it had been two weeks since frank had last showered. two and a half days since he had last eaten. and everything in his cupboard was empty or rotting. his apartment smelled of death. his eyes were gray. his clothes were gray. a sweatshirt. sweatpants. everything felt too cold for him. everything seemed like too much for him. and every waking moment felt like a moment closer to death. he didn't want to die. no, he didn't. maybe he did. but he felt as though he didn't. maybe he just wanted to rot away until the maggots found him and the last person to have seen him alive was two years prior and that was his friend who lived two states away and rarely checked in on him. it was just a lucky drive by. no texts from frank for a while. he was worried. so he came inside, knocked of course, but he came inside and he checked and frank wasn't there. and he'd find him in his bed, staring at the moldy wall, cobwebs infiltrating his closet and his eyes would be dried out and his hair would be far beyond greasy and he would be sad. and his friend would call 911. but they can't do anything for someone who's been dead for two years and maybe frank would have liked it. his last days. maybe he would.

but all he can do is fantasize from his apartment, eyes on the tv screen. hair greasy, clothes sweaty. scars on wrists. slits and thighs. red eyes. frank isn't sure what gets him up. what gives him the energy to grab some nicer clothes, a leather jacket and skinny jeans. and he isn't sure why he takes a shower and brushes his teeth and shaves his ass, but he does. and he thinks about maybe he can feel something if he goes out to that club off of main and fifth and he grabs himself a drink and forces himself to confront that man with the black hair and piercing eyes, maybe he will feel something. so he does.

and it's everything he hates. he doesn't dare safeword. even if he wants to. but the man pulls him aside, forces him on his knees despite the fact that frank does not have the strength to put effort into it. his eyes are half closed, his lips in a solid o, drool down his chin. he looks up at him through fluttered eyelids, imagines himself anywhere else. and the man pulls him off and forces him into weak feet, "come to my place?"

"okay." frank says. and they're off. frank stays on his phone the entire drive. they get there. the man is less than impressed when frank undresses.

"what's up with the scars, you trying to act edgy or should you just not be here right now?" he asks.

"i probably shouldn't be here but if you don't fuck me right fucking now, i'll probably end up blowing my brains out," frank says, monotone as it gets when you're joking about suicide.

the man frowns, slightly concerned, but that just pisses frank off and he rips off the other's jeans, jerking him up, "daddy? sir? master?"

"gerard," he says.

"i didn't ask for your fucking name," frank snarls, more aggressive than necessary, but he's in a bad mindset and everything inside him tells him to just feel something. even if it hurts, "what's your title?"

"sir is fine," he says, "you don't have to be mean about it."

"fuck off, i can be as mean as i fucking want to. you're the one in charge right now, so do what punishment you feel fits." frank says, tugging apart at the bedside drawers for lube or a condom or something, he manages to find it in the top drawer and he grins, looking back at the man.

"i don't know if this is the right time for this. are you sure you're okay?" he asks, worry in his voice.

"i'm fucking fine!" frank looks down, noticing the man is going limp, "you're fucking kidding me right now. are you fucking serious?"

"i'm just worried—"

"don't be, you fucking asshole," frank barks, squeezing the lube bottle too hard, "i didn't come out of my house, go all the way to that stupid club, and come back to this lousy ass fucking place just to attend a pity party. i'm here to get fucked. whether it be hard or soft. kinky or not. this is your night, you own me and if you're gonna be a fucking pussy about it i'll just leave!"

gerard glares, "you're asking for it, boy."

"oh am i? i couldn't tell. let me make it a little fucking clearer for you!" frank says sarcastically, before glaring, "if you don't fucking fuck me face first into this bed with my arms fucking pinned down and hurting i will actually fucking leave this place and find someone better because you obviously don't do a damn good job at being a dom, i suggest if you can't put it up the ass, you take it up the ass because you obviously don't know what the fucking difference is."

frank is quick to lose his breath when his face is pinned down into the pillow and he hears the drawers opening and closing a few times. soon enough, there's rope, keeping his hands on the headboard and two hands forcing his legs apart as one slaps his ass hard and the other grabs the lube from frank, "fucking subs don't know how to fucking behave i swear to fucking god."

"oh i'm sorry, i didn't know that you were new to this. i'm frank, and your job is to put your cock into my hole as roughly as you can. you got that princess?"

"you're gonna regret those words, frank."

