oh snap, oh snap, oh snap. it's me. after like, a month. i'm sorry for not posting anything in ages, but i'm here, i'm alive, i've just had a lot of stuff happen in the last month or so. so, i'm sorry again, i know i'm a douche nozzle but i hope this makes up for it a little.

and this is different. it's the same characters throughout, like personality wise and such, but the chapters are only connected maaaarginnaaalllyyyy. it could be read as a series of one-shots or as a story, but the p.o.v is going to change from chapter to chapter so it might be a little wierd to follow.

disclaimer/warning - if y'all like the fluffy lil' fictions i've written, then this is a slight *ahem* change of pace. i also don't own any characters i've used to will use. they're their own people. gerard's a father for christ's sake.

I always feel like filth personified when I'm with Frank. I try and pretend that he cares about me, and sees me more than just a sex object, but I know that he doesn't. He doesn't love me, he doesn't value me. Hell, I don't even think he likes me. I mean, I know he likes the way I just submit to him and obey his commands, and I know he values the fact he knows where my prostate is. My other theory is that he does love, care about and value me, but only while he's fucking me. As long as we're connected in that way, for that sordid, short time, he might love me like I love him. But... but I like it. I really like it. You might say I get off on being filth.

I'm sitting here, waiting patiently for my few minutes of real love, because Frank texted me a few minutes ago, telling me he was coming over. He didn't ask, just told. That is, apparently, how it goes with him. I know too well.

If he did ask, I wouldn't have refused anyways.

So I primped, brushed my teeth and fussed with my hair, put on cologne and changed into my tightest pair of jeans. They make my legs look thin, my ass look good, but they make my stomach bulge a tiny bit, so that involved putting on a looser shirt. I even added some eyeliner for the occasion. I, personally, think I look alright. Which isn't normal for me, because being involved physically with someone like Frank who does and says the things he does results in extreme self-consciousness.

I thought to leave the foor unlocked so Frank won't berate me when he gets here. Sure enough, he throws it open and struts in, the pagan god I make him out to be. He looks unkempt and unshaven. I'd be worried about his stubble hurting me, but we never kiss. Well, almost never. If he's hurt me too much and I'm on the brink of tears, he kisses me in order to console me the best way he knows how. It's just pity, though. He doesn't care enough to placate.

Frank throws his stuff on my floor and kicks the door shut. "Hey," he says gruffly.

"Uh, hi," I stammer.

"How're you, then?"

I look down at my knees and bite my lip, ceasing the smile forcing its way across my mouth. He asked me how I was. That was unusual. Extremely unusual. See, usually my hopes start off dashed when he walks in the door and calls me a name, but he greeted me properly this time. My hopes are officially up.

"I'm fine, thanks, and you?"

"Alright. Pissed off, really. Need to let off some steam."

Shit. He's angry. There go my hopes. Honestly, Frank is bad enough when he's horny, but when that's mixed with anger I can't move the next morning.

I begin to tremble, and my breathing changes from a normal inhale-exhale into a frightened whimper I attempt to silence. "Then do it," I say. I'll admit, when I get into it, I'm into it and I'm as bad as Frank. Well... almost. But beforehand, I'm a nervous wreck. Last week's bruises are still a little bit visible on my arms, chest, and back. It's the morning after that makes me hesitant.

"I think I will. Where at?"

"Don't care," I say, trying to be detatched. My voice doesn't betray me, but I feel sick once I've said it.

"I don't fucking know, it's your house."

"Floor, then," I snap back.

Frank steps towards me and gets close to my face. We make brief, beautiful eye contact and for a second, I'm positive our lips will make my sought-after contact before he sneers at me wickedly, with hatred and lust, clutches my arm and throws me to the ground. "Shirt off," he orders, and I peel my t-shirt up over my head and throw it. "Now, get up."

