My pen is the berrel of the gun

almightybob_ @ 2005-12-02T21:39:00

2005-12-02T20:46:52Z

Titel: Stjärngräs
Författare: Emelie
Pairing: Pete Wentz/Matt Good
Sammanfattning: De målade regnbåden med all sin kärlek och all sin längtan
Not: Skrevs ursprungligen på engelska, men översatte den för att kunna få kritik på den i skolan. Och nej, inga brandmän, inget Nile City, inget "vuxna män gör saker tillsammans", ingen cirkus och inte anti-hetrosexualitet och alla andra roliga meningar läsrundegruppen tolkade in i den.

Pete, han sa alltid att han kom i den minsta storleken som finns tillgänglig. Matt, han sa att Pete var lagom liten för honom att stoppa i sin ficka så att han inte skulle tappa bort honom.

Matt, han sa alltid att han levererades i en av de största storlekarna. Pete, han sa att Matt var stor nog för att han inte skulle försvinna i stora folksamlingar, så att han aldrig tappade bort honom.

Pete, han var fascinerad av jorden, hur gräset växte och hur myrorna levde. Han tittade alltid på förbipasserande människors skor och kunde alltid tala om för Matt vilket skomärke som var modernast just den dagen.

Matt, han letade högre upp. Han älskade att studera stjärnorna och han kunde alltid räkna ut på ett ungefär hur mycket klockan var bara genom att se var solen stod på himlen. Han tittade över folks huvuden och kunde alltid hålla Pete informerad om vilka huvudbonader som förekom.

När Matt såg himlen så såg Pete marken och tillsammans täckte de upp det väsentliga. Alla sa att de var gjorda för varandra och att de skulle vara tillsammans för evigt. Men varken Matt eller Pete trodde på ”för evigt”. De trodde på naturens cykler, på hur blomman vissnar på hösten och hur, efter vintern, livet kommer tillbaka till den, låter den leva ytterligare en säsong bara för att dö igen när årstiderna förändras. De trodde på solens dagliga cykel, hur den går upp varje morgon bara för att överge oss igen till kvällen. De trodde det samma när det gällde kärlek och vänskap. Såsom livet överger blommorna till vintern kommer även kärleken att överge människan, men kanske att våren kommer med något nytt till våra frusna själar.

Såklart ville de att deras kärlek skulle vara för evigt, men de kunde inte tro på det. De levde för nästa soluppgång, för nästa dag de kunde spendera tillsammans.

De kunde krypa ihop tillsammans, Matt kramade Pete, han gömde honom nästan med sin kropp, och så viskade han i Petes öra att om den dagen någonsin kom då solen inte skulle gå upp, då skulle han gömma Pete i sin ficka och rädda honom från allt ont.

Pete, han kramade Matt tillbaka och andas in den beskyddande atmosfären av det mänskliga skalet omkring honom och han talade om för Matt att om den dagen någonsin kom då blommorna inte överlevde vintern skulle han aldrig släppa taget om hans hand, så att han aldrig kunde försvinna.

***

Den tid de inte kunde vara tillsammans var svårast. När de tvingades att spendera månader separerade från varandra i olika delar av landet. Under dessa perioder brukade Pete gå ut i natten och titta på stjärnorna, de blinkade mot honom med lite av den värme som han även såg i Matts ögon.

Matt, han brukade studera gräset, han strök över dess mjuka yta med sin hand och undrade om Pete någonsin hade sett gräs som var riktigt av den sorten innan. De brukade ringa till varandra varenda kväll och prata om vad de hade sett den dagen.

Matt, han hade aldrig varit en man som förstod sig på hur man kunde fästa ord på papper så att de fick liv, han föredrog att läsa det som andra redan hade givit liv. Petes konst var hans ord, han kunde alltid sammanföra dem i konstellationer som fick Matt att tappa andan. All tid han kunde avvara tillbringade han med att skriva ner alla de ordkombinationer som virvlade runt i hans huvud. Under deras telefonsamtal brukade Pete läsa för Matt vad han hade skrivit under dagen. Matt lyssnade noggrant till vartenda ord, han drog in luftvibrationerna av den andra människans röst i sitt inre och sparade dem där, i det rum där han förvarade allt det som var mest värdefullt för honom.

Efter att Pete läst upp vad han hade skrivit en dag bad Matt honom att skriva något till honom, något som var bara hans. Pete sa att han skulle försöka, men att han tvivlade på sin förmåga att någonsin skriva något som blev så perfekt att det passade till Matt.

Han skrev flera dagar i sträck för att försöka producera något som var värdigt Matt. Han låste in sig från omvärlden och visade sig bara när det var absolut nödvändigt, han ringde inte ens sina dagliga samtal till Matt.

Det var mitt i natten ungefär två veckor senare som Pete slutligen kunde klicka på ”skicka” i sitt mailprogram för att sända den slutliga produkten till Matt.

***

Det Här Är Vår Saga
”Det var en gång en flicka och en pojke. Pojken, han var fascinerad av marken; av hur gräset växte och hur myrorna byggde sina stackar.

Flickan, hennes fokus låg på himlen. Hon kunde tillbringa hela nätterna med att titta på stjärnorna och försöka se nya bakom dem som redan är kända.

De hade aldrig träffats, pojken och flickan, de kände inte till varandras existens. De var nöjda med sina liv, vad de visste var allt de behövde veta. Pojken sa att gräset var anledningen till livets existens, att det var allt som behövdes för att kretsloppet på jorden skulle gå runt. Flickan å andra sidan var säker på att stjärnorna och rymden var svaret på allt. Jorden skulle inte finnas till om inte resten av universum existerade och fungerade, egentligen var det som fanns på jorden oviktigt om allt utanför var som det skulle.

En dag fick pojken för sig att han skulle ta reda på hur naturen såg ut på natten, om det var någon skillnad från dagen.

Världen kändes inte som den samma när nattens mörker hade omslutit den. Han undrade, där han vandrade över de mörka fälten, om det vänliga gräset han kände från dagarna hade förvandlats till något annat när solen försvunnit.

Snart var pojken vilse i mörkret utan att ha den blekaste aning om vart han skulle ta vägen för att ta sig ut ur det svarta hål av mörker och ensamhet som han befann sig i. Han ville gömma sig undan stjärnorna som blickade ner på honom.

Flickan var som vanligt ute under natten, hon försökte hitta den mörkaste platsen ute på fälten för att kunna se så långt ut bland stjärnorna som möjligt. Hon kunde höra pojken där han vandrade omkring långt innan han hade den minsta aning om hennes närvaro. Men när han till slut upptäckte henne hjälpte hon honom att hitta rätt väg tillbaka genom att visa hur man navigerade efter stjärnorna.

Några dagar senare tog sig flickan en promenad i skogen. Hon gick nästan aldrig till sådana ställen eftersom träden blockerade himlen och utan en glimt av det stora blå kunde hon inte känna sig trygg, men hon ville se hur himlen gjorde sig mot träden.

Omkring henne växte träden höga, kalla skuggor omslöt världen. Hon kramade sig själv medan hon tittade runt på träden, de såg alla likadana ut och hon var säker att hon passerat här minst ett dussin gånger innan.

Pojken vandrade ofta omkring i skogen. Han älskade att lyssna till trädens susande och att studera hur annorlunda marken såg ut här under trädens beskyddande lövverk, mot hur det såg ut där inga träd växte.

Ännu en gång möttes flickan och pojken, men under trädens kronor var det pojken som hjälpte flickan att hitta vägen hem, medan han berättade för henne om hur myrorna byggde sina stackar beroende på vilket håll solen sken ifrån, vilket gjorde att var de som naturens egna kompasser.

Väl ute ur skogen skildes flickans och pojkens vägar, men deras tankar lämnade inte den andre och dennes kunskap om något så annorlunda men ändå så likt det de själva kände till. Kanske, tänkte de, kanske att både himmel och mark behövs för att fullfölja livets cykel.

Under flera dagar kunde de inte sluta tänka på varandra. Flickan fann sig själv tänkande på myror när hon studerade himlen och pojken började fundera på om myrorna någonsin tittade på stjärnorna.

En dag när pojken var ute och gick började det regna. Det var en av de sällsynta regnskurarna när dropparna föll så lätt att de knappt gick att känna och det var ett av de tillfällen när solen inte gav sig mot molnen. Regndropparna föll genom den klara luften där de kolliderade med det mjuka skenet från solen och tillsammans skapade de sprudlande färger som målade himlen. Sakta närmade sig pojken regnbågen och till hans förvåning dog den sig inte undan hans trevande steg.

På andra sidan av regnbågen gick flickan, liksom pojken med siktet inställt på regnbågens fot. Samtidigt nådde de fram till fästena och på samma gång började de måla regnbågen allt eftersom de klättrade upp för dess branta sidor. De målade den med hopp och längtan, med kärlek och rädsla. För vart penseldrag de drog sken regnbågen starkare, de hade gjort den fullständig med färgerna som den inte kunde producera själv.

De målade högre och högre, utan att titta upp från sina penslar. När de kom till regnbågens krön möttes deras penslar med en vänskaplig knuff. Båda hoppade de upp på fötter, förvånade att stöta på någon annan där, men ändå inte, de visste att den andre skulle utföra samma handling som de själva just gjort.

De tittade på varandra från topp till tå. Pojken, han såg en lång, smal flicka, hon var längre än de flesta pojkar. Hennes hår var rött som eld och uppsatt i en hästsvans vilket fick hennes fräkniga ansikte att framträda extra tydligt.

Flickan, hon såg en kort pojke, han nådde henne knappt till höfterna. Hans ansikte var runt, liksom hans kropp. Han hade kort, brunt hår som var okammat och han bar stoar runda glasögon.

Både flickan och pojken tittade skeptiskt på varandra och de tänkte, hur kunde någon som såg så obetydlig ut för världen ha en hjärna som var kapabel till så stora ting? Under deras två tidigare möten hade de aldrig tittat på varandra, de hade varit för fascinerade av gräset och stjärnorna och den andra människans röst. Nu, när de väl stod öga mot öga gjorde de allt för att inte titta på varandra, istället flackade deras blickar mot omgivningen, träden, himlen och gräset långt där nere.

Regnbågen började skälva under dem, först bara som en lätt kittling men skakningarna växte sig starkare och förvandlade det som innan varit en stadig matta av färg till något som mer liknade ett hav under storm. Färgerna splittrades under deras fötter och tillsammans föll de mot marken åtföljda av tusentals vassa flisor från regnbågen. En regnbåge som än en gång bara hade sju färger.”

***

Matt tog ett djupt andetag och reste sig från datorn, han gick fram till fönstret och tittade ut över världen. Ett lätt skimmer av regn låg över den, som en dimma som var kvar från regnskuren som nyss slutat. Nu började solens strålar smyga igenom molntäcket och de skimrade glatt i de kvarvarande vattendropparna. Matt log vid anblicken av regnbågen. Han vände sig från fönstret för att gå ut på en promenad.

Samtidigt, miltals bort från var Matt befann sig, hade Pete också precis iakttagit hur en regnskur blivit övermannad av solen och på så sätt skapat en regnbåge. Även han var på väg ut, för att njuta av den friska luften som bara ett sommarregn kan lämna efter sig.

De båda gick mot regnbågens fot och eftersom dess natur är att vara skygg försökte den dra sig undan, men den var fångad mellan de två människorna. Det fanns ingenstans den kunde fly. Detta gjorde det möjligt för Pete och Matt att börja klättra uppför regnbågens sidor medan de målade den med färgen av sin kärlek, färgerna av sina själar.

Liksom pojken och flickan målade de utan att titta upp, utan att titta ner, det enda de såg var hur deras penslar förvandlade regnbågens sköra yta till en stadig och skinande båge för dem att gå på.

Vid regnbågens högsta punkt möttes deras penslar, de tittade upp mot varandra, förvånade att se den andre där samtidigt som de visste att han skulle vara där.

Pete, han såg en lång och lite rund ung man med stora blå ögon, som nästan alltid såg ut som om de var rädda. Han hade svart hår som hängde som en döljande gardin framför ansiktet på honom.

Den unga mannen som Matt såg var kort och smal med ljusbrun hy och en mun som i stort sett jämt visade världen ett strålande leende. Hans hår var mörkbrunt, nästan naturligt svart och klippt i en kort frisyr.

Inte en sekund tvekade de med blicken när de tog in synintrycken av den andra människan. De omfamnade varandra, gömde den andres kropp med sina armar. De hade så mycket som väntade, hela världen och hela himlen låg inför deras fötter. De hade lyckats med det som flickan och pojken inte lyckades med, de hade tämjt regnbågen och slutit cykeln mellan himlen och jorden. De förstod vad flickan och pojken inte förstod, att ytan inte har någon betydelse i jämförelse med det som finns inuti.

Pete kramade Matt hårt medan han viskade i hans öra honom att om han någonsin blev rädd skulle han krympa honom och gömma honom i sin ficka, tills världen blev snäll igen. Matt, han besvarade Petes kram och viskade att han aldrig skulle släppa Petes hand, vad som än hände skulle han inte släppa honom ur sikte.

almightybob_ @ 2005-12-02T21:36:00

2005-12-02T20:38:15Z

Titel: Livets Gång
Författare: Emelie
Sammanfattning: Ett liv
Not: Uppgift: Montage

Ett sterilt och vitt rum med diverse apparater uppradade längst väggarna och en vitklädd kvinna som står lutad över sängen. Sängen står i rummets mitt, omsluten av omgivningarna. Kvinnan ler när hon räcker över ett skrikande bylte till en annan kvinna, som ligger ner i sängen. Den liggande kvinnan ser ut som om hon när som helst kommer att kollapsa av utmattning men ändå tar hon emot byltet och trycker det mot sitt bröst.

Det är du som är byltet och nu öppnar du ögonen för första gången för att se din mammas trötta men glada ansikte. Du skriker lite mer, bara för att hälsa dig själv välkommen till världen och för att glädja din mor, men du orkar inte så länge.

Du är nyfödd och livet ligger framför dig lika lockande som en orörd hage för en hungrig häst.

***

Rummet ser annorlunda ut nu, för att vara ärlig är det ett helt annat rum. Det är mörkt och stora delar av väggarna är täckta med idolaffischer. Du sitter ihopkrupen i ett hörn av sängen, nu mycket större än det lilla bylte du en gång var. Men du önskar att du än en gång var så liten och kunde krypa ihop i din mammas famn igen. Men din mamma är inte hemma nu och hon kommer inte hem än på flera timmar, och när hon väl stiger in genom dörren lär hon ha fullt upp med sina viktiga saker och inte märka att hennes dotter sitter i sitt mörka rum och gråter bittra tårar.

Du torkar halvhjärtat av näsan innan du börjar snyfta igen. Du är tonåring och har precis blivit lämnad av din första kärlek och din mamma bryr sig mer om sin karriär än om dig. Livet ter sig lika lockande som en uttorkad oas mitt i öknen.

***

Men livet går vidare även fast du inte trodde det då. Möblerna och rummen runt om dig byts ut och snart står du där i villan som är din egen, med katten som är din, bilen som är din, mannen som är din (fastän du är säker på att han går bakom ryggen på dig ibland) och en tonårsdotter som även hon är din. Nu är det hon som sitter i sin säng och gråter, i ett rum som ser mycket ut som ditt flickrum, det är bara ansiktena på affischerna som skiljer sig.

Du kramar henne och försöker trösta och lovar att det finns tusen andra killar ute i världen som vill ha henne, men så länge kan du inte stanna eftersom ditt viktiga arbete kallar dig åter.

Du vet nu, någonstans vid livets mitt, att världen varken är frodiga hagar eller uttorkade oaser, snarare är det en steril grässlätt.

***

Rummet är nästintill vitt och även fast dina tillhörigheter finns utspridda i det så ser det sterilt och opersonligt ut. Kanske är det för att det är över ett år sedan du kunde ta dig ur sägnen för egen maskin. Nu kan du bara ligga, titta på taket och vänta på att någon av sköterskorna ska komma och säga ”god morgon” och ”nu är det dags att stiga upp”, även fast du varit vaken i timmar och klockan börjar närma sig lunch.

Varenda dag det senaste året har du vaknat till detta monotona tak och innan dess vaknade du till ett liknande tak men då var det i rummet du delade med din man. Han som bedrog dig, men som du aldrig fick mod nog att ställa mot väggen, det ångrar du nu när han för alltid är borta. Nästan direkt när han slutit sina ögon för alltid flyttade de på dig till det rum där du nu ligger. Din dotter kom förbi, hon som inte alls är en tonåring längre utan en stressad kvinna i medelåldern. Hon fällde några tårar medan hon flyttade på dina saker, sen var hon tvungen att skynda tillbaka till jobbet.

Du sluter ögonen igen, det kommer ännu att dröja några timmar innan någon kommer förbi ditt rum. Du har tid att vandra över till den sömn som aldrig tar slut, nu vid livets rand där du vet att gräset på livets slätt är torrt och fnasi

almightybob_ @ 2005-12-02T21:32:00

2005-12-02T20:34:46Z

Titel: Bert McCracken vs. Darth Vader
Författare: Emelie
Sammanfattning: Ett anorlunda slagsmål
Not: En uppgift från läsrundegruppen, skriv något som utspelar sig på ett rymdskepp, Star Wars typ, och som inehåller hallucinationer

Du vandrar genom korridoren, den långa vita, endast avbruten av dörrar som är välvda på ett lätt sjösjukt sätt. Dörrar som går in till bostadsrum.

Egentligen säger de att du inte får gå ut, inte lämna ditt rum. Du förstår inte vitsen med att stanna där, det blir inte bättre av att de håller dig inlåst. Du smittar ju ändå inte längre, även om du inte är fullt frisk så smittar du faktiskt inte, och vad är då faran?

Du viker av från den långa bostadskorridoren, in i en korridor vars högra vägg består av tjockt glas, ett fönster ut mot omvärlden. Du har aldrig förstått dig på det fönstret, det enda som syns genom det är ändå bara mörker och någon enstaka stjärna som susar förbi. Du stannar framför det, letar efter något att fästa blicken på, men där finns inget. Bara en liten farkost, som med sin svarta yta nästan flyter samman med det oändliga mörkret utanför.

Du suckar och går vidare.

Efter korridoren med glasväggen kommer du till nöjessektionen. Här är det alltid mycket folk i rörelse, många ögon att gömma sig för, men ingen som försöker ta dig tillbaka. Det hörs skratt från filmrummet och du smyger in dit. En film från sent 1900-tal, skulle du tro, visas på duken. En stor man i svart klädnad och meduppenbara andningsproblem slåss med ett lysande rött svärd mot en ung man med utgången frisyr. Den unga mannen är mycket mindre än den svartklädde, ändå verkar den unga vinna. Människorna i rummet skrattar åt de dåliga specialeffekterna och hur fel, men ändå på sätt och vis rätt, dåtidens människor hade om livet i rymden.

Du sätter dig i en fåtölj och tittar slött på filmen.

*

När du vaknar är du ensam kvar. Bara den stora, svarta mannen med andningsproblem är kvar framme på filmduken. Han står lutad mot sitt svärd såsom en gentleman från 1800-talet nog skulle ha lutat sig mot sin käpp. Han tittar sig vaksamt omkring innan han hoppar ner från duken och börjar sicksacka sig fram mellan fåtöljerna.
En annan man dyker plötsligt fram bakom en av fåtöljerna och ställer sig i mannens väg. Han har på sig ett par tighta jeans och en gul t-shirt. Han svänger med huvudet så hans halvlockig, långa hår går som vågor.

