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Oak trees, stripped of their foliage in the fall chill, clutch the skyline in their long, spindly hands. Gerard walks beneath their naked branches, fallen leaves crunching under his boots. His steps alert the nearby wildlife, who scampers away. At the sound of their scuffling, Gerard pivots to look behind him, spooked. Nothing is there, of course, but he studies the fog for a moment anyway.
Mikey drafted him a straightforward yet ugly map. Gerard’s eyes bounce from the wonky circle on it to the actual boulder that sits just off the path he follows. He decides to trust it and veers off the dirt road into the woods, following the crooked lines and landmarks his brother marked. A stick figure with a black blob of messy hair smiles at its destination in front of a lopsided cottage.
When he comes right upon it moments later, he feels cheated. Finding a warlock’s home — no witch’s home, Mikey said the term warlock was disrespectful — seemed like it should be a daunting task. Follow the forgotten path to the skeleton key, sacrifice the blood of your firstborn to the gods to reveal the true path; not follow a map your brother made that might as well have been a tot’s first art piece. Gerard knocks on the cottage’s door anyway, lack of sacrifice be damned.
It’s a tiny home, even for a single man. He glances around after he knocks. Smoke puffs out of a stone chimney on the moss-covered roof.
“Who are you?” Gerard almost snaps his neck trying to reorient himself, gawking at the door. Large hazel eyes stare at him through a small hatch in the wood that was not there a moment ago.
“Gerard Way, my brother Mikey sent me. He said you could help cure my… condition?” Gerard smashes the map back into his pocket and pulls out a letter. The eyes watch as he holds it out in the air, no hand to take it.
“Just a moment.” The hatch in the door snaps shut and disappears. There’s a grunt through the wood and the sound of something dragging across the floor before the door swings open.
Frank Iero, the village’s witch and Mikey’s favor-owing friend, looks more like an elf than a magical practitioner. Standing a whole head below Gerard and dressed in a big, soft green smock that he swims in, Frank Iero isn’t the gothic, forbidding recluse Gerard assumed he’d be. He snatches Gerard’s letter, which still dangles awkwardly in the air, and mumbles Mikey’s written word aloud to himself as he skims it.
“You’re… a werewolf.” Gerard nods before Frank looks up at him. He has to nod again.
“I was turned a few months ago.”
“I see…” Frank gazes up at Gerard over the top of the letter, big eyes picking him apart.
“Mikey and I don’t really look alike... he said you could really help me though — that you were incredible.”
“You two have the same eyebrows.” If the compliment flatters Frank, he doesn't show it. He turns and walks back to whatever he was doing before Gerard’s arrival, leaving the other to idle in the doorway.
“Do werewolves have to be explicitly invited in like vampires do or are you just awkward?” The warlo- witch weaves through the main room and into the open kitchen.
Gerard closes the door behind him and follows Frank’s path through the house. The cottage breathes around him. Its hearth cracks and a low rumbling bubble sounds from a cauldron that hangs overtop it. Shelves line the walls, crammed to the nines with books of varying shapes and sizes. Some are stuffed horizontally on top of the others just to fit. A large tea table and two loveseats sit in front of the fireplace, a spiral staircase leading upstairs. The only thing that marks the end of the living room and the beginning of the kitchen is the rugged floor’s abrupt change to stone.
Frank cuts something on a sizable wooden table in the middle of the kitchen, wielding a paring knife like it’s his eleventh finger. Tattoos cover his skin, black ink running up his arm and disappearing under the hem of his long sleeves. Gerard imagines the markings continue, hidden by the fabric.
“Is that a charm?”
“No.”
“Potion?”
“Nope.”
“Curse?”
“Nae.”
“Hex-”
“It’s your dinner.” Frank lifts the tray with all of his newly cut vegetables and pads over to the fireplace. He tilts the cutting board and they slide into the large cauldron. “Now that I’m cooking for two.”
“Oh.” Frank points to a stool at the counter and Gerard sits, shifting the mess of things on the table an inch to rest his folded hands on the wood in front of him. The witch rubs his palms together and pulls Mikey’s folded letter out of the air. Gerard’s hand slaps his pockets in confusion, tapping nothing but empty space. Frank skims it again, eyebrows furrowed.
“So a lycanthrope turned multiple moons ago, huh.” He bites his lip.
“Sure.”
“Don’t like your cool new monthly adventures?”
“No I-I killed some livestock, and I fear what else I could do given the chance.” Frank rerolls Mikey’s letter and hands it to Gerard.
“You're lucky I owe your brother a favor, I usually avoid your lot.”
“What did he do for you?” Frank’s blank face turns grim.
“Killed a man.”
“What?!” Frank’s head drops down. His face cracks open into a smile for a moment, but he composes himself.
“Nah. He just sent me some supplies. That was funny though, wolf boy.” Frank grabs something else from the cluttered table and drags a mortar and pestle from its place nestled between multiple vials of iridescent oil. He plucks odds and ends from everywhere, throwing things of different shapes and sizes into the mortar.
“How were you turned?” Gerard watches Frank begin to muddle his mixture. “Gerard.”
“I… I was bitten?” Frank sets the pestle down to cock his hip, stare pinning Gerard in place. Gerard is outside again being inspected by a giant, inquisitive gaze.
“Everyone is bitten. What matters is how.” Gerard rolls his lips into his mouth and tries to piece together the story he fabricated on the walk here.