I scramble to my feet, in anticipation of what I know is going to happen. The next thing I feel is a numb pain on the right side of my jaw, accompanied by a crack which is either my jawbone detatching from my skull, although that's improbable, or my head knocking against the wall as I fall and slide down it. I raise a hand to my mouth and see blood on the back of it. I close my eyes and instantly sink into the moment. It may not be tender, but it's how we get things done.

I feel my hair being tugged at and realize Frank has a fistful of it. "You little fucking whore," he hisses in my ear before slamming my head into the wall. I'm woozy now, which adds to my content. Makes everything less complicated, more fun.

"What am I?" I ask, begging for more verbal abuse. I'm displeased at my slight slurr

"A filthy. Little. Fucking," he says slowly, raising his right hand to the left side of my face. "Whore!" he hollers, and backhands me so hard I crumple to the side. I moan a little, but not in pain. The burn on the side of my face causes a tingling someplace else. I slide an unthinking hand down to perhaps rearrange myself and get a little contact to satiate me, but Frank catches me doing so.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"I was...." I trail off, not knowing what to say next.

Frank pulls me up by the forearm and drops me on my tailbone, shoving my shoulder back into the drywall. I lean my head back, now consumed with a dull ache and a bit of a sting, and find my heart rate accellerated from a mix of fear and pleasure.

"Fine," he says, "seeing as how you've complied so far.... I suppose you get a break. Take off your pants."

I slide out of my jeans in inhuman amounts of time. Must have taken a half second, tops. I wait for further instruction once my jeans are flung elsewhere.

"Now," he says, "take your cock out and rub it for me."

I'm incredulous. Frank is a selfish bastard, so to have him say something like that is a blessing. So, I do as I'm told; I take out my dick, spread my legs a bit so I'm comfortable, and start to jack off. Not in an eager to cum sort of way, I mean for Frank to enjoy the show. Slowly, slowly I move my hand up and down and I groan a little bit. I stiffen up a little bit more in my hand after a minute or so before I feel that drop in my stomach that tells me if I don't stop soon, I'll shoot. It doesn't help that Frank has taken his shirt off and undone his jeans, and is rubbing his hand idly up and down his chest and stomach. "What next?" I choke out, trying desperately to think of extremely unsexual things that always morph disreptuably into fantasies of Frank and I.

"Take those off," Frank orders, nodding down at my boxers. I'm almost grateful for the break. He would have gotten angry if I came before him, and he would have gotten angry if I stopped touching myself to prevent that from happening. Not like I mind being punished, or anything of the sort, but it's different when it feels like I've done something wrong, as opposed to us both being horny.

The look on his face as he sees all of me for the umpteenth time is, as always, unreadable. He looks as if he's appraising me, but also as if he's disgusted with, oh, I don't know. My eagerness to take my clothes off. "Get against the wall, back to me," Frank snarls.

I stand up a little uneasily, and put my palms to the wall, fingers spread out for leverage. I can't press against the wall more than this, or else serious bodily injury might result. I hear Frank stepping towards me and I feel him rub up against my ass. He does love to tease me like that. I let a shaky, "Oooh." escape from my lips at the contact.

"Shut up," he hisses. I press my lips together in a tight line and feel a tug on my left wrist as Frank removes my hand from the wall and puts my first three fingers in his mouth, lubricating them thoroughly with his saliva before having his fun. He bites down on my knuckles, harder than a nip but less than something intended for severing them from my hand. I bite my lip and exhale harshly through my nose. He takes this as a good sign, apparently, and keeps my hand between his teeth as he licks slow circles around it.

He jerks my hand from his mouth for no good reason and instructs, "You are going to finger yourself."

The excess saliva he used suddenly makes sense. I cast my eyes downwards at my borderline painful erection and don't really have to give it a second thought as I slowly press one finger into myself and move it until I feel I can put another one in, and then another. By this time, I'm biting down on my lip so hard I taste blood, but Frank has instructed me to not make any noise. My breathing has gotten pretty loud, but I don't think he cares about that.