Du reser dig försiktigt upp och smyger ut, du vill inte se vad som kommer hända nu.

De ser dig inte när du går, men ändå följer de efter dig, ständigt cirka fem meter bakom dig. Du skyndar tillbaka genom korridoren med fönstret, farkosten står kvar utanför men nu är luckan till förarsätet öppen. En gång har du suttit i en sådan, men det har du inga minnen av. Du minns inte långa färder genom mörkret, vilda jakter, segrar och nederlag. Du minns inte din sista färd och du minns inte den stora explosionen. Men du minns att när du kom tillbaka så smittade du.

Småspringande skyndar du mot dörren i den sjösjuka korridoren, den som leder till ditt rum. Snabbt slinker du in och smäller igen dörren i ansiktet på dina förföljare, men när du låst den och vänder dig om så står de ändå där, mitt på golvet.

Du ser den långhåriga mannens framsida nu, på hans gula t-shirt står det med svart text ”Buttsex is itchy”. Instinktivt vet du att han heter Bert, men du har ingen aning om hur du kan veta det. Om du pausar och ändrar inställningarna och rakar av honom håret kommer han heta Dan och hans tröja kommer bli svart, få långa ärmar och luva och det kommer stå ”Fallen” på den.

Bert öppnar munnen och skriker, hans skrik strömmar ut ur munnen på honom, mot den stora mannen. Den svarte möter hans attack med hugg från sitt svärd, det klyver ljudet i lösryckta bitar som flyger genom rummet och talar om för dig att du inte lyssnar.

Du sjunker ner på golvet med armarna om knäna medan deras strid fortsätter. Bert gör baklängesvolter och den svartklädde mannen imiterar karate. Du önskar att de kunde gå någon annanstans, det här börjar trötta ut dig. Men de vägrar lyssna när du föreslår att korridoren är minst lika bra att föra slagsmål i.

När klockan har snurrat tillräckligt många varv snubblar den stora mannen på en lång tråd av ”fuckfuckfuckshitfuck”. Hans stora kropp faller till marken med samma ljud som tomma konservburkar mot en vägg av betong. Bert skickar en ljudeffekt och en ljuseffekt efter honom som nålar fast hans armar vid golvet och några vassa objekt som gör slut på det lysande svärdet.

Han går fram till honom och öppnar hans svarta klädnad. Därunder döljer sig en knappanel som täcker hans bröst. Bert trycker ner den röda off-knappen och lyfter upp mannen över axeln. Bestämt vandrar han iväg mot farkosten som är parkerad utanför fönsterväggen, utan att besvära sig med att ta omvägen genom dörren.

Han har glömt kvar svärdet på golvet, men du orkar inte ropa det efter honom. Du vet att han kommer komma tillbaka för att hämta det i alla fall. Han ska bara byta t-shirt först. När han kommer tillbaka kommer t-shirten att vara blå och bokstäverna kommer att berätta att ”My pussy demands attention”.

Du vet inte att på andra sidan väggen sitter tre män i vita rockar, men Bert vet, han passerar dem på väg ut. De undrar hur du tog dig ut, du får ju inte förflytta dig, och de undrar om du någonsin ska bättra dig. De minns din sista färd, de minns den stora explosionen. Men de önskar att de inte gjorde det.

almightybob_ @ 2005-09-24T19:57:00

2005-09-24T18:02:04Z

Titel: Klipp
Författare: Emelie
Sammanfattning: Om förvandling
Not: Skriv fritt utifrån en spegel.

Saxens kalla metall smeker vid skinnet på hennes huvud medan den fortsätter att klippa hennes tjocka, bruna hår, det faller till golvet i långa sjok. Hennes huvud känns som om det håller på att sväva upp bland molnen nu när hårets tyngd inte längre håller det nere. Hon stampar otåligt med foten mot golvet medan saxen fortsätter att kippa.

”Det är klart nu,” meddelar rösten vars händer hållit i saxen, efter en väntan som känts som en evighet för henne. Hon studsar förväntansfullt upp från pallen där hon suttit och vänder sig om mot sin frisör.

”Hur ser det ut?”

”Annorlunda,” svarar han och ler snett.

”Jo, det kunde jag räkna ut själv,” muttrar hon, ”men funkar det?”

”Vi måste bara ändra lite på dina kläder med.”

”Okej,” hon stegar iväg mot badrummet för att se på sitt nya jag. Det är en helt ny person som möter hennes blick i spegelns glas, hennes långa hår är borta och istället pryds hennes huvud av en kort, nästan snaggad frisyr. Hon ler förnöjt innan hon vänder ut ur badrummet igen.

Han har tagit fram en svart luvtröja åt henne. Hon drar den snabbt över huvudet samtidigt som hon sparkar av sig sina sandaler och kliver i ett par grova joggingskor. Han iakttar henne medan hon tar på sig. När hon är klar snurrar hon runt ett varv framför honom, för att visa upp sin nya skepnad.

”Sådant där måste du sluta med,” skrattar han, ”och förresten måste vi göra något åt det där,” han gestikulerar mot hennes bröst som avtecknar sig med svaga konturer under tröjan.

Hon går tillbaka till badrummet, djupt koncentrerad på att inte skutta av glädje. Hon kan svära på att hennes ansikte blivit grövre sedan sist hon kollade sig i spegeln.

Hon plockar ur örhängena ur sina öron och lägger dem i badrumsskåpet. Det här är bara början på hennes nya liv.

almightybob_ @ 2005-09-24T19:52:00

2005-09-24T17:52:29Z

Titel: Bulldeg
Författare: Emelie
Sammanfattning: Om hur vuxna kör över barnen.
Not: Skriven till första skrivrundan.

Flickan kramar den vita nallebjörnen hårt, den är lurvig och har en rosa nos som nästan trillat av. Hon går ingenstans utan den björnen, varenda dag följer den med henne till dagis och vid varenda måltid sitter den på golvet vid hennes stol. Helst skulle hon vilja ha den i knäet, men det tillåter inte dagispersonalen.

Utanför viner träd efter träd förbi, ett monotont landskap som är täckt av ett gytter av tallar. Hon pekar in bland stammarna, visar den vita björnen en sten. Björnen tittar intresserat ditåt hon pekade, men han är inte tillräckligt snabb, när han hittat stället hon pekade mot har stenen redan försvunnit in i det förflutna. Flickan bannar honom skojfullt, han måste bli mer alert, stenen såg ju ut som björnens bästa kompis ekorren som sitter hemma i soffan och väntat på att de ska komma hem igen. Flickan tycker inte så mycket om ekorren för hans svans sticks, men han är ofta med och leker i alla fall, så att inte björnen ska bli ledsen. Egentligen skulle ekorren också ha följt med nu, men hon fick bara ta med ett gossedjur.

Bilen saktar tvärt in och svänger av den stora vägen, in på en smal grusväg som slingrar sig mellan träden. Flickan stadgar sitt grepp om björnen, så att han inte ska kastas omkring. Han har ju inget säkerhetsbälte.

En stund senare bromsar bilen igen och svänger av grusvägen, in på en stor tomt med ett gammalt hus av trä och en ladugård. Flickan tittar storögt på ladugården, ett av fönstren uppe vid taket slår i vinden som om ett spöke leker med det.

Bilen stannar framför dörren till det stora huset och föraren kliver ut. Flickan sitter kvar och ser på huset och dess stora, kala trädgården. Föraren kommer runt till hennes sida av bilen, han öppnar passagerardörren och lyfter ut henne. Han är stor och mörk med svart, slät kostym och buskig mustasch. Helst skulle hon vilja vara miltals ifrån alla som honom, men hennes mamma sa att hon var tvungen att följa med och att om hon gjorde det skulle allt bli bra. Fast det säger mamman minst en gång i veckan och det slutar alltid med att det bara är flickan och björnen ensamma och allt är inte alls bra.

Hon gör inget motstånd när den buskiga mannen bär upp henne på förstutrappen och ringer i klockan. Det är en sådan där kopparklocka som det är i kyrkor, fast mycket mindre. Den klämtar ensamt ut bland träden. På andra sidan dörren hörs hasande steg och ljudet av rörelser innan dörren öppnas och avslöjar en kvinna i övre medelåldern, hon har gråsprängt hår och ett mjöligt förkläde.

Mannen säger några ord till kvinnan innan han räcker över flickan till henne. Kvinnan stänger dörren och bär in flickan i köket där det luktar sött och varmt av nybakat bröd. Flickan tittar ut genom fönstret, bilen hon kom i svänger precis ut på grusvägen och försvinner mellan trädstammarna.

Kvinnan sätter ner henne på kökssoffan som står under fönstret innan hon försätter med bakandet.

”Det blir nybakat bröd och grönsakssoppa till middag idag,” ler hon mot flickan. Flickan stirrat tillbaka på kvinnan och kramar krampaktigt sin björn.

”När får jag åka hem?”

Kvinnan ger henne en oförstående blick, ”vill du smaka på bulldegen?”

almightybob_ @ 2005-06-15T14:17:00

2005-06-15T12:18:12Z

Title: I Am Sorry My Conscience Called In Sick Again
Author: Emelie
Pairing: Many
Bands: My Chemical Romance, Fall Out Boy, From First To Last, Mest, Rancid
Chapters: 11/11
Rating: NC-17
Summary: AU. Gerard runs a “company” that sells young boys as sex slaves to whoever can pay.
Note: Selling sex is common, yes, but those people aren’t involved in it. That means that this is not true. Thanks to bennizzlejizzle for beta.
Dedication: marre_barre, she came up with this idea and heaven_sent22, I love you.

(Chapter 1)
(Chapter 2)
(Chapter 3)
(Chapter 4)
(Chapter 5)
(Chapter 6)
(Chapter 7)
(Chapter 8)
(Chapter 9)
(Chapter 10)
(Chapter 11)

almightybob_ @ 2005-06-07T11:27:00

2005-06-07T09:29:25Z

Titel: Grenverk
Författare: Emelie
Not: Skriven till mitt projektarbete i trean

Det står ett träd utanför mitt fönster. Det är en gammal och knotig ek. En gång sträckte det sina mäktiga grenar upp mot skyn så att den nästan snuddade vid molnen, men nu vid ålderns rand drar den ihop sina skrumpna leder. Trädets stam är full av visdom, barken är tjock av erfarenhet, det har sett världen förändras runtomkring, generationer av människor födas och dö, men själv har den alltid stått kvar på samma ställe. Orubblig och stolt. Dess dagar börjar nu gå mot sitt slut, men ändå kommer den vara kvar här långt efter att jag försvunnit.
När jag var liten brukade jag leka i det gröna gräset under trädet, den tjocka stammen och de vida grenarna gav en känsla av trygghet i en egen värld. Ibland kunde jag sitta i timmar och bara titta upp i det komplicerade lövverket med min favoritmjukiskanin bredvid mig. Andra dagar klängde jag omkring bland grenarna och lekte Tarzan med mina kompisar. Jag fick jämt vara Tarzan för jag kunde klättra högst. Men det var bara för att trädet tyckte om mig, det ville att jag skulle klättra, så därför fanns det jämt grenar där det passade mina fötter. Men försökte någon klättra efter så drog trädet tillbaka sin välvilja och det blev omöjligt att hitta fotfäste som förde förföljaren på rätt väg. Så Tarzan lyckades jämt fly undan och det goda vann.
Trädet tappade sina löv och fick nya flera gånger om, jag blev äldre, men fortfarande kunde jag sitta i timmar under det och filosofera. Det hade blivit som en gammal kär vän, som alltid stod där och fanns till hands när jag behövde lugna ner mig. Genom sitt susande återgav det sin egen livserfarenheter till mig, jag lärde mig allt det som var viktigt i livet, lärde mig att inse vad som var värt att ta vara på. Mitt sinne åldrades och var snart lika gammalt och vist som trädets, men min kropp var fortfarande ung och sprallig.
Trädet har alltid funnits där och stått utanför mitt fönster.

Det hörs en lätt knackning på dörren och mamma kommer in i rummet. Allt annat är tyst i huset, det är bara hennes lätt knarrande steg som hörs.
- Det är dags nu, säger hon lågt. Hon tar tag i handtagen och kör iväg mig. Det bultar och trycker som om något vill ut innanför tinningen, det växer. Det är inte långt kvar nu. jag vänder på huvudet med en kraftansträngning för att fånga en sista glimt av trädet. Är det något som jag kommer att sakna i detta jordelivet så är det det. Trädet som gjort så att min korta tid här ändå har varit innehållsrikt som ett helt liv.
Så faller dörren igen bakom oss. Det kan ta kortare tid, eller längre innan jag försvinner helt, men jag kommer aldrig att komma tillbaka.

almightybob_ @ 2005-05-30T13:43:00

2005-05-30T11:44:15Z

Title: This Book Is All Lies
Author: Emelie
Chapters: 10
Status: Complete
Pairing: Gerard/Frank
Rating: PG-13/R
Summary: One day a new guy shows up, and changes everything.
Note: I own nothing of this, not even the plot. It’s based on Peter Pohl’s wonderful book “Janne, Min Vän” (Go read it! The English title is “Jonny, my friend”) Nothing will ever come up to the greatness of that book, this story will just hide in the shadows while the original shines.
BETA: forever_drownin for cahpter 1-7, milliejupiter for chapter 8 and 10 and _hellyes for chapter 9. Thank you all!

(Chapter 1 - A Different Boy)
(Chapter 2 - A Dagerous Boy)
(Chapter 3 - The Bridge)
(Chapter 4 - The First Sign)
(Chapter 5 - A Summer of loneliness)
(Chapter 6 - The Anger Of Mr. J.J.)
(Chapter 7 - The Rope)
(Chapter 8 - A Night In The Cabin)
(Chapter 9 - The Truth Is What Hurts The Most)
(Chapter 10 - Nothing Is Like It Seems)

almightybob_ @ 2005-05-17T20:14:00

2005-05-17T18:15:09Z

Title: A Pointless Slash Fanfiction Dealing With The Importance Of High Quality Bass Players And Blink 182.
Author: Emelie
Pairing: Jeph/Mikey
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Mikey and Jeph has different opinions about Blink 182, bass playing and Mark Hoppus.
Warning: Bad humour. Blink 182.
Note: I love Mikey and all, but I don’t think he has any bass playing style. Jeph has though. And I love Mark Hoppus. And remember, this is not to be taken seriously, it’s just for fun. As far as I know this is not true and Mikey’s not obsessed with Mark Hoppus.
This is for my own bass playing DeLonge, I made her laugh and that was the main purpose (Hoppus på dig!). A huge thank you to the wonderful _hellyes for beta <3

I'm sorry I forgot, you might be intresed in seeing this picture before reading this...

The music is blaring in the empty bus, filling every corner of it with its fast but sticky melodies. This is the best part of the day, Mikey thinks to himself, stretching out in his bunk. He loves the times when he's all alone in the tour bus, times that do not appear too often. Times when he can just lie in his bed, relaxing and listen to whatever music he likes to.

Especially since the other guys seems to have as favourite occupation to tease him for his taste in music. There are just some CDs that aren't supposed to be played aloud, it seems. And listening to music with headphones just doesn't give the same feeling.

He hums along to the song, looking at the ceiling above him, almost drifting off to sleep. But the sound of the door to the bus getting opened and then slammed shut drags him to the land of the awake. He looks out from the shadows of his bunk to see who the dark lord may have sent to disturb his time alone. What meets his eyes is a smiling Jeph.

While alone time is great, alone time with Jeph is even better. But right now Mikey just wants to be alone, by himself. Even though seeing Jeph still makes his heart jolt.

"Hey honey, what's up?" Jeph asks.

"I'm trying to take a nap, but some rude, over-tattooed guy just disturbed me."

"I love you too. Can I join you?"

Mikey moves into the dark corner of his bunk, making room for Jeph to lie beside him. Jeph kicks of his shoes before cuddling up beside Mikey's thin body. It's a good thing Mikey's so thin, he thinks, or he would have problems fitting into the bunk beside him.

"How can you listen to this music?" he asks, knowing how much it will irritate Mikey.

Mikey yawns and peers at the man resting beside him. "I like it, if you can't stand it you can go."

"It's just cheap ass immature pop," Jeph smiles cheekily.

"You're so mean," Mikey mutters and turns his back to Jeph, who putts his arm over Mikey's stomach, rubbing it softly through his t-shirt.

"Don't get all sulky now," he whispers into Mikey's ear, "I love you even though you love Blink 182."

Mikey murmurs something and although it’s impossible to make out, Jeph thinks he’s saying something about wanting to take his nap now.

Mikey sighs, at least he didn't turn the CD off, that's a good sign. He loves to listen to immature pop-punk, there's something about Blink 182 that makes him totally relaxed. There's no brain involved, he needs that for a change. If only Jeph could understand that.

*

Mikey studies Jeph as he looks at the CD booklet. They are still alone in the bus, but now sitting up in his bunk. Jeph looks suspicious at the cover picture of a young blonde woman, making a displeased noise as he lets his breath out through his nose. He opens the booklet and unfolds it, the sound turning into giggles as a line of men in all shapes and sizes can be seen, all of them posing in their underwear.

"Really Mikey," he laughs, "This looks like a commercial for a bad porn movie!"

Mikey gives him a killing glare, "It's not the cover that counts, it's the music inside!"

"If only the music held a higher standard."

Mikey sighs, sometimes he debates starting to wear a Blink 182 t-shirt all the time instead for his old Anthrax shirt. It’s not that he doesn’t love Anthrax anymore, it’s just that he enjoys getting Jeph back for the teasing even more. And besides, the Anthrax shirt has started to get quite smelly.

"So who's that Hoppus guy anyway?" Jeph asks scanning the line of almost naked men, "’cause he is in this picture, right?"

"Yeah, there," Mikey points at one of the men.

"The dude with the thong! Seriously Mikey, how can you fancy a guy posing only wearing a thong that doesn't even fit him?"

"He plays bass," Mikey explains matter-of-factly, "and besides, he's not dressed like that all the time."

"Thank god, I would get nightmares."

"That's him too," Mikey points to the same man, but in a different spot in the picture. He is now wearing white boxers with black dots.

"He looks fat, and he's got a farmers tan."

"That better?" Mikey points at the picture again, but now at the man standing on the far left side of the picture. He is dressed in green boxers with fishes on, sucking in his stomach in a way that makes him look like a concentration camp prisoner.

"That's him again?"

Mikey nods.

"Same old farmers tan. I like that dude better," Jeph points at a guy standing with his back to the camera at the right side of the picture. He is dressed in white boxers with a red heart over his ass. "I want boxers like that."

"That's Tom DeLonge," Mikey giggles. That was the most positive thing Jeph has ever said about Blink 182, and maybe if things continue in this way, Mikey can get him to like Blink 182 after all.

"It is? Dude, he's gro.... he's pretty hot."

"I knew it," Mikey laughs, "you do like them, deep down you do!" he jumps into Jeph's lap screaming, "Hoppus!"

"Stop Hoppus-ing me!" Jeph protests weakly, but wraps his arms around a giggling Mikey to make him stay where he is. He hates it when Mikey does this, jumping at him and screaming "Hoppus!" For some reason unknown to Jeph, Mikey does this at least twice a day. And each time he looks like it's the funniest thing ever. "I just said that to please you."

"You did not," Mikey teases, wiggling his head away from Jeph, who is trying to kiss him.

"I did, so now you have to please me," he says, finally capturing Mikey's lips with his own.

