to ransacking this evening. Walking up to the door, he raised his eyebrows at the bouncer, letting a flirtatious smile curl around the corners of his mouth. Gerard watches the bouncer look him up and down with next to no subtlety and smirks when the guy nods, allowing him to pass into the club.
Inside, Gerard pauses inside the door, letting his eyes linger over the stage where some band was thrashing around before shifting his gaze to the mob of people that surrounded both the bar and that stage. His eyes fix upon at least three prostitutes lingering at the bar, two females and one male. There are several couples making their way across to the dingy bathrooms, a smattering of overly aggressive guys that Gerard always found easy to seduce and girls that looked desperate to get out of there.
A fucking hunting ground – and he was the hunter and this entire club was his prey.
But first, Gerard desperately needs a drink. He makes his way over to the bar, catching the bartenders eye almost immediately – a pretty redhead with a long white throat and a small chest. He orders a shot of whiskey and a rum and coke. He can picture himself carefully nipping down that beautiful throat, leaving tiny little red marks, before lavishing her nipples with his mouth, revelling in the noises that would slip from her mouth. He wonders if she’s got any tattoos on her torso, imagining the way he’d trace them with his fingers and planting kisses on each one. Thinks of himself getting between those silken thighs, hitching them around his ears as he devours her, feeling her clit swell under his tongue, fucking into her with his fingers, listening to her scream as she comes for the first time around his fingers. He can just see how her cunt would be fucking slick from her arousal and his spit, and how fucking tight she would be fucking herself on his cock, her cunt fucking dripping down her thighs, clenching around him –
His thoughts are broken when she places the two drinks in front of him, shooting her a smirk, he slaps money down on the bar; the tip he places down with it being for the dirty thoughts she unwittingly gave him. He pours the whiskey down his throat straight away, feeling the burn chase itself all the way down to his stomach. He smiles coyly at the bartender one more time before grabbing his rum and coke and moving closer to the large mosh pit nearer the stage, watching the crowd scream and tear at one another like animals.
He feels a hand on his shoulder, and turns, tensing up ever so slightly. He comes face to face with the male prostitute he spotted by the bar earlier – a tiny little thing, artfully messy blond hair, with the tightest jeans that Gerard’s ever seen on anyone. There are swirls of ink around his collarbone, and he’s got this innocence in his eyes that Gerard feels the urge to burn.
“Interested in having me for a night?” the little slut purrs, letting the hand he’s got on Gerard’s shoulder slide down to his rib cage, circling his nipple through his shirt. Gerard watches the twink slide his dainty hand down his body, and briefly considers paying for a night with this little thing. Spend a night breaking him and watch in satisfaction as the whore begs for more.
But really, he’s got more pressing issues than fucking a prostitute right now – he wants to get fucked, and he needs a different kind of guy for that endeavour.
“’Fraid you’re not what I’m looking for this evening, sweetheart” is his response and he sees the twink look disappointed for a second, before he stands on his toes and begins to mutter in his ear.
“Really? You’re not looking for a pliant little thing to slide your big dick into? You don’t want to hear me begging for more as you pound my ass, or maybe you’d want to fucking shut me up? Slide that cock down my throat and just listen to me gag instead?”
Clearly, Gerard’s slight hesitation before he declined was obvious to this little guy. He’s now more tempted than ever to pay the guy and do everything that’s just been offered, but another moment passes and he really doesn’t want to get involved here.
Anyway, he always fucks bareback and he doesn’t want to catch anything.
“Sorry, sweetheart. Good luck finding someone else, though”.
He shrugs the guy’s hand off his chest, and once again turns toward the crowd, downing the rest of his drink in one swallow, dumps the glass on a nearby table and walks into the thrashing stampede.
He works his way through all the people, relishing the feeling of all the bodies moving against him. It’s when he’s moving closer to the stage that a couple of people grab his hips and grind up against him briefly, and he returns the favour. It’s not until one of those people twist him in their arms and then continue to grind against him does he really mind. But this guy’s got his arms locked around Gerard’s waist and moving against him like the world’s going to end any second.
He’s a big guy, a head taller than Gerard with powerful looking arms and broad shoulders that Gerard wants to grab like nothing else. So he does – he gets his arms around the guy’s shoulder and moves in to kiss him, pressing their crotches together as he does so.
Gerard’s been hard since he thought about the bartender, and now this guy is making him crave cock like nothing else. They’re making out on the dance floor, hard and dirty, with spit slicked lips and teeth clacking together. It’s when Gerard pulls away that the guy opens his eyes, leaning down so he could be heard over the music blaring from the stage.
