"Babe?" I call, wondering where Babe is.

"In here," he answers, from the direction of the bathroom. I follow his voice until I see him, trying to piece out his hair with an adorable frustrated expression on his face. I walk in and stand beside him, looking at our reflections. My reflection creeps its arm around his reflection, and his reflection smiles.

"Your hair looks good the way it is, Gee."

"Fuck off! Does not."

I spin him to face me, and run my hand through his hair, pulling him down to kiss me. When I pull away, I lean my nose against his and say, "Does too."

I feel heat resonating from Gerard's face. I grin at this, because he's blushing and I'm not, for once. "We should fuck before I go," I suggest, kissing his neck. "I can be fashionably late for the party."

Gerard whimpers softly, so softly nobody else would have caught it had they been in the room. This whimper turns me on. A lot. I feel a stirring in my jeans, and I hate myself for it. "Don't tease me like that," he whines.

"I'm serious!" I mumble into the soft, pale skin I have my lips against. Now I'm practically begging.

"You'll be late," he chides.

I move my hands down into his back pockets and pull him close, his crotch against mine. I want him to feel my dilemma. I can't just leave the house with this!

"Oh," Gerard breathes, realizing my problem. Then he giggles. I raise an eyebrow. "You'll have to take care of that one yourself. Besides," he says, pressing his lips to my ear and whispering the rest, "it'd be so sweaty, and messy, and hot…"

I groan. At this rate, soon I won't need anyone to take care of it. Just a fresh pair of boxers would do nicely.

Gerard moves his neck away from my mouth and takes my chin in his hand, pulling my face up. He closes his eyes and kisses me, but it's not a normal kiss. We exchange pecks here and there, and one of us always leads up like this, with the chin thing. After all, when you've been together three weeks, the kisses get un-awkward and more like reflexes. But this kiss in particular, it's powerful. He's sucking while he's kissing, pulling me deeper. It's like he's trying at my soul, you know? I creep my hand from his right pocket and wrap it around his waist. I don't know what he's doing, but I'm liking it. He moves his thigh inwards, separating ourselves from the waist down. I'm a little dismayed, until he starts moving his thigh up and down, up and down… I moan into his mouth and he puts a hand on my neck, like he does when he's into it. His fingers gently squeeze and unsqueeze, like I told him I enjoy. I'm confused, though. Didn't he say we weren't gonna fuck?

He takes his kiss downwards, sucking on my bottom lip and biting softly. His nails are into my neck, now, and I'm going to implode with how bad I want him.

As if reading my mind, Gerard slides his hand down into my boxers, and takes a feel of my dick. This means a hand job! Fuckin' A! I lean my head back a little, but snap it back into place when Gerard flicks my other one! I yelp, but then I realize, as he pulls back, standing there with a self-satisfied smirk and crossed arms, that my hard-on isn't hard anymore. Oh, that fucker.

"I hate you-" I begin, but my voice is shaky after that ordeal, so I steady it and try again. "I hate you so much."

"No, you don't. I'm your boyfriend."

"Shut up."

Gerard smirks. "Now get your ass to that party. I'll songwrite."

"I feel bad though," I bemoan.

"Don't! Just be good, alright?" Gerard asks as he ushers me out of his house.

I shuffle to my car and take my time getting to the party. Brian's gonna be there, and he wants me to meet some people. Although this hovel of a house that's booming with bass doesn't quite hold my interest. I look for Brian, who waves me over to a corner. I make a beeline for him, not knowing anyone here. Across from him stands a mangy-looking guy with stringy black hair and a beard. He reminds me a little bit of Jesus, actually.

"Frank," Brian says, "this is Bert. He's in this band, and I've got a feeling they're gonna be huge."

I stick out my hand for Jesus- err, Bert to shake. "Hey, man. I'm Frank Iero."

"Bert McCracken. But it'd be pretty sweet if my name was Phil."

I laugh. "What's your band called, mate?"

"The Used. What about yours?"

The Used. Hmm. That's catchy enough. Easy to remember. "My Chemical Romance," I answer proudly.

"Fuck! That's good!" Bert says. Typical reaction.

"Thanks, eh. So, what exactly is there to do at this party?"

Bert leads me away from Brian and upstairs to the bathroom. He pushes open the door to release a small plume of smoke. He ushers me in through then crack he's created and follows me in. There are two shady-looking guys whom I don't know, and a hot-ish guy whom I also don't know, passing a roach around. I get it offered to me by the hot-ish guy close to the door, and I take it without thinking. I sniff it. Juicyfruit. I haven't had it in a while, so I take a pull, and hand it over to Bert.

"No offence guys," I say, exhaling, "but I did this at grade nine parties. I think I'm gonna be heading out."

Bert tugs my arm as I'm about to leave. "Dude, no. They were just passing the time."

He reaches into his pocket and produces bags. Bags I know too well for my liking. They've got cocaine in them, and I want it much more than I should. My head starts to ache and my nose twitches. "You selling?" I ask Bert.

"Who's buying?" he inquires back and raises an eyebrow. I look down at my feet and give an anxious smirk. For the moment, Gerard's past my mind. I don't think about how I've been trying to quite drugs and all, and I don't even consider how mad he's going to be when I come home all strung out. The fact that I'm basically seconds away from gratification is all I can focus on.

