A Lonely Avenue (part two)
Title:A Lonely Avenue (part two)
Author: zmphony
Pairing: Frank/Gerard
Rating/Warning: R, Frerard vampire AU.
A/N: Heya anyone know how ta make a masterslist?
Disclaimer: Its fiction.
Summary: Willow Avenue. It's been quite alone most the time. It's always been alone. Atleast, at nighttime it is. He watched these nights. Frank knew he did. He was new to the neighborhood.
The man woudn't leave Frank's mind the next day. He stayed firmly center of his thoughts, like some sort of single rose in a field of daisies. He took up so much space his teachers yelled at him in class for not paying attention, and it came nearly as a heart attack when he realized that there'san algebra test today and he didn't study.
He decided that if he failed this test and ruined his education and ended up as a hobo playing his guitar for money on the streets, the blame would be entirely left on his new neighbor.
What was his name? He didn't know. But he spent the next two class periods trying to place a distinguished name on the man.
Maybe it's Jareth, or Clive, or Jamison, or something totally dark like that, He thought, waves and waves of names flying through his head. Or maybe Ferdinand, or Damian, or maybe even Vlad...there was so many he could write a song about it...hmm maybe he will--
"Frank!"
Reality burst in front of Frank's eyes with the obnoxious ringing of the bell and contact of a paper ball to his head, courtesy of Hambone, of course.
"What?" He said, watching the paper ball fall limply to the linoleum floor of his classroom. Hambone looked at with a quirked eyebrow.
"Lunch." He replied, slinging his torn backpack over his shoulder casually. Frank noticed the almost-empty classroom, and the teacher waiting impatiently for them to leave. Right. He mimicked Hambone's actions and followed him out of the room, his eyes almost vacant with the way he observed the migration of cliques and crowds. As he and Hambone paused at their lockers, Hambone addressed him.
"Something happen to you yesterday?"
Frank looked up at him with wide eyes, "No, why?" But he didn't even finish his sentence without his gaze falling off center of his friend, as if following the hypothetical image of his neighbor that he received upon being asked the question.
"I dunno, you seem kinda out of it today." He said, as if it wasn't a big deal or anything, while shoving some books into his locker and pulling out a brown bag, "Anyways, you ready for tonight?"
"Tonight?"
"Yeah," Hambone said, turning and looking at him,"Tonight? Corner store, at five?"
Frank took a second to register, "Oh, yeah. Totally."
"Did you forget?"
"No."
"Better not have. Shaun's gonna bring some forties along to celebrate Pencey's first year. 'Gonna be tight." He said, as they walked to their table, Frank nodding along to the words being said, "You're coming, right? Like, your mom will let you?"
"Yeah," He gave him a shove for good measure, "Hell yeah."
Hambone laughed, and for a second, the mystery man left his mind. But, only for a second.
***
His mom was gone by the time he came home.
So this was she meant by graveyard shift, He thought. His backpack was sprawled out on the floor from when he made a quick stop at home to pick up his guitar. Hambone wanted him to bring it, 'said something about how it's kinda necessary since it is the band's first anniversary.
He was exhausted. And sweaty. Apparently, they went from the corner store, to the skate park, to the graveyard, and by the time they actually made it back to the corner store, all the forties were wasted and Tim and Neil had to be driven home by Shaun because the ground was just too hard to put their feet on.
He was only guy in the group who actually had a car, much less a responsibility.
Hambone walked Frank home, since he only lived a few blocks down.
Albeit Frank didn't get drunk, he did get tipsy. And he needed a shower. Badly.
His clothes were left in a tiny, sweaty heap in the corner of his room while steam came up in big cloudy balls, floating down the hallway where the bathroom was, The Cure blasting from his room, just five steps down. It was nearly twelve a.m. when he fell down on his bed, in his boxers-only pajamas. The moonlight sprayed into his room like a saintly mist, painting his walls and carpet a hazey blue and white. He was just about to burrow himself under his covers, when a light was turned on from outside his window. Looking in, he saw the light in neighbor's bedroom on.
The lights were dim, as if they were secrets, and two figures stood by the window. One was the neighbor.
He quickly scooted to the window, kneeling down so he could watch, but not too noticeably.
At first he thought it was the other man who lived there that was with him, but the other man didn't have long, shiny golden hair that fell down to his shoulders, and a particularly curved body that looked like it had been sitting in a tanning booth for twelve hours. And he wasn't a she with a lacey red bra and panties. Frank flinched. He should've closed the curtains and went to bed, but right as he was about to, the man, the one he'd had in his head all day, appeared behind her.
He didn't move. His breath hitched like a hiccup. Although that could've been the alcohal that wasn't out of his system yet. More or less correct.
He looked more sightly than yesterday. His torso was bare, the infallible white of his skin lavishing the broad, solid width of his chest and abs. His hair was brushed back aways, so Frank could see his face more clearly; the defined, unblemished image that made Frank hold his breath. He was perfect. His cheek bones directed upwards to the natural curve under his dark eyes, and his lips were plush and pink.The man's white, flawless hands held her shoulders gently, and her head tipped backwards against his collar, her eyes shut and her mouth ajar. Her lips looked too big for her face and her bra looked like it was about to bust. Frank felt a pang of jealousy hit some soft spot within him, but paid no attention to it. He wanted to reach out and entangle his fingers with the strange neighbor's own, wanted to know if they felt as soft and pure as they looked.
He was prepossessed by the man. What was his name?? Where could he have come from?
Frank watched as the woman guided the man's firm, elegant fingers to her bra, and lightly, unlatched it, letting it fall uselessly. Frank flinched. Ew.
She tipped her head to the side, as the man smoothly sweeped her long locks to the side, revealing her tanned neck vulnerably, then began pressing his lips to it in tiny intervals, all of which seemed to make her shiver. Frank watched intently, and faintly wondered how those lips would feel on his neck. Then, just as he laced his arms around her securely, he raised his head, spread his lips, showing his clean, pearly...
Frank's eye nearly outgrew his sockets.
Because, when the man parted his lips and leaned down sweetly, not only did he see a hollywood-holy set of teeth, he also saw two white, razor sharp fangs appeared where his canines would be.
Frank lost his breath. Didn't move. Couldn't move. How much had he drank again?
But then, the man stopped. He looked up, and gazed directly out the window. At Frank.
Frank didn't know what to do, what he could do, what he should've done. The world had stopped.
His heart stopped.
He just sat there, staring back at the man, frozen.The woman wasn't paying attention, just looking away, bodily exposed and all, while the man slowly walked in front of her, to where the window was.
He was looking right at Frank. Literally. Their eyes were entwined in a gaze that seemed to be a dance of fear and exploration, unearthing chemicals inside the two that bubbled up like fountains. Atleast, for Frank it was.
He watched as the man gracefully brought up one moonlit hand, and with his long, slender fingers, he pulled down the drapery.
It was barely ten seconds after that that Frank nearly jumped into bed and hid under his covers, breathing faster than an olympic runner. Just sleep, He told himself, sleep.