I look over at Frank, pull my hand away, and try to beguile him to just get it over with and fuck me already because I'm damn well ready for it, but he doesn't notice my pleading eyes. "You're bleeding. Why?"

I ease my teeth from my lip and lick away the blood. "You told me to be quiet."

Frank's eyes glaze for just a moment with what I earnestly hope is concern. It looks like it, anyhow. "Oh. Well, don't worry about that anymore," says Frank as I see him wiggle out of his pants, and I find he's not wearing any underwear. I curse myself for not thinking of that one. "Ready?" he purrs.

I roll my eyes.

He smirks a little, and takes my hand away and places it back on his hip, into which I dig my nails to brace myself. He never enters me as slowly as I'd like him to, probably because he's such a eager little fuck, even moreso than me when it all comes down to it. In any case, he buries himself inside me without any form of hesitation. I gasp and then yell one syllable, but Frank never misses a beat. He's used to my various sounds.

I feel another thrust, a little too hard, but I try and move my body with it. This isn't an easy task when you're pressed up against the wall with one hand and hanging onto someone with the other, in a pleasure-morphed position where 'awkward' doesn't begin to describe the arch in your back, but I manage just fine for the circumstances. "Fuck, Gerard! I can barely move!" exclaims Frank.

"You always," I pant, "say that!"

"Don't give me lip," Frank says, harshly at first, but the next part comes off as a purr. "Don't be a bad boy."

To me, being called 'bad' in any way is far more arousing than anything someone could physically do to me. Frank knows it, too. I feel all the tense points I have relax, including the one Frank was complaining about, and I become more aware of Frank's presence in my body. In fact, that's all I'm aware of. It takes maybe a minute before my stomach drops again and I barely manage to stutter out, "Frank, I'm gonna- I think- fuck, I think I'm gonna-"

Frank bends down, and mutters, "No, you're not," but he sounds less intimidating with a voice strained by sex.

"Or," I struggle to say, "or what?"

"You don't w- ah, want to find out."

I roll my eyes and try to think anything but this. I'm trying to think about sports, but I don't know much about them. Anyways, this sensation is rather hard to ignore. This is, even for me, intense. I don't recall the last time I've been fucked like this. Not on any of Frank's booty calls, not with anybody else. I think about death and all things morbid, and that works for a bit. I never forget completely about Frank, because he's huffing and puffing and groaning on top of me, but I put myself off enough that I can last a while longer. I wonder fleetingly if he thinks something's wrong because of my lack of noise at this point.

I've got my eyes closed and am thinking about murder when I feel a hand grasp the very thing I'm trying to tame. I gasp and whine, "Fra-ank!"

"Yes?" he asks somewhat sweetly.

"L'eggo!"

In response, Frank pumps his hand up and down my length once and I get dizzy. I abandon all thoughts of protest, and a few more strokes later Frank is eliciting a vertiable symphony of moans from me. His hips crash into me as he finds his rhythm once again, and he seems strangely satisfied to have me whimpering his name. At this point I'm gritting my teeth, and pinching my eyes shut for whatever reason and I'm waiting for Frank to tell me that it's alright to blow my load because right now, there's not a whole lot keeping me from doing so except the thought of post-sex punishment. As much as I like to be pushed around, not when I've just finished being fucked.

"Hey, you," Frank leans on my back and says into my ear.

"Mm?" I reply with an imhuman amount of effort to be coherent.

"You're ready?"

"Beyond," I whimper, still trying to put myself off of an orgasm.

"I've got you," he whispers in an oddly comforting way, and I feel him push as deep as he can into me, hitting my prostate in an indirect fashion which in no time at all causes me to hit my peak with such a force that I shake and have to hold on to Frank to keep myself from falling over in exhaustion. Halfway through my orgasm, Frank bites down on the back of my neck as he comes, which makes me cough out a groan; an awkward sound but he knows he's done well.