“Wanna go… somewhere else and carry this on?” are the words shouted into Gerard’s ear, and he grins in response, nodding his head. He untangles the guy’s arms from his waist and tugs on a giant hand to lead him towards the back hallways of the club. They stumble through the crowd, pushing between the people in a desperate bid to get to their destination as fast as possible. A new band comes on stage at one point and the crowd is suddenly denser, and Gerard is pushed up against his guy. As the crowd pushes them around, the guy’s hand strokes down Gerard’s back and cups his ass, squeezing him through his jeans and Gerard needs some privacy with this guy.
So he begins to really shove through the people, feeling only relief when they finally manage to escape. Gerard pulls the guy along to the back hallways, pushing the door open with his shoulder, and presses the guy up against the door.
“Eager, are we?” the guys sounds amused, but the outline of what looks like his huge hard on is obvious through his jeans, so why he’s poking fun at him, Gerard doesn’t know. He cups the guy through his jeans, smirking when the guy bucks up his hand.
“It’s not just me, by the looks of it” Gerard grins up at the guy and begins to move his hand in teasing circles, groping the guy pretty heavily. “You gonna fuck me? Cause I cannot wait to feel his” he squeezes the guy’s dick, “fucking filling me up”.
The guy groans, the sound echoing off the cinder block walls, and Gerard backs off, shoving his own jeans down. This prompts the other guy to do the same, and Gerard gets an eyeful of the other guy’s cock, red and glistening at the tip, and his mouth waters. Then he’s being shoved up against the wall, and there’s the quiet sound of a ripping packet and the wet noise of lube being slicked up against the guy’s cock.
“I don’t fuck with condoms, so I hope you’re clean, pretty boy” is whispered in Gerard’s ear and he can only gasp that he’s clean in reply. He feels the cheeks of his ass being spread apart and then there’s the noise of footsteps coming down the hall. The guy freezes, but Gerard just whines and then there’s another voice in the darkness: “I’ll hold those cute little cheeks open while you fuck him” and Gerard keens, fingers scrabbling at the wall.
“I don’t fucking care, just fucking fuck me, fucking hel -!”
There are two sweaty hands pressing his ass apart, and then he feels the hot head of the guy’s cock being pressed up against his entrance, and another hand on his throat, keeping his head pulled back. And then, fuck, the guy’s cock is working it’s way in, and fuck, the guy’s huge and hard and then there’s the sensation of another guy licking around his ass, sucking and licking and biting where the cock is fucking stretching him open.
The guy begins to pound in and out, before then sliding out for a second, and Gerard nearly cries at the feeling of being empty, but his ass is spread further than ever and he feels his hole gape. He wonders how it looks to all the men watching him – his stretched out little hole, practically begging for more cock inside him, and his own cock hanging heavy between his legs, smearing pre cum onto the wall.
“Fuck,” whispers another guy in the dark of the hallway, “he’s fucking begging for it” and Gerard feels fucking filthy, these guys all watching him act like a slut against the wall of this dank club. There’s another cock fucking him – longer, but not as thick – and he can hear the first guy jerking himself off behind him, tiny grunts and pants accompanying the slick noise. Come lands on Gerard’s ass, and drips down to were the other guy is pounding in and out of him. He’s so close, he can taste it, and when the guy pushes up against his prostate he sees stars and comes all over the wall of the club with a sob.
Soon after, the guy fucking into him once, twice, three times more and comes as well, and Gerard can feel his come in his hole, and when the guy pull’s out, he feels it slide out of him, down his thighs.
He turns around, seeing the faces of the four or five men who were watching him, and he catches the biggest guy’s eye, winks and pulls his own jeans up. He walks up to the biggest guy and whispers: “do you wanna come home with me and get a more… personal performance?”
The guy agrees.
The pair of them stumbles through the door of Frank’s house, giggling and clutching one another. The guy – Phil, his name is – grabs onto Gerard’s ass and hoists him up, forcing Gerard to wrap his legs around Phil’s waist and grinding his cock against Phil’s stomach. Gerard points which way his room is, and Phil carried him in there, dumping Gerard on the bed and turning and locking the door.
Gerard begins to strip, yanking his shirt over his head and pushing his jeans down his legs, before spreading himself out and trailing his fingers down to his hole. Phil clambers on top of him, and Gerard lets himself get washed away by pleasure.
