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December 2, 2012
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(Contains: sexual themes and strong language)
Frank coughed in the back room of the bakery. He'd been feeling sluggish all morning then the coughing started. He hoped he wasn't coming down with another random illness. That would be the last thing he needs.

"Francis, are you getting ill again?" his mother asked, poking her head into the room.

Frank coughed again, covering his mouth with a cotton handkerchief. "No, mama. Just a small cough," he said, smiling to assure her. "I'll be fine."

His mother, Linda, scowled and walked into the room. Frank groaned and tried to swat her hand away when she placed it in his forehead. He always felt like a child when she did that. "I don't know, dear," she finally said, frowning softly. "You look a bit flushed. Why don't you go upstairs and rest a while. Your father and I can handle the shop."

Frank sighed, coughing into his handkerchief again. He knew it would be fruitless to argue. "Yes, mama."

Linda shooed him out the back door. "I'll be up to check on you after we close shop," she smiled, ushering him towards the staircase.

"Mama, I'm twenty two," Frank whined. "You don't have to baby me anymore."

"Hush now, Francis," she tutted. "You're my only son and I'll baby you for as long as I wish."

Frank sighed again before climbing the two flights of stairs to his apartment. He lived on the third floor of the building that his parents owned. The bottom floor was the family bakery, Il Piccolo Panificio, above it was his parents' apartment. Then, at the very top of the building, was Frank's own apartment. He moved in the day he turned seventeen and he had been working at the bakery since he was thirteen.

Unlocking the door, Frank slipped inside, holding back another wave of coughs. He shuffled into the room, stopping when he saw a folded letter on the table. He looked back at his door, then to the key in his hand and back to the paper.

It definitely wasn't there when he left that morning. And the door was locked.

Cautiously, he made his way to the table, picking the paper up. It was a thick and heavy parchment, probably costing at least a month's wages to buy. Mister Francis Anthony Iero, Junior was written in a fancy script along the front. Turning the parchment over, Frank saw it was folded and sealed with a silvery blue wax. The seal was that of a wolf sitting and, if he stared long enough, looking fairly regal.

He carefully peeled the wax from the paper and unfolded the letter.

Mister Francis Anthony Iero, Junior,

Your presence is requested this evening at 221 Upper Birch Lane, North London. A carriage will be awaiting you at 3:00 pm sharp.

Cordially yours,
Gerard Arthur Way, Esq.


"North London?" Frank furrowed his brow. "Gerard Way?" The name meant nothing to him, but the parchment told him this man was rich and probably important. He glanced at the clock next to his bed, reading 2:28 pm. Whoever this man was, Frank only had half an hour to get ready.

But, how did he know Frank would be off early today? He normally wouldn't leave the bakery until well past sunset.

Frank walked over to his dresser, picking up the jug sitting there and pouring some water into the basin. He pushed up his sleeves and grabbed the small bar of soap, wetting and lathering it in his hands before washing the flour off his face and neck. He scrubbed the more difficult spots, turning his cheeks slightly pink before drying his face and removing his shirt.

This Gerard Way was surely rich and proper, so Frank pulled out a clean undershirt and his nicest button up shirt. He was about to change into his dress trousers but stopped. His underpants were stained beyond belief. They were his only pair but there was no way he could wear them. This Gerard could probably smell the poor off of him so he didn't need to smell like stagnant water too. He pulled the drawstring and slid the pants off, tossing them into a pile that needed to be washed. He tugged his dress pants on, buttoning up the fly and pulled both of his shirts on. He tucked them into his pants and grabbed his grey waistcoat, sliding it on and buttoning it up.

Slipping his shoes back on and lacing them, he looked in the mirror, straightening his hair slightly. Frank grabbed his coat, looking at the clock again.

2:57 pm. Perfect.

Frank shrugged his jacket on, tucked the parchment into an inside pocket, took a few seconds to lean against the door frame to cough and catch his breath, then made is way down the staircase and out through the alley on the side of the building.

There was indeed a carriage waiting. An expensive looking carriage. A big, blonde man with neatly trimmed facial hair was standing next to the horse. He was patting its neck and cooing to it softly when Frank shuffled over to him.

"Mr. Francis Iero, Jr?" he asked, smiling brightly.

Frank gulped and nodded. "Y-yes, sir. Um-Frank Iero i-is fine," he stuttered, hands shaking at his sides.