“It was a full moon...” Frank returns to his grinding, glaring up at Gerard through his lashes when his pause is a moment too long. “And I was at this pub with this girl. She took me to a back room and, well, you know…”
“Shitty first time?”
“It wasn’t my first!” Gerard is starting to hate Frank’s smirk.
“You seem pretty nervous telling me about it.” Gerard sighs and plays with a bundle of twine he finds between two jars of salve on the table.
“It obviously wasn't a great time for me.”
“Oh she didn’t do the right kind of eating out-” Frank cuts his amazing remark off with his own giggles, Gerard’s pale cheeks flushing.
“This is very unprofessional of you, Frank the witch.”
“You’re not a client, you’re a chore.”
“Ouch.”
___
The next night, Gerard and Frank sit on the floor in front of the fireplace. Gerard’s back aches from sleeping on the cot Frank rolled out for him after dinner last night. His ass is on its way to falling asleep from sitting on the floor as well, but he doesn’t say anything. Frank sits with his legs folded a few feet to his left, humming as he nudges everything on the floor between them in perfect order. Crystals, dried plants, and magical knickknacks whose significance are unknown to Gerard lay between them.
Frank looks over everything after he’s nudged each piece at least a hundred times and takes a deep breath, looking straight forward into the fire. Gerard watches his every move with impatience and awe. Frank settles himself, shifting and letting his shoulders drop their tension. His arms fall loose over the tops of his bent knees, hands open towards the fire. Gerard stares at the tattoos on the inside of his palms, unable to distinguish the delicate lines in the flickering light. He watches the witch breathe for many long moments.
“What are we here to do, Gerard?”
“Cure my condition?”
“Which is..?”
“I’m a werewolf.”
Frank’s eyes remain closed as his lips part gently, air moving in through his nose and out his mouth in slow puffs that grow in length.
“Throw the black powder into the fire.” Gerard does, watching the flames jump. Frank murmurs something, lips curling around his quiet words as he continues his rhythmic breathing.
“And now the light green one that looks like grass.” He feeds the fire, Frank leading him through and stopping to murmur something between each direction. Gerard strains to hear Frank whisper the name of each substance and its purpose. Black Pepper for protection. Mugwort for its correspondence with the moon. Catnip for its ties to Venus. Gerard readies himself for the next direction after all that remains on the floor are the clear crystals. He looks at Frank, waiting.
“Should I-”
“Shh…” Frank’s shushing fades into a loud exhale. He licks his lips, frowning as his stomach expands on his inhale. Gerard turns back to the fire, watching it flicker. Frank breathes in and the flames dip down like the oxygen has been sucked from the room. On his exhale his shoulders slump and the flames bounce back again, flickering in vigor. Once more, he inhales, the fire now dwindling to a mere red glow that hugs the logs at the bottom of the fireplace. Gerard scuffles back as Frank releases them, fire erupting from the hearth and growing enough to lick the wall surrounding its alcove. Everything flashes in bright red.
The flames shoot back down as Frank relinquishes them, and the air turns hollow and cool when the embers die, Gerard’s vision scarred with the fire’s shadow. His skin prickles, heart thudding as he scoots back until he bumps into the tea table.
Frank hums once more and the hearth glows just enough to light the room in a haze. His right hand drifts over to the crystals on the ground, the lines of his tattoos vibrating like earthworms on his skin. Gerard watches between his fingers as the witch’s hands clutch one and squeeze, stiffness falling from his form. He coughs and shakes his hand, the room lit again as the fire swells back to normality.
The two of them say nothing for a moment, Frank coming back to himself and Gerard dazed.
“Here.” Frank picks up the crystal and holds it to Gerard. It’s cool to the touch and... mundane.
“What did you do?” Gerard doesn’t curl his fingers around it, staring.
“I used your story to tailor a spell. It's pretty standard, just some elemental magic and correspondences. I-”
Gerard squawks as a crack opens along its beveled side. He drops it and the entire thing shatters, both men pulling up their arms for cover as shards spray everywhere.
___
“Can I-”
“Don’t touch me. Or anything. At all.”
Frank’s jaw is set as he pulls pieces of crystal from his arm with shaking hands. Gerard stands in the middle of the kitchen, arms held out in front of him to avoid hitting his injuries. Water smashes against the basin of Frank’s sink like a storm’s torment on a roof. Faint ribbons of blood swirl in the water as it disappears down the drain.
“You lied to me.”
“I-I didn’t.”
“Then how come it shattered? How come for the first time in twenty seven years something shattered in my face? Huh, Way? How do you explain that?”
Gerard looks down at his cuts. “I don’t know.”
“I have never had a client lie to me about their predicament. Do you think this is all a joke?! Do you think I just clap my hands and suddenly your problem gets fixed?! Do you think you could just lie about how you were turned and it wouldn't have an effect on my practice?!” Gerard refrains from saying that yes, he very much did.
Frank shuts the water off, his sudden silence and the lack of the white noise deafening. Gerard listens as he scrapes pieces of crystal from the bottom of the sink. He sets them in a plate of salt next to the basin. “Your turn.”
They stand side by side, Frank thumbing along the inside of Gerard’s arms for any pieces. His touches are feather-light, tickling Gerard’s soft wrists and the pale expanse of his forearm.