Frank collapses onto me and I sink down to my knees, then to my side, when Frank wraps and arm around my waist and pulls out slowly as I grit my teeth against a whimper.

"That was," he whispers in my ear, "fucking hot."

"Mm," I reply in agreement.

"Roll over," he says in a harsher tone. I grunt at the effort it takes to roll my now useless body to face Frank, and I'm not excited for more orders. Not right now.

I look into his eyes, he blinks one time and presses his lips softly to mine. I respond with a slight purse of my own, kissing his upper lip and tasting the salty residue from a fair amount of sweat, although, I'm too tired to do much else. And too confused about this kissing business. My heart starts to thrum unnaturally fast as he pulls me close into him and it feels as if he's pouring emotion into this kiss now; it feels different than sympathy ones. I raise up my hand to rest it on his cheek, and he rests one leg on top of mine. Frank runs his tongue along my bottom lip, so I open my mouth a little more to grant him entry. He tastes like cigarettes, a taste which unlike most, I love. I slide my hand down to the back of his neck and rub it up and down methodically, feeling tiny goosebumps arise and I find this adorable. He seems more human now.

Frank breaks our kiss, much to my disappointment, and says, "This isn't right, is it?"

"What's not?" I pry, confused.

"Me coming over all the time, battering you senseless and fucking you, then leaving."

"I can't say I mind," I admit.

Frank laughs in that adorable way that defies all his toughness. "I do. I always feel like such a prick when I get out that door."

"Why?"

There's a pause as Frank takes a breath and braces himself. "'Cause I hurt you."

I can do nothing but blink. I don't really understand... I thought he liked hurting me. That was the point... right? "Well... it's not like I tried to stop it. Besides, you don't care if you hurt me or not," I joke.

Frank doesn't laugh. "I do care. It doesn't look like it," he says, his brow furrowing, "but I do. And I'm... I'm so sorry. I let the wrong thing surpass the right thing, if that makes sense. I like you, I really do, but I took it too far. I thought I could abuse you and your feelings and get away with it. I was wrong. That's not how you treat the people you love."

"W-what?" I gasp. "What did you say? You love me?"

Frank nods sheepishly. "Since day one. I don't know why I've been such an asshole, truth be told. I can't put into words how sor-"

I interrupt him by crushing my mouth onto his, not wanting to hear any more that will ruin my buzz. Between kisses I manage to say, "I don't care,"

and, "I love you, too," and, "I liked it when you punished me."

Frank pushes me away gently while smiling condescendingly. "I don't deserve that, Gerard."

"Why not?" I whine. I want Frank even more than usual now. I'd like to know what sex with him would feel like when it's not so very angry.

"You don't have to take my shit."

"I'd like to take something else," I prod, getting an eye-roll in response from Frank.

"I'm scum. I'm worse than that. I'm awful. I'm... I'm pretty much a whore."

I smirk. "Now I thought you would be the one saying that to me."

Frank laughs again. "Oh, shut up."

"What do you want me to do?" I encourage.

Frank catches on. "I said, shut up!"

"Make me," I mock.

Frank presses a hand to my mouth in an attempt to silence me, to which I reply with a bite. I'm a little more daring, as I'm not so frightened of Frank's discipline anymore. I know now that he loves me, he wants me, values me, and he officially has me. I was in his grip before, surely, but this feels different. Like we each belong to the other, or could potentially. Either way, the bite is not responded to in such a tender manner as I've been thinking.

My face stings as I recover from a healthy smack. I narrow my eyes at him and smirk. "Kiss it better, you little shit."

The 'little shit' comment gets me another slap, in the precise spot he'd smacked me before, and I groan in a mixture of pain and extreme pleasure. I'm about to snap at him with my newly-asserted fraction of dominance, but Frank beats me to the punch. "I will be the one telling you what to do, clear?"

"Yes," I whisper, my voice wavering at the familiar disconcerting feeling of fear and anticipation. Except now it's more anticipation with a mix of wonder.