"Robert Bryar," the man said, extending a hand, smile still on his face. Frank smiled weakly and shook his hand briefly before letting his hand fall back to his side. "Shall we go? We want to try and beat the rain," Robert said, opening the carriage door.

"Rain?" Frank pondered, looking at the for once clear blue sky.

"Well, the rain and the ghosts of All Hallows' Eve," Robert chuckled.

Frank shivered slightly, pulling his coat tight and climbed into the carriage. Robert shut the door behind him and climbed into the front. Frank glanced out the window, seeing his mother chatting away with a customer as the carriage pulled away. He could see the back of Robert's head bobbing and the dark grey mare trotting along through the small window up front.

He watched the sun begin to set as they made their way out of Frank's neighborhood and into the north of London. The clouds darkened as the journey continued and heavy drops of rain pelted the carriage, echoing loudly throughout the small compartment. Frank felt bad for Robert. He knew the rain must be ice cold and it was coming down in sheets, surely soaking the man.

The gas lamps of the city became few and far between and Frank wondered if this Upper Birch Lane was even in London. He was beginning to regret not bringing anything to read, even if the lights in the carriage weren't lit. He was bored.

Frank rested his chin in his hand and stared out the window, breath fogging the glass. He began to draw shapes to stave off his boredom but even that became boring. The night sky was dark and the rain made it impossible for Frank to even see one foot out of the window. Robert's shadow was just barely visible through the window, body bobbing with the carriage.

Up ahead, in the distance, Frank just barely began to make out a faint light. It grew steadily stronger as the carriage made it way up a shallow incline. Soon, Frank sees more lights, bigger and brighter lights and a large manor looms closer. The carriage stopped and the door opened, revealing Robert's smiling, and soaking wet, face.

"Here we are, Mr. Iero," he said, extending his hand again. The rain instantly seeped into Frank's coat as he stepped outside. He shivered as Robert turned back to the carriage, hopping back up.

Frank hurried up the steps and to the front door of the manor, knocking loudly. His teeth chattered as the rain continued to soak through his clothes.

The heavy door opened and a tall man stood in the light. Frank could feel the warmth escaping from the home and he smiled. "Whom may I say is calling, sir?" the man asked, smiling softly.

"Oh, uh-Frank. I mean, Francis Anthony Iero, Junior. I-er-I was requested?" Frank said, unsure of himself. He was shuddering violently from the cold and rain.

"Of course," the man said, standing back from the door. "Please come in, sir."

Frank stepped past the older man, basking in the warmth of the house. He felt a tug on his shoulders as he took in the sight of gas lamps and jumped.

"Your coat, sir," the man said, waiting for Frank to unbutton it. He nodded, blushing heavily and quickly opened the coat with numb fingers, shrugging it off his wet shoulders. The man, whom Frank assumed was the mysterious Gerard Way's butler, hung the sopping coat on the coat rack before turning back to Frank. "Please wait in the drawing room, Mr. Iero," he said, holding his arm out, palm up, in the direction of a room towards the back of the house. "Master Way will be with you shortly. I shall bring in some coffee while you wait." He turned and entered a room on the left, leaving Frank alone.

Frank nodded to himself and walked down the hall. He peered into the first room he passed, seeing what looked like a sitting room. His eyes widened at the furniture. Everything looked imported and expensive. The next room he came to he hoped was the drawing room. The furniture in this room looked expensive as well. Frank felt like he was dirtying the room just by standing in it. There were two small couches facing each other with a marble coffee table in the center of them. Paintings hung on the wall, most seemed to be of the same woman. She looked to be between the ages of forty and sixty in the portraits and Frank assumed she was Mr. Way's mother or grandmother.

There was a piano to one side of the room, grand and pristine white in color. Frank didn't even want to guess how much it must have cost. He made a mental note not to touch anything in this house.

He sat on the very edge of one of the couches, looking around the room, taking in the thick, plush curtains and the fine Oriental rug under his wet shoes.

The soft clatter of china made him look back to the door. The man from earlier walked in with a silver tray. He placed it on the table and picked up the china pot. Filling one of the two china cups, he set the pot back down. "Cream and sugar?" he asked, smiling politely.

Frank bit his lip, shifting his feet on the rug. "Um-No. No, thank you," he said, accepting the cup and saucer.

"There is no need to be nervous, Mr. Iero," the man smiled. "You are not in any kind of trouble," he said, standing up. He left the room and Frank took a sip of his coffee, letting the hot liquid warm his body. He took another, longer sip before setting the cup and saucer back down on the tray and looked around the room once more.