Frank is pretty upset right now, actually. Not only has Gerard ruined his evening plans by going the fucking club that Frank wanted to hunt in, it’s now 2am and Gerard is fucking a guy pretty loudly in the room down the hall from Frank’s. In fact, Frank’s the kind of upset that can only be soothed by killing someone. Which he can’t do because of Gerard fucking a guy down the hall. It’s a vicious fucking cycle and Frank hates it. And by extension, hates Gerard right now. They are going to have a talk in the morning.
Frank shifts onto his back, listening to the whines and grunts that are echoing through the walls of the house. He’s almost unsure who is the culprit for the piercing whines are, but the noise is swirling around and around his head. He’s seconds – literally seconds – away from grabbing the nearest weapon and killing the pair of them, when there’s a loud groan, a shriek, and finally, blissfully, silence.
Frank punches his pillow, turns onto his stomach and falls asleep. There’ll be consequences in the morning for this.
Gerard wakes up with a startle. He realises there’s someone else in his bed, and turns over to see Phil’s huge form next to him. Gerard regards him for a moment, before sitting up. He looks down at the sleeping face of Phil, smashed up against the white of Gerard’s pillowcase, and contemplates killing him now. Asleep, he’s an easy victim. One slash to the neck and Phil will bleed out on the bed, in agony but silently, and Gerard will get to watch the light leave his little piggy eyes. At the same time though, an unconscious victim doesn’t have the thrill of the chase. There won’t be any panic etched on his features as he realises Gerard’s intentions. None of the pounding of adrenaline that will only be obvious to Gerard once he’s pressed up against Phil’s throat. Gerard won’t bear any of the scratches and bruises sustained from fighting his little victim.
But – Frank.
Frank is right down the hall, and whilst a silent kill won’t be as satisfying, it also won’t arouse his cute little flatmate’s attention. And the last thing Gerard needs is for Frank to ever find about his little… nighttime activities. Had Frank been anyone else, he could have just added him to the body count. But he’s friends with Mikey and Mikey comes by quite often to see him – it would be near impossible to murder Frank and not have his disappearance reported to the police. And getting the police involved would mean that he was under immediate suspicion, as the individual sharing Frank’s space and therefore having ample time and opportunity to carry out the deed. Gerard knows the only reason that he’s not been caught up until now is because he makes a point of killing strangers: no motive, no connection and thus, no arrest.
Silent kill. It’ll have to be a silent kill, Gerard decides. There’s no other option unless Frank has decided to drug himself to sleep, a scenario that Gerard knows is impossible; he did a thorough search of Frank’s medicine cabinet, as well as the drawers in the table next to his bed and the drawers in his dresser. No pills. So he has to assume worst-case scenario: Frank is awake right down the hall.
Gerard eases himself off of the bed slowly, pausing every time that Phil shifted or the bed creaked. He was desperate not to wake Phil, but it seemed like the man slept like a rock and didn’t even so much as flicker an eyelid. Which was excellent for his plan, but grated slightly on the little voice in the back of Gerard’s head, begging him to wake Phil and slice him open with his victim knowing exactly what’s happening, regardless of the consequences.
But rule number one is… don’t get caught. So Gerard stands over Phil, with the knife he took from his bedside drawer clutched tightly in his hot little hand, eyes flickering over the vulnerable form of the sleeping man. Phil lets out an almighty snore and shifts onto his back. Gerard doesn’t even bother to hide his grin at the position Phil’s now in, neck tipped back towards the ceiling and Gerard’s knife.
One plunge of the knife into Phil’s neck, severing the jugular vein will cause an air embolism and kill Phil very quickly and more importantly, very quietly. The shock of the wound will mean that his victim will never wake up. Gerard tips his head to the side and tenses his arm, ready to strike.
Until it occurs to him that bloody sheets will be more difficult to hide from Frank than a body. Frank won’t come in his room and see the body, but there are a dozen instances where Frank could see the sheets; the damn things will have to washed and probably more than once. They could be seen while in the washing machine, in the wash basket to be washed for a second time, in the hallway, on the washing line, in the tumble dryer. Too many opportunities to be caught.
Gerard grits his teeth and fights the urge to kick the wall. He glances up towards the window and sees the light that threatens to be imminent way too soon for Gerard’s liking. Phil has to be out of the house by the time sun rises, so that Gerard can dump his body without rousing suspicion or being clearly seen by anyone. He fingers the blade of the knife for a moment longer before tossing the damn thing back onto his nightstand. He’s about to just give up and let Phil live when he catches sight of the tangle of clothes both of them shed so easily last night.
Or, really, Phil’s leather belt.