“You could have gotten us killed,” Frank whispers, face set. His temper burns away like alcohol in a skillet, leaving the flavor of disappointment and fear underneath. He rinses the slivers and drops them with the ones from his arm in the salt dish. Gerard wants to know what it's for but refuses to break the silence they sit in.
Frank pulls an unmarked jar out of one of the cabinets, refraining from slamming it as he sets it down on the counter in front of Gerard. “Leave this salve on overnight. Don’t put it on too heavy or get it all over my cot.” He pads out of the room and up the winding staircase out of sight.
___
Soft guitar wakes Gerard, the notes coming down from the top of the stairs. He can’t discern any song from their off-beat rhythm. Frank is only noodling, his fingers meandering across the fretboard upstairs, and yet, the pings shoot through Gerard’s form a floor below and loosen the tension in his muscles.
The notes eventually crawl to a stop, the floor squeaking under Frank’s steps as he makes his way down the winding staircase. Gerard watches him pass through the main room to the kitchen, his half-open eyes hidden behind his fringe.
Frank has dropped his oversized cloak-esque outfit for some soft linens, probably assuming Gerard would still be asleep. Stubble dots his cheeks and neck, shaggy hair crazy on one side and flat on another from his pillow. Frank’s short form navigates the cluttered kitchen with a memorized ease, pulling a bottle full of something yellow out of the icebox. He takes a sip, hiccups, and brings himself and the drink back upstairs. Gerard rolls onto his back once he's out of sight, body calm but mind racing. An image of the carnage he left his last full moon flashes across his mind and he shakes his head to rid himself of it.
He has to find a cure.
Gerard stands, making his footsteps loud and obvious and he treads to the bottom of the stairs.
“Frank?” He fiddles with a book sticking out on the shelf next to him. “Frank?” He repeats louder.
“What?” Frank’s voice lacks anger, but with that any emotion at all.
“Could we try again?”
“Try again?”
“Yeah. Try again.” Frank stomps over to the top of the stairs, staring down at the top of Gerard’s head.
“I can’t help you when you’re keeping something from me. Whatever it is, it’s screwing with my magic. I ain’t here for that shit.”
“Okay but I can’t just go on like this.”
“That sucks.”
“My truth is dangerous!”
“What we’re doing is dangerous!”
“My condition is dangerous!” Frank rolls his eyes and walks away from the banister.
“Gerard, you don't know what dangerous even means.” Gerard sighs, staring at where Frank had been leaning over the railing.
“Okay wait!”
“What is it, wolf boy?” Frank comes down the stairs dressed in his normal loose green coat robe thing.
“I kept something out of my story about the night I was turned.”
“No way,” Frank deadpans and passes him to start the fire.
“I just - it's illegal and wrong and I want you to know that I don’t condone it or support what I did and I’ve visited the pastor and gotten help for it but-” Gerard stops when Frank looks at him over his shoulder. “I was with a man. That night,” He finishes in a whisper.
“So?” Frank turns back to the logs.
“So!? It’s a sin. It-it’s wrong. I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t…” Frank stands, the fire crackling softly.
“So is premarital sex.”
“But that’s different.”
“Gerard, you're talking to a witch. I don’t really attend mass.” Frank goes to dispose of the crystal remnants from last night, leaving Gerard in the living room. When he returns, he’s still standing in the same spot. Frank dips under the kitchen table to grab an empty basket.
“What?” He asks under Gerard’s gaze when he pops back up. “Stop looking at me like I killed Jesus.” Frank walks out the kitchen door to the backyard.
Gerard, still rocked by Frank’s moral declaration, stands with his thoughts for a long moment. The backdoor slaps against its frame and in its window, Frank shrinks with distance. He turns and disappears out of sight.
Shaking his head, Gerard follows.
The only distinction between Frank’s property and the forest is the sparse treeline 50 yards out from the back of the cottage. In the space between, wildflowers, tall yellow grass, and a vast assortment of greens flourish. Undisrupted by trees, sunlight douses the meadow in warmth and saturation. Looking out over the space burns Gerard’s eyes, which had become accustomed to the dim glow of Frank’s cottage.
Frank’s head of dark hair sticks out against the scenery and Gerard treks down towards him. As Gerard approaches, two blurs of grey flash away and back into the treeline. Gerard catches sight of one’s striped tail.
“Coons?” He asks, casting a shadow over Frank’s form.
“Racoons,” The witch clarifies, squinting up at Gerard from the ground. “Which you scared away.”
“Where I come from we call them coons.” He sits in the grass next to Frank.
“Only hunters call them coons,” Frank accuses.
“Aren’t they nocturnal anyway?”
“Not when they come to visit me.” He digs his fingers into the ground and pulls up a hunk of dandelions before dropping them into his basket. Dirt cakes his fingernails.
“Who did your tattoos?” Gerard changes the subject. Frank has rolled his sleeves up slightly and he tries to commit the revealed markings to his memory.
“The woman who taught me the craft.”
“She’s powerful?”
“Obviously.”
“Do you think she could turn me-”
“Take this inside.” Frank shoves his half-full basket into Gerard’s lap. He stands and escapes to the vegetable patch.
___
“This is less dangerous but will probably take longer… I’m much more experienced with fire.” Frank sets a bowl of water on the tea table, the fireplace dark for the first time in Gerard’s stay. Books lay all over the floor, open to pages written in a foreign scrawl. One features a detailed sketch of a smoking candle and jar of salt. Another book features a grotesque drawing of a ragdoll weighted to the bottom of a pool of water.
