The Sharpest Lives

Chapter Nine: Bloddy Noses and Bitch-Slaps

[Gerard]

Frank wouldn't tell me what exactly had happened between him and the cops, and I didn't press for details, since I honestly didn't give a shit at that point, so life continued as normal. Normal as in, he wouldn't speak to me and I felt depressed.

I always said normal was overrated.

I helped get all the bags of groceries out of the boot of the car, helped put everything away, helped put on some coffee. All in silence, because he'd decided he wasn't going to talk. It was driving me insane. I couldn't stand not talking to him. Not only that, but the dream had freaked me out enough that I didn't want us to go back to the fighting again. I was starting to want my old life back; the easy-going, simple conversations and the times where I was free to watch him and touch him without it meaning anything. The want was tiny compared to everything else, but it was there. I could build on that.

He was in the kitchen when I walked in after taking off my shoes at the door, staring vacantly at the coffee machine, his back to me, his thoughts elsewhere. He was so vulnerable in that position; I couldn't help but take advantage of it.

"I didn't know watching coffee was so fascinating," I said, as I wrapped my arms around his waist.

He jumped and straightened up suddenly, nearly hitting my face with the back of his head. Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for. Then again, what did I expect, when this was never going to mean as much to him as it did to me?

"Gee?" he said, his voice shocked, breathless.

"No. It's Santa" I grumbled. Really, what had that cop said? He seemed kind of messed up right now.

He laughed- although it was an unsteady and self-conscious laugh- and finally relaxed in my arms, "I didn't know Santa favored the bad boys," he said, letting his head fall back on my shoulder.

"This Santa does," I said, grinning. He smiled back, a little less tense than before.

I hadn't been this close to him in a long time. Of course, there'd been the times when he'd held me as I'd…fallen apart, but this was different. This…intimacy, I guess. Being able to hold him in a way that didn't have to mean anything, but still meant a whole lot to me. I liked it this way. It wasn't the best way, because I still wanted him to feel the same way, but it was a hell of a lot better than the coldness that'd existed about an hour ago.

Cautiously, I let my lips brush against his throat. He tensed for a slow, worrying second, but then relaxed again. His breathing was steady, eyes closed, relaxed. I wondered how far I'd get this time. How much it would mean this time. If I would accidently reveal too much.

And idea suddenly caught me and before I had time to chicken out and decide against it, I softly kissed his neck, as slowly as I dared. Again, his body tensed, more noticeably than that last time. I stopped, thinking that I'd gone too far.

But he calmed down again, and his hands rested loosely on mine, keeping my arms around his waist.

I kept going, slowly kissing along his throat, light, tentative kisses that I hoped told him nothing. I stopped at the top of his jaw, feeling his heartbeat quicken and the pulse of blood in his throat under my lips. His breathing was more jagged now, as was mine, but I didn't care. It felt good, this moment with him. And even though I didn't deserve it, I took advantage of the moment anyway.

My lips skimmed along the line of his jaw, upwards, getting dangerously close to his mouth. It was tempting to veer a little too close…he tilted his head towards mine, his breath sweeping my face. I took one look at his calm expression, his eyes closed and his lips slightly parted…and I [i]had[/i] to. There was no 'should I?' about it. I had to.