"You must be Francis Iero, Junior," a voice by the door said.

Frank looked over and saw a man with fair skin and ebony hair in the doorway. He wasn't tall, but still taller than Frank's own five foot four stature. His hair almost reached his shoulder, curling softly around his ears. His eyes were sharp, light brown in color and framed by long, dark lashes. He had a small upturned nose and thin lips that were in a smirk. His black waistcoat and pants seemed tailored and fit his body perfectly and the sleeves of his white shirt were folded up to just below his elbows.

"Y-yes, sir," Frank said. "F-Frank, um-Frank Iero is fine."

Mr. Way walked over to the couch opposite Frank and sat. He picked up the pot and poured himself a cup of coffee, adding two small spoons of sugar to the dark liquid and stirring gently. He tapped the spoon on the edge of his cup, setting it on the saucer. Sitting back on the couch and crossing one knee over the other, he took a sip of his coffee.

Frank watched him with fascination for a few moments before he snapped out of his trance. Every move this man made seemed perfect, like he'd been using his body for over a hundred years. But, of course, that would be impossible. He appeared to only be a few years older than Frank himself. He picked up his own coffee and sipped it quietly, regarding Mr. Way over the rim of his cup.

The room was silent as the two men drank. Only the sound of the heavy rain pattering on the windows was heard. Mr. Way spoke up suddenly, yanking Frank out of the comfortable silence. "I did not ask you here to drink coffee with me in my drawing room, Frank Iero," he said, setting his empty cup back on its saucer.

Frank gulped and set his own empty cup down. He started to wring his hands in his lap, his anxiety about this meeting creeping back up on him. The butler came back into the room and placed the cups and saucers back on the tray before picking it up.

"Thank you, James," Mr. Way said, smiling to the older man who nodded back. He stood as the older man left the room and walked to the window. "Come stand with me," he said.

Frank took a deep breath before standing and walking closer to the man. His mind had a thousand scenarios racing through it, each one worse than the last. He didn't know why this man asked him to his home. He was clearly rich, much richer than Frank could ever hope or even think of being. He thought that maybe he or his family had somehow insulted Mr. Way, but he had never seen him before in his whole life.

"May, um. May I enquire as to why you asked me here?" Frank asked quietly, eyes on the dark polished floor. He looked up at the window when Mr. Way didn't answer. The rain seemed like it would never end and a bolt of lightning lit up the sky. Thunder soon followed, shaking the house slightly.

"To feed," Mr. Way said calmly. He watched the younger man for a reaction.

Frank looked up into his eyes, noting the deep greens and golds speckling the brown. They almost seemed to sparkle in the gas lights on the wall. He swallowed thickly. "T-to feed?" he asked.

Mr. Way's hand stroked Frank's jaw, making him shiver. "Yes, to feed," he smiled. "I need human blood to survive, Frank," he explained, fingers trailing down Frank's neck and over his Adam's apple. He watched as Frank's eyelids became heavy and his body lax and smiled. "Your blood will taste perfect." He grasped Frank's hand loosely with his free hand. "But before I feed, I will give us both pleasure."

"Pleasure?" Frank asked dumbly, watching the older man's eyes sparkle.

"Yes, for the blood is best when it is racing through your veins," he said and tugged on Frank's hand, leading him out of the drawing room. "Oh, and you may call me Gerard from this point on."

"Gerard," Frank said softly, testing the name on his tongue. He followed the older man out of the room and up the large staircase. Frank couldn't focus on his surroundings. His head felt like it was filled with cotton. He decided to focus on Gerard's hand, still holding his own.

His fingers were soft, smooth, and warm. His hand was just slightly larger than Frank's own. Frank's eyes trailed up the man's arm, taking in the porcelain skin, the thickness of his forearm. He watched Gerard's back shifting under his shirt and waistcoat, the slight hunch of his shoulders, his hair brushing against his collar.

He stopped, opened a door and let Frank walk in before him.

The room was large, possibly the same size as Frank's whole apartment. Frank gasped softly. The bed was solid, heavy and made of a rich, dark wood. The coverings were shades of charcoal grey and white with half a dozen fluffy pillows. In the corner was a large desk, covered with parchment, books, inkwells and quills. All of the furniture in the room looked to be made of the same heavy wood.