“Then why use it?” Gerard sits across him, watching as Frank lays out his figures and crystals again meticulously. Midday light streams in through the kitchen windows and rays catch in Frank’s hair, alighting his head in a halo of yellow.
“Water is the element of change… new beginnings. It calls for clarity and truth.” Gerard looks down and tries to ignore the other’s passive aggression. Frank stands and pads into the kitchen. He comes back with a small bowl of sea salt. “If I cannot create a ward to push out your curse, I’ll have to try to cleanse you of it entirely.”
“And this is more difficult?” Gerard asks, watching Frank pour the salt in and stir the mixture clockwise to dissolve.
“Extremely,” Frank sighs. He puts the now empty bowl on the ground and sits across Gerard. The floor creaks and he shifts his weight around to wiggle the tension out of his body. “Don't stare at me this time, last time your silent yearning distracted me - it was almost impossible to ground myself,” he says and closes his eyes.
“Sorry,” Gerard whispers. His gaze slides off the high arch of Frank’s brow and meanders around the room before falling on his hands, which lay palms-down on the table. His tattoos, which had hummed and squirmed with energy on their first try, sit peacefully. Calluses litter Frank’s fingers on his left hand, a result of his guitar playing. They’d feel rough against someone else’s skin, would catch just enough for a delicious drag, especially on the more sensitive places on the body.
“Gerard.”
“Y-yeah?” Gerard shakes his head, fearing for a moment Frank had been reading his mind.
“What did the guy look like, who turned you?”
“He was hot. No wait - sorry - uh.” Gerard’s eyes widen and he pulls his lips into his mouth, pausing so Frank can scold him or break out laughing. The witch’s face remains blank. “He was um, shorter than me, with this shaggy light hair and um…”
“What did he wear?” Frank presses.
“Um,” Gerard stares at the ceiling to think, kicking himself for forgetting the most important encounter he’s ever had. “It was a tan vest… with a black belt and breeches.”
Frank moves, the shifting of his clothing too loud against their silence. He lays his wrists over the edge of the bowl, eyes remaining closed as the tips of his fingers grace the water. His breaths are so quiet and slow Gerard wonders if he’s breathing at all.
“Gerard, what is our intention here? What are we here to do?”
“To change me back into a human.”
“To cleanse you of…?”
“To cleanse me of my werewolf… ism.”
“Give me your left hand.” Gerard reaches out. Frank’s eyes are still shut so he misses his palm and instead grabs Gerard around the wrist. His fingers are cool from the water, which drips onto the table. He slides his grip back and grasps Gerard’s hand like he's about to shake it.
Gerard gasps as their joined hands drop into the saltwater, which pulses around them. Frank sighs, mouth ajar as he slides his left hand under the water as well, where it sits alone. For an eerie moment, they just sit and breathe together. Gerard finds himself pacing his breaths with the rise and fall of Frank’s shoulders. His hand twitches in the water as it crackles, buzzing with concentrated energy akin to a hornet’s nest.
He bites his tongue as the water starts to fizz, scared to break Frank’s concentration and ruin his grounding or whatever. Frank’s steady breaths stutter to an abrupt stop. Gerard’s do as well in anticipation, his chest tightening as the beat drags on into many. The water starts to rumble like a pot of boiling water, bubbles deforming the image of their hands. Something shifts and even Gerard can sense the energy turn from a serene rumbling to a violent fizzle.
“Frank!” Gerard tugs their joined hands from the water in a moment of fear. Frank’s eyes open in shock, his left hand still in the bowl as the liquid foams and overspills. His grip in Gerard’s hand spasms and he tries to scramble back, stuck. He jerks around, his left arm shooting out and sending the bowl off the side of the table.
Frank’s doe eyes pop open so wide they bulge. His grip loosens in Gerard’s hand, gaze rolling back as he drops onto the ground, head hitting the carpet with an awful thud.
Gerard scrambles around the table and lifts the witch’s head, checking for bleeding. His other hand, still shaking with residual energy, slides across Frank’s chest in a search for the thump of his heart. It beats quickly, matching the urgent jackhammering that also occurs in Gerard’s chest. Frank groans and Gerard sighs in relief, crossing his legs and resting Frank’s head in his lap.
The spilled water bubbles in the carpet like it's angry, but Gerard ignores it. He cups Frank’s jaw and lets his thumb caress Frank’s cheek to soothe himself.
“Fuck.” He sighs, swiping Frank’s sweat-soaked bangs off his forehead.
When Gerard is calm enough to move, he slowly sits Frank up. The witch mumbles incoherently, head nestled in the crook of Gerard’s arm as he slumps against him.
“I am sorry if you find this predatory,” Gerard whispers into his hair. Wrapping his arms under him, Gerard hobbles over to his bedroll on the ground and places Frank on top of the covers. He shakes his head.
“What?” Gerard whispers.
“M-my room. Upstairs,” Frank rasps. He takes a shallow breath and buries his face in Gerard’s chest as they make their way.
Frank’s room is a box, just enough room for a bed and side table. There’s a window on the far wall that looks out onto the forest. The sun perches on the horizon and casts the space into sharp shadows. Guitars line the walls, novels stacked on the bedside table. Gerard drops Frank on top of his sheets and sits down for a breather. He stares at the runes Frank has carved into his bedposts and feels the knot in his chest loosen, understanding the other’s want to rest here.
