I missed writing about them as adults. xD I need to finish some of my other ones... ah well.
Hey, so, I don't own any of these characters and no animals were harmed in the writing of this chapter.
ALSO, the characters have theme songs. You best give them a listen.

Mikey - Smother Me by The Used, Frank - My Curse by Killswitch Engage, and Gerard is Milkshake by Goodnight Nurse. They work for the characters, trust me. xD

I fail to understand how kisses from someone so demure and adorable in mannerisms can be so aggro and gut-wrenchingly good. I should be accustomed to the way Mikey kisses by now, but he's not like anyone I've ever been with. By looking at the once-bespectacled, thin, wiry boy, you would think the way he shows love coresponds with the way he looks. That is absolutely not the case with him. I understand that, after a few months of semi-regular sex, it would be like stepping into a hottub. You know, the burn goes away. Once again, not the case. I can't get used to this. I simply cannot. I adore the way I can feel some of his bones through his Anthrax shirt he loves so much, and I love how he says my name so shyly. That doesn't contrast much. Well, not... not at first. At first, the way he whispers "Frank," between those delicious kisses I love so much makes me want to go less hard on him because even though he's older, he seems so immature. That's the stage we're in right now. I'm glad Mikey is so predictable; it helps me feel in control. I love being in control.

His tongue slides methodically in and out of my mouth. He's beginning to lean into me, as we're sitting on his couch and it's probably more comfortable this way. I can vaguely hear the movie we were watching before all this happened, past all the sounds that come with tonguing. Sherrif John Wydell is saying, "Oh man! I could hear that bone shatter all the way from here!" And while The Devil's Rejects is interesting, I'm more fixated on where Mikey's ever-wandering hands are headed. One of the better sensations in the world is Mikey Way's large hands roaming around your body. At present, one is cupping my neck, and the other is gripping my thigh. I've got a decent handle on his ribs, massaging them a little bit, trying to move this along. While he is a fantastic kisser, he's far better once the clothes come off. I'm not shallow; he does have the single greatest personality I've seen so far, but when caught up in the moment, actions speak louder than words.

It's too early yet to tell if I love him, isn't it? I do feel something really, really strong, but I'm not sure if it's love, per se. I adore everything he does and is, but I think I need a little bit longer to love him. He's said he loves me on more than one occasion, and I said I liked him more than was humanly possible. He said he'd wait as long as I needed for me to say it back. I've evaluated my feelings on the subject several times, but I still don't think it's love. Soon, though. I know it'll happen soon.

I can't think too much more about love, though, because lust overpowers it in this moment. Mikey's undoing my belt, which shows that my rib-massage worked. I raise my hips up off the couch to ease him in his endeavour to get my jeans off. A little to my embarrassment, I'd taken precautions before I came over. And by 'taken precautions', I mean I didn't wear anything underneath my skinny jeans because I knew I wouldn't need them. Call me crazy, but I'm absolutely not one for redundancy. Why wear boxers if they're going to be taken off anyhow? I might have shown up naked if it were legal. Mikey would have liked it. I remain confident he likes me better sans clothing, although he swears he likes me no matter what. Whatever, Mikey. Whatever.

"You're prepared, huh?"

"Like a fuckin' boy scout."

He laughs slightly and begins to work my shirt off, but not before taking my hands and putting them on his fly. I'm jolted into reality where people help get other people's pants off. By now, I'm a seasoned professional in dealing with Mikey's jeans as much as I am with dealing with what's underneath them. He gets my v-neck off before I manage to get his skinny jeans down. He echoes my hip-raising technique and I'm able to get his pants off, coupled with his boxers, which I note are the ones I gave him for Christmas. I wanted them, myself, because Mikey and I have an equal fondness of Snoopy attire, but they look better on him than they would have on me. I don't stop there, though. I need to take his socks off. Wearing socks during sex absolutely puts me off the whole thing. I'm picky that way, I suppose, but it's just disgusting. Since it's spring-y outisde, I came in flip flops. No worries there about any cumbersome cotton.