"How rude," Mikey mumbles, kissing Jeph back, causing them both to giggle.

*

Mikey is looking through the cupboards in the small kitchen of the bus, trying to find cups for him and Jeph. He can't understand where his band mates could have lost all the cups, because nothing could possibly disappear in a kitchen this small. Apparently, they have succeeded in that impossible task anyway, so Mikey decides that they have to drink their tea from glasses. He makes his way to the back of the bus where Jeph is sitting on the couch waiting for him.

"Glasses?" he comments suspiciously as he sees Mikey approaching.

"Yeah, I couldn't find any cups. I hope they won't burn our fingers off."

"I doubt so, tea is nice. If it was coffee I bet they would though."

Mikey rolls his eyes while sitting down beside Jeph and putting the glasses down on the table.

"I need to talk to you about something," Jeph says while sipping his tea.

"Yeah, what?" Mikeys asks, feeling a bit uncomfortable as Jeph's expression is more serious than usual.

"Your bass playing."

"My bass playing?"

"Yeah, between us bass players, you really need to work on your playing style."

Mikey looks at Jeph in disbelief, what does this have to do with anything and why does he care at all? It's not like his bass playing affects Jeph in any way. He even had to play that ridiculous tambourine in "Under Pressure" while Jeph was allowed to stick to his bass.

Wait, maybe that was it. Why was he the only one who was taken away from his instrument during that song? If they could have two drummers, then why not two bassists? Right now he can't remember how he ended up playing that tambourine, but he is sure there is something suspicious here.

"I know you never had any proper lessons," Jeph interrupts his thoughts, "and it is very good of you to come as long as you have with only being self learned. But I think it's time for you to get some lessons now to improve your ability. And I am willing to be your teacher."

"I think I'm doing just fine."

"But you look like a scarecrow."

"Now that was just rude!"

"Although I will admit that you're one of the sexiest scarecrows I've seen."

"And that was one of the worst compliments I’ve ever gotten."

"No problem, when you get too old to tour I can use you as an unusual lifelike lawn ornament."

"Jeph, that's not funny!"

"Sorry, I'm just trying to show you how much I love you."

"That was a very strange way of showing it. Let's go back to the subject, what's wrong with my bass playing?"

"You play like a guitarist."

"What's wrong with that?"

"It looks stupid. I've got some bass rules for you."

"Really, I'm excited," Mikey says sarcastically.

"It's quite interesting, really. Rule number one: move a lot."

"But there’s no room, I just bump into the drums or Ger..."

"Shut up. Rule number two: don't use picks."

"But you do."

"Not all the time. Rule number three: don't act like you play guitar."

"I don't!"

"You do. Look here Mikey, the way you move your right hand, and your left too for that matter, shows that you are very influenced by guitar playing. This doesn’t mean the sound comes out worse, it's just a question of style!"

"I have style."

"Not bass style. You have to remember one thing, guitars are great in all ways, but it ain't the same thing as basses."

"Right."

"Like a viola ain't the same thing as a violin."

"What?"

"Never mind, it's like if people comes up to you and calls you Gerard."

"Okay," Mikey gives Jeph a suspicious glare, like he can see no point in what Jeph is saying. "So you say that I should start use the stage as a trampoline, stop using a pick and start holding my bass in a different way?"

"Exactly."

"That means I'm turning into you."

"That wasn't my point really. Just parts of it."

"I'm playing like the god himself does."

"The who?"

"The god, Mark Hoppus. Duh!"

"Actually, he has more bass style than you. But just a bit."

"I'm on the right track. I should start saying my prayers more often." Jeph stares at Mikey in disbelief, who tries to look dead serious, and almost succeeds.

"I hate Mark Hoppus!" Jeph screams suddenly.

"I love Mark Hoppus!"

"No, you love me!"

"I love you, and Mark Hoppus."

"How can I have sex with someone who adores a 30 year old guy who still acts like he's in high school?"

"I hope that was a rhetorical question and I'm not gonna correct you about his age."

"You just did, almost."

"Shut up. Now tell me how I'm going to play this goddamn bass to please you."

"Okay," Jeph takes a breath, suddenly serious. "First, and this is most important, you have to move your right hand less. You have four strings, right? And you usually just play at one at the time, right? Why then move your hand like you have six strings and like you are playing chords where you have to hit all strings? It's a question of laziness, I suppose. Because you'll need the energy in your left hand. Keep your fingers together and don't spread them like you need to reach the whole bass with one hand. Just move your hand like you are stroking the bass instead. Once again, you do not play chords. After that, you just need to start moving around more. Not much, it's okay to just stand almost still and move in pace with the music. Just don't stand still and stare into the distance like some antique Greek philosopher."

"If there was anyone else but you telling me this I would get so pissed. But now it’s you, so now I'm just a bit pissed," Mikey pauses for a moment before continuing. "But why the fuck do I have to do that!?!"

"Because it will improve your skills as a bass player."

"Mark Hoppus plays like me and he's a great bass player."

"Krist Novoselic, he's better and he plays like me."

"Paul McCartney."

"He was originally a guitarist, he doesn't count!"

"He's most famous for playing bass though."

"Whatever. Matt Rubano."

"Pete Wentz."

"Matt Lovato."

"Matt Lova... what?"

"Bassist of Mest."

"Mest? Yeah, that's them with that green haired singer who has a crush on Bert!"

"Like having a crush on Bert is an unusual thing. Everyone's got a crush on Bert."

"Not me. No, wait..." Mikey suddenly looks accusingly at Jeph who looks back wide eyed.

"No, no, not me. I'm not everyone, am I?"

"It would get rather busy for you to be."

"...and besides you have a crush on that Hoppus dude."

"It's not the same. Oh, wait, was that a yes?"

"No!"

"I'll keep an eye on you two. And if you really want me to change my playing style, I think you need to show me how to do it, not only talk about it."

"Sure, let's just finish this tea before it turns into ice tea."

*

A while later Mikey is sitting on the couch, his bass in his lap and Jeph behind him, one leg on either side of him. It isn’t the most comfortable position to play in, but Jeph said it was the best if he should be able to help. Mikey starts playing a few notes that can barely be heard because of the lack of amplifiers.

Jeph moves his right arm around Mikey, grabbing his hand lightly, the same hand that is trying to get any sound out of the quiet instrument.

"Keep playing," he says, "but let me guide your hand. Relax." Mikey does as he's told, finding that it is quite relaxing as Jeph takes control over his playing. His hand is captured in Jeph's while only his fingers can keep moving.

"That's good, baby. Perfect," Jeph purrs, his head resting against Mikey's shoulder so his lips almost touch his ear.

"I'm always good," Mikey answers lazily.

"True." Jeph loosens his grip around Mikey's hand a little. "Now let's get started on your other hand too." Jeph reaches his left arm out to grab Mikey's other hand, going through the same procedure again.

This time Mikey has a harder time following Jeph's lead, his fingers wanting to do their own thing. But after some bad mess-ups, which lead to a horrible sound escaping the poor bass, Jeph seems satisfied. He loosens his grip on Mikey's hands, letting him play on his own.

Mikey tries to keep playing as Jeph showed him, mostly just to please Jeph as he knows that as soon as he gets up on a stage again everything will go back to normal. The sea of screaming people in front of him will fill him with fear and he will stay still in the back, not daring to move much. Because moving is dangerous, and it's not for him. Maybe, just maybe he will wear a Blink 182 t-shirt.

But he will never tell Jeph that, neither about the t-shirt nor the fear. How can he understand that? He, who is shining of confidence as soon as he mounts a stage?

In some way Jeph has managed to move out from behind Mikey without disturbing his playing too much, and he is now sitting cross-legged on the table in front of the couch, watching his pupil. He is smiling to himself, it feels good to see how fast Mikey is learning. He isn't totally relaxed yet and he looks a bit unused to playing this way and the fingers of his left hand are still messing up every now and then as they push down on the strings. But it looks better than he ever expected after such a short period of time. Mikey finally looks like the bassist he is.

Suddenly the familiar melody Mikey is playing turns into something that Jeph doesn't recognise. Something fast and happy. Mikey's fingers move confidently, knowing every single note by heart. His mouth opens, letting out sounds rarely heard, sounds of Mikey singing.

"And that's about the time that bitch hung up on me,
Nobody likes you when you're twenty-three,
And are still more amused by prank phone calls,
What the hell is call ID?
My friends says I should act my age,
What's my age again?
What's my age again?"

To be honest it sounds quite horrible.

"No one should take themselves so seriously,
With many years ahead to fall in line,
Why would you wish that on me?
I never want to act my age,
What's my age again?
What's my age again?"

Mikey finishes with a big smile. "I’ve been practicing for that a long time," he smirks.

"I bet you have" Jeph smiles back, actually quite amused at what he has seen. So much better than the original, he decides. He should get Mikey a guitar instead and than they could run away and open a bar somewhere. Where horny teenage girls could pay him lots of money to get in and see Mikey play crappy songs only dressed in a smile. They would get rich on that.

And maybe sued by that Hoppus guy.

That wouldn't be too bad though, he could just let Mikey wiggle his pretty, none-existent ass and suggest things that wouldn't make him hop for days.

The only problem would be if Hoppus doesn't take those kinds of bribes. If there's a problem he can always dress Mikey up in fake tits and high heels and tell Hoppus that it's not gay at all.

"Earth to Jeph, hello? Anyone at home?" Mikey waves his hand in front of Jeph's eyes.

"Yeah, what?"

"What are you dreaming about?"

"Bribes, Mark Hoppus and fake tits."

Mikey stares at Jeph, "What?"

"You can also put it this way, I'm planning our future."

"Now you're just plain weird."

"Not worse than you." Jeph moves down from the table, taking the bass from Mikey and putting it back in its case. "You're doing great," he smiles, "tomorrow we’ll take lesson number two: how to move. And after that you just have to put the two parts together." He sits down beside Mikey, who sighs. Really, he doesn't care about this at all.

"Hoppus!" he screams, making a quick jump into Jeph's lap.

"Stop Hoppus-ing me, Hoppus freak!" Jeph shouts, looking and a bit irritated.

"Can I ask you something," Mikey says sweetly.

"Sure."

"If we ever get to the chance, will you have a threesome with me and Mark Hoppus?"

"Only, my dear, if you have a threesome with me and Nick Carter."

Okay... So I really grow to hate this fic =/
Don't hate me and please comment.

almightybob_ @ 2005-05-04T22:33:00

2005-05-04T20:34:11Z

Title: Do You Care?
Author: Emelie
Pairing: Gerard Way/Jeph Howard
Rating: PG-13
Summary: When Gerard wakes up, Jeph is gone.
Note: This is a sequel to Will tomorrow Be The Same?, if anyone remember that story, I wrote it back in December last year. I had some serious doubt in this story, it's been lying around in my room for a few months, but I decided finish it now. A huge thank you to marre_barre, for making me believe in my writing again after my minor again breakdown over this fic, and to youthstate for beta. You two rock!
This is not true and I don't own the characters. My mind under influences by a study trip to Gothenburg came up with this.
Also a little more information to understand this, The Used does not exist, but MCR does. Jeph is a fan of MCR and he is around 19 years old. Gerard is around 21.

Will Tomorrow Be The Same?- Jeph's POV, I recommend you to read that before moving on with this story...

... that is in Gerard's POV

The bright morning light stings my eyelids. That's why I always make sure that the curtains are closed before I go to bed, the morning sun is evil. But apparently I forgot that last night. I stretch my arm over to the other side of the bed, searching for the other man I know should be sleeping there. I hate how they always used to write in books that the characters have to think about what happened the night before to remember what they did than. I don't know about others, but I always know right when I wake up what I need to know about the previous day, and if I don't remember it I won't later either.

So I don't have to think to know that Jeph should be sleeping on the other side of the bed. And that makes it even worse to find that nothing meets my fumbling hand but sheets. Defeated I open my eyes, the evil morning sun has won.

The first thing I notice when my eyes open is the scarf I gave him almost two days ago to keep him from getting too cold. It is draped over my chest, like he put it there with great care. I lift up the scarf to my face and sniff it curiously to see if it hides any signs of him. But it doesn't.

I glare wildly at the sun, it's all its fault.

Hopelessly I throw myself back down at the pillows. We are not leaving until late today and I'm not planning on getting out of bed the nearest hours, if this day will go on be this mean to me.

I had been so happy when I saw him again, that night when he got the scarf. Even though he didn't believe me I actually had missed him. I can't count the times I blamed myself for not calling him and let so much time pass that I didn't dare call again. I liked him, I really did. And I still do. But I guess this is the way it's supposed to be.

The quiet sound of pouring water disturbs my self pity. The sharp sound slits into my mind and makes it impossible for my brain to work. With a sigh I sit up, resting my head at my knees.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck..." I mumble to myself, like a mantra to block out the sound and the evil light, which now is lighting up the whole room. But the sun won't stop shining and the water won't stop dripping.

Suddenly I realise that the sound of the water comes from the bathroom in my hotel room, not the one beside mine as I thought. I guess my talent for remembering things from the day before makes my brain work slower when it’s registering what is happening right now.

I get up from the bed and sneaks towards the bathroom. Jeph's jacket is still hanging beside the door. This was complicated, too complicated for my brain to get. But everything with Jeph was complicated, at least this far.

To my relief he left the bathroom door unlocked. This could be just an innocent thing for him to do, but I knew his indications were to leave.

I open the door quietly and sneak inside. The small room is foggy and hot, like a sauna. He must have been in here a long time.

I can see his body's soft curves through the shower curtains around the shower. I sit down on the toilet seat and watch him. He has his back to me and doesn't seem to have noticed that I have come into the room yet.

I grab one of the hotel's big, white towels with the hotel logotype embroidered on it.

"Jeph?" It comes out much more quiet than it was supposed to, at least he doesn't seem to hear. "Jeph!"

He jumps around and looks at me like I just scared him to death, than he remembers that he is naked and he tries to cover himself. He turns of the water and after that he reaches out to grab a towel, still trying to cover himself, with just one hand and the shower curtains. I give him the towel and he wraps it around his wet body.

He sits down with his back against the wall in front of me, with the towel around his shoulders making is cover his whole body as he pulls up his legs to his chest. He looks scared and insecure. He has given me the impression that he's always secure and knows what he is doing, but apparently not now.

"I thought you had left," I say slowly. He keeps his gaze at the floor, like he doesn't want to look at me, or as if he's scared to. He looks like a big snowball with that towel, a snowball with a head.

"I thought I was going too," he says quietly.

"But you didn't?"

He shrugs, "I couldn't, but I wanted to. At least I think I wanted to," he sighs. "I was going to if you didn't wake up before I was done in the shower." He looks so pathetic, like a little kid that has been yelled at by his mother for stealing cookies.

"Do you care?" he whispers shyly.

"Care about what?"

"Me..."

"I do, I do care about you."

"But I'm just a fan like everyone else. You can take me, do whatever you want to me and I would be grateful."

"No you wouldn't, and you wouldn't let me do it."

"True," he smiles slightly, but barely noticeable.

"See, you're not like all other fans. I could've taken any of those girls at the concert and fuck them senseless, but how much fun is that?" I get quiet. He doesn't look at the floor anymore, he's looking up at me, and it looks like a bit of his security has come back.

"Do you know how happy I was to find you again?" I move down to the floor, so I'm sitting in front of him. He shakes his head.

"I've been thinking about calling you for so long, but I didn't dare..." I look up at him, his face isn't wet from the shower anymore and his hair has started to dry. "This seemed like a second chance... to get back to you. You're not like any other fan, you're a real person. Do you think I ever would have talked to you more than a minute at first if I didn't like you? Do you think I would have kissed you that time if I didn't like you? I'm not like that..."

He shakes his head slowly, he doesn’t think I am like that or at least he doesn’t want to think so.

I let my hand lightly stroke his chin, making him look at me. "Do you care?"

He looks up at me with his dark brown eyes, meeting my lighter brown ones. They're dark and smooth like the water of a cold wood lake.

"Don't know. I don't want to," he drops his gaze. My hand falls from his cheek, if he is going to be like that he should have left at once. "I don't dare to care," he looks up again, his wood lakes eyes now filled with sadness. "I just think you will hurt me again."

"I won't," I try to sound more secure than I am, "I was too happy finding you again to lose you once more."

"But it's not just that. I don't dare to like you because you are who you are," he takes a deep breath. "Maybe it's just a character you created that I like?"

"That question it's just you who has the answer to. But I can help you find out... if you're not leaving?"

"I'm staying."

For the first time that day I can smile and mean it, and I do. I smile and I hug the damp human in front of me, destroying his snowball shell. He hugs me back, a little surprised at first. But I can feel how he's smiling too.

"How long are you staying here?" he asks.

"We're not leaving until eight sometime tonight." To me it feels like a long period of time for staying at one place, but to him it's probably nothing.

"Do you have any clothes I can borrow today? Mine like, stink."

"Stink? You haven't been on tour, right?" I smile at him, "and besides, I don't think you need more clothes than you already have."

"It's cold," he puts.

"If you say so..." I get up and walk out of the bathroom. The cold air in the rest of the hotel room hits me like a wave. Air that really isn't that cold just compared to the sauna in the bathroom. Maybe clothes weren't that bad idea. I get dressed before picking out the biggest clothes I have in my bag for him. Not that he is really tall or big, but he's taller than I am.

He is standing with his back to me, drying his hair with the towel showing me his tattooed body as I get back. I drop the clothes down at the toilet seat and take a quick step into the small room, wrapping my arms around his naked waist. He turns his head around surprised.

"I couldn't resist,” I smile and place a kiss at his shoulder before releasing him. "I hope the clothes will fit and I still think you would look much better walking around naked."

He laughs and shakes his head slightly, like I'm crazy. I leave the bathroom again. The scarf is still lying on the bed. I pick it up and hang it around my neck before I go out on the little balcony and light a cigarette. The cold autumn wind blows right through my clothes. Jeph comes out to me a minute later. He has his arms wrapped around himself, to try to protect his body from the cold wind.

"You shouldn't smoke," he says.

"I know."

"Then stop."

"I don't want to."

He sights and puts his arms at the balcony parapet, looking down at the street and the cars below.

"You can die," he says to the bus stop outside the hotel entrance.

"Maybe I want to die," I'm standing beside him, looking down at a red Volvo that is driving by.

"I don't want you do die," I feel his arm reaching out around my back and he pulls me to his side. I rest my head at his shoulder, taking a last drag at my cigarette before throwing it over the edge of the balcony, smiling to myself. His closeness and his touch give me hope. Suddenly the irritating sound of a ringing cell phone reaches to us through the half-open door behind us. Jeph lets go of me and hurries into the room. I follow him slowly, closing the door to the cold world outside.

"I don't know," I hear him say into the small phone. "Tonight sometime... In town." I bet it's his mum or dad he's talking to, it sounds like a typical parent to child conversation. "No one you know."

I sit down at the bed, looking at him.

"No. No. Yes. Bye." He hangs up.

"Interesting conversation," I smile.

"Yeah... just my mum who wanted me to come home."

"You should move away."

"I want to, but I don't have enough money," he throws himself down at the bed beside me, "do you still live with your parents?"

"At those rare times I'm at home, yes."

"See, you shouldn't say anything! And, you're older than me."

"Just two years!"

"You're an old man," he smirks.

"I'm not!" I try to hit his arm, but he moves away too quickly. I roll over at my side so I'm facing him. "We should move in together."

"And we have known each other for like two days?"

"Or a half year, it depends on how you see it. I mean in the future, stupid."