Frank’s breathing returns to normal, his back warm against Gerard’s thigh. Gerard shakes his hands like he had seen Frank do before, ridding himself of the buzzing inside of them. It feels wrong to sleep beside Frank on his bed, but he doesn't want to leave, so he picks up a book from the top of the looming stack on Frank’s bedside table. Carved into its cover is a wolf-like beast. He opens to a random page.
“His skin rippled obscenely, bulging with otherworldly muscles that no human man could possess. I screamed and grappled his shirt, which had become so tight it popped open at the seams. My husband turned into a monster before my eyes--” Gerard snaps the book shut, setting it down and grabbing the next one.
It doesn’t take long for Gerard to realize the entire stack of books, piled as high as him sitting down, is only composed of books about werewolves. His stomach churns with guilt, looking down at Frank’s sleeping form. He was the witch for the job. He must have done so much research for Gerard, and Gerard was fucking it up by lying.
But Frank had to know right? A man living in his own library couldn’t be so stupid as to fail to read Gerard’s signs. No, he did make that comment about Gerard’s yearning being distracting… could he still be unaware enough for the spell to backfire?
___
Despite the calming energy of his bedroom, Frank is furious when he wakes up.
“It should have been simple,” he growls, curled up with his back to Gerard like a child. “It was simple. It was easy, standard elemental channeling. All you had to fucking do was think of a dude in your little dog brain and leave it to me and you failed. And the spell backfired into me, you fucking-” He sits up on the bed and glares at Gerard. The mattress is so narrow that they’re sitting on top of each other. Gerard stares out the window at the moon, avoiding the situation.
“You fucking fuck-face zounderkite mutt. You must be a bastard, because Mikey fucking Way couldn’t share blood with someone as insufferable as you.” Frank growls, rolling out of bed and stomping down the stairs. Gerard sighs and follows him down. Frank drops to the wet stain still in the carpet and whips his hand through the air, a kitchen towel appearing in it. He scrubs.
“You should probably blot it,” Gerard mumbles as he kneels across from Frank. He reaches the towel but it's yanked out of his reach.
“Go’way.” Frank rubs harder at the carpet.
“I’m sorry,” Gerard sighs, sitting back on his heels. “I just… I saw all the research you’ve done into this and I feel terrible, but I really don’t know why you got hurt.”
“I really don't know why you got hurt,” Frank repeats, voice nasally to mock Gerard’s.
“I don't! And I feel bad because you did all this reading into it, and I just… I don’t know…” Frank pauses.
“Reading?”
“Yeah? You have so many werewolf books.”
“You… can read?” Frank meets Gerard’s gaze for the first time since the second ritual. He keeps his expression masked.
“I did mention my time at the church, didn’t I?”
“Mikey said you were a painter. Painters don’t read.”
“They do when they paint for the church.”
“And so now you read my books?” Frank’s eyes scan over Gerard like he’s an unfinished puzzle.
“Well I just got curious and read a paragraph. If anything, it just made me sad.”
Frank’s stare breaks and he drops his head to his chest, shaking with silent laughs.
“What?” His entire frame bends forward as his quiet giggling turns into a full belly cackle.
“You,” Frank stands after a deep wheeze and brings the bowl into the kitchen. “Are literally-” he breaks to laugh more “the dumbest person I have ever fucking met.”
“Tell me!” Gerard follows him into the kitchen.
“I don’t tell liars things!”
“Well I’m not lying!”
“You’re not lying about your crush on me, hmm?” Frank spins around to face Gerard head-on, hands on his hips.
“Well… if you knew about it how could it affect the spell?” Frank’s face falls.
“It’s… the principal.”
“It definitely is not.” Frank sighs, looking away. Gerard rocks on his heels and looks back towards the stairs. He pivots and runs towards Frank’s room, smiling as he squawks out something about skinning Gerard alive.
He grabs the first book off the stack and opens to a random page to the tune of Frank’s steps thundering the stairs.
“His strong hands cupped my frail arms, pushing me against the wall. I wet my lips, his hot breath almost cool against my sweated face,” Gerard reads aloud.
“No! No no no no no no! Classified information! I thought the violence made you sad!” Frank goes to snatch the book and Gerard holds it up in the air out of his grasp.
“We tumbled onto the bed together, his clawed hands ripping my simple maid’s dress to ribbons.” Gerard flipped the page, jerking out of the way as Frank’s grabs for the book turn to punches. “He jumps on top of me and the warmth of his throbbing- oh my god.”
“Stop! Stop! Stop! Stop!” Frank jabs Gerard in the ribs and he folds, dropping the novel onto the floor.
“It’s erotica.” Gerard giggles. “It’s all erotica, isn’t it Frank?”
“Literally get out of my house. Go tell your brother you’re incurable. Leave me alone.” Frank snatches the book to put it back and Gerard stands up straight.
“It’s all erotica isn’t it Frank?” He repeats “Every single book in that pile.”
“I-I just get lonely, you can’t blame a man for that,” Frank whispers, pulling his sleeves over his hands. The energy leaves him with the confession, all his anger and spite pulling away like curtains to reveal his softness.
“But they’re all werewolf erotica, aren’t they Frank?” Frank doesn’t respond. Gerard turns him back around by his shoulder, grabbing one of his hands in both of his.
“Tell me to leave, seriously, and I will. I’ll leave right now and you can forget about trying to cure me.” Frank stares at their hands. “But you don’t want to, because the only reason you’ve been an asshole this entire time is because you were mad at yourself for liking me in the first place.”