Mikey strips his own shirt off with extraordinary speed that I have to marvel for a second. "Shit," I mutter.

"Hmm?"

"Nothing, Mikey."

"Whatever," he says playfully, pushing me backwards and to the side, so that my head is comfortably on a small pillow. This part, the skin-to-skin, is amazing, too. I love being able to feel every single part of him, and this is when my hands want to roam. I feel his goosebumps as I slide my fingers down his spine, laughing slightly into his mouth when he groans a little into mine. It's times like these I think I'm close to being in love with him. I take in his subtle nuances, like his sharp teeth, how ticklish he is on the undersides of his arms, the little tattoo he has just below his collarbone. He told me it was from his rebellious teenager phase, but he could have gotten a more hardcore one than the Japanese sign for 'peace'.

Mikey pulls his head up and, to my dismay, away from mine. I raise an eyebrow at him, and he smirks with mischief. I'm about to ask him what's up, but the only sound I can bring myself to force past my lips is a gasp at the sudden surge of pleasure I recieve. It takes a second to think about what causes it, but with an extreme amount of concentration, I can indeed feel a hand around me, and I feel the hand move up and down, making me squirm with every downward pump. I moan quietly in time with Mikey's strokes, not ever wanting him to stop. Although this is an unspoken sign that I'm submitting to him. He's warming me up so I won't be any more uncomfortable than I have to. He's really sweet that way.

He continues pumping his hand until I start making whining noises. That's how he knows I'm about to finish, so to speak. He stops, looks at me once empathetically, kisses me lightly and lifts my legs up to rest them on his shoulders. He knows I like it that way, and he always , so it's a good compromise. Somehow, he has a condom in his hand, which he gets from the wrapper and puts on. He is truly magical. "You're ready?" he half-asks, half-assumes.

I nod and grit my teeth at the always unpleasant entering of someone else into my body. Mikey takes it slow, which I'm not sure if I appreciate more than just getting it the fuck over with. It's either a little pain for a longer time, or sharp pain for an instant. I do appreciate that he's being considerate, though. He, again, slowly, moves his hips outwards and bucks them back into me a little faster. After around three or four of these, he finds a decent rhythm and I relax into it, whispering my expressions of content. They mainly involve "Ah", "Ooh", and "Mikey". With his increasing tempo, Mikey is getting louder and his less-than-formal vocabulary shines through. I think Mikey swearing is so out of place, and sometimes it wierds me out, but in situation, it's welcome.

From here on in I close my eyes until I need to open them. I prefer to have them shut while I'm doing this, because, to me, it feels better when you can't see it. You're just lost in this moment, this sensation... God, it's perfect.

Although my moment ends when Mikey starts saying my name desperately. I know as well as he does that this means he's about to come and he wants eye contact. I can understand how it would help me, because his eyes are simply the most beautiful things I've ever seen in my entire life, but mine? Not so much. He tells me they're gorgeous, but I never believe him.

I open my eyes to see Mikey's face, straining against the inevitable. I meet his gaze, he smiles briefly, but that smile turns into an open mouth. He makes a choking sound in his throat, stutters out a curse word, and that's what does it for me. I explode onto his stomach and the surrounding areas, and for this moment, these vital seconds, I'm in love with Michael James Way. It's shallow to say that, but I am. And while I'm in the midst of all this, he pulls out and away from me very slowly. "Wow," he murmurs, like he always does.

"Yeah," I reply, in a pinched tone of voice, having just finished coming.

"We should get dressed, though," Mikey said hurriedly.

"What's the rush?" I inquire dreamily. I can't help but be dismayed. I'm too tired to put clothing on.

"My brother," he replies, amidst the rustle of clothing, "is coming in like, ten minutes. His roommate got caught up in some heavy shit, so he'll be living here for a bit. I'm really just telling you what he told me the other day."

"A heads-up would have been nice. I practically live here, too. Tell me about him." A pile of clothes lands on my chest. I sit up, a little sore, and begin putting my shirt on.

"Uh, he's three years older than me, he's kind of a screw-the-world type, umm... I don't know what else there is. You'll find out when he comes."