He wrinkles his nose cheekily at me. It looks so cute I can't resist closing the space between us and give him a kiss. His two cold lip piercings touching my lip slightly, sending a pleasant shiver through my body.

I break the kiss after a little while, looking down at him. He smiles slight, his cold wood lake eyes have now melted and are warmly golden brown and shining. I take the scarf off from around my neck, putting it around his instead. Lifting his head from the bed so I can get the long piece of fabric in place.

"I told you to keep this," I smile and kiss him again. "How's your stomach today?"

"Better, but it still hurts."

"I can be careful."

He puts his arms around my neck and pushes me down towards him, kissing me again. I pull up the black Thursday t-shirt he borrowed from me, exposing his now black and blue stomach. I kiss the bruises slowly, barely touching him so it won't hurt.

"Next time," I say to his stomach, ”I’ll make you stand beside the stage, so it won't look like someone tried to kill you." I move back up to his mouth again, kissing him deeply and more forceful than before. He moans slightly into my mouth, pushing his body up to meet mine.

This day turned out a lot better than I ever would have imagined when I woke up this morning.

*

My hand plays with Jeph's dark hair, circling around the dyed lighter parts. He is asleep, resting his head against my chest. It makes me feel so content having him here with me. I stroke my hand down his naked chest, feeling it rise and fall with his slow, rhythmic breaths.

The clock beside the bed tells me that it soon will be time to wake up the sleeping beauty in my arms, weather I want to or not. I would be happy staying here for the rest of my life, but the outside world wants other things. It expects so much more of me than staying in a hotel bed, cuddling with the most beautiful young man I met yet in my life.

I wrap my arms around him, clinging to him like he is the little bit of floating wood that saves me form the sinking ship. I kiss his forehead, his skin cold to my hot lips. He moves a bit in his sleep, but without waking up. I bend my head closer to his ear, touching the piercings in it.

"Time to wake up..."

His eyes opens slowly, like he's hesitating, scared to see what will wait on the other side of the thin skin of his eyelids. His eyes meet mine and he smiles.

"Good morning," he yawns.

"I wouldn't call it morning, but whatever suits you, "I smile.

He stretches tiredly, his naked skin rubbing against mine.

"You have to go soon," I whisper sadly, my hand making circles at his right upper arm. He slides further down under the sheets and buries his face into my stomach.

"I don't want to," his nose pokes into the soft flesh of my stomach, tickling me. During other circumstances I would have laughed.

"I don't want you to either..."

He crawls back up from under the sheet, sitting up in my lap.

"I can come with you."

"No, you can't, you know that is impossible. You have your life, I have mine..." His sad brown eyes burns holes in my head, leaving holes that never will heal.

"I know," he rests his head at my shoulder.

"We'll meet again soon."

I feel him nod, barely noticeable. "Do you promise you won't disappear again?"

"I promise." This time won't be as the last, I know it and I hope he knows too. He lifts his head slowly, facing me again.

"I'll call you as soon as I get home, " he smiles, slightly.

"I'm already looking forward to that call," I smile back.

He rests his forehead against mine, "do you care?"

"I do. I like you very much, Jeph and I do care about you."

"I like you too. So much that my stomach hurts." I laugh softly, poking his bruised stomach. It's dark outside now and the room is filled with a dim light from the street lamps outside.

Jeph gives me a soft kiss before he gets out of bed, getting dressed in his own clothes this time. The light from outside makes his skin glow in a ghostlike, but beautiful way. Slowly I follow him out from the warm shelter in the bed, getting dressed to build up a new shelter towards the outside world.

He helps me pack the things I managed to spread all over the room during the few days I've been here, until the room looks clean and neutral again, like it was when I arrived. Like nothing ever happened here. With a last glance at the empty room we leave, hand in hand.

I squeeze his hand hard, not wanting to let go and leave him alone. We will meet soon again, but soon is a very different concept.

*hides* comment?

almightybob_ @ 2005-04-24T19:25:00

2005-04-24T17:25:55Z

So, I wrote this in Swedish. Bacause I hate beta-problems... and they always seem to appear sooner or later... and becasue I don't want to forget how to write in Swedish and finally becasue this is for Marre so she's the only one who needs to understand it.

Titel: Sommarväsen
Författare: Emelie
Par: Tom Armstrong/Tony Lovato
Summering: Tim och Tony har gått vilse och Tony försöker liva upp stämningen.
Not: Den här är till marre_barre, becasue she rocks! Och jag har skrivit den här på svenska för att det var evigheter sidan jag skrev på detta vackra språk. Det kvittar hur mycket jag än hatar Sverige, så vill jag inte glömma bort hur jag ska uttrycka mig på mitt modersmål. (Fast jag måste säga att det blev ett misslyckat försök =/)
PS. Jag är inte säker på att jag fått alla sångtexter rätt...

”Nu är det sommar, nu är det sol, nu är det koskit i hagen!” Han sjunger glatt medan han hoppar omkring i det halvhöga gräset. Den här hagen skulle verkligen behöva några kor som sket ner den, eller i alla fall åt upp gräset på den. Jag kan slå vad om att gräset är fullt med fästingar. Små svarta, otäcka, levande små prickar som gör allt för att suga vårt blod och ge oss borrelia.

Som vampyrer.

Fast vad jag vet så ger inte vampyrer borrelia. De ger en bara en livslång förbannelse.

Fästingar är nog ganska söta i alla fall. Men de borde hålla sig på replängds avstånd.

”Opp och ner, ner och opp, grisen gal i granens topp och vår katt, han tror att myssan är en hatt!” Tre steg framför mig, ständigt tre steg framför mig hoppar han omkring, sjungandes på gamla barnvisor som jag trodde att han hade vuxit ifrån för länge sedan.

”Hönan jagar räv i våra hagar, kossan gnäggar, lilla grisen gal!”

Det gör mig tokig. Det här är den femtielfte ängen vi går över och jag har fortfarande inte den blekaste aning om vart vi är eller hur vi ska ta oss tillbaka till konsertområdet. Men han verkar inte bry sig det minsta, han bra sjunger på. Inte för att jag har något emot att vara ute och vandra med honom i den gassande sommarsolen, men det är inte långt kvar tills han ska framträda. Han ska sjungna sånger fulla av svordomar om misslyckade bussresor inför skrikande tjejer, inte om koskit inför blommor som håller på att få värmeslag.

”Geten dansar, tuppen har fem svansar, oxen kacklar, lilla gri…”

”Tony!”

”Va?” Han stannar tvärt och vänder sig om mot mig.

”Ska vi testa att gå dit åt istället?” Jag gör en gest åt vänster, utöver det böljande gräset som ser likadant ut som det gör i alla andra riktningar.

”Yes, sir!” han ställer sig i givakt.

”Sluta barnsla dig!”

”Jag försöker bara hålla stämningen uppe.”

Jag suckar och börjar gå igen. Han följder med, tyst vid min sida nu.

Vi hade gått ut för att ta en promenad i morse, som omväxlig mot att bara sitta inne i någon rökig turnébuss hela dagen. Men det är inte bra att ge sig ut på vandringar i omgivningar man inte känner till, särkilt inte när ens lokalsinne ligger på minus på lokalsinneslakan. Vilket är fallet med oss båda.

Där av denna förvirrade vandring över åkrar och fält i en del av landet igen av oss känner till och dessutom en del av landet som inte blivit berört av vägnätet. Om vi inte har råkat förflytta oss till medeltiden, vilket jag starkt betvivlar för jag såg ett flygplan nyss.

”I sommarens soliga dagar, vi går genom skogar och hagar,” han börjar gnola igen samtidigt som han skuttar lite vid min sida.

”Tony! Hur gammal är du egentligen?”

”Jag vet inte, jag tappade räkningen vid två och ett halvt.”

”Du är omöjlig, vet du det?”

”Japp, och det är du med. Det är därför vi går så bra ihop.”

Jag suckar förtvivlat och fortsätter att gå i raskt takt.

”Ey, surpuppa! Kom igen då,” han börjar sjunga igen, ”du som är ung, kom med och sjung och sitt ej inne sur och tung, din unga kropp som rullar opp, på kullens allra högsta topp!”

Surpuppa, det är rätt ordet. Jag är och förblir en surpuppa. Jag ska inte ge upp. Men Tony har en tendens att sprida glädje omkring sig, det är omöjligt att vara på dåligt humör i hans närhet. I alla fall under någon längre period.

”Aha, jag såg dig allt! Du log, gamla surpuppa!”

”Det gjorde jag inte alls det!”

”Tro inte att du kan lura mig.”

”Nej, men jag hoppas.”

”Det är sommar och sol, vi har kort tight kjol och vi vill ha dig, Tim Aaaaarmstong!”

Det är verkligen något särkilt med den unga mannen. Hans glittrande blå ögon när han sträcker fram sina armar mot mig i sjungandets stund. Solen som glänser i hans blonderade hår och hans tunga som snabbt gör en resa utanför munnen för att slicka över den silverfärgade läppringen.

”Jag ser inte att du har ”kort tight kjol” på dig.”

”Nej, Matt lät mig inte låna den i morse. Han skulle prompt ha den till sin date med Jeremiah. Du får bara tänka dig hur sexig jag skulle ha varit i den.”

Jag skrattar och knuffar till honom lätt.

”Akta mig, jag är liten och skör!”

”Det var den största lögnen jag hört idag.”

Tony kan beskrivas på många sätt, men att han är liten och skör är inte en av dem. Nog sträcker sig inte hans huvud beundransvärt högt över markhöjd, men han tar igen det med en vältränad kropp. Och en överkropp som är täckt av tatueringar, som han ofta och gärna visar omvärlden.

”Inte en lögn, bara en vridning av sanningen,” flinar han och räcker ut tungan åt mig med ett fruktansvärt gulligt uttryck i ansiktet. Skulle jag inte veta bättre skulle jag tro att han flirtade med mig. Fast å andra sidan kan man aldrig veta med honom.

Vi hoppar över ett dike till en annan äng. Solen står högt på himlen och steker våra svettiga kroppar.

”Släpp fångarne låss det är vår!” Tony börjar sjunga igen med ett glatt utrop. Plötsligt känner jag hur han tar mig hand och drar med mig en konstig springande, hoppande dans. ”Var människa i sin själ, i grunden vill så väl, när grön naturen står!”

”Men inte jag tror att det går, av social skäl, av social skäl,” svarar jag.

”Du kan den sången!” skrattar Tony, ”bravo, surpuppa.”

”Men gärna för mig, ”fortsätter jag, ” om jag konstapel vore, jag… fan också jag kommer inte ihåg mer av texten!”

”Du kan i alla fall mer av den än jag.”

Jag tar sats för att komma med ett svar, men han höjer en varnande hand, ”tyst.”

”Va?”

Plötsligt står han på helspänn, som ett rovdjur som precis fått syn på sitt byte.

”Ditåt ska vi,” han pekar i motsatt riktning mot vart vi är på väg, men lite mer åt höger än från vart vi kom.

”Hur vet du det?”

”Jag hör musiken.”

”Åh, men jag hör inget.”

”Du har varit på för många punkkonserter.”

Vi hoppar tillbaka över bäcken och börjar gå mot ljudet som Tony påstår sig höra. Och faktiskt, efter ett tag hör jag det med. Ungefär samtidigt känner jag Tonys svettig hand greppa efter min igen.

”Visst är jag ett orienteringsgeni?” spinner han i örat på mig, så nära att jag känner hans andedräkt mot mitt skinn.

”Mmm,” nickar jag stelt. Han ska inte vara så här nära, han ska hållas på replängds avstånd, precis som fästingarna. Annars kan det bli farligt.

”Slappna av, Tim,” fortsätter han sitt spinnande. Han har släppt min hand nu, istället vilar den runt min midja där den tar stör mot skärpet som håller uppe mina lågt hängande byxor. Jag drar ett djupt andetag och försöker slappna av samtidigt som jag lägger min arm runt hans midja, på samma sätt som hans om min.

Så fortsätter vi att gå mot det avlägsna ljudet av musik, tätt sammanklistrade av svett oh sommarsolen. Vi hr kommit så nära att vi kan se scenerna och turnébussarna på konsertområdet nu och med lite fantasi kan man urskilja orden från den avlägsna musiken.

”Can I touch your leg?” gnolar Tony med, “Do I make you sweat?”

För varje steg faller jag mer och mer in i vår gemensamma rytm, det är en puls som slår mellan våra kroppar. Vi är en, hettan har smält ihop oss till ett. Och när vi kommer fram och Tony släpper sitt fastklistrade grepp om mig känns det som om han har ryckt loss en bit av mig.

”Tack för promenaden,” ler han och plötsligt känner jag hans läppar pressade mot mina i en snabb kyss. ”Vi ses ikväll, Tim,” viskar han med en farlig glimt i ögat, innan han är på väg bort.

Innan jag hinner reagera är han nästan uppslukad av folkmassan, personer som skyndar hit och dit bärandes på instrument, sladdar och förstärkare. Jag önskar att jag visste vad den glimten betyder. Fast jag har en känsla av att jag kommer får veta.

Sorry... Det här är det sämsta jag skrivit på år och dar =/

almightybob_ @ 2005-02-02T12:48:00

2005-02-02T11:48:34Z

Title: I Miss You Singing Me To Sleep
Author: Emelie
Pairing: Tony Lovato/Gerard Way
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Two depressed ex rock stars.
Disclaimer: As far as I know those tow aren't ex rock stars, so this can't be true
Notes: 1. I wrote this a few months ago, but haven’t got around to post it until now. 2. This isn’t beta’ed, because I’m tired of being a burden. Forgive the stupid Swede…3. This is to marre_barre because she rocks.

You can't understand what he's doing here. A few minutes ago the door closed behind him and his pattering steps led him in to the couch, to the opposite end of it to where you were sitting. Now he's sitting there, rubbing his hands together. You pull up your legs beneath you, so you can sit comfortably while studying him and his nervous rubbing.

His wild hair falls down in his pale face, so the only thing you can see is the tip of his nose that points out from the black hair. But you know what's hiding behind the curtain, you know it too well. Thin lips and a pointy nose in a childish-looking round face. Eyes that screams of mania and helplessness in a frame of black and red.

You know that face far to well. Even though you try to forget what the shrunk up person is doing in the other end of the couch, even though you do everything not to understand it, you know it anyway. You try to force your gaze away from him and back to the pointless program at the TV. But you can't.

"You should cut your hair," you mutter. It's not the point that he should hear you, but in some way it is the point too.

"You have as long hair yourself," he answers, half loud without looking up from his hands. And you know he's right, if you just let your high, blond mohawk fall down, it would be almost as long as his black hair.

He's everything you hate. He's the ghost in your life that makes you scared of both light and darkness. But mostly of what will happen next. Because you know how alike you two are, it could be you at the other end of the sofa.

But you are so different too, it could never be him who takes your place.

You lower your gaze from his curtain of hair, just to see your own tattooed hands with nails painted in faded black, rubbing against each other in you knee. Just like his. He has to stop doing that soon, or he will make a knot out of his fingers.

Or you will.

You feel like crying out loud, releasing all the hidden frustration that lives within you soul.

You look up at him again. The TV is buzzing quietly in the background. His hair is slowly moving back and forth.

When you look closer you realise that his whole body is shaking. His rubbing hands are now holding on to each other for dear life, to get something stable to hold on to. You wonder for how long he's been shaking. For how long did you look away? A minute, a half-hour? You don't know.

He pulls his knees up to his chest, hugging them, to get his body to stop shaking, without much success. He just looks like a vibrating meatball. A mixture of a helpless cry and a stifled sob escapes his lips, that are pressed together hard.

You hurry to crawl to his side of the couch and wrap your arms around him. Slowly you rock the shaking man, trying to calm him down.

After a while you feel how the body starts to relax in your arms and you hug him harder to your chest.

"Gerard?" you whisper and bury your face in his hair. It smells of smoke and like it hasn’t been washed. "Gerard?"

"I couldn't..." he whispers with shaking voice. "I had to come back..."

"Why?" His hair tickles your nose familiarly.

"You... you are the only one who can handle me..." His voice is muffled as he talks into your shirt. "Sorry?"

Your hand strokes his back slowly.

"Tony?" His voice is worried.

"Why did you leave?"

"To prove to myself that I could cope without you..." he mumbles shyly, "but I can't."

You squeeze him harder against you, as hard as your arms let you. You're not letting him disappear again.

"Promise me one thing?" you whisper.

"Mmm?"

"Never leave me again?"

"Never," he promises.

He is everything you hate, everything you fear and the reason why you can't sleep at night. But he is everything you love, the reason why you're still on this earth. He scars you. You make him calm.

"I love you," you whisper into his ear.

He moves in your grip, makes him self free so he can look up at you. He sees intense, blue eyes in a face that is grey and tired with worry. You see a childish, round boy face that is pale by the lack of sun.

As your lips meet you don't feel the taste of smoke in his mouth, and he doesn't feel it in yours. But you remember that one week ago you promised each other to stop smoking.

Smoking. That's the only addiction you have left. And one day you will stop that too. Maybe.

You are lying down at the couch now, beside each other. Your heads are in the end where you sat before and your feet where Gerard sat. You wonder if it should be the other way around.

You brush his hair away from his face, his light brown eyes stares sadly at you. You try to smile at him, but you don't think it comes out too good. Instead you just hug each other, trying to forget the daily life by hiding in the body heat of the other man.

*

Gerard is still asleep when you wake up a few hours later. He looks so angel like and innocent when he's asleep. It reminds you of back when you met. Back when he was happy. You want nothing more then to make him smile again.

Your lives can't go on like this much longer. None of you ever goes out if it's not necessarily. You have almost no contact with the outside world. Gerard's brother Mikey comes by every now and then, but when you think about it, he's the only one who does.

When you stopped drinking and doing drugs you got lonely. Before you were intoxicated and social. You don't dare to go back to your old friends, because you think they will make you drink again. Even though you know they won't.

Once alcohol was your best friend, but it betrayed you and almost took the best thing in your life away from you.

You're just two worthless ex rock stars. No, Gererd's not worthless, you're the only one who are.

You miss the days when you were at the road, you miss all the fun you had there.

You remember at one of those endless tours a friend of yours, Bert, had dropped by with one of his friends. That friend was Gerard. That was almost ten years ago now. You wonder what Bert is doing now a days, none of you have talked to him in ages. He's probably dead or a caring family father.

Bert makes you think of Matt, not of any particular reason, he just does. Matt, the bass player of the band you once were in and your favourite cousin. The last time you saw him was at his mom's 60th birthday last year. And he barley said hi to you. You miss him terribly.

"What are you thinking about?" a soft voice says beside you.

"Matt," you stare up at the ceiling. "I miss him."

A warm hand strokes your chin slowly. "You should call him," Gerard says.

"I know, but I don't think I dare."

"Why not? It's not like he'll kill you. It's a phone line between you."

"Can you sing for me?"

"I can't sing," he snorts.

"And I'm the queen of England."

All since his band split up he had refused to sing, he said the others didn't want him anymore because he couldn't sing. That wasn't true, no one but him thought so.

You miss hearing him sing. "I miss you singing me to sleep", like they sang in that old New Found Glory song. Too bad you can’t remember what song it is.

"Please, for me?"

He sits up with his back to you.

"No, I'll never sing again."

You sit up behind him and put your head at his shoulder. "I miss hearing you sing even more then I miss talking to Matt. Please, sing something?"

You hear him hum some random tones. His voice sounds insecure and unused. A little like your voice when you wake up in the morning with a sore throat. You smile to yourself, it feels good to make him use his voice again.