“This is so fucking stupid,” Frank murmurs, his cheeks ablaze.
“But I’m right.”
“Yeah,” Frank sighs, taking his free hand to scratch his neck.
“Yeah,” Gerard echos. He unfurls Frank’s fingers and traces the shapes inked on his palms, worrying a fading spot with his finger. He pulls Frank by the hand and they sit together on the bed.
“They’re sigils, most the ones on my hands.”
“Why werewolves?” Gerard asks. Frank gives him a look. “Oh come on, Mr. No Secrets.”
“It’s… it’s a power thing I guess. With the strength and… stuff.”
“Claws?”
“Sure, Gerard. Claws.”
“Can I-” Gerard clears his throat and shuffles closer. “Tear your clothes to ribbons?”
“I like these clothes.”
“Do people really think werewolves have super strength?”
“It’s not like many people get a first-hand experience, Gerard.”
“No, I suppose not all of them are as lucky as you.” Gerard hooks his finger under Frank’s chin.
“Are you courting me, wolf boy?” Frank shifts closer and their noses bump.
“That’s a rhetorical question.” Gerard leans forward and pecks Frank on the lips, pulling back to look into his eyes for confirmation. Frank grabs his hand where it's still hooked under his chin and pushes forward to reconnect their lips, both of their bodies rigid on the bed.
“I'm sorry,” Frank whispers, pulling back and sliding his cheek against Gerard’s. He follows the curve of his jaw to rest his head on his shoulder, leaning into his space.
“Why?” Gerard watches him with wide eyes as Frank moves to straddle his lap, hands still at his sides like he could spook the witch. He lowers himself little by little, cheeks ablaze by the time he rests his full weight on Gerard.
“I’m an asshole.” His mouth scrunches around the words like they’re uncomfortable to pass. “And I said a lot of really mean things when you weren’t even the problem.” Gerard tries to meet Frank’s gaze where it rests on his chest.
“Thanks,” He says as he leans forward, forcing Frank to look at him. “It’s very… professional of you to apologize.”
“I wasn’t really aiming for professional.” He grabs the other’s forearms, wrapping them around the small of his back. “Is this okay?”
“It’s great.” Gerard pulls him close so their bodies touch from chest to foot, biting his lip at the feeling of Frank’s body against his. He slots against Gerard like a well-worn shoe, the curve of him warm and heavy.
“Can we, uh…” Frank slides his hands from Gerard’s shoulders to his chest, fingers hooking into the neck of his tunic to reveal his pale collar bones.
“Sure,” Gerard whispers, agreeing to anything. Frank gets up and reaches for the top of the sheets, Gerard’s body cold without him. Grabbing the back of his day-cloak, Frank pulls it with his undershirt over his head and throws it to the floor. He gets under the blankets and kneads his pillows, fixing them before turning back.
“Lay with me,” he whispers and pulls the other by his shirt sleeve. Gerard crawls up next to Frank where he lays under the sheets. Fingers tug at the collar of Gerard’s shirt and he pulls it off, revealing a soft, alabaster front. Frank smiles and opens the blankets for him to climb under.
“Are you comfy?” They lay on their sides facing each other, heads on opposing sides of Frank’s pillow. Gerard nods, shivering despite the warmth under Frank’s many blankets. “I have to recharge, but we’ll finish the job tomorrow. For good,” Frank whispers, smiling up at him before he turns over to curl up. Gerard traces the tattoos that cover his back. His finger follows the crooked smile of a jack-o’-lantern before a hand comes back and catches his wandering one. Frank pulls Gerard’s arm around his own side.
“Goodnight, Gerard.” He tucks his face into Frank’s hair. The pillows smell like lavender, mattress softer than the cot Gerard has been sleeping on. He takes a deep breath in and sighs, his back aching as his muscles release the last of their remaining tension. Moonlight streams through the window, casting the room into shades of blue. Gerard leans over Frank’s side to gaze at him for a moment.
He’s already asleep in the warmth of Gerard’s embrace, breathing slow and deep. His hair sprays out on the pillow around him in a dark mess and his eyelashes twitch in dreaming. Gerard inches down, pressing the faintest of kisses on the corner of his lips. Frank garbles and rolls onto his back, pushing down the sheets he perfectly tucked around the two of them. His hair flops onto his forehead and Gerard brushes it away for him, resting his palm flat against his chest.
“Gee?” Frank mumbles. He squints, grabbing Gerard’s hand on his chest. “G’ sleep. Really. Big day ‘morrow.”
“Okay,” he whispers. Gerard settles and Frank rolls into his chest, nosing his way into the crook of his neck. His breaths puff onto Gerard’s pulse point and he shivers, wrapping his arms around him and pulling them flush together.
He marvels at the fact that this is the same Frank who called him a bastard and told him to leave and never come back, whose hand is fisted in his pants leg under the covers. Gerard sees himself for a moment living his days making tinctures and potions to trade at the market for flour and oats. He sees himself tending the wild garden and learning to maintain a hearth, living in the middle of the woods, and feeding the raccoons when he feels lonely.
Frank must feel very… lonely.
___
Gerard forgets that they have a mission for the day up until Frank starts compiling supplies.