"Ah," he says. "Well, for you, this one's on me."

He tosses me a bag and I mutter my thanks before I open its contents and spread some of it on my thumb. I hastily snort the lot and shake my head. Ooooohhhhhhh. I put the other half of the tiny bag in my jeans pocket, hoping not to jostle it so I can have more. Fuck guilt, I'm too happy for guilt. This is good. This is pure. This is fantastic!

I smile at Bert as he inhales a bag himself. I don't know why I'm smiling. It makes me laugh. I reach into my back pocket and grab my smokes, because I always feel better when I'm on coke and then I smoke. I tend to like, chain-smoke when I'm high, but whatever. I can buy more. Right now, though, I want to go home. I want to red-line it to Gerard's, and fuck him where he stands. Then I want to run laps and do cartwheels. And I want to finish this cocaine, but this shit is pure.

I moan aloud at the buzzing sensation starting in my head. "Bert," I say, "this is amazing… are you sure I can't pay you or something?"

Bert shakes his head and laughs a high pitched cackle that I find amazing to hear. "I think I'm gonna head home, then. I've got a boyfriend to fuck."

Bert cackles again. "Good luck with that!"

"Thanks again!" I call as I sprint outside, not feeling the night cold sting my arms. I forgot my hoodie in there somewhere. Fuck. Oh, well. Less to take off later.

I shouldn't actually be driving right now, but it's like, a block away. There aren't any police stops near here, so I actually lead-foot it all the way to Gerard's place. I buzz him, and he answers, too slowly, with a worried voice. "Who's there?"

"Just me, baby! Let me up!"

The door opens and I jog to the elevator, musing how elevators take too fucking long.

I rap on the door and Gerard answers it. I pounce. "Mmph!" he cries in surprise from under my lips. I move my anxious kisses to his neck. "Where's your jacket?" he asks.

"Left it there," I murmur.

"Why?"

"Forgot it."

Gerard becomes instantly inanimate. "Look at me," he orders coldly. I pinch my eyes shut and take a breath. He fucking knows. How can he know?! I slowly raise my head and open my eyes.

Gerard sees my eyes, makes a disgusted noise in the back of his throat, and pushes me to the floor. Sitting there, I see him storm in the direction of his room. I'm starting to come down, and I need the rest of this coke for a fight. I reach into my pocket and grab the little bag, happy it hasn't been spilled. I make a line on my thumb and take it back. I wipe my hand off on my jeans and find Gerard sitting in a ball on his bed. I hang in the doorway and wait for him to talk.

"You said you would never…"

"I know," I say, struggling to speak slow enough to be understood. "It's just that it was there, and I wasn't thinking of you-"

"You're fucking right you weren't! How could you?! And then you drove- you drove here, Frank!"

"It's not like being drunk," I point out weakly.

"Do I care?! Had you been caught, you would have gone to prison for god knows how long! Fuck, just looking at you makes me feel physically sick. Just… just get out of my room."

"Gerard," I whisper, defeated.

He shoots me a look and I leave to his darkened living room where I sit on his couch for a few hours, tapping my foot anxiously, staring at the wall across from me and waiting for signs of life from his room. When I'm unrewarded for my patience, I pad down the hall meekly, the cocaine having worn off for the most part, and peer into his room. He's laying there, fully clothed, eyes open, staring at the wall, not noticing my presence. I slide into bed with him and plant a kiss on his cheek. He rolls over and looks at me. I'm about to say something, but he shushes me, and presses his lips to mine. I kiss back and he becomes more fervent, clutching at the fabric of my shirt in a scramble to get it off. I help him and I work on his own shirt. Once they're both off, he rolls over on top of me and slides down to kiss my stomach and hips while he undoes my pants. I wiggle out of them once he's got them halfway down my ass, and he whips his off in a marginal amount of time. I like this part the best, actually. Just rolling about on a bed in our boxers, kissing and licking and groping and exploring. It's better than sex, because I feel like I get to know him this way. I can tell his exact mood, if he's had a good day or not, and what will happen next.

Right now, I can tell that Gerard's pissed off at me, because of the way he's hurting me slightly with his nails. He's had an alright day, except for just recently, because his mouth is slightly upturned. And what will happen next is that I'm going to roll over onto my back so he can fuck me, no questions asked. No stops along the way. Which I don't mind, either. It just hurts a little more when I'm not so riled up I'll explode. Ah, well.

Gerard gives my ribs a little nudge and gets off me to go grab condoms. The nudge means to roll over. I take the opportunity to pull one of his pillows towards me. It smells like him; the shampoo he uses. I bury my face in it and inhale as I feel Gerard's legs on either side of me and his hands pulling down my boxers. I suck in a mouthful of pillow as he enters me for the first time in a few days. I don't make any noise, and neither does he. To me, it seems inappropriate to make any noise since I've been shushed. He's not moaning my name, or any swear words, he's just… well… panting is the best way to explain it. Like he's just run a mile. Although the same can be said for me.

We pant and move in sync until, after putting it off, because we always do, we come at relatively the same time. He pulls out slowly and I reach down to pull up my boxers. I prop myself up on my elbows and watch Gerard put his jeans back on. He comes over to me, kisses me briefly, and says, "I'm still mad at you."