"What do you want me to sing?"

"You know what they do to guys like us in prison." You feel his shoulder tense under your head. You touched one more sensitive spot there, but you love that song. He didn't just refuse to sing after that his band split up, he couldn't stand their songs either. At least you were better than him at that point, you can listen the old music you made, but you don't like doing it.

He moves his head to the side, giving you a fast glance. You smile back trying to encourage him. Reluctantly he forms the first words of the song, trying to find his voice again.

"In the middle of a gun fight
In the centre of a restaurant
They say, 'Come with your arms raised high'..."

His voice is dead and has absolutely no feeling at all. But as he finds the right rhythm and his voice wakes up to life again, the song starts to live. You wrap your arms around him, squeezing him hard to your body. And in the pit of your stomach a little red flower of pride and hope starts growing.
He finish the song and as the last note fades away his head falls down over yours like all air left his body. Like a balloon that someone stuck a needle in.

"We're just two men as god has made us," you half sing half whisper into his ear. "And you can sing."

He answers nothing but his body is more relaxed then it has been for months as he rest against you.

Outside the dim winter afternoon has turned into jet-black night.

*

You wake up next morning with a feeling that something is terribly wrong. The other side of the bed is cold and empty.

A cold hand grabs your heart and squeezes it hard. You always wake up before Gerard and the few times you haven't something bad has been going on. The though that he have left you again hits you. In a way it wouldn't surprise you if he has, but you didn't expect him to do it as soon. And you know you won't survive if he has.

With great hesitation you get out of bed. You would prefer to stay under the warm blanket without knowing anything, just hide from he world. But the fear that Gerard has done something to hurt himself again forces you to out in the house and see what's going on.

This reminds you of something that happened almost a half year ago.

The house had been totally quiet when you got home that afternoon after buying some food, witch was a rare thing. Gerard always had some CD playing, whatever he was doing.

You had found him in the kitchen with your sharpest kitchen knife in his hand that he was trying to stab into his own heart. But he wasn't capable of doing that ho himself, so instead he just cut up his chest.

That day he did something he never done before, and had promised later never to do again, he threatened you with the knife because you had walked in and tried to stop him. That scared you, more then anything he ever had done before. You don't think that you could take that one more time.

As you struggled with trying to take the knife from him without hurting any of you more, someone opened the door. You swore you yourself, cursing at the person who chooses this inopportune moment to walk into your life. Who ever it was never paid attention at any other time, so why should they do now? You wondered if any of the neighbours had heard you and called the police?

The person that shows up in the kitchen doorway appears to be the one you feared it to be the most. It's Mikey's thin frame and big glasses you saw. He shouldn't see his elder brother like this, brown eyes sparkling with yellow fire, but a distant fire like there was a transparent wall in front of them.

You've seen those eyes too many times before, but they never fails to scare you to death. Luckily it was much more often before.

To your surprise Mikey just fasten his eyes on Gerard, walks to him and takes the knife.

Without the knife in his hand it was like all life disappeared from Gerard's body. He sank down at the floor, covering his head with his arms, shaking. Mikey sat down beside him, holding him close and rocking him slowly. Just like you use to do. If it weren't for the blood and the fact that you felt like crying it would have been a beautiful scene.

Together you and Mikey finally got Gerard calm again. He was sleeping in the bed you shared, looking so small and innocent. As long as the blanket covered his scared chest and arms. You and Mikey sat at the other side of the bed, the side that was yours.

"Does he get like this often?" Mikey asked you while looking concerned at his brother.

"No, not since he gave up the drugs. This was the first time it been this bad in years..."

He nods. "He had those attacks when he was a teenager every now and then. But mom and me learned to control them in some way. I hoped he had grown out of that."

You're good at scaring yourself. Now you're almost panicking, just thinking of what might have happened, even before you know if it's true.

You put on your dressing grown and peeks out through the small opening in the door, like world war three might be going on out there.

The hallway is dark and quiet, but you can see light coming from the kitchen. Slowly you sneak out and into the light room.

The sight that meets you when you step into the kitchen almost makes you faint. Much have you suspected, but not in your wildest dreams this would appear.

Gerard is standing in the middle of the room with his hair collected in a tuft, his cheeks have a slight healthy red tone and he’s smiling while quietly singing a song to himself. It takes you a moment to make out the words.

"I can't dream any more, since you left
I miss you singing me to sleep
I can't wake any more in your arms
I miss you singing me to sleep..."

In his hands he holds a package of milk, a cheese and butter. The table behind him is almost set for a huge breakfast.

"Are you awake already?" he stops his singing. "I was going to surprise you!"

The only thing that's missing is him wearing a apron.

"Tony?" he put the food down and walks to you.

"Sorry," you shake your head quickly to clear your thoughts. " I guess I'm not awake yet."

He smiles broadly and gives you a quick good morning kiss.

"Breakfast is ready," he says, "and thank you for making me sing yesterday!" He grabs your hand and pulls you to the table still humming the old New Found Glory song. It annoys you that you can't remember the name of it.

He serves you strawberry yoghurt and a sandwich with cheese and salami before he sits down and grabs something to eat himself.

"Dressed to kill!" you exclaim proudly.

"What?" He looks up from his bowl of milk and cornflakes.

"Nothing, I was just thinking about that song you sang. I thought about it yesterday too, for some reason, but I couldn't remember the title. But now I remembered it!"

*

You move the phone in your hand. The backside looks exactly the same as it did a few minutes ago. Once again you turn the front side up and starts dialling the number.

03265...

You know the number by heart, but you can't make your fingers dialling the whole number.

You put the phone down at the table in front of you again, hugging your knees as you curse to yourself.

Suddenly you feel a warm hand touch your shoulder. That causes you to fire one more volley of curse at yourself for not hearing Gerard enter the room.

"What's up?" he asks quietly and sits down beside you at the couch. You rest your head at his chest as he hugs you tightly. Enjoying the feeling of another body close to yours.

"I can't call him."

"Who?"

"Matt."

"Why can't you call him? You have his number, right?"

"Yes, but my fingers won't let me dial the number."

"Do you want me to do it for you?"

"No!" you almost scream. For some reason that thought scares you even more then doing it yourself. Maybe because you know Gerard would dial the number and push the call button and that would mean that you actually have to talk to Matt.

You want nothing more then hearing his voice again, but you dare not take the first step. It's so long since you talked to him and you fear that the amount of time has made him forget about you. That he wouldn't remember you at all when he heard your voice.

Or maybe he's angry at you. You don't know why though, no one of you have done anything to hurt the other, you just drifted apart. You met Gerard and he and his girlfriend Tracy got married. They've got two kids now, two girls. They should be three and five now if you remember right.

Maybe you and Gerard could baby sit those girls sometime. You would love to do that. If you don't tell Matt about the knife incident, if you do he would probably not let his kids near you.

Gerard strokes you soothingly over your sad hair. Yes, your hair is sad today. You had no energy to put up your mohawk so the long blond hair is just hanging in all different directions, barley covering the black, short hair at the sides. And your real, brown hair colour shows up in the bottom.

He reach out and grabs the phone, "Call him." There is no question in that statement, it's just do it, you have no other choice. You turn around in his lap so your back is against his chest. Reluctantly you take the phone from him and start dialling the number.

His hands are tracing over your tights, to give you confident.

032652...

You look helpless at him, "I can't!"

"You can, come on now!" His voice is calm and secure.

"No, I can't!" You bury you head into his neck. It makes you feel so miserable to not be able to do something as normal as make a phone call. But you can't, and that makes you the black sheep in the white, perfect flock. The sheep that should be executed.

"Tony..." he kisses the top of your head slowly, "my little Tony."

"I should die."

"No, there's no reason you should die."

"I can't even make a fucking phone call, I don't deserve to live."

He hugs you tight. "You do not deserve to die! How do you think I'm supposed to live without you?"

You shrug, you don't care, nothing matters.

Suddenly you feel the cold plastic of the phone against your ear and the irritating sound of the signals that tells you that somewhere, not far away from here, a phone is ringing.

"Take the phone," Gerard says. You don't move. His warm hand closes around your cold one and moves it up to your ear. Apathetically you grab the phone.

Signal after signal beeps into your ear.

"Hey, we're not..." It's Matt's voice speaking in your ear. His voice hasn't changed at all since you last time you heard it. Your heart makes a little, happy jolt of recognition. "...home at…" you hang up quickly.

"He hates me, he doesn't want to talk to me" you state.

"But you didn't say anything?"

"It was just the answering machine." He should have been home if he wanted to talk to you, that he wasn't must be a sign that he wants nothing to do with you.

"That doesn't mean he hates you." Gerard's arms are wrapped around your stomach. "Maybe he was just picking up is kids? Call in half an hour again or leave a message."

You don't answer him, you just bury your face into his neck one more time, letting his hair cover your face. You're not even the black sheep, you're the invincible sheep that the shepherd forgot.

"Call again," he continues, "and leave a message. Ask him to call back, it's not that dangerous. It's like sending an e-mail, nothing personal. You don't have to talk to anyone but a fucking machine."

You nod your head slowly, you could do that.

"Do you want me to dial the number?"

You nod once more.

This time you take the phone from him when he gives it to you. Your heart is beating fast, scared that someone will answer, as you hear the singles in your ear.

"Hey, we're not home at the moment, but leave a message and we might call you back. If we want to." Your heart sinks like a stone. You must be one of those that he won't call back. But now you're this far and you have to leave a message, if you don't want to hate yourself even more afterwards.

"H...hi, it's Tony," you say insecurely. "Can you call me later, Matt? I miss you." You hang up and throw the phone across the room. It lands in one of the flowerpots in the window, luckily without breaking anything.

Gerard kisses you slowly. You feel that he is proud of you, and somewhere deep inside you are proud too.

His hands sneak in under your shirt and lift it up over your head, letting it fall down at the floor. He eyes your tattooed chest, the tattoos that you never show anyone anymore. Not that you're ashamed of them, it's just not you anymore. The tattoos were a part of the old Tony.

You unbutton his shirt, letting it expose his pale chest, free from tattoos but filled with scars that the caused him self. He always wears a shirt too, not that he's ashamed of his scares, but he doesn't want anyone to ask him about them.

You're so much alike, yet so different.

He lies down at the couch pulling you atop of him, kissing you hungrily.

*

Your fingers draw lines over his chest, following the scares and tie them together with invincible lines. He lies beside you, smiling warmly.

Suddenly the phone rings, the sharp signal stabs the silence until it's bleeding.

Gerard sits up, preparing for the walk to the phone. You shouldn't have thrown it as far away as you did.

You shiver slightly of the cold that surrounds your naked body, now when its protective cover has gone to answer the phone.

He bends down and gives you a quick kiss before he walks across the room. You watch the line of his pale, beautiful body and his untidy, back hair.

"Way," he answers. "Yeah, one moment." He walks back across the room, smiling as he gives you the phone. "It's Matt."

Exited you take the phone, he called back! But as soon as you put the phone to your ear the usual fear grabs you again. Just because he called doesn't mean he wants to talk to you.

"Hello?" you answer insecurely. Gerard takes the plaid that hangs over the couch and drapes it around you, so you can talk without getting cold.

"See you soon," he whispers and kisses your free ear, before he leaves the room.

"Tony!" you hear Matt's familiar voice, and by the sound of it he is smiling. "I've missed you too!"

almightybob_ @ 2005-01-19T13:48:00

2005-01-19T12:48:15Z

Title: Burning Memories
Author: Emelie
Pairing: Frank Iero/Jeph Howard
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Frank tries to escape his memories
Note: This is for youthstate because she asked for this (there’s a little surprise for you in here;) This is not true and all that stuff. And this sucks, and I’m sorry…This didn’t turn our at all as it was planned…Finally a thank you to forever_drownin.

The blood runs down my cheek. Thick rad blood. The pain stings through my head in intervals, like birds are attacking me with sharp knives that stab right into my brain. I punch my head back against the sharp doorframe again, causing a new attack from the birds. The pain rushes through me, making me pleased for the moment. Until it disappears and it has to be refreshed, to keep my head from working and keep the memories from coming back.

“Frank!” The birds had something new to bring me this time, instead of pain the bring me the sharp sound of a voice, throwing it in my ears and forcing me to hear. “Frank, open the door!”

Something sticky touches my bare foot. It takes me almost a minute to realise that it is my own blood that is making a little pool on the floor. The door shakes behind me. If I had energy to lift my arm I would try to calm it down, but I haven’t so I leave it to its fate.

The shakes gets stronger, like an earthquake is shaking the door and once again the birds gives me the sound of words and my own name.

Suddenly the door disappears behind me, if it wasn't for the doorframe I would fall with it. Light fills the small, previously dark, room, shooting arrows into my sore eyes. The bright light of fire.

I close my eyes to try to block out the mean light and make the darkness stay with its soft arms around me.

I feel a hand touch my hair and the sound of someone sitting down in front of me. Slowly I open my eyes again and my blurry vision locates the frame of a man in front of me. His face is filled with worries and his mouth is moving soundlessly. The birds have abandoned me, so there is nothing to bring the sound to my ears. His brown eyes scream to me, I can’t stand to meet them but I can’t take my eyes away from them. His two lip piercings glitter in the light that he took into the room as he moves his lips, still forming sounds my ears can’t hear.

Jeph, you shouldn’t be home yet. You weren’t supposed to see this…

He takes my bleeding head and holds it to his chest, slowly rocking me back and forth. And suddenly the pain overwhelms me, waves of sharp pain that make my mind go blank and my lungs almost stop functioning.

At least it keeps away the memories.

*

The edge of the bathtub is cool against the back of my head. I open my eyes reluctantly, I have no clue how I got here and it takes me a few moments to recall why every part of me seems to be in pain. The small bathroom is looking different from the last time I saw it. Now it’s brightly light and it hurts my eyes, before it was dark like it only can be when all light is shut out by thick walls.

When my eyes have got used to the sharp light I see that what I once thought was a shadow turns out to be a person. And the memory of Jeph breaking into my black world comes back to me.

He sits cross-legged on the floor in front of me, holding my right hand in his left with the palm up. In his right hand he has a yellow cloth that he used to carefully clean my wrist and hand. For each time the cloth makes contact with my skin it absorbs colour that more and more reminds me of dark, blood red. He’s concentrating on his work and he hasn’t seen yet that I have woken up.

A little bit of hair has fallen into his face, but not enough to block my view. His usual strong and confident brown eyes are now wet with tears that he won’t let escape. I want nothing but to make the sad look go away from his face. He’s not supposed to see this, he’s supposed to be at work and when he gets home everything is supposed to be fine. He’s not supposed to know. But he does.

He puts down the dirty cloth at the floor, where a pile of other used ones are and takes a new one from the pack beside him, wetting it in the washbasin, before he turns back to me and sees my open eyes.

His face immediately turns into a shy smile and his sad eyes get stars of happiness behind the unshed tears. His strong arms are around me, pulling my head against his chest. With that hug he tells me about all the happy sadness that is filling him, and I tell him I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. There need to be no words, but it will be. In the future it will.

He puts me back against the bathtub and takes up the yellow cloth again that he lost in his excitement of hugging me. This time he lifts his hand to my face, carefully cleaning the left side of it. His face is close to mine now, and his dry lips kiss my forehead while his hand keeps on cleaning.

And on his white shirt it's marks of red blood that my head left. Slowly a memory gets back to me from the dark room that was here before. The doorframe, the pretty sharp edge of the doorframe, not sharp enough to hurt anyone but if you punch your head against it time after time after time it will hurt you. And the pain that it brings is satisfying because it blocks out the rest of the world and all unwelcome thoughts.

*

Jeph crawls down in the bed beside me, his warm skin close to mine. He takes my right hand in his once more, stroking the white bandage he putted there to stop the bleeding. A small pink dot is showing on the white, telling us that the blood hasn't given up yet.

"Why did you do it?" he whispers, his voice dripping with hurt and sadness.

My head spins, still dim with pain. I can't make myself talk now, I can't stand making any noises with my mouth. I move close to him, lying as close as I can, burying my head into his chest, the part of the head that isn't damaged. One day I will tell him, but not now. Not yet.

"Why did you come home earlier?" my voice is stifled against the soft flesh of his chest.

"I didn't," I can easily make out the confused sound in his voice. He hugs me tighter. "What made you think that?"

I shake my head, nothing, nothing at all. And I immediately regret my action as a sharp pain shoots through me. Sometimes I scare myself. I don't understand how I can do things like this to myself, but I do. And I don't mean it. I want the pain, in a little amount. Just to make the thoughts go away, for a moment or two. But as the sharp razor blade slits my skin from the first time I'm gone. I lose all concepts of time and pain. It's like fainting, but as I'm passed out I hurt myself, more and more. Without seeing an end if it. Not wanting an end of it.

Not before I wake up from my trance and I see what I have done. It's like there's a little demon Frank inside of me, whose only purpose in life is to kill the real Frank. But I don't want to die. The real Frank wants nothing but living a happy normal life and be fully alive.

"Don't let me die," I whisper into Jeph's chest, trying to hold on to him like he's my only lifeline.

"You're not going to die," he answers, his strong arms around me, "I won't let you." But it's not Jeph I'm pleading to, it's the demon inside of me. I have no control of what It will do to me next.

Finally I fall asleep, still safely wrapped in Jeph's arms, as a shelter to the world around us. But he can't save me form myself.

*

The rank smell of smoke wakes me up. The room is hot and the air has a slight smoky colour, making it swimming a bit in front of me. Maybe it's the smell or the constant swimming or the heat, but my head feels heavy and dizzy.

I sit up in the small bed, I'm in the attic room in my grandparents house. The tiny room they made for us grandchildren to play in.

I get out of the bed and walk on small feet to the steep stairs. Something is wrong, but my dizzy child brain can't tell what.

The first half of the stairs goes easy, but abruptly I sit down as I come closer to the ground. Just sitting there, hugging my dear stuffed seal and looking out at the room below.

It's the living room I'm looking at, or what once was the living room, before I went to bed. Now it's a sea of fire. The couch looks like a sparkling ball of red and orange and over the floor a wave of fire comes closer to me as it eats up the carpet. The little wood house that granddad made for the kitten to play with doesn't exist no more.

I stare paralysed at the flaming scenario, the rumble from the fire filling my ears.

Suddenly I'm flying, a pair of strong arms is helping me to escape from the hot room. Grandma is holding me hard, just above the fire as she runs out, like she is a super hero. I hug her back, letting the smell of smoke change to her sweet smell of old women.

Suddenly I realise that my beloved seal is missing. I scream to grandma that we can't leave without him, but she doesn't listen.

After what feels like an eternity of running through rooms that the fire is eating alive, we reach the door. Grandma stumbles out on the green grass and only a few feet away from the house she collapses, falling on the ground with me beside her. A second later a man is carrying me away from her, he is strong in a hard way and he smells evil. I turn my head to look a grandma, a few ambulance nurses is standing beside her. Her feet are black from too much contact with fire.

I scream, I scream to the strong arms to let me go back to my grandma, to the fire for eating my grandma's feet and my seal. But the arms hold me even harder and carry me away from the heat and the smoke.

*

A sound wakes me up, or rather the sound of a sound that moments before were in the room, and I realise that it was the screams in my dream that made it out to the real world. And the arms that are holding my cold, sweaty and shaking body is Jeph's, not some man I never seen before.

"Did you have a nightmare again?" his soft voice whispers in my ear.