Frank was pushed further into the room as Gerard entered behind him, pressing the door shut.

Gerard turned the smaller man around, tilting his face up, watching the shadows dance over his olive skin and eyes. They weren't as hazy as he expected them to be. He's done this thousands of times and no human has ever slipped out of his control. "Interesting," he hummed, watching Frank blink up at him.

"Um, what's interesting?" Frank asked, voice calm and eyes lingering on Gerard's.

"It seems I cannot control you," he replied. "Not completely anyway."

Frank frowned. Control him? What did he mean by that? "I-I'm afraid I don't understand," he said. Gerard only smiled and walked him backwards until his thighs pressed against the edge of the bed.

Gerard's fingers traced over Frank's cheek and down his jaw. He could feel Frank beginning to shake. He knew the younger might become scared and it would only make his blood pump faster. He licked his lips, leaning forward and taking in the younger's scent. His fingers slid down Frank's neck, thumb brushing over his Adam's apple.

Frank swallowed, fingers shaking as he raised his hands, placing them on Gerard's shoulders. His mother would kill him if he let this go too far. "Gerard," he tried, voice cracking. He licked his lips and swallowed again. Gerard seemed to be taking his time, letting his palms slid over Frank's chest and down to his sides. "Gerard, I-we can't do this," he said. "It's not right. It-it's a sin."

"I'm already a sin, Frankie," Gerard whispered, lips brushing Frank's ear. His hands snaked around Frank's back and up, feeling the muscles shift under his clothes. "A sin born over two thousand years ago." He felt Frank shiver when his lips pressed to his neck. His pulse raced and his hands clenched around Gerard's shoulders, but he didn't push the older away.

Gerard placed a small kiss under Frank's ear, then another when his breath hitched. His fingers worked on opening Frank's waistcoat, sliding it off his shoulder. It dropped to the floor next to their feet and Gerard tugged his shirts out from his pants, fingers slipping under the cotton and feeling the warm flesh underneath. He trailed his lips down Frank's neck, stopping every inch to place a kiss or nip at the tender skin. He unbuttoned the younger's shirt, letting it pool in the floor before yanking his undershirt over his head.

Frank shivered, his still wet hair dripping down his neck. He let his hands fall back to his sides as Gerard stood back, watching him. He felt small, not to mention young and inexperienced, under his gaze. Gerard's hand came forward, resting lightly on his hip and he exhaled a shaky breath. He didn't know how to do this- this sex with another man thing.

Gerard ran his fingers up his chest, thumb brushing over his nipple and making Frank gasp. He smiled, stepped close again and pinched his fingers around the pink flesh. Frank's whine softened into a moan when he released the now raised skin. He leaned forward, nose against Frank's cheek as he pressed their lips together.

Even as Gerard licked at his lips, Frank kept them closed. He whined again when his nipple was pinched and Gerard slipped his tongue into his mouth, licking at his teeth and tongue. Frank tried to lean back and away from the man, but his body resisted the movement and Gerard had a strong grip around his waist.

"Get on the bed," he ordered, breath hitting Frank's wet lips.

Frank nodded dumbly, sitting down on the soft bed. Gerard crouched down in front of him and untied his shoes, yanking them and his socks off before standing again. Frank looked up at the man, wide eyed and slightly breathless.

"Move up," Gerard said, unbuttoning his own waistcoat.

Frank complied quickly, scooting up the bed until his feet were no longer hanging off. He kept himself propped up on his elbows as he watched the older man strip.

His waistcoat fell to the floor, the came his braces and both shirts. Frank's breath caught in his throat at the sight of his pale and smooth skin. It was on par with a china doll. His arms were strong and his muscles looked firm. It was no wonder Frank could not escape his grasp. He ducked down for a moment before crawling up on the bed and hovering over Frank's smaller body.

Gerard smiled as Frank shifted further up the bed and laid his head on a pillow. He looked so perfect and delicious. He would enjoy taking his virginity and his blood. He leaned down on his elbows, one leg between Frank's, and kissed him again.

Frank was a bit more willing this time, kissing him back with a small amount of enthusiasm. His body tensed when Gerard's hand made contact with his hip again. He hummed softly as Gerard's lips left his own and found his neck again.

He kissed and nipped at Frank's pulse point, smiling when Frank shifted underneath him. His erection was growing nicely, just like Gerard's own, when he palmed him through his trousers.