"then make me already," frank bites back. before he can really process it, rubber is poking at his ass and there's nothing but a thick layer of lube to push him open. but dear fuck is he ready.

the next thing he knows, gerard is fucking him into the bed, his hips up much higher than anything else, his back arched beautifully, his cock hard and his fingers numb as the bed rocks into the wall and everything inside frank is fire, "holy fucking shit oh fuck. mmfuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck."

frank moans even louder when gerard forces his head into the pillows and he can't breathe and his legs are spreading farther, trying to get gerard in deeper. his heart is racing and his lungs are gentle about their scream at first, but eventually they're burning and frank does nothing. maybe he'll die here and gerard will just fuck him into his death. maybe he will never come back up and he'll die in pleasure and he'll bust his fucking load into this mattress just as he dies. he wants to let himself stay down, gerard is still firmly planted there, hands tight in his hair and frank is still moaning and crying and when gerard forces his hips impossibly closer forward, he screams at the angle, legs shaking. he wants to come up. everything tells him not to except for his lungs and the lack of oxygen to his brain but soon enough the want dies off and he has to come up, gerard lets him get a gasp but just after, he's pinned back down and he feels his cock twitch hard in response. gerard's still going hard, slamming his entire body into frank.

frank screams into the pillow, hips twitching as he feels himself coming closer. he's whining and crying. because it feels so fucking good and frank hasn't had a fuck like this in years. it's rough and hard and his hips are aching but gerard's cock is right on top of his prostate and if that didn't already feel good, the tension on his ribs and lungs and gerard's hand in his hair and his other hand stroking frank just makes everything else fade away. frank is close, frank is so fucking close. he considers not asking permission, considers just cumming but he knows gerard would probably punish him and frank does not have the energy for that tonight. when he feels his lungs burning and screaming. he pushes up against gerard hand and gasps, "can i cum, sir? please, fuck, please?"

"beg." gerard says, "and it better be good or else you won't be cumming at all, is that understood?"

frank groans. half from the sex, half from frustration. he wants to beg, sure. he can do that. but gerard holding his head down and placing him at the doorstep to death just sounds so much better. so much more pleasing and rewarding. frank whines, but eventually, when gerard's hand is going fast enough on his cock and his thrusts get harder, frank cries out and manages, "p-please, sir, just let me cum. i've been so good for you i-i learned not to talk back, i can be good and quiet and obedient. please, i just need to cum."

gerard pushes his face down into the pillow, frank rolls his eyes back, everything coming harder and he needs his release. after a good fifteen seconds, frank's legs shaking violently, gerard's spare hand coming from frank's cock to his hip. he leans forward and says, "cum with your face in the pillow."

he allows him one last breath before he's sent back down. it only takes about fifteen seconds to reach it, then another ten when frank finally does cum. gerard goes for a good two more minutes, only letting frank up from the pillow when he pushes up. when gerard finally cums, he pulls up, gasping over and over again because as much as he was allowed to come up, it was only for one breath at a time and holy fucking god is frank happy gerard did that. the tautness in his lungs, the burning, the catch in his throat. it's amazing. it feels so bad that it's good. 

when gerard finally pulls out, frank is gasping and panting, eyes rolled back, his ass feeling disgusting but he gets used to it. he always does. gerard's eyes are half closed, black greasy hair, red eyes, dark grin. frank is still panting, but not near as much as gerard. he isn't even entirely aware of gerard until the boy sits atop him, pinning his hands on the bed above him, "how was that? you still think i'm a pussy?"

"i think you can improve. but i don't think you're a pussy," frank grins as gerard unites the rope, "you got a cig?"

"yeah," gerard replies, searching through the bedside drawer for his spare pack and lighter, he grabs two, presses one between frank's lips and presses one between his own before lighting both on the same flame. frank shuts his eyes, inhaling deeply as gerard rolls off and he finds his pants and underwear.

"you're not leaving already, at least let me drive you home." gerard says, immediately pulling out the sympathy card again. frank rolls his eyes, taking a deep puff of the cigarette after biting down on the end, he needs the extra kick.

"no. fuck you. i don't need to be pampered."

"why did you come out tonight?"

"to get fucked, obviously," frank growls, "why?"

"it wasn't because... you need help or anything? i'm worried. i know i don't know you but i worry about stuff like that." gerard replies, "you told me how you were gonna blow your brains out."

"it was a joke."

"and the scars?"

frank hesitated, pulling out the cigarette, "they're older."

"only by a few months."

"do you not understand what a one night stand means, gerard? fuck. i can't believe you told me your name. and i sure as fuck shouldn't have told you mine.  a one night stand is where you have sex. and then you both forget each other for the rest of your lives. this was a shitty ass one, too. you don't need to fucking psychoanalyze me, by the way. i'm not a danger."

"to yourself you are."

"i'm not. i'm clean, i shaved, i brushed my teeth."

"you still reek," gerard replies, "at least take my number?"

"fuck off!" frank barks, finishing off with his shoes, "fucking hell."

gerard goes quiet for a minute, then grabs the pack of cigarettes. when frank turns around again, he's handing it over.

"what's this?" frank mumbles.

"at least take them if you won't let me help you with anything else. i know they're not necessarily good but-"

"yeah, i got it," frank says, "bye, gerard."

"do you need a ride back to the club at least?"

"i'll walk."

"it's an hour long walk. it's dark out."

"i'll be fine."

"frank..."

"maybe i'll get raped, who knows." frank grins as he walks away.

"please?"

"get fucked!" frank yells, already down the street. gerard sighs to himself, unsure of what to do but he decides that maybe it's for the best. he just hopes the number in the cigarette box will do him good. he hopes.