Comfort and a low rumbling excitement filled their morning. Gerard awoke with a hot man in his arms who kissed him and cooked him the best grits he’d ever had. They sat on the back steps in their pajamas to watch the sun climb the tree branches on its way to the sky. Frank let Gerard sit with his hip fused to the shorter man’s, feeding off of his grounding presence via touch.
Frank’s demeanor, now that it's unguarded, is the practiced calm of someone who lives in seclusion. Yet, when Gerard prods at his intelligence, he talks with enough passion for the two of them. Gerard hypothesizes his now welcome attention is the match to Frank’s powder keg, for he spoke enough at breakfast that their food went cold before he could finish.
Gerard sits now on the loveseat in front of the fireplace, Frank prancing around the room. A cluster of things litters the table: a bell, dried herbs, candles — some red and some white.
“This is a lot of stuff, huh.” Gerard murmurs, picking up a shallow bowl of dried lavender and yarrow.
“I, um, wanted to try something different.” Frank’s back is to Gerard, hands running down the tomes on the shelved walls. His fingers twitch and pull something out. It’s a thin book, covered in blocky letters Gerard can't decipher. Frank sneezes and swipes a blanket of dust from its cover.
“So not energy… control?” Gerard asks. Frank shakes his head.
“Everything is energy manipulation. This isn’t elemental though.”
“I see,” Gerard says. He doesn’t.
Frank leans over the table and starts to stack items on the book. He turns and walks up the stairs, balancing the many things.
“Can you bring the rest up?” He calls from halfway up. Gerard does so and follows Frank to his room.
“Here,” Frank murmurs. Placing trinkets around the room, he references the book he brought up. Gerard notices Frank shoved his stack of erotica in the corner on the floor, and now a myriad of magical items start to decorate the room. The afternoon sun would make the space bright, but he has thrown a soft curtain over it. The cloth catches the light and leaves the room hazy. He ignites the candles by flicking his hands and throws a whole bunch of herbs onto the flames. They smoke and cloud the air, perfuming it and tickling Gerard’s nose.
“Okay.” Frank does his usual fixing of every item and, with one last reference to the book, turns to Gerard. “I wanted to try something new.”
“Yeah you said that.”
Frank sighs and crosses the three paces between them to place his hands on Gerard’s chest. His palms feel so heavy he’s having trouble breathing underneath their touch. He digs his fingers into the front of Gerard’s tunic and pulls him back onto the bed.
“I wanted to try sex magic,” He admits, laying down flat and pulling Gerard on top of him.
“That sounds cool.” They stare at each other for a long moment, and Gerard soon realizes he’s making the first move. He plants his hands on the sides of Frank’s head and connects their lips.
Frank caresses Gerard’s back, pulling him down flush against him. Gerard’s elbows indent the bedding around his head, tongue asking for entry to his mouth. Frank bites his lip at the feeling. Their bodies touch from chest to foot, burning despite the two layers of clothes between each other. Gerard pulls up enough that he can catch Frank’s gaze.
He cradles Frank’s chin in his hand, freeing his bottom lip with his thumb and resting the pad on the soft flesh. He drops back down to lick into Frank’s mouth, indulging in his little squeaks. They disconnect with a smack and Gerard kisses the corner of his mouth. Frank stares through him, his usually hard gaze now shocked and vulnerable.
“Should I just continue normally?”
“What?” Frank jumps back into the present.
“Is there anything I should do differently?”
“Oh!” Frank seems to have just remembered this idea of his has a specific purpose. “Yeah I’ll take care of that. You just um… you know.”
“Are you shy?” Gerard giggles, cupping his burning cheeks.
“It’s just… different from when I’m alone.”
“Different?”
“Yeah.” Frank doesn’t elaborate. “There’s oil in the drawer of the bed table.”
“So you don’t want to fuck me?” Gerard asks, leaning on one arm and searching the cluttered drawer for a vial.
“No I was hoping you’d, ya know.”
“I really don’t.” Gerard stares at a vial of oil he finds, making sure it’s not some hex in a bottle or something. It checks out.
He turns back to Frank, dropping the lube in the sheets and starting to unbutton his shirt from the bottom up. He pauses halfway to trace the love birds that adorn his hips.
“There is one thing,” Frank says as he sits up enough to throw his shirt off. “We’ve got to release at the same time.” He busies himself with pulling Gerard’s shirt off.
“Are you a virgin?”
“What?!” Frank pauses, leaving Gerard’s tunic halfway off his head.
“You seem like one,” Gerard replies, pulling it off the rest of the way.
“You’re an ass.” Frank flops back on the bed, his hands roaming Gerard’s chest and stomach hungrily despite his words.
“It’s sweet,” Gerard says. “I’m honored.”
“Virginity is a construct made by the priest to shame women.” He drags Gerard down into a kiss. “I’m not fragile. Give me everything,” He pulls back to whisper.
They shuffle to get each other's pants off, Frank grunting and kicking both his and Gerard’s into a ball that flops off of the mattress. He cups Gerard’s erection through his breeches, looking up through his eyelashes at the other with a sudden confidence, and bucks up to grind against him. The friction borders on painful, both of them hard as a rock.
Gerard grabs the forgotten lube and hooks an arm under one of Frank’s knees. He tugs Frank’s linens down over the curve of his ass. They catch on the underside of Frank’s balls on the way off and he groans, jerking his legs.