Frank yelped, hips jerking up and cock rubbing into Gerard's hand. He bit his lip and pressed his head back into the pillow.

This wasn't right, he knew that, but his body wanted it. It was begging for it, screaming for it.

"G-gerard," he whined, tilting his head back farther as Gerard scrapped his teeth over his Adam's apple. Frank whimpered when his collarbone was licked then bit roughly.

Gerard shifted his weight to his knees, pushing his body up and his expert fingers slipped under the waist band of Frank's trouser, working the buttons through their holes. His tongue slid down Frank's chest, stopping to suck and tease his nipples as he pushed the younger's pants off his hips.

He expected to feel the rough cotton of Frank's underpants but found smooth skin and coarse hair. He release Frank's nipple from between his teeth, hearing a sigh as he continued south. His tongue dipped into Frank's navel and he felt the younger flinch.

"You can touch me," he whispered into the swell of Frank's abdomen, teeth scraping against the flesh. "Don't be afraid."

Frank's fingers instantly laced themselves through his hair, tugging slightly before releasing. His moans were muffled and he shifted his knees, knocking them together between Gerard's thighs. He gasped when Gerard's hands squeezed his ass, lifting it off the bed and tugging his pants off completely. His face flushed and he squirmed under Gerard's gaze.

Gerard licked his lips, fingertips grazing across Frank's hip bone and pelvis and dragging through his pubic hair. Frank pulled his arms to his chest, like he was trying to cover himself, and Gerard smirked. "There's no need for such modesty, Frank," he cooed. It was a surprise to him that the younger was not wearing underpants, a pleasant surprise. He lifted himself up onto his knees, unbuttoning his pants slowly, letting them settle low on his hips. "Have you ever seen another man's cock before?" he purred, thumbs under the waist of his pants.

"N-no," Frank mumbled. He watched as Gerard shifted his trousers lower and lower, slowly revealing a thin line of hair trailing down from his navel then the thicker patch of hair and finally his thick, flushed cock. Frank swallowed heavily, letting his eyes wander over the man's body, taking in all his curves, the jutting of his hip bones, the paleness of his thighs, and the sharp angles of his collarbone. He truly was a beautiful man, Frank did not doubt this, but he was, in fact, a man.

He tossed his pants to the floor, frowning when he noticed Frank was tense. Gerard leaned down, placing his forearms on either side of Frank's head and kissed him.

"G-gerard," Frank whined, pushing him away and turning his head. "We shouldn't- we can't-"

"Oh, but we can," Gerard replied, mouthing at his neck and licking the skin over his jugular. He felt Frank's blood rushing through the vein and he hummed. He worked his legs in between the younger's, feeling him shiver underneath his body. "There's nothing to fear," he whispered into Frank's ear. "No one will ever know of this meeting or what has occurred."

Frank relaxed slightly, thighs still tight around Gerard's. "R-really?" he questioned, looking up at him. "You won't tell anyone?"

"Not a soul," Gerard said with a warm smile. He leaned down again, brushing his lips over Frank's.

Frank surged up, taking him by surprise, and wrapping his arms around Gerard's shoulders.

Gerard pulled away after a moment and reached for a small jar on the nightstand. He stuck three fingers inside and scooped out a bit of the gel, warmed by the kerosene lamp behind it. Kneeling again, he lifted Frank's legs and kissed his right ankle before resting them over his shoulders.

"What's that?" Frank asked, watching the older smear the gel over his fingers. It was mostly clear with a slight yellow tint.

"It's kind of my own little creation," Gerard replied, working the gel around with his thumb, making sure every bit of his fingers were coated. "Makes this a whole lot easier." When he was satisfied, he placed the tip of his index finger on Frank's hole, applying a small amount of pressure. "And it also makes it less painful for you," he said, dipping his finger in to the first knuckle.

Frank whined and tried to curl his body in on itself. Gerard shushed him softly, working his finger in farther. He pulled it out and lined up his middle and ring fingers.

"This'll hurt more, but just relax," he said, getting a nod and slipping the three fingers inside the younger.

Frank whimpered and pushed his face into the pillow, legs tense on Gerard's shoulders. He gasped out, trying to relax his body when Gerard's fingers started moving inside him. He could feel them touching him in places he never knew he had, almost like they were searching for something. He felt a small shock at the base of his spine and he let out a moan.

