Chapter twenty four - flowers of flesh and blood

legs and limbs and lips, all open with your fingertips
you make holes in me, and little slits
you use as mouths for you to kiss

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Lisa seemed far too eager to make herself scarce before we crossed the Freighter on the seas, but I made no complaint. It was quite a relief to get some space after everything that had happened and everything I had found out.

I needed to think about what in God's name I was going to tell Gerard. He was going to be a mess, and it was going to be my fault.

A small part of me was far more afraid for his reaction that it should have been– but it was for absolutely nothing; as soon as I passed from the rigging of the Aurora to the Freighter, he was clutching me to his chest like a lost teddy bear, laughing into my hair, despite the fact that he was clearly quite distressed. To my surprise, he didn't even smell faintly of alcohol, nor tobacco.

"I'm sorry," I said as the Aurora disappeared into the blurred waves.

"They were liars," Gerard muttered. "I would never hurt Mikey."

"I know. They thought you were somebody else. It's a whole long story, Gerard, but– they didn't murder your brother."

Gerard stilled and a small tremor shook his whole body. "Michael's–"

"No," I said quickly, guilty that I'd led him on. "He just got very sick. But he was happy. He had a good life there. They meant to help him, and they did."

"They still took him!" Gerard cried. "It's not even remotely ethical, I–"

"They saved him, Gerard. Your father was hurting him."

Gerard tried to say something, but then halted. His body lost much of its tone and I kept him upright.

"Yeah," I muttered.

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"Why?" Gerard's voice was crisp and cold in the dark night air.

I ran my fingertips over the raw silver edge of my dagger. We had planned to fight, but had succumbed to fatigue and just sat together on deck, underneath the stars.

"Why did you go?"

"I don't know," I whispered. "There's just something wrong with everything that's happening right now. Something wrong with me. I feel–" The skin of my hand caught on the blade, and I twitched as it drew blood. "I feel... God, I don't know."

"Like something is eating away at you from the inside," Gerard said.

In my hesitation, the knife caught slightly deeper on my knuckle, but this time I did not flinch as a tiny smudge of blood, dark and blue-tinged in evening light, slid down into the crease of my palm. "Yes," I said, my voice dry. "Yes."

Gerald sunk back against the rails, and let his eyes fall shut. "Scorpion boy," he muttered, almost inaudibly. "Mine."

I curled my hand into a fist, and a drop of blood squeezed between my fingers. "I might be on your side," I said in a low voice, "But that doesn't make me yours."

Gerard tensed. "How am I supposed to go to Parade Island without you?"

"I'm still on your side, Gerard," I stressed, clutching his arm. "You need to understand that. I'm here for you, but you don't own me."

"You're still going with me?" he asked, hesitant.

"Of course, Gerard." I shoved his shoulder. "You idiot."

He laughed, and wiped the bloodstain I'd left on his sleeve onto the inside of his coat.

"I'm always here for you," I said.

Gerard nudged mr with his elbow and I scuffed my heel on the floor. "My pretty boy," he mumbled.

"Okay," I chuckled. "I'll let you have that."

"C'mon then, darling," Gerard said playfully. "Reconciliation fight?"

Before I had time to give him a shove he had pushed me off the bench and pinned me to the floor, and my dagger had slipped from my grasp. Briefly I was in a state of shock, and Gerard laughed, but the smirk fell from his when I grasped his wrists and pushed him onto his side, breaking his steady stature. I laughed breathlessly and pressed his hands down, then pinned him under my chest and grasped for the dagger.

Gerard's cold hands were shaking under mine as the warmth from my body bled into his, and his heart was fluttering like a dove. His chest rose and fell rapidly with his heavy breaths, and without even thinking, I clutched at his one hand, and lightly pressed the blade of the dagger into the palm of the other. A little gasp was torn from his throat, and he grasped at my waist– but he didn't try and push me away, he was trying to pull me closer.

This wasn't a fight. This was something else.

I let out a shaky breath, and my chest fell against his. He slid his hand up my side and tangled his fingers in my hair, clutching at the nape of my neck, and I could feel the warm slide of droplets of blood from his hand trailing down the back of my shirt. I shivered, and Gerard held me closer, murmuring my name into my shoulder. He ran his fingers through my hair warmly, and spoke in a quiet rasp. "Mine."

The dagger slipped from my hand with a blank clatter. I couldn't disagree with Gerard, despite the fact that I wanted to. The draw of the heat from his body and the sound of his voice was enough to flatten any moral objections I had.

A streak of something flashed briefly through Gerard's eyes, and then without a pause he was too close, his mouth warm and careful on mine, and his fingers catching in my hair. I fumbled to grip at his hip with my free hand, and held myself up with the other, my fingers splayed out on the wooden floor and my arm straining from the pressure.

Gerard's lips were chapped from the dry sea air, but his mouth was damp and hot from the kiss, and the taste of his skin– not the lingering residue of alcohol or tobacco, just his natural taste– was heady, and overwhelmed any awkwardness from the position we were in. My nose brushed against the side of his face when I tried to lean in further and Gerard chuckled, and it reverberated in his chest and against mine. I laughed too– a warm laugh I knew was rare for me, and only surfaced when I was with Gerard.

I rolled over so I could lie beside him, my spine digging into the wooden floor, but my hands free to touch. His hips were soft again; he had regained the precious baby fat he'd held so long ago. He pressed his nose to the side of my face, and his hair tickled my skin, stringy and unwashed and smelling like dried blood, and I just fucking loved him.

"Gerard," I murmured. I knew the sound of my voice was broadcasting my emotions and leaving me far too easy to read: I was confessing.

An exhale left Gerard's lips. "Frank," he said back, his voice warm and muffled in my neck. A confirmation. It said enough.

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close my plastic eyelids; you say this is the love we all hope to find
so don't cry, don't worry. you're supposed to bleed the first time