“Easy,” Gerard murmurs, pulling one arm from under Frank’s leg and balancing on the other to open the vial’s screw top with his mouth. Frank’s hands grab his backside and pull him closer to hump him. “Have you done this before?” Gerard asks, spreading Frank’s cheeks with his thumb and pinky, his three other fingers lubed.
“Why would I have the vial if I didn’t?” Frank yanks at Gerard’s breeches, his cock bobbing free obscenely as the fabric slides down his thighs. “You think I have all those novels for-” Frank chokes on his words as Gerard pushes two fingers into his heat, crooking and rocking them. He slides the leg not hooked by Gerard’s arm out to open space for the other to crowd him closer.
Frank pulls him down into another kiss, which turns into a mess of tongues and teeth as Gerard slips his third finger inside. Frank drops his head back, mouth wet and tacky.
“I can tell you work with your hands,” He cracks as Gerard pulls out. The other snorts.
“Get on top.” They flip so Frank straddles Gerard, taking a moment to settle the pillows and sheets to their liking. Frank’s hooded gaze is open. The muted light ignites his irises and they glow like the hearth he keeps.
Frank breaks their gaze to look down, grabbing both of them in his hands and stroking them together. He hums and digs around for the vial from before to pour it down the tip of Gerard’s cock and stroke the dribbles down to his base. Gerard is more than happy to finish that way, but the job is only perfunctory.
“Okay,” Frank whispers more to himself, sitting forward so his dick drags against Gerard’s stomach to align the two of them. Gerard’s hands dig into the flesh of his thighs as he sits back down.
“Fuck you’re tight.”
“I’d venture to say virginal.” Frank rises and drops back down, back tweaking as he adjusts. He repeats himself, rocking forward so Gerard worries his prostate. He gasps as Gerard’s hips kick to meet him on his way down, starting to bounce as the hands bracketing his hips aid him.
“Oh my god.” His motions punctuate his words, panting as he grabs onto Gerard’s shoulders for leverage. Their bodies meet with rhythmic slaps.
The knot in Gerard’s stomach is already coiled tight, his arms aching as he pulls Frank up and down. He groans and takes one hand away to create a loose fist Frank can fuck into, bobbing him between his hand and cock on each bounce.
“Gee,” Frank whimpers, slowing down much to Gerard’s dismay. He drags his hands down Gerard’s sweaty chest, hands stoking the building pressure there. Gerard gulps as his stomach flips, Frank’s eyes squeezed shut as he rocks. His palms caress Gerard’s skin, buzzing with energy and magic. They swipe straight up and Gerard moans as Frank stokes the ball of growing pleasure deep in his stomach, building and twisting it like a cat’s cradle.
Frank nods like he understands, starting to pick up his pace once again. Gerard meets his thrusts, so tense his nails leave stripes of red through his tattoos. Frank’s breaths catch and his face scrunches up, the lines and images across his body pulsing with him. Hands clenching into tight, shaking fists, he drops down on Gerard a final time. He wails as his grip pops open and he paints his stomach. The clenching of his muscles pulls Gerard over the edge with him. They collapse into each other in a flush of endorphins.
Gerard’s heart thuds in his chest, body thrumming with the power Frank manipulated inside of him. Down to the smallest sinews, his body feels touched; plucked and tuned like a string instrument and brought to a resplendent crescendo. He slips into its echo and melts back into the pillows.
Frank rests in the crook of his neck, sticky and gasping. Sweat drenches his back, hair wet like he’s come in from the rain. He lays boneless, still impaled on Gerard with his legs folded underneath himself. Gerard regains his strength first and slips out with a grunt. His own seed wets his lap.
“Can you do that cool trick with the towel again,” Gerard whispers into Frank’s hair. He groans in response, entire being spent.
“In a minute, gotta rest my eyes,” He murmurs into Gerard’s neck.
They fall asleep on top of the covers, wrapped around each other for warmth. Filthy.
___
The next morning the pair share a bath and breakfast, eating on the back steps once more to watch the sunrise.
“So I’m cured now?” Gerard asks around his toast. Frank sets down his empty plate and turns to look up at him.
“There’s only one way to find out.” He stands, pulling Gerard up and down the stairs onto the grass. He’s in his short green cloak but still barefoot, feet squishing in the morning dew. They cast long shadows onto the grassland, Frank dragging Gerard by the hand in which he does not still carry his toast. When they reach the treeline, Frank whistles.
“Stripey!” He calls, dropping Gerard’s hand to clap.
Something scuffles in the underbrush and two ears pop from their hiding spot.
“Come on!” Frank claps again, waving erratically. The raccoon stands for a moment, assessing the both of them before it pads out from the treeline up to Frank. “There you are, baby.” The witch snatches the last of Gerard’s slice of toast and ignores his complaints as he crouches down. He holds it out for the raccoon, who grabs it in its tiny hands and allows itself to be picked up in exchange. Frank cradles the fluffy creature to his chest and watches it eat.
“This is your ultimate test,” Frank says, looking back at Gerard with mirth. He walks over next to him and the animal leans over to sniff at Gerard’s arm, wet nose leaving little marks on his shirt. It huffs dismissively and Frank lets it scurry away back into the treeline.
“You’re no longer scaring my buddies away. So, in my professional opinion, my client is cured.” Frank wraps his arms around Gerard's neck, squinting in the sunlight as it rises over the trees.
“I thought I was just a chore?” Gerard hugs Frank to his chest.
“Nah, I’ve changed my mind. The real chore is going to be teaching you to prune the tomato plants.”