Gerard smiled, finally finding his prostate and stroked it again. He watched Frank's thighs shiver as he moaned softly. "You're almost ready," he said, pulling his fingers out halfway. He opened them, stretching Frank's ass gently a few times before slipping them out. Frank let out a sigh of relief as Gerard reached for more of the gel. He coated his dick, rubbing the excess on Frank's ass again. "Okay," he said, moving closer to Frank and letting his legs slide down his back so his knees were pressed over his shoulders.

He leaned down and Frank winced as his thighs were pressed back against the sides of his chest. Gerard's dick rubbed against his entrance and he gulped. "Okay," he responded, giving Gerard a small nod.

Gerard nodded back and pushed in, feeling Frank's body tensing around his dick. He was tight, not the tightest Gerard has had, but still very tight. Gerard let out a groan as Frank whinged, face contorting in pain. He pushed forward until his hips met Frank's ass and the younger moaned.

That spot was hit again. Frank didn't know what it was but Gerard knew and that was all that he cared about. He arched his neck, kissing Gerard on the chin then the lips when Gerard leaned closer. Frank slipped his legs off Gerard's shoulders, wrapping them around his waist.

Their breath came out in little 'ah ah's. Frank's fingernails scratched at Gerard's back, digging in deeper whenever his prostate was rubbed. Gerard slid his left arm under Frank's back, grabbing his hair at the base of his neck while his right held Frank's thigh up. The bed shook, just barely knocking against the wall, and Frank's back arched.

He tightened his thighs around Gerard, pressing close to keep the slick slide on his own cock. The burn of Gerard's cock was still there, masked by the shockwaves of pleasure. He could feel the tightening in his stomach rushing closer.

Gerard could sense it, too. He noticed how Frank's drawn out moans were becoming shorter and shorter, how his dick throbbed between them and how his heart raced. He focused on Frank's pulse, turning his head to the side and nipping at his neck. He fucked the smaller man faster, feeling his own climax nearing just as steadily. He scrapped his teeth against Frank's neck and Frank's nails clawed up his back. They were bitten down but still sharp and Gerard groaned.

Frank keened below him and Gerard sunk his teeth into his neck, puncturing his jugular just as his muscles clenched. He came inside Frank, hips jerking softly and smearing Frank's cum between their bodies as he drank his life blood.

Frank whimpered as his body grew heavy and tired. "Gerard."

Gerard pulled away from his neck, licking the skin clean. His toxin will wipe Frank's memory clean and knock him out until at least late morning. "Shh, just sleep, Frankie," he cooed, stroking his face. He pulled out Frank slowly, pushing himself up on his hands and knees. Frank was already asleep, snoring softly. The small pinpricks on his neck would be gone by morning.

He slid off the bed, walked to the bathroom and cleaned himself. Glancing over his shoulder in the mirror, Gerard smiled when he saw the bright pink scratches. Some of them had pinpricks of blood forming rough lines. Shrugging on a thick bathrobe, he left his room and nodded to the two servants waiting a few feet away. They rushed inside to tend to Frank, cleaning and redressing him, while Gerard made sure there was nothing left to remind the young man of him.

"James?" he called.

"Yes, Master Way?" the older man replied from the top of the stairs. He'd been working for Gerard for almost fifty years now, keeping his and his brother's secret safe.

"The letter?"

"Has been destroyed," James said. "The seal was still on the paper so there should be no trace of you at his home."

"Very good," Gerard smiled. "Make sure Robert gets the young man home safely and none of his personal items are left behind."

James bowed his head and took his leave back down stairs.

Gerard opened the door across from the staircase, entering the library. His younger brother, Michael, was reclining on the chaise longue, a thick book in his lap. Gerard sat on the couch opposite him and picked up his current book from the end table. The fire crackled softly, warming the room and adding more light.

"Why must you choose men, brother?" Michael asked, eyes never leaving his book. They've had this discussion before and the answer never changes.

"Because it's harder for a man to fake an orgasm like a woman can so I know when I'm doing something right," Gerard replied automatically. "Besides, I like the feeling of them coming against my stomach."

"Gross," Michael said.

Gerard ignored the comment and opened his book, picking up where he left off. The two remained in silence, only the fire making any noise.

"You know sodomy is considered illegal in this country, as well as most countries around the world," Michael said. "And you still refuse to kill your meals," he added quietly.

"You know I can't kill them, Michael," Gerard glared, setting his book on the couch. "I could never kill them, even when we were young! We used to be human too! Don't forget that!" he shouted.