I nod into his chest, yes I had and it was the same as always. And I crawl closer to him to escape the fire that is haunting me. He sings softly into my ear, a lullaby about trolls that tied their tails together, and I fall back into dreamless sleep, for once a sleep without fire and the death of my grandma.

*

The bed is empty when I wake up the next time, but from the kitchen I can hear the sound of someone making breakfast. I sit up, on my way to join Jeph, but the quick movement upwards stops me with a sharp pain in my head that almost make me throw up. I fall back down at the pillow. Dizzy with pain and the horrible feeling of almost throwing up. One thing is for sure, I'm not going to move at all if it will go on like this.

To my right is a cat sleeping, she is black with big spots of orange and white. Actually, she isn't black, there is no colour that dominates her soft fur. But her proud black spots are now dotted with grey hair and the tip of her tail is only grey. Jeph must have helped her up in the bed, she's too old to jump this high anymore.

It scares me to see her age. That cat and me, we have been impossible to separate ever since that time a fireman put her in my arms and we watched my grandparents and her home disappear into the flames of the fire. She was just a kitten at that time, a kitten whose biggest interest was to bite anything that came close to her. But she let me hug her, as hard as it was surprising that she didn't suffocate as the fire devastated the house in front of us. And ever since she hasn't bit me, she still bites anything that moves but not me.

But how hard it ever has been to separate us, soon her age will tear us apart forever. For each day she gets more and more tired and it gets harder for her to move and her colourful fur turns into sad grey, starting at the tip of her tail.

I don't know how I'm going to survive without her the day her age will take her away, she's the only one that understands me when I talk about the fire. She should probably have forget it herself by now, if I didn't remind her every other day, but she listens at my endless rambling and she understands, cause she was there. And she purrs something soothing in response, something that always makes me feel better.

The door opens to the bedroom and I wake up from my cat thoughts. Jeph appears in the doorway with a tray with breakfast in his hands. If my head didn't make me feel as sick as it does, this would make me really happy.

"Good morning, sunshine! How are you feeling today?" he says.

"Like crap, but seeing you makes me feel a bit better."

"Hungry?"

"No," I shake my head, causing the sick feeling to come back again. I have to learn not to move.

He sits down at the bed beside me and placed the tray on the bedside table.

"I tried to take the day off, but my boss didn't let me," he says with a sigh. "But I'll be home at lunch, okay?"

"Okay," I nod slowly, trying not to move my head.

"I'll leave the food here, if you want anything later."

"Do you have to go already?" I pout.

"You know I don't want to..." He bends down and gives me a kiss, and he's gone with a little wave goodbye. I close my eyes and let sleep take me over again. It seems like there's nothing else I can do today.

*

The sound of the door closing wakes me up, I glance at the watch beside the bed, 11.21. Jeph shouldn't be home yet, and the footsteps in the hallway definitely aren't Jeph's. I curse to myself over the fact that I can't move. The cat beside me is awake too, she glares at the sound, like me. At moments like this it would be good to have a big, scary dog.

"Hey?" a pale girl face sticks in through the door.

"Tracy! You scared the fuck out of me!" I say accusing. Tracy, she's Jeph's childhood friend. Sometimes it feels like she lives here as much as we do, not that I mind - she is great.

"Sorry," she answers. "Jeph told me to look after you, he wasn't able to leave work." I suddenly feel my heart sink, I've been looking forward to having him home again.

"Aww, are you so sad to see me, Frankie?" she sits down at the bed.

"No," I smile guiltily, "not at all. But I miss Jeph." Now, that made me sound like a little child, but it is true.

"I guess I was the best replacement he could find. Now tell me how you are."

"Better than this morning, but it still feels like a giant used my head as a chair. How are you?"

"We're fine," Tracy pats her big, pregnant belly. She's in the 7th month now and starts to get a very, very pregnant look. Sometimes her belly scares me, it tells me that people around me, people my age, are growing up. They get engaged, they get kids. And all I do is acting like a kid, the little kid that is scared of fire and life itself.

"I'm going to make some food now," Tracy gets up. "Do you think you can eat ? I'm starving! Are pasta and vegetarian meatballs okay? I can make a salad too, if you want?" It always cheers me to be around her, she's always so full of life. Her black hair is in a ponytail and leaves her pale, round face free from disturbing elements, and lets her blue eyes spark freely. She's a beautiful girl.

"Do what you want, as long as it's eatable," I smile and she is gone.

Carefully I move up to a sitting position in the bed, resting against the wall. Every part of my body still hurts, but not as much as before and I don't feel sick at all.

Tracy gets back with the food after a while and we sit together in the bed and eat and watch Shrek 1 and 2. Sometimes a TV in the bedroom can save the day. Her big belly jumps as we laugh at Donkey and that makes us laugh even more. And sometime during the second movie I fall asleep, not because I don't like the film, just because I'm tired. All my energy is gone, leaving only a pounding headache.

*

Jeph comes home a few minutes after four, almost an hour earlier than usual. I guess I get that instead of the missed lunch break. Tracy and I are still sitting in the bed when he comes, but now we're watching re-runs of That 70s Show.

He looks like a respectable young man, dressed in black suit, white shirt and black tie. His face tells different though. His pierced lips and ears and the tattooed neck that sticks up from he shirt tells that inside of this orderly young man lives a little rebel. But I can bet he's the one that works the hardest in the office where he works, the metal signs of irresponsibility in his face force him to work twice as hard as everyone else to reach the same goals and get the respect he deserves. Just because he has a few more holes in his face then the usual human. But he is strong, he can work himself up to that level of respect he needs, the level where his co-workers forget that the surface isn't the whole person and realise that he will never take out his piercings, whatever they say.

"Good evening, darlings!" he lays down in the bed between us. "How are you?" he kisses my cheek and goes on to kiss my lips, before I have a chance to answer.

"I'm much better," I answer when he pulled away. "How was your day?"

"Horrible," he sighs, "I've just wanted to come home to you the whole day." He kisses me again before he turns to Tracy. "And how is the soon-to-be-mother?"

"She just had a great afternoon with your boyfriend, so she's fine," she smiles cheekily.

Jeph places his hand on her stomach, trying to feel the baby move and tells the baby that it has to take care of its mother. Tracy glares at him, she can take care of herself.

A while later Tracy excuses herself and goes home, leaving Jeph and me alone.

I still haven't left the bed, but the pain isn't at all as strong as before, and even though moving still makes me feel a bit dizzy and sick, I can make small moves without feeling anything. Jeph is sitting beside me, changing the bandages at my wrists. As he removes the white and blood stained bandage he reveals arms that are so torn with scars in all directions that I doubt they can be called arms. I turn away, not wanting to see anymore.

He finishes his work, moving to sit in my lap when he has thrown away the used bandages. He rests his forehead against mine and places his arms around my neck.

"I'm sorry I didn't come home at lunch," he says, "but I had to make some phone calls."

"Don't worry, you're here now," I smile.

"I figured..." he closes his eyes.” You said yesterday that you didn't want to die, but that is what you are doing, dying. So I decided,” he opens his eyes again, still close, close to me, "I called a therapist for you, you've got an appointment at Monday. If you want to go." I smile at him, he's so cute when he tries to do the right thing, but don't know if I will agree that it is right.

"I don't want to die," I repeat, but this time I say it to him, not the inner demon. "And I will go to that therapist." I hug him, pressing his body towards mine. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," I whisper into his neck, thanking him not only for this, but all the sleepless nights he spent with me and my nightmares, all the times he taken care of me, all the times he listened. It wasn't enough to make everything good, but without that the demon I would definitely be in control of my body now.

Maybe this can be the start of something better.

Christmas story #4

2005-01-06T11:34:18Z

Title: Don't Make Him Look So Pretty Burning
Author: Emelie
Paring: Bert McCracken/Gerard Way
Rating: R
Dedication:This is a Christmas gift for _belsibub_
Summary: Bert wants to kiss Gerard...
Note:Not true, I don't own the characters and this never happened. Please don't kill me? And a big thank you to forever_drownin for the help!

He is beautiful. You never thought you would admit it to yourself, but he is. You watch him as he takes another sip of his beer, pushes his hair out of his face and smiles at someone at the other side of the table. You make yourself comfortable at the right side of the couch you share with him, sitting cross-legged and turned so you can face him. He sits normally, facing the rest of the small room.

You drink some of your beer, still watching him. It scares you, finding him attractive. It's like you would get turned on by yourself, almost. Not that you look alike, but you remind yourselves of each other. Your surfaces are built up by the same concept. Both of you have long, dark hair, pale skin and makeup. But he uses his makeup as a way to express art and turn himself into a cartoon. Like a shelter. But when you think about it, that's maybe what you use your makeup to do too. It's all a shell with the purpose to hide things that you don't want other people to see. Instead you shock them by showing a conspicuous surface.

He turns his face towards you, smiling. His eyes glow in a brown, drunken way with a golden daze.

You don't think, you have spent too much time in your life thinking and therefore missing out of what you wanted. It's probably because of the amount of beer you've drunk too. You don't care anymore, you just do want you feel like doing.

Without a second thought you crawl over to his side of the couch and kiss him. You can tell that he's surprised, but he doesn't push you away. After the first shock you feel him kiss back, first a but hesitantly, but slowly he gets more and more into it.

You smile mentally. His lips are soft and he smells of cigarette smoke, alcohol and a sweet, personal smell that is just his own and can be described in no other way than Gerard-ish.

Suddenly you feel him push you away. A sting of fear hits your heart, the causes of your actions almost comes crashing down on you.

"You hurt my legs," he smiles and puts them up in the couch, letting you sit in between them.

"So you don't mind this?"

"Nope, but you should shave until next time." He gives you a devilish smile before he forces you into another kiss.

Not that he needed to use much force.

His hair tickles your chin, or it could be your hair. You don't know and you don't care. But it brought back the mirror aspect of this to your mind. If you open your eyes you will see a face so much like the first thing you see in the bathroom mirror in the morning. You wonder if this is what those Good Charlotte twins felt like when they made out. If the ever did, you can't decide if it was a rumour or not. You should ask them sometime.

His hands are starting an explorative travel over your body, feeling at your hair and slowly making their way down over your ass and up again, now sneaking in under your dark green t-shirt. You gasp as his warm fingertips touch your bare skin.

Your hands are doing a journey similar to his, only they started of finding their way under his shirt. The flesh of his stomach and chest feels soft and warm under your touch.

A hysteric giggle wakes you up from the trance his lips have putted you in, but you don't stop showing him all your physical attention.

There's a thud and a sudden stop in the giggling before it starts again, even worse then before.

"Shut up Quinn!" a voice very likely to belong to Mikey says, only to be replied with more giggling. That is followed by the sound of someone kicking someone else playfully.

"Ouch!" the giggling voice belonging to Quinn manages to get out, but without much feeling to it.

"What did he take?" a third voice asks, this one belonging to Frank.

"Ask him," you can almost hear Mikey rolling his eyes.

You press your hips into Gerard's, rocking a bit so your crotches rub together. That action is followed by a pretty loud moan from the man underneath you.

"Free porn!" Quinn screams exited, he seems to gain enough consciousness to put together two word sentences. After that comes a thud, by someone, probably Quinn, sitting down in one of the armchairs.

"Ey, that's my place!" Mikey screams.

"You can come sit in my lap, sweetie," Quinn says with a smirk. Now it's Frank's turn to start to giggle hysterically.

You pull back from Gerard, both of you needing to breathe desperately. But you don't turn your head to see what's happening behind your back, instead you start kissing down Gerard's throat. He rests his head back against the armrest, letting another moan escape his lips. You unbutton his shirt as you kiss further and further down his chest until his belt comes in your way and you go back upwards again, stopping to let your tongue play with his nipples.

"Your ass is bony!" Quinn complains.

"It was you telling me to sit here," Mikey answers. You guess you missed something there, last your ears checked Mikey was standing up.

"Look at Bert's ass, that's much better," Quinn continues. You shake your butt at them to tell them you heard.

"Ask him to sit here instead," Mikey says, offended.

"No, I want no one but you in my lap." And the sound of Mikey losing all air in his lungs by Quinn's strong arms that force him to stay.

"You look like a fish," Frank laughs.

Frustrated sound from Mikey.

You're back at Gerard's lips again, attacking them with a forceful kiss. His hands are immediately at you waist starting to pull your t-shirt over your head, making your lips part just to let him pull it off. You rock your hips again, feeling his erection rub against yours. The both of you groan in pleasure.

"I don't need to see my brother like this!" Mikey complains.

"Admit it, it's pretty hot," Frank teases.

You let your hand travel down between your bodies and starting to pull at Gerard's belt buckle.

"No, Bert! I do not want to see my brother’s cock!" Mikey almost screams, hearing what you were about to do. Frank and Quinn start to laugh and you can swear you heard a giggle from Gerard too. But your hand retreats, leaving for exploring what you can reach of his ass. One of his hands is playing with your hair, the other one trying to unbutton your pants and make its way inside.

"Quinn!" Mikey screams and you can hear him land at the floor.

"What?" Quinn asks.

"Don't do that!"

"I didn't do a thing."

"So that part of you isn’t a part of you?"

There are sounds of people moving, but you can't say who it is or where it's going.

"Frank, save me! Quinn tries to poke me with some weird stick in my ass!"

"Baby, I told you Quinn never was good for you."

The sound of someone kicking someone else again, but hard this time.

"Oww!!" Frank screams. "It was him, not me!"

"I know, but you're closer." Quinn says with a smirk.

Gerard's fumbling with your pants has finally paid of as he starts pulling them down, showing your bare ass for the audience.

"I don't want to see this anymore, my poor eyes!" Mikey whines.

"Now it's starting to get interesting," Quinn says excitedly. You pull away from Gerard, making a move with your head to the even smaller room behind his back. He nods and you get up from the couch, walking with your arms wrapped around each other towards the other room.

"No, don't leave," Quinn says cheekily. You take a quick look at the rest of the room. Quinn is sitting in one of the armchairs, spotting an obvious erection. In the other one sits Frank with Mikey in his lap. A Mikey that tries to hide his face into Frank's neck and a Frank smiling devious at Quinn.

"Frank, that's my ass!" You hear Mikey cry out in shock before you close the door, leaving you in the comfortable darkness and silence of the other room. The only thing inside is a bed and a few boxes.

The joy of moving.

You hug Gerard close to you, starting to kiss him again at the same time as you push his shirt off and start taking off his pants.

Soon you stand there naked, pressed against each other.

You push Gerard down at the bed placing yourself on top of him. For a moment you stop, just looking at the sweaty, lust filled and obviously drunken, but yet beautiful face in front of you.

Without another second if hesitation you start place kisses down his smooth chest and stomach. As you reach his cock you take it into your mouth, not asking him for permission, just doing it. His moans of pleasure have grown deeper and more filled with lust, encouraging you to suck harder.

It doesn't take long until he cums in your mouth with a loud moan. You swallow quickly and move back up to give him a kiss. He smiles at you, looking more beautiful then ever.

"One day," his hand at your cock, stroking it. "One day I'll repay for that, my beautiful friend." He kisses you again, jerking you off harder. You feel the orgasm build up inside of you, overwhelming you with a wave of pleasure. You collapse on top of him, cuming over his hand.

He pulls his hand away, wiping it off on the sheet before he wraps his arms around your naked body and kisses you slowly. You pull away after a while, placing your head at his chest. He nuzzles his nose into you hair. Slowly you feel the warm, dizzy sleepiness come over you. You would like to fall asleep like this every night, but you don't know if he'll let you. But that's the trouble of tomorrow, the only thing you want to do now is sleep.

Christmas story #3

2005-01-06T11:32:33Z

Titel: Bobism - En Alternativ Skapelse
Författare: Emelie
Till: En julklapp till mamma och pappa
Fandom: Ingen särskild just nu, i framtiden allt du kan tänka dig.
Fammanfattnign: Titel säger allt, en alternativ skapelse
Not: Det här är bara första kapitlet, det kommer komma mycket mer, men resten kommer vara på engelska.
Not 2: Omarbetad version, 2005. Om fortsättning kommer blir det på svenska... Kul va?

Det var en gång, i början av allting när ingenting fanns förutom mörker och tomhet… jo, förresten, något annat fanns, det fanns en skola för gudar. De skolades för att ge sig ut i tomheten för att fylla den med liv, som var skapat för att hålla dem vid liv med sin tro.

Fem vänner hade precis blivit utexaminerade från denna skola, utsparkade i den hårda arbetsmarknaden för gudar. Men de var inte så säkra på att det verkligen var gudar de ville bli. De ville inte göra som de lärt sig att det skulle gå till, de ville göra uppror. I väntan på att något intressant skulle dyka upp där mitt ute i ingenstans bestämde sig de fem vännerna för att bilda ett rockband.

Allah, den skygge med långt hår och en tendens att gömma sig i stora tygskynken, bestämde sig för att spela trummor. Gud med sin maffiga röst och teatraliska utstrålning blev sångare. Buddha och Bob, som båda var medelmåttiga och godmodiga bestämde sig för att spela gitarr. Till sist fanns det bara bas kvar för George Bush, den egensinnige och smått elake av de fem.

Som synd var hade Bush ingen musikalisk talang över huvud taget. Så fort han försökte slå an en ton på sin bas lät det som om världens undergång närmade sig. För att inte tala om hur det skar sig till de andra medlemmarnas klockrena toner.

Efter att ha övat i Allahs källare i några månader bestämde det nybildade rockbandet sig för att det var dags för dem att ge sin första spelning.

Det var alldeles fullt av mörker och tomhet omkring scenen. Så mycket mörker hade kommit för att se dem att vissa delar av universum nästan hade blivit ljust.

De första låtarna gick bra, Gud charmade hela publiken med sin lagom skorriga röst och roliga danser. Allah trummade på som om det gällde livet, och han höll till och med takten. Buddha och Bob spelade på allt vad de kunde, samtidigt som de frenetiskt höll Bush borta från sin bas. Men plötsligt lyckades han ta sig förbi de två gitarristernas skyddande mur av kroppar och instrument och fram till sin bas. Med ett segervisst flin tog han den och började spela.

Det lät fruktansvärt. Mörkret blev grönt av illamående och tomheten flydde och lämnade bara kvar den sortens tomhet som finns när all tomhet försvunnit och inte lämnat något som ersättare.

Buddha försökte plugga igen sina öron med bitar av sin klädnad, och av ren tur lyckades han uppfinna öronpropparna. Gud skrek det värsta han kunde i sin mikrofon för att få Bush att sluta, men han lyckades inte göra sig hörd. Bob fattade tag om halsen på sin gitarr och slungade den med all kraft in i Allahs bastrumma, så att trumman splittrades intill oigenkännlighet. Allah grät, om det var för förlusten av trumman eller för oljudet är det bara han som vet.

Bob lyfte sin gitarr igen och siktade med all sin kraft mot Bush, men Bush var en snabb prick, han lyckades väja undan för den vansinniga gitarristens slag i precis rätt ögonblick. Istället träffade Bob med all kraft sin egen förstärkare.

All energi från den icke-existerande tomheten och det gröna mörkret drogs in i infernot som skapades av kraften när gitarren och förstärkaren kolliderade. Allah, Gud och Buddha hade kommit av sig och stod nu som förstummade och tittade på den otroliga synen framför dem. Bush var för upptagen med att fortsätta att göra universum till en outhärdlig plats med sitt oljud för att märka att något hände.

Bob klängde sig krampaktigt fast vid halsen på gitarren medan den snurrade runt inuti förstärkaren. Samtidigt hade förstärkaren börjar spruta ut gnistor i alla möjliga färger, som ett fantasifullt fyrverkeri.