"I suppose so," I say, and stand up to zip my fly. I head to the bathroom and try to fix my hair. It's too short to have real 'sex-hair', which I'm thankful for. Nothing gives a worse impression to someone you've just met than your appearance telling them you just got fucked. Not to mention it's embarrassing. Plus, Mikey's brother is, well, his brother. It's like meeting the parents, because a sibling's opinion of a significant other matters way more than the parents'. I believe it's time to turn on the charm...

The doorbell rings a little bit later, and Mikey's somewhere else in his house. "MIKEY! DOOR!" I holler.

"Can you get it?"

I sigh to myself, not eager to get up off the couch. I'm watching... well... something. I haven't been paying attention to whatever daytime television show I've been staring at. I grunt as I get up, hoping to show Mikey the sheer amount of effort I've expended in pushing my body, which is still sort of sore thank-you very much, up and dragging it to the door. I make a show of stomping to the doorway, all the while mumbling to myself about how angry I am to have gotten up. I throw open the door with a little more angry force than is really reasonable in this situation, but what I see makes every ache I had two seconds ago melt away.

This, I think, is love.

"Oh!" says the perfect form at the door. I'm under some sort of spell cast by him, the very personification of brilliance. His hair is as dark as mine, but his skin is as pale as a dead man's. His nose turns slightly upwards, but that doesn't even qualify as an imperfection. It adds to him. He's wearing black aviator glasses, so I don't get a good look at his eyes, but, goddamnit, he's rocking those shades well. "You're not Mikey!"

"No," I say, my voice wavering at the sudden smile I get from the man I'm sure is Mikey's brother. "I'm his... I'm Frank."

"It's nice to meet you. My name's Gerard. But, uh, if you don't mind my asking, Frank, why are you in my brother's house?"

I shake my head, trying to break this trance I seem to be in. I have to find words now, to justify my carelessness. I open my mouth to speak, but another voice answers for me. "He's my boyfriend. Good to see you, Gee."

"You, too, Mikey! Mind if I come in?"

I am a dolt. I'm blocking the doorway. I take a step to the side and let Gerard come in, noting that he makes the air smell phenominal. I shake my head again, and I come into eye-contact with Mikey. I realize that I'm an idiot for far more reasons than blocking Gerard's path. I'm dating his Mikey. I... I really like Mikey. But this... this is different. I've thought people were cute at first sight and all, but never beautiful like this. It's immediate; I want Gerard. I wish it wasn't so complicated, like if I was with anyone but Mikey. Then again, I don't wish I was with anyone else. Except Gerard. And now you see how complicated this is.

"So, what exactly did your roommate do to get himself arrested?" Mikey asks, leading Gerard to the spare room while I follow blindly.

"Drug trafficking, mostly. Except when he went to court they uncovered all this other shit, like theft and all that. So it was better I just got out of there, you know? And like, I didn't even know what he was doing. Definitely wierd being up on the podium with the rapid-fire coming at you."

"I'll bet," Mikey sympathizes. "That's shitty."

"Agreed. But it means I get to spend more time with my little brother!" Gerard mocks, grabbing Mikey by the neck and giving him a noogie.

"Dude!" Mikey hollers.

"Oh, yes. This'll do quite nicely," says Gerard, not letting go of Mikey.

"You're so immature!" Mikey whines.

I clear my throat and laugh a little uncomfortably. "I should- I should really be going."

"So soon?" asks Mikey, his voice strained and muffled.

"Yeah... you know, let you guys get settled in and stuff."

Gerard whips around, and lets Mikey go. He flips his hair away from his face, takes off his sunglasses, unleashing the same eyes as Mikey. The same gorgeous color, the smiling quality. I don't want to flatter myself, but I believe he smiles at me, and not out of pleasantry, and says, "I'll see you again, yeah?"

"I'm here a lot, so you probably will," I state plainly.

"Good. Then I'll be talking to you later, Frank."

I nod weakly, mutter a goodbye to Mikey, and head out the door. As soon as I'm outside and out of eyeshot, my knees buckle under the weight of a love I'm positive I can never have.