Michael looked up at him. His eyes were sad and knowing and Gerard hated it. "I know," he said softly. "I'm sorry."

Gerard took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before speaking again. "I'm going to bed." Frank would be gone by now. Robert will be taking him home, making sure he's put in bed and any traces of Gerard are gone from his apartment. Gerard will never see him again. He frowned as he left the library, walking the short distance to his room. He locked the door behind him, stripped off his robe and crawled under the warm covers. His pillows still smelled like Frank.

~

"Francis?" Linda called, unlocking the door with her spare key. "Francis, are you ill?" she asked into the silent room. The sun was just turning the sky pink but the curtains were drawn and the room dark. She huffed out and made her way to her son's bed.

He was curled under the covers, head peeking out. Linda sat on the edge of the bed and shook his shoulder.

"Francis, wake up, mio figlio," she said softly.

Frank groan, curling up tighter. His lower back felt like it was on fire and his head was surely stuffed with cotton fluff. "Mama," he whimpered and clutched at his covers.

Linda placed her hand on Frank's forehead and then his cheeks. She frowned when she felt how warm and clammy his skin was. "Oh dear, you're burning up. You stay in bed and I shall bring up some soup in a short while," she said, standing and walking over to the dresser.

She poured some water into the basin and grabbed a cloth, wetting and wringing it out. Moving back over to her son, she wiped at his face, cleaning it of the sweat.

"Thank you, mama," Frank said, curling back under his cover.

"Rest up, mio figlio," she smiled, walking to the door. She shut it quietly, leaving Frank in darkness.

He whimpered again, resting his palm on his lower back. A flash of dark hair and sparkling eyes flitted through his mind and his eyes snapped open. Who was that? He racked his brain, trying to find more details for this mysterious person. He came up empty. Only the dark hair and sparkling eyes.

They were brown, no. Hazel. With hints of green and gold. It felt like he went into a trance when he pictured them.

Frank rubbed at his back, massaging the muscles before pulling the covers back and sitting up slowly. He slid off the bed, wincing and gripping the headboard tightly. He didn't remember hurting his back yesterday. In fact, he didn't remember much of yesterday, except that he was getting ill again and was sent upstairs by his mom.

Taking a deep breath, Frank shuffled his way over to the dresser and pulled off his under shirt. He looked in the mirror hanging on the wall and frowned. His skin was pale and slick with sweat, his hair was flat on his head and his eyes had dark circles under them.

I look like shit, he thought dejectedly, picking up the cloth his mother left. He sloshed it around the water, lathered it with soap and started washing his face, neck and chest.

A shock of pain went up his spine and he let out a sharp whine, grasping the dresser tight. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, exhaling through his nose until the pain subsided.

The door clicked open and Frank looked up. His mom came in, balancing a plate on top of a bowl in one hand and a small jug of water in the other.

"Ah, Francis. You're awake," she smiled, setting the jug on the table and grabbing the plate before its contents spilled. "How are you feeling?"

Frank thought for a moment, watching his mother prepare his breakfast. "Weak," he said, "and my back hurts. Did I injure myself yesterday?" He moved over to the table and sat in the chair.

Linda slid the bowl of warm soup in front of Frank. "I do not think so," she said, thinking. She hummed softly, cutting a few slices of bread and cheese. "No, I don't remember you injuring yourself, just that you had a cough. How is your cough, mio figlio?"

"Fine, mama," Frank replied, eating a spoonful of soup. "I haven't coughed since I woke up."

"And your fever?" she asked, pouring him a glass of water. She checked his temperature and frowned. "Siete ancora molto caldo."

"Mama, we are in England, not Italy," Frank said. He dipped his bread into his soup, soaking it thoroughly before taking a bite.

"Forgive me, bambino, for speaking the language I was born with," she said, standing with her hands on her hips. She smiled, ruffling Frank's hair and kissed his forehead. "Eat up and get some more rest."

"Yes, mama," Frank said, lifting his bowl and drinking some soup. Linda left the room, shutting the door behind her and Frank continued to slowly eat his meal.

He piled the dishes on top of each other and pushed them to the center of the table when he was done. Frank stood up slowly and made his way back to bed where he crawled under the now cool sheets. It was a pleasant feeling on his flushed skin. He flipped the pillow over and settled down under the cover.