Plötsligt exploderade förstärkaren med ett öronbedövande brak och ut ur dess inre strömmade planeter, stjärnor och allt annat som hör ett universum till.

Någon gång under denna tumult hade Bush trillat av scenen och ner i det oändliga svarta där under. Hans bas hängde patetiskt över kanten i sin sladd, men själv var han ingenstans att finna. Allah, Buddha och Gud tänkte inte så mycket på det för tillfället, Bush var något de var tvungna att ta hand om senare. Nu var de upptagen med att gratulera Bob, för att ha skapat sin egen värld. Helt uppenbarligen var det inte meningen att de skulle vara rockstjärnor ändå, de skulle vara gudar, som de var utbildade till. De talade om för Bob att han nu skulle ta hand om sin värld som om det vore hans barn, vilket det ju på sätt och vis var.

Bob, som nästan svimmat av den helvetiska luftfärden han tvingats göra, satt matt lutad mot det som fanns kvar av Allahs trummor. Han sa svagt att han inte visste om han kunde klara av det här själv. Han kände sig ännu svagare och ynkligare än vad han lät, helst ville han inte axla hela ansvaret som en egen värld innebar själv, han ville att hans vänner skulle hjälpa honom.

Men nej, det ville inte Allah, Gud och Buddha. De förklarade lyriskt hur de skulle ge sig ut i universum, på jakt efter sina egna världar som de var menade att sköta om. Men om de inte lyckades med att finna vad de var på jakt efter, skulle de minnas Bobs generösa erbjudande.

De fyra vännerna sa adjö och lovade varandra att de skulle skriva och ringa, minst en gång om dagen och att de en dag skulle få tag på Bush.

"Han kommer komma tillbaka," förutspådde Buddha. "Det skulle inte förvåna mig om han tar anställning som småjävul i helvetet och sedan jobbar sig uppåt för att bli överjävul i någon av våra världar." De andra nickade instämmande.

"Jag visste att det var något lurt med honom," försäkrade Gud," ända sedan den gången han ville ge sitt folk vapen istället för medicin för att klara den där uppgiften i skolan, ni minns?" Med dessa bittra ord över sin före detta vän skildes de åt på livets vindlande väg.

Bob vände sig tillbaka mot förstärkaren när han blivit lämnad ensam. Den höll fortfarande på att spotta ut himlakroppar, som en vulkan. En liten bit av materia flög fram till Bob och landade vid hans fötter. Han böjde sig ner och rörde vid den lilla byggstenen i det stora universumet. Genom vidrörandet startade en kemisk process inuti dammkornet, och ut strömmade en rad smågudar. Bobs hjälpredor och kompanjoner i skötandet av världen. Med fascination tittade Bob på medan fler och fler blev till.

Efter att allt var över tog Bob upp det lilla som var kvar av materian och stoppade ner den i en liten ask som han lade i en av sina fickor. Om han behövde några fler anställda senare.

Skapelsen av världen hade stannat av nu, Bob tittade stolt omkring sig, han insöp den härliga känslan att äntligen veta vad han skulle göra med sitt liv, han skulle ta hand om den här världen. Till slut gick han till sängs bakom Allahs söndertrasade trummor, det hade varit en lång dag.

Omkring hans huvud flög alla smågudarna, fullt upptagna med att hitta en bekväm sovplats åt sig själva i Bobs stora hår.

Christmas story #2

2005-01-06T11:31:17Z

Title: Will Tomorrow Be The Same?
Author: Emelie
Pairing: Jeph Howard/Gerard Way
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Jeph is a big fan of Gerard’s band, but he’s not like all the other fans.
Note: This is a Christmas gift to forever_drownin. And by the way, none of this is true and I don’t own the characters. If I did I would give Gerard to her instead ;) Thanks to Good Charlotte for the “inspiration” ;) and thanks to youthstate for the beta! <3

“Wake up, Jeph!” Branden’s irritating voice rings in my ears. I move reluctantly on the hard ground, not wanting to wake up when I just fell asleep.

“Come on, they’re here!” He tries to pull down the zipper of my sleeping bag.

“What? Who?”

“My Chemical Romance, stupid!”

“Now? It’s like in the middle of the night!”

“Don’t blame me. They had to do a sound check or something.”

I crawl out of my sleeping bag. It’s dark in the little hole we are in. It almost looks like a hole, behind me is a big house, in front of me is a concrete wall and on my right is stairs up to the front side of the big house. To my left a small concrete path is following the house. Around me, at the part of the path that is closest to the stairs the ground is littered with bags, sleeping bags and ground sheets, plastic bags and all the other stuff a gang of teenagers leave when they decide to sleep outdoors for one night.

“Aren’t you bringing anything?” Branden asks, himself holding a CD and a camera. I shake my head.

“Get over yourself,” he smiles cheekily at me. “Let’s go.”

We hurry to the backside of the house. There’s a black van parked and a group of girls standing a few feet away. We walk to the group of girls.

“They’re still in the car,” one of the girls tells Branden. I stop reluctantly a bit away from the girls, watching as the doors of the van open. The group of girls are immediately at the doors of the car, like a flock of starving vultures over a dead zebra. It’s scary to watch the scenario of the band getting out and as soon as their feet touch the ground, there’s a few girls there asking for autographs and pictures. And what makes it even scarier is that I know I could be one of them. One of my best friends is. Even though we’re not girls, but that doesn’t matter.

I take a few steps back, trying to melt into the shadows.

I see his head in the crowd at once, his long, back hair and pale skin. If it wasn’t of the fact that he is a pretty short man, I would say he was sticking up above all the others.

He’s professional, he does his work well. Signing and posing for photos. But I can tell that he’s not mentally there. His eyes drift away to the dark outside the circle of light that links the van and the door in the house together.

I want to move, sneak away deeper into the shadows. But I don’t dare.

After a while his eyes finds me and for a few seconds he just look me in the eye. Before he leaves the fans and goes inside.

It all comes back to me at the moment. The distance between us does not prevent his eyes from splitting open my wounds. I’m just a simple fan, I shouldn’t know what it is like to spend hours talking to him in a bar. I shouldn’t know how it feels like to kiss him, nor how it feels like to have his cock up my ass. I shouldn’t know how his voice sounds on the phone. I should just know the silence that followed when he stopped calling.

But I do know all that.

The others are chatting happily, exchanging experiences from the short meeting. I should be one of them, but I’m not. Just because of one night and a few phone calls. I don’t want to be here, the only reason I am is because of Branden. He wanted to and I couldn’t let him go alone.

I turn around and walk back to my sleeping bag. From my place beside the wall I can hear the music from inside and I can’t help but sing along to the well known tune.

A few minutes later Branden comes back. He slides into his sleeping bag beside me.

“He saw me,” I mutter.

“Please, Jeph, you don’t think he recognize you, do you?”

“He did.” It’s a statement, no use to say anything else. And Branden is smart enough to keep quiet.

“I’m cold,” one of the girls says.

“Did you see Frank’s jacket?” someone else says. “I’m gonna buy one like that next week.”

“What time is it?”

“12.30.”

“Take my blanket, I don’t need it now.”

“How long do you think they will be in there?”

My cell phone vibrates in my pocket and four quiet beeps can be heard.

“Can you come to the door?
/Gerard”

I get out of my sleeping bag. “I have to piss,” and walk towards the door.

He is standing under the lamp beside the door, smoking a cigarette. His eyes are aimed at the ground and his hair has fallen into his face, threatening to make contact with his lit cigarette. As he hears my steps getting closer he looks up, smiling.

“Hey!”

“Hey,” I answer coldly.

“Why did you hide before?”

“I’m not an autograph hunter.”

“Why are you here then?”

“I went to see the concert and my friend absolutely wanted to be in first row.”

“Sorry I stopped calling.”

I shrug, I don’t care. I don’t want to care. I’m a fan, of course I care!

“You’re cold,” he says quietly.

“Yeah,” I nod, “but it’ll be worse, I’m gonna sleep outside tonight,” I smile slightly.

He takes off his scarf and hangs it around my neck. It’s black and grey and smells of smoke.

“Hope that keeps you a bit warmer.”

“Thanks.”

“I have to go back now,” he says, putting out his cigarette. “See you tomorrow.”

I go back to my sleeping bag. It’s still cold, but not as cold as before. I pull the scarf up to my ears where it meets my black beanie. The only thing that sticks out is my nose and eyes.

*

I’m shaking with the cold when I wake up the next morning and my body is aching after a night on the concrete floor that felt like an eternity of tossing and turning. Which it was too.

The world is lightening by a dim greyish light and rain is pouring down. Right now I’m really thankful to whoever built this house, whoever made the roof stick out a bit so the rain don’t reach us.

The rest of the day passes by relatively fast as soon as I get my body heat to work again.

More and more people come by and stand in line. Pretty soon we’re basically locked up in the hole below the stairs. The scarf still smells like cigarettes and Branden spends half the day glaring at me.

Sometimes I think he’s having the time of his life right now and I think I start to enjoy it too.

*

Finally the moment we all have been waiting for is here, the moment of joy when we at last can enter the small venue. Branden takes my hand so we won’t lose each other in the sea of people. Resolutely he gets us to the first row. Right in front of Ray. But right now there’s just a stage there, set up for a band to play.

This is the worst kind of waiting, waiting for the band to enter the stage, getting punched into the riot barrier over and over again, for no reason at all. Until the band finally comes out and the pressure gets even worse. And after hours of standing outside in the cold, it’s now extremely hot.

But I don’t mind, the music that fills my ears numbs my body from feeling the pain. At this moment of time it’s worth it. All the waiting and the mashed ribs I know I will have tomorrow. Just to sign along at the top of my lungs and being able to see without anything blocking my vision.

Nothing blocks Gerard’s vision from seeing me either. And I know he sees me as he bounces to the edge of the stage and reach out his hand towards me. Immediately a flock of hands are there, trying to grab him. For a moment he squeezes my hand, and he’s gone.

“If you were here
I never have a fear
So go on live your life
But I miss you more than I did yesterday
You’re beautiful!”

His words echo in my head and his eyes burn a hole through my pupils.

*

The cold grabs a hold of me as soon as I get out. Branden is bouncing happily beside me, humming to himself.

A black mass of girls stands expectant outside the back door, where the van was parked yesterday. It still is now for that matter, but a bit closer to the door this time.

“You don’t have to meet them again, do you?” I ask Branden hopefully.

“No, it's no use with this many people.”

“Good I can't wait to get home and take a long, hot shower.”

“And I bet there's a special Gerard involved in that shower too,” he smirks.

“Oh, you're so dirty!” I punch his shoulder.

*

The bus ride home feels like an eternity. I almost fall asleep with my head at Branden's shoulder. Branden is asleep, resting his head against the window.

When we're almost in the suburb where we live, my cell phone once again beeps, but this time louder. Branden jumps at the sound as he wakes up.

“Nordic Light, room 457. Please be there?
/Gerard”

“Who was it?” Branden yawns. I show him the message.

“You're going?”

“I don't know...”

“Of course you're going! I know you want to.” He searches his backpack until he finds the timetable for the busses.

“If you get off at the next stop there’s one bus going back in…fifteen minutes.” He says pushing the stop button.

“You're not giving me any choice, are you?”

“No. And you can pick up your bag at my place tomorrow.” The bus stops and I go off insecurely. I don't know if I want to do this or not. In one way it's good that Branden made the decision for me, because I think that if I had to do it myself I never would have made any decision at all. Not before it was too late.

The ride back to town feels even longer than the interrupted ride home. I'm not even tired anymore, I just sit and stare out through the window and take my gloves off and put them on, time after time. Picking at the fabric so it almost leaves a hole.

Nordic Light, it's one of the most expensive hotels in town and it's well known for being residence for famous people that pays this part of the country a visit. I've been standing outside there numerous of times waiting for bands, but I've never been inside.

The receptionist looks strange at me, but I try to look confident as I walk pass her. Looking like I use to be in places like this every other day. Even the elevator is glamorous. I look at myself in the golden framed mirror in the elevator. My hair is dirty and I smell of sweat. My stomach hurts like someone have punched it hard and I have dark rings under my eyes.

I should be home and take a shower and get ready for bed now, not on my way upwards in glamorous hotel to meet someone that I absolutely not want to look greasy in front of.

It takes me a while to find the right door, and when I finally find it I can't bring myself to knock. Not yet. I stare at the door handle, willing it to open itself.

But it doesn't move.

I raise my hand slowly, letting it stay in the air for a few seconds before I knock, hard hand fast. The sudden sound makes me jump back in surprise.

A split second later Gerard opens the door.

“I didn't think you would come,” he smiles. He looks beautiful, his hair is new washed, still a bit damp, he wears no makeup and he's dressed in black Dickies and a plain grey t-shirt. It makes me feel even dirtier.

“Me neither,” I smile back slightly.

“I'm glad you did.” He steps aside so I can come in. The room is bigger than an ordinary hotel room, with a big bed, a table, two armchairs and a small table that is covered with books and paper and a laptop. On the floor is a big bag lying open with some cloths hanging out. I take off my shoes and my outdoor cloths, before I follow him into the room. My dear shoes, my Converses with all my favourite bands scribbled at them. Even his band is somewhere in the mess of letters on the fan boy Chucks.

He sits cross-legged at the bed, watching me as I sit down opposite him.

“Why did you want me to come?” I ask resigned.

“I just wanted to talk,” he shrugs.

“I'm sorry, but I don't think I'm the best company right now,” I smile slightly, “I've just had four hours of sleep tonight and almost no food during the whole day.”

“I don't mind,” he moves to the side of the bed where I'm sitting. “You know Jeph, I kinda missed you,” he puts his head at my shoulder. “I just suck at keep in touch with people.”

I smile to myself, I don't know why he does this, maybe he is using me because I'm a fan and he knows he can do anything with me, but maybe he means it too. I don't know right now, but I will do tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that.

“I can get you something to eat, if you want to?” he asks quietly.

“No, thanks,” I shake my head. “But a glass of water would be great.”

“Sure,” he jumps out of the bed and goes to the bathroom. Two seconds later he's back with a glass of cold, fresh water. He sits down at the side of the bed, watching me as I drink it all. It feels like he's drinking me like I drink the water.

“Thank you,” I say when I'm done drinking. He takes the glass and puts it at the bedside table.

“The show was great,” I tell him, in lack of better things to say.

“Of course it was, I had you too look at in first row all the time.” At least he's good at making me feel good. He crawls back into the bed standing on all fours in front of me.

“May I kiss you?” I nod slowly and he crawls the few inches that's left until he's sitting in my lap, and our lips meet.

One thing is better this time compared with the first though, this time he seems sober and aware of what he's doing. Sometimes, sometimes I actually think he cares.

I whine quietly as his hand touches my stomach.

“I'm sorry,” he breaks the kiss looking worried at me. “What did I do?”

I lift my shirt, showing him my stomach that is starting to turn blue, purple and yellow. “I've been in the front row at one of your concerts,” I remind him with a smirk. “So I'm not up for anything more then cuddling tonight. If you wanted anything kinky you should have taken another groupie.”

“I didn't say I wanted you for the sex, did I?” he leans in again, kissing my cheek and carefully making sure that he doesn't touch my stomach. “We can just sleep, if you want to?” he kisses my neck. I nod, sleeping sounds like the best idea ever right now. And sometimes, sometimes I actually believe that he cares.

He pulls me down in the bed, undressing me to my boxers with careful, warm hands. When he finished his work I undress him, trying to be as careful as he was. We lie down beside each other, so close that out bodies brush together. His hand traces over my sore stomach.

“I remember a few years back,” he says, “I was just like you. At least my stomach looked the same way as yours of the same reasons.”

“Did you have anyone to take care of your bruises like I have?”

“No,” he shakes his head so his hair falls down in his face, I lift my right arm and push it back behind his ear. “I just got to bed myself.”

He pulls me into a hug and kisses me slowly. He smells of soap and shampoo and just a little bit of smoke.

“Good night, Jeph.”

“Goodnight, Gerard.”

I curl up to him and his arms locks around me. At this moment of time I can swear he cares.

*

The gentle autumn sun wakes me up by poking my cheeks. Gerard is still asleep beside me, he's lying on his back with one arm thrown out over the bed. The sheets have slid down so almost his whole smooth and pale chest is showing.

Suddenly I realise that I haven't told my parents where I am. They must be worried sick.

I pull up the covers over Gerard and kiss his cheek lightly. He looks so peaceful sleeping.

I get up and walk to the door where I grab the scarf he gave me yesterday. Carefully I lay it at his chest.

Sometimes, sometimes maybe he does care. But I don't know if I do.

Quietly I sneak into the bathroom and turn on the water.

Christmas story #1

2005-01-06T11:30:13Z

Title: Island In The Sun
Author: Emelie
Rating: NC-17
Paring: Matt/Jere <3
Summary: This is a sequel to Lonely Island, but a few years later.
Dedication: argh because I wanted to give her something for Christmas, but also for all other Matt/Jere lovers.
Note: This isn't BETA'ed, because I didn't have time for that if it was going to be done on time, so please excuse my crappy English. Also, this is my first NC-17 and I can't write sex at all... so please, don't kill me? Sorry it's short, and I'm not pleased with this at all...

I don't know why I post this...casue this sucks so much =/

You don't dare to open your eyes. You're afraid if you do, it all will disappear like a dream when you wake up in the morning. And you never want this moment to end. You never want to be separated from him again, you never want his hands to stop touch you.

Slowly you open your eyes, the left one first. Shyly it peeks down at him. When you succeeded open that eye without any drastic changes in the present situation you open the other one too.

His lips are parted and his head is thrown back against the pillow. His black hair is wet and sticky of sweat and parts of it have stucked on his face. You lift your arm and push it away, preventing it from falling in his eyes. He's looking up at you, his brown, beautiful eyes fogged with something satisfied that makes you wish even more that this would never end.

He lifts his arms and places them at your shoulders, making your upper body move towards him until he can kiss your lips. His lips are wet and swollen from all the previous battling his mouth did with yours.

You can't get enough of the blissed expression in his face, especially not when you know it is there because of what you do you him.

You thrust in to him again, seeing the same expression come back to his beautiful features, and you know you hit the right spot inside of him. A little moan escapes his lips, he's trying to keep quiet, knowing he's parents won't be to happy tomorrow otherwise.

You know you won't last much longer now, thrusting in and put of him. Your hand reaches down between your bodies to his cock, stroking it to make him cum at the same time as you. You're used to do that now and you know how to handle it.

Just milliseconds after his warm cum splashes your stomachs, you cum wets his inside. Exhausted you pull out of him and lay down beside him.

He wraps his arms around you, holding you thigh.

"Please, stay with me forever, Matt?" he whispers. He has asked you that question so many times before and for the first time you can answer him without knowing you will break your promise.

"I'll never leave you, you know I never will."

"I'll never leave you either," you can feel him smile against your neck.

The room is dark around you, but you know inside out how it looks, but you won't miss it. Not even knowing you never will sleep here again. The thought of never having to see it again actually makes you exited.

"Jere?"

"Mmm?"

"The kitchen should be green."

"No, blue," he answers automatically. You bet the kitchen will end up pink or something, cause you never agree at this question.

"White."

"Blue."

"Do you know what?"

"No?"

"Tomorrow at this time we will sleep in our bed in our apartment."

"I know," he smiles. "But I never get tired of hearing it. And besides," he continues," I don't think we will sleep. At least I won't." He kisses you.

