From the Razor to the Rosary (Completed)

Chapter Twenty Two - It's Not A Fashion Statement.

  My eyes flutter open as the bed shifts next to me. I smile, the coldness of the arms around me tells me it's Gerard, keeping my eyes closed, I turn in his embrace sleepily, slinking closer and pressing my body to his, he gives a small chuckle at my reaction to him. I feel his cool fingertips brush against the skin of my cheek, then his lips press to my forehead, I smile tiredly. 

  "I thought you would have kicked me out" he says in a hushed tone, I frown. Gerard stays in my bed all the time, even sometimes when he was alive and couldn't be bothered to cross the street he'd sleep in my bed with me, it's big enough for two without being uncomfortable. Even so, now that he's dead he sleeps with me all the time. Why would he think that I'd kick him out? 

  Then I realise, it's not Gerard's voice that whispered to me. My eyes jerk open, to see a sleepy looking Frank, topless, with his arm draped over my waist. 

  Thankfully, his eyes are closed now, so he doesn't see my reaction to realising it's him in my bed and not my dead best friend. I shift awkwardly, remembering the night before. He really did sleep on the floor the whole night, I did think he might crawl into my bed, but I guess he stayed true to his word, coming in my bed now doesn't exactly count. 

  "I'd kick you out, but I'm too tired" I tell him, my voice light and casual, hushed in the early morning light, he smiles with his eyes still closed. 

  "Why would you want to kick this sexy thing out of your bed?" he yawns, and I give an amused chuckle.

  Looking at him though, I have to silently agree, his skin is incredibly pale, but not a sickly pale like Gerard's, there isn't a bit of colour on Frank, except for his cheeks, where the faintest of pinks grace his cheekbones, and his eyelids, which are a natural darker shade than the rest of his face, maybe it's from lack of sleep, or maybe his skin is stained from the years of smearing eyeliner on. 

 To be honest, his body is pretty impressive, he's doesn't have a six pack and abs or bulging muscles. Instead his biceps are shaped and smooth, not exactly weedy or non-exsistent, but not huge either. His chest and stomach are definitely something to look at, again, no outstanding muscles, but his stomach is toned and smooth, there's no hair on him, but then that's not a bad thing. 

  "I didn't know you had tattoos" I murmur, his torso is littered with them. There's one on the left side of his chest, the word 'hope' inked onto his skin with what looks like a fire sitting on top of it. The tattoos he does have aren't masterpieces, but I guess they mean something to him. 

  "How could you?" Frank says a few seconds later, his voice still quiet "It's not like I've ever been topless around you, as much as I'd like to be" a smile tugs at his lips as I give him a weak punch. Fair point I guess though. The tattoos he does have are only on his torso, in places you could only see if he removed his shirt. I suppose he doesn't take off his shirt very often. I wonder how he got the tattoos; he's still underage. 

  We fall into silence. It's not awkward or even uncomfortable, it's just a nice quiet. I watch as his chest starts to rise and fall evenly, and listen as his breathing becomes even and shallow. I smile, he really does look better when he doesn't have his sarcastic mask on. 

  After a while of watching him, I slip from under his arm and slide from the bed silently, making sure he's covered with the quilt, I pad over to my wardrobe and pull out a hastily thrown together outfit. Then with the material in my hands, I go to the bathroom and take a quick shower.

  Around twenty minutes later I'm pulling a Metallica shirt on over a pair of ripped jeans. I brush my teeth and my hair after towel-drying it thoroughly. Just as I'm stepping out of the bathroom, with steam creeping out with me, I hear the front door slam. I frown.