Gerard steps over to it, before picking it up, noting the thick leather that’s unlikely to break while it’s wrapped around it’s owners neck. He slaps it lightly against his palm and slides back into bed with his victim, pressing his body up against Phil’s broad back and beginning to lightly kiss the skin on the back of his neck. Phil begins to stir slightly, his snores abruptly halting and he grumbles under his breath. And, most importantly for Gerard, he lifts his head off the pillow.
Quick as a flash, Gerard wraps the leather around Phil’s neck, tugging lightly on both ends of the belt. At the touch of cool leather on this throat, Phil’s eyes fly open and bore into Gerard. And he grins.
“You into a bit of role-play, darling?” Phil’s voice is jovial, joking and Gerard represses a shudder of revulsion at the man. But he simpers somewhat convincingly, and moves to straddle Phil’s waist, letting both of his legs fall either side of his larger lover. Phil continues to smile up at Gerard, shifting slightly under him. Gerard tightens his grip on the belt. And begins to pull.
Phil only looks alarmed when Gerard’s smile gains a sharp edge and Gerard feels victorious, like he’s flying. There’s no better feeling, in his mind, than watching a man die in front of his eyes. Watching them kick out and flail, watching the panic in their eyes and how their last breaths are desperate and gargling. He wraps his fingers even together around the belt and begins to exert all of his strength, revelling in the way the belt cuts red welts into Phil’s thick throat.
Phil’s fingers scrabble uselessly at the leather around his throat, and he begins to make choking noises, Gerard pulling all the while at the belt. Phil’s really squirming now; legs kicking out and chest shaking as he stops trying to break the leather and instead tries to dislodge Gerard from his waist. Gerard narrows his eyes and anchors his knees into the still damp bed sheets. His biceps strain and he grits his teeth as he pulls as hard as he can on the belt.
As suddenly as he started to fight, Phil falls unconscious. He goes limp and his hands relax against his throat. Gerard’s upset that Phil won’t die kicking and screaming, but doesn’t let up on the pressure, making sure that Phil is never going consciousness again. After a couple of minutes later, Phil takes on a blue hue and stops breathing. Gerard readjusts his grip on the belt and pulls tighter for another minute, readjusting his position over Phil so one of his knees is pushing down onto Phil’s chest.
With a quiet grunt, Gerard tugs – hard – one more time on the belt, before feeling for Phil’s pulse in his neck. Satisfied at Phil really is dead, he lets pulls the belt from under Phil’s neck and looks with pride at his kill. Chest heaving, Gerard savours all the tiny details – the dark purple bruise around the body’s neck, the pale lips, the never ending gaze of the corpse staring up at the ceiling.
After his brief moment, the pragmatic thought process kicks in. He knows that Frank works late, and that he’ll probably try to enjoy as much sleep as he can. But he couldn’t remember whether Frank was working last night.
If he had been working, then Gerard was in the clear – Frank slept like the dead until at least midday, giving him a good few hours to dump the body and clean up his room. If he wasn’t… then there could be problems. Frank woke at up at erratic hours when he hadn’t been working the night before, and there was a much greater chance that Frank would stumble into the hallway just as Gerard was trying to carry the corpse out of the front door.
Gerard grits his teeth quietly as he weighs up the pros and cons of trying to move the body right here and now. A quick glance at the clock tells him that it’s only 6am. He might be able to get the body out of the apartment easily enough at this hour, but once out on the street, he’d have some serious problems – bin men and street cleaners and joggers would all be out in force at this hour, and a man carrying what looks like a body down the street would hardly go unnoticed.
So that option was out.
But that meant the only option was to leave the body here until tonight, before dumping it once Frank was at work and under the cover of darkness. Of course, the huge downside of this plan was that he’d have to leave the fucking body in his room for at least 15 hours. Which was not only gross, but fucking dangerous, seeing as Frank could theoretically walk in at any time.
“Fuck.” Gerard breathes.
There are only two options and the first one isn’t really an option, so what choice does he have but the second?
Sighing, Gerard reckons he can at least make this as safe as possible for himself. He swings his leg back over the body before getting off of the bed. He looks down at the body on his bed before glancing around the room to figure out the best place to stash him for the time being.
The initial glance tell him there’s really only one spot that he can hide the body so that it’s not immediately obvious he has a corpse in his room, and that’s in the closet. He sniggers at the irony of that, before looking back down at the body. He grabs one of its arms, and starts to pull it off of the bed. Once the head and shoulders are hanging off the side, he readjusts his grip on the body, grabbing the body under each armpit.
He begins to pull again, finally tugging the body off the bed. He winces at the loud thumping noise as the body hits the floor and freezes for a moment to assess whether Frank heard it. After a couple beats of silence, he guesses that Frank hasn’t heard and therefore hasn’t woken up, so he continues to hoist the body towards his closet.