~

"Pa, do you know a Way?" Frank asked, pulling a tray of rolls out of the oven. "I mean anyone with the last name Way?" It had been two months after he woke up in his bed with no memory of the night before. He still had flashes of bright and hypnotic hazel eyes but recently, the name Way came to his mind. Maybe the eyes belonged to a man or woman named Way.

Frank Sr. frowned, thinking as he kneaded the dough for the next batch. "Can't say that I do, son. Why?" he asked, dropping the dough into a bread pan.

Frank shrugged, moving the rolls to a cooling rack. "No reason, I guess." He grabbed a basket of cool rolls and walked to the front of the bakery, smiling at his mother.

"Thank you, Francis," she said, handing a customer his change. "Have a nice day."

Frank set the basket on the back counter, nodding to another customer who walked in. He drummed his fingers on the wooden counter, waiting for his mother to finish serving the customer. "Mama, do you know anyone with the last name Way?" he asked, picking at his nail beds.

"Hmm?" she hummed, dusting her hands on her apron. "No, mio figlio. I do not think so." She looked at the clock next to the register. "Come, dear, it's almost lunch time. Put the sign up, will you?"

"Yes, mama," Frank said, walking to the door. He closed the door, locking it and turning the sign in the window to read closed for lunch.
1/3

ART: :thumb341294173: [link] by :iconnattie-bug:

Part one: 6,500+ words
Story: mine
Characters: not mine

Il Piccolo Panificio The Little Bakery.
Siete ancora molto caldo You are still very hot.
Mio figlio My son.

Part 2: [link] Part 3: [link]
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:iconkilljoyatheart:
Okay, you know about my ridiculous, off the wall feels for historical AU fics, so I won't elaborate too much on that. I hate how few historical fics there really are, and so it's always nice to see contributions to that genre of Frerard c:

I think you pulled this off wonderfully. From the way they speak to the sexy (Victorian?) clothing, the details were immaculate and there were only a few times where the speaking became a little too 21st century for my liking.

I LOVE LOVE LOVE where this is going. Victorian (is it Victorian? I'm assuming it is) vampires and esquires and Italian bakeries and sheesh I can practically taste the feels which are surely coming. I have a great feeling about this <3

Nicely done, as always. I look forward to more soon!
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:iconunlockeverydoor:
unlockeverydoor Jan 24, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
dfsjlgjdslfbiseubfdsjlskdfskdnfvdz i have to read the next omfg i'm slow sorryyy
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:iconcock-zero:
cock-zero Jan 24, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
It's no problem dear :* Enjoy!
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:iconsapphirebludgeon:
SapphireBludgeon Dec 19, 2012  Student General Artist
Whitty whit what wat? woah.
I cant even form words haha. I've been aving this like Charlie and a wonka bar for a while now, and I've been reading it listening to Light Behind Your Eyes too. All these feels coupled together just might kill me!

I must admit I miss the whole bite-my-lip-omg-he's-bleeding-but-wait-no-he's-okay thing from the other version, but I do love the way this is so much more filled out, and omg I cant wait to get some drawing done for this. I'll try and get some reference pics taken this weekend, if all the -omg-its-xmas-soon doesnt get in the way!
*skips flamboyantly to make cake and read the next part*
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:iconcock-zero:
cock-zero Dec 19, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Yea, I was kinda sad to take that bit out but it didn't feel right in this version.

Cake? Oooh what kind of cake?
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:iconsapphirebludgeon:
SapphireBludgeon Dec 21, 2012  Student General Artist
Oh thats okay, I see what you mean. If it doesnt seem right, don't go with it.
Red velvet cake hopefully, which I've re-christened party poison cake. Because it simply fits better. Haven't mad it yet, hopefully doing it tomorrow imbetween icing a christmas cake and making mince pies.
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:iconcock-zero:
cock-zero Dec 21, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Surely Party Poison cake should be white cake with red buttercreme?
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:iconsapphirebludgeon:
SapphireBludgeon Dec 21, 2012  Student General Artist
Well yes, but seeing as I was planniing red velvet cake anyway, I'm just calling it that. because it amuses my friend. At some point I'll probably make his face out of cake at some point in the future anyway, I mean, I've already made the trans-am a while back.
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:iconcock-zero:
cock-zero Dec 21, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Nice :3
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:iconmidnightkilla:
Midnightkilla Dec 5, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
moar plz. do it for the children.
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:iconcock-zero:
cock-zero Dec 5, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Children?! What children??

I'm working on part 2 o3o
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