Frank’s eyes fly open when he hears a thump from Gerard’s room down the hall. Silence follows – one that sounds almost suspicious – before a quiet shuffling sound follows, like someone dragging their feet across the floor.
Frank tips himself upright and then stretches, standing up while he does so. He’s about to go and stick his head into Gerard’s room to see if he’s okay when he suddenly remembers that Gerard had… company last night. He doesn’t want to see Gerard with some guy slobbering all over him. And it’s most likely that the noises are the guy trying to leave before Gerard even wakes up.
That thought in mind, Frank slumps back down onto his bed. But he’s awake now, so he decides to jump in the shower and then start on breakfast. He twists his head from side to side, relishing in the click in his neck and gets up from the bed. He opens the door into the hallway and pads towards the bathroom. He strips down and twists the knob for the shower before clambering in, letting the water roll down over his skin.
He can feel the itch to kill scrabbling under his skin. His anger towards Gerard fro running his plans seeps back into his consciousness, but makes a conscious effort to swat it away, knowing that Gerard didn’t do it deliberately and had no idea what Frank had had planned. What Gerard did do deliberately was bring a man home and have infuriatingly loud sex with him at stupid hours of the night so Frank shifts his misguided anger into irritation at having to listen to Gerard have sex. Which is a perfectly valid reason to yell at your roommate.
Frank drags his hands through his wet hair and tips his head in the shower, taking deep breaths as he tries desperately not to think about how long it’s been since he killed someone. Involuntarily, the thought of blood spatter on his skin sneaks into his mind’s eye, and he shudders under the warm spray. As if that were the floodgate opening, images of violence and gore overwhelm him. Thoughts of slicing into someone’s neck washes over him, watching the blood bubble of the gaping wound, listening to someone die in front of him, feeling elation as the light in theireyes is extinguished.
He doesn’t realise he’s hard until his hand accidently brushes his erection. The desperation to kill, to hurt is so strong he can almost taste it and he wraps his hand around his cock. He rubs at the tip leisurely, fantasising about cutting into someone’s stomach and watching the surprise on their face as he twists the knife deeper and deeper. His other hand moves down to stoke at his balls, cupping one and then the other. A small whine slips out of his mouth as he begins to jerk himself off, looking down at the head of his cock pushing up through the top of his fist. He rubs this thumb on the sensitive underside of the head, and the noise he lets out reminds him of Gerard’s loud sex noises last night.
And then all he can think about is Gerard’s mouth wrapped around his cock, staring up at him with blood all over his face. He wishes his fist were Gerard’s throat. He pictures shoving his bloody hands into Gerard’s long hair, just holding his head steady as he fucked his throat over and over until he was nearly there, before pulling out and coming all over Gerard’s face, come mixing with the blood there already.
With that image in mind, Frank tugs at his cock once, twice more before feels his balls tighten and coming all over the tile of the shower. He pants as the aftershocks wash over him. He only comes back to his senses as he feels the water begin to run a little cooler, so he turns the shower off and gets out.
He wraps a towel around his waist and wanders back into his room.
Gerard groans as he tries to shove Phil’s body in the closet, the dead man’s weight and height working against him. He’s got both arms wrapped around the corpse’s waist, trying to drag it mildly upwards so that he can try and stuff it in the closet. But it’s refusing to move the way that he wants it to. Gerard grits his teeth with frustration. He tightens his grip on the body and heaves with all his strength. Finally, the corpse shifts vaguely upright and Gerard use it’s momentum to tip it into the closet.
There’s a moderately loud bang as the corpse’s shoulders hit the back of the closet and Gerard panics, wondering if Frank heard. He stills, and then hears the tell-tale hiss of the shower running, and sags, knowing he’s safe for the moment.
Knowing that Frank will be out of the shower shortly, Gerard decides to move the damn thing as fast as possible, regardless of the noise. So he shoves at the corpse until it’s slumped into the closet and shuts the doors in relief as the most incriminating evidence is hidden – for today, at least – from Frank’s possible prying eyes.
Phew! 5000 + words later, are you all enjoying it?
I'm a firm believer that you can never a chapter too long, but how did you guys feel about the length of it? Was it too much? Was it not enough?
Are you enjoying it?
Pls let me know! I love hearing what you all think :))
(Title from the veeeeeeerrry famous song by Creedence Clearwater Revival, although the version I listened to whilst writing this was by Mourning Ritual, which was a much better fit for the story, so go give it a listen!)