"If you're not asleep, I don't think I'll be able to sleep either," you giggle quietly.

"Good night, my precious," he putts his head down at the pillow beside you, yawning.

"Good night."

*

It scares you, the fact that you don't know when you will visit your parents the next time and that you actually don't care. And it scares you that you already talk about your hometown as your parents' home. Your home is where Jeremiah is. And it's been for a while, wherever he is it's your home.

You squeeze his hand hard as he puts the key in the lock and unlocks the door.

"Welcome home," he opens the door and lets you in.

It's a small apartment, two rooms and a small kitchen. Right now the whole apartment is a mess, the floor is filled with boxes and furniture, without any order at all. You grab his hand again and together you enter the biggest room. You turn your head to look at him, his face is decorated with a big grin matching yours.

You can see that the removal firm has been here with your stuff. It's all placed in a big pile in the middle of the room. You open one of the boxes to see what's inside.

Light blue denim fabric meets your eye, fabric that's almost impossible to see because of all he patches and letters that coves it. You lift up the worn out jacket. One of the arms has almost fallen off, but you can't brig yourself to get rid of it.

"Jere, look," you show him the jacket. "Do you remember this?"

He smiles brightly, "Of course I do! You wore that jacket the first time met."

"Jeremiah sees you...and loves you!" you read from the jacket's left arm. Jeremiah laughs quietly. He takes a step closer to you, wrapping his arms around you. You drop the jacket and hug him back.

"I can't believe we're moving in together," he whispers exited.

"No, it's like a dream."

"I know. But you're not dreaming, trust me. I can bite you ear to show you?"

"No, no," you shake your head.

"Too bad, your ear looks tasty," he pouts, then kisses you. You kiss him back forcefully. No stupid train or bus will ever keep you apart again. He plays with your lip piercing with his tongue, making you giggle.

This, this apartment, it's all yours and it's the first step for you out in the grown up world. And you're taking that with he most amazing man you ever met. You can't be more grateful.

=/ *hides*

almightybob_ @ 2004-12-12T15:07:00

2004-12-12T14:09:23Z

Pretty, black skies
Red for the eye that can see
Fall back, black
On your shoulders
Black for the eye
Red for the heart
In a frame of green leaves

Falling to the ground
Orange, yellow and brown
Old, wrinkled leaves
Keeps you sane
By keeping you from sanity
Bury you in brown
Orange and yellow

Stretching out
Trying to reach the green
Blue bright skies
But the only thing you get
Is a handful of black
Brown leaves
Poisson your heart
Infected by black

Att lycka kan vara så kallt
Att lycka kan vara så hungrigt
Att lyssna på avbruten musik och frysa fötterna av sig
På mark av betong där ens enda vän är en smörgås
Och vattenflaskan som uteliggaren tog

Att lycka kan vara att bli mosad
Att lycka kan vara att kväva sig själv med sin egen röst
Att lyssna på hel musik och svettas ihjäl
På mark av betong där ens enda vän är ett vattenglas
Som vakten tog

Att lycka kan vara att gå hungrig för länge
Att lycka kan vara att vänta dag ut och dag in
Att lyssna på rymdskeppet i tunneln och släpa på en väska
På mark av betong där ens enda vän är minnena
Och kamerna som vakten inte tog

Lyckan är att tänja på gränserna för vad kroppen tål
Lyckan är att inse att man klarar det

Bara för en liten glimt av svart

almightybob_ @ 2004-12-12T15:04:00

2004-12-12T14:05:09Z

Title: A Little Rainbow Story
Author: _belsibub_ (pictures) and memelie (storyline)
Pairing: My Chemical Romance/The Used (and a bit of Mest)
Summary: Bad manipulated pictures, bad humour and an abusive boyfriend
Note: We was bored and started to play around with paint shop and this came out…

What’s life like bleeding on the floor

Quinn: I love you.

Gerard: You hurt me

Quinn: I do not *punch Gerard*

Gerard: I wanna die, my boyfriend hits me!

Mikey: I’m lonely and depressed.

Bert: We’re just friends to the main character and the only reason we’re in this picture is to let the reader know we are a part of the story.

Branden: But I will be the hero.

Jeph: No, I will.

You can’t touch my brother

Gerard: Life sucks, I wanna die even more now. Quinn left me to fuck my poor baby brother! Now I’ll take a long walk in the forest and worry myself to death Quinn hitting my brother too. And I’m heartbroken!

Quinn: I don’t hit him! *hits*

Mikey: Ow!

Quinn: Shut up, bitch!

Bert: I don’t understand what I do in this story, but I like my lip gloss.

Gerard: Long walks in the forest make me fall in love with Bert. Even though his name is almost as ugly as mine.

Branden: Jeph’s eyes looks like Jonny Depp.

Jeph: I’m a star!

This is how we like to do it in the murder scene

Bert: This scenario was too hard to make a picture of. But imagine the Way brothers hiding in a dark basement and Quinn standing over them with a knife.

Quinn: I hate you both, none of you will let me hit you and therefore you will DIE!!!

Gerard and Mikey: Help…

Branden: Here I come to save the day!!!

Bert: Now Branden enters the basement and runs to save the Way brothers. Yay, I finally understand my purpose in this story, to be the narrator!

Quinn: Get out of my way!

Branden: No!

Gerard and Mikey: Branden, watch out!

Branden: Gaaahhh…

Quinn: That’s what happens to people that stand in the way for psychopath!Quinn and his victims!

Mikey: I’m alive?

And I would drive on to the end with you

Bert: Now we get back tot eh pictures again.

Gerard: I found a star and now I’m happy and in love.

Jeph: *smooch*

Mikey: I found a guy with hair that looks like the authors cousin and now I’m happy too. But I still have nightmares.

Bert: For some reason I’m happy too.

Tony: And I just have to be a part of everything.

Quinn: Jail is fucking horrible. The walls don’t scream for mercy when I hit them.

Branden: But heaven is nice though.

Bert: That’s all kids. Now go to bed and dream sweet rainbow dreams.

This sucks so much =/ We were tired while doing it! =P
Sorry...

almightybob_ @ 2004-12-12T15:01:00

2004-12-12T14:01:43Z

So, yeah... This is still in Swedish and it sucks major ass. But I'm thinking about making something bigger of it, maybe. Me and Bella thougth we might do somethign together again cause "Porcelain" was so great fun to write. So, I'm just wondering, do you think anyone would like that pairing?

Titel: Too Much, Too Late
Författare: Emelie
Par: Tony Lovato (Mest)/Gerard Way (MCR)
Sammanfattning: En menlös liten kort sak om att sitta i en soffa.
Förklaring: Inte sann...

Du förstår inte vad han gör här, du förstår inte varför han sitter i andra änden av soffan och tomt stirrar på sina händer som nervöst gnider sig mot varandra. Du drar upp dina ben under dig så du kan sitta i en bekväm ställning medan du iakttar honom och hans nervösa handgnidningar.

Hans vildvuxna hår faller ner i hans bleka ansikte så att det enda du ser är ett svart hårsvall och en nästipp. Men du vet vad som gömmer sig bakom gardinen, du känner det för väl. Smala läppar och en spetsig näsa i ett barnsligt runt ansikte. Ögon som skriker av vanvett och hjälplöshet i en ram av svart och rött smink.

Du känner det ansiktet alltför väl, och även fast du vill förtränga vad den ihopsjunkna figuren gör där i andra änden av soffan, fastän du gör allt för att inte förstå det, så vet du det ändå. Du försöker slita blicken från honom och återgå till att titta på det menlösa programmet på TV, men det går inte.

"Du borde klippa dig," muttrar du halvhögt, det är inte riktigt meningen att han sak höra men ändå meningen.

"Du har lika långt hår själv," kontrar han halvhögt utan att titta upp från sina händer. Och du vet att han har rätt, skulle du bara låta din höga, blonda tuppkam falla ner skulle den nå nästan lika långt som hans svarta strån.

Han är allt du hatar. Han är spöket i din tillvaro som gör dig rädd för både ljus och mörker. Fast mest för vad som kan hända härnäst. För du vet hur lika ni är, egentligen kunde det var du som där i andra änden av soffan.

Fast ni är så olika, det kunde aldrig vara han som har din plats.

Du viker med blickan från hans gardin av hår, bara för att se dina egna, tatuerade händer med naglar målade i flagnande, svart färg, tvinna sig med varandra i ditt knä. Precis som hans. Han måste sluta med det snart, innan han slår knut på fingrarna.

Eller så du gör det.

Du känner för att skrika högt. Släppa loss all den undangömda frustration som bor i din själ.

Försiktigt tittar du upp igen. TV:n surrar i bakgrunden. Hans hår svänger sakta fram och tillbaka och när du tittar närmare ser du att hela han skakar. Hans tvinnande händer håller nu tag i varandra för att kunna få en fast punkt i tillvaron. Du undrar hur länge han har suttit så. Hur länge tittade du bort? En minut, en halvtimma? Du vet inte.

Han drar upp sina knän mot sitt bröst och slår armarna om dem, för att försöka få sin kropp att sluta skaka, utan att nå större framgång. Han ser bara ut som en vibrerande köttbulle. En blandning mellan ett hjälplöst tjut och en kvävd syftning tränger ut i rummet från hans hårt ihoppressade läppar.

Skyndsamt kryper du över till hans sida av soffan och slår dina armar om honom. Stilla vaggar du den skakande människan, försöker få honom tillbaka till lugnet.

Så småningom känner du hur kroppen börjar slappna av i ditt grepp och du tryckler honom mot ditt bröst.

"Gerard?" viskar du och borrar ner ditt ansikte i hans hår. Det luktar rök och otvättat. "Gerard?"

"Jag kunde inte..." viskar han med darrande röst. "Jag var tvungen att komma tillbaka..."

"Varför?" Hans hårstrån kittlar dig välbekant på näsan.

"Du...du är den enda som klarar av mig..." Han pratar in mot ditt bröst så att det låter som om någon satt ljuddämpare på hans röst. "Förlåt?"

Din hand stryker sakta över hans rygg.

"Tony?" Hans röst låter oroad.

"Varför stack du?"

"För att bevisa för mig själv att jag klarade mig utan dig..." mumlar han förläget, "men det gör jag inte..."

Du trycker honom hårt intill dig, så hårt dina armar tillåter. Du tänker inte låta honom försvinna igen och lämna dig ensam kvar.

"Lova en ska," viskar du.

"Mmm?"

"Lämna mig aldrig igen?"

"Aldrig," lovar han

Han är allt du hatar, allt du fruktar och anledningen till att du inte kan sova om nätterna. Men han är allt du älskar, anledningen till att du alls finns kvar på denna jord. Han skrämmer dig. Du gör honom lugn.

"Jag älskar dig," mumlar du ner i hans hår.

Han vrider sig i ditt grepp, lösgör sig sakta så att han kan titta upp på dig. Han ser intensivt blå ögon i ett ansikte som är grått och trött av oro. Du ser ett barnsligt, runt pojkansikte som är blekt av för få timmar i solen.

Du känner inte smaken av rök i hans mun, och han känner den inte i din, när era läppar möts. Men du kommer på att för en vecka sedan lovade ni varandra att sluta röka.

almightybob_ @ 2004-12-12T14:55:00

2004-12-12T14:00:01Z

Title: Pain, five poems bout strength
Author: Emelie
Dedication: marre_barre, because she asked me to write some poems

1.
Runs after was once was dead
To trying to live
Your enemy is what you need
The need
That you're trying to escape
In a land filled of loneliness
You're the only one
That you can't wait to get rid of
On your journey
To death'

2.
Pain that runs through the body
You see it shaking up the dust of life
The pain of seeing a soul getting destroyed
By the body it lies within
The pain of being helpless
Knowing there's nothing you can do
Just to promise yourself
That you never will get there
But you know
That you're the next in line

3.
She said
She sad
She's dead

4.

Here
Right here
Under my breast
Put your hand there
Can you feel it?

There
Right there
Under the skin
There's a knot at my heart
Can you feel it?

Stay
Right here
Don't leave me
The pain is there for you
Can you feel it?

5.
Cold water
That surrounds your feet
Leaking into your shoes
It's so cold that it hurts

Cold water
Falling form the sky
Running down your body
Make you cold into the bones

Cold water
In your shoes
Cold water from the street
Feet that's acing from the cold
Make you smile

And you can't feel your feet anymore
Like you can't feel your head

Ugh, kill me! I can't write poems and I'll never do it again! =/

almightybob_ @ 2004-10-19T10:12:00

2004-10-19T08:13:05Z

Title: Lonely Island (part 3/3)
Author: Emelie
Pairing: Matt/Jere
POV: Matt
Thanks: imfallingdeep for all the help <3
Summary: Matt's thoughts on the train home from his first meeting with Jere.
Disclaimer: Not true at all. My sick brain just came up with this.

Jeremiah is running on the platform waving after the train. You wave back sadly as he turns into a small dot and than disappears into nothing. You lean backwards to the backrest looking at the ceiling, to not show the tears that want to escape from your eyes. You're not going to cry, not now and not ever. Boys don't cry, you've learned that from the movie. You're not even going to cry over the fact that you're now leaving your boyfriend behind you and you don't know when you will see him again.

Oh, what the fuck. You'll just cry a little bit. It can't hurt, it's just water.

Through tear filled eyes you look through the window. The buildings of Stockholm disappear behind the train wall. For each building that disappears it makes the space between you and Jeremiah bigger.

But, for each second that passes by you're one second closer to seeing him again. You try to cheer yourself up with that thought, but it doesn't help much.

It's funny, before you always thought of Jeremiah as Jere. But during your short visit and meeting with him you started to call him Jeremiah. Even though he doesn't like his real name at all. But you liked it. His name was so alive, it told things about the person that was Jeremiah. And together the name and the person were filled with life. It wasn't like your name, Matthew. It was just dead and boring, it told nothing about you.

An electric wire is whistling by outside the train. It almost looks like the poles are bowing to the train as it passes by, because of the speed. It makes you think of this book you read a long time ago. It was about a boy who was at a train with his friend's dad and they were going to visit the friend. The dad told the boy that the poles were bowing to him, because they welcomed him to his friend.

You wonder why the poles are still bowing, they have nothing to welcome you to.

To your surprise you realise that the tears in your eyes have dried out, the wet thing you see now is rain that is rattling against the windows. You're sure it's angels crying because they miss Jeremiah. But on the other hand, the angels could be with him whenever they want. They didn't have a life to return to at the other end of the country. And the angels were probably busy doing other things than crying over your lost love. It probably was ordinary rain anyway.

The train has now left Stockholm behind and the only thing you can see outside the window is trees, the bowing poles, a road and if you're lucky a car. You pick up your book from your backpack and start to read.

The book keeps you occupied for a few hours. But after a while you put it away, mostly because you finished it. It's still raining outside, the skies are grey and heavy. If you didn't know better you would think that the sky and the grey water in the lake the train just passes by, was one grey mess.

You can discern a small island in the lakes dirty grey blur. It looks lonely, like some giant put it there at the start of the history of the world. Maybe to use to walk over the lake to get to his family without having to get his feet wet. And after that he forgot about it and no one has ever paid attention to the island after.

You are an island like that, and Jere is another. But you were lucky, your giants remembered you after years of loneliness and started to build a bridge between you, and now you weren't lonely anymore.

Just to convince you that you actually aren't lonely anymore your cell phone lets out a happy beeping. One message received.

"I'm gonna kill that train if it takes you away from me one more time. No but... I miss you! Life isn't as fun when you're not here...come back! *kisses you* Jere"

You smile to yourself, you better take the bus the next time you visit him, for the safety of the train.

The lake is out of sight now. You hope someone will build a bridge to that poor island one day.

The train approaches your home town soon. You collect your things and put your jacket on. You're not looking forward to going out into the rain, but you have no other choice. If you stay on the train it will just take you even further away from Jeremiah.

The sight of your jacket makes you smile. Among all the other things you have on it Jeremiah found some free space, at your left upper arm, and with a black waterproof pen he wrote "Jeremiah sees you...and loves you!". Beside Jere's note your brother
has written "Fuck you, I want my shirt back! I'll be home at 9". He didn't find any paper, so he used your jacket instead. He just didn't know that he used a waterproof pen. You don't let him close to your jacket anymore.

With a jerk the train stops at the station. You grab your bags and walk to the train doors. Through the window you can see your family's car parked at the parking lot.

With a sigh you step out from the train.

I know this sucks and it’s short and everything…But I couldn’t find out anything more to write. I don’t think it ever will be more because I so lost inspiration of this story.
Let’s just say they lived happily ever after?

almightybob_ @ 2004-10-19T10:11:00

2004-10-19T08:12:10Z

Title: Lonely Island (part 2/3)
Author: Emelie
Pairing: Matt/Jere
Summary: Matt visits Jere for the first time
POV: Jere
Thanks: imfallingdeep for all the help <3
Disclaimer: Not true at all. My sick brain just came up with this.
Note: I wrote the first chapter of this a long time ago... the next part won't take as long at all, because it's alredy written. But I'm not pleased with it, nor with this...

(Part 1)

"I hate the underground" you tell him randomly. "They're always late when you want them to be on time, and if you want one for later, they're too early."

He smiles, like he thinks you are the weirdest person he ever met. "I think they're cool. They sound like they're from the Star Wars movies or something. When they arrive at the station, it sounds like a spaceship's coming."

Now it's your turn to smile at him, he's much stranger than you are. You're showing him the way from the underground station to your house now and for some reason you can't remember when you told him that you were going to carry his bag. Judging by the weight of it he brought his whole wardrobe, or he has a strange fetish for stones. The walk isn't long, but it's enough for you to wish you never said you were going to carry that bag. It's also enough for you to point out where your school is and some other various places. And for you to realise that the stranger you picked up at the train station isn't a stranger, it's Matt. The same Matt you've been talking to for months.

He has always given you this funny feeling, when you for example are sitting in your boring math classes, and suddenly Matt pops up in your head and it feels like your entrails are taking a bubble bath. You like that feeling, you just fear that it will be too much bathing now when he's this close. You may just run out of hot water.

You notice that Matt looks a bit lost, like he's never seen a city this big before. And yet it's just one suburb. You live in one of those high-rise blocks, on the fourth floor. With an elevator, you thank whatever higher power there is for that. You fear you arm would fall off if you had to carry his bag all the way up.

Your mom waits "accidentally" inside the door when you open it. She's been so curious, asking questions about Matt all the time. It's embarrassing. You think her purpose in life is to be embarrassing. You told her to keep away today, as much as possible.

"Hey, I'm Jeremiah's mom," she says shaking Matt's hand. Almost before he's inside the door. You feel like you've been given the worst mom on the earth, but Matt hasn't seem to realised that quite yet. He just smiles and shakes her hand back.

"Dinner's ready in 20 minutes," she tells you before she leaves for the kitchen. You're finally alone with Matt again.

You show him into your room. There's an extra mattress lying on the floor, you bet it's your mom who put it there. Or maybe your dad. You had hoped that they would forget the extra mattress if you "forgot" to ask for it. You so want Matt to sleep in your bed. There's enough room for two people. But now you probably won't dare to ask.

"I never knew your real name was Jeremiah," Matt says thoughtfully as he drops his backpack to the floor. "I always think of you as Jere."

"Haven't I told you that? And besides, I don't like people calling me that."

"No you haven't."

"Sorry-yy."

"I'm disappointed with you Jeremiah." He tries to sound like a parent lecturing his child, but can't really keep a straight face. It makes you laugh, he's so cute. You sit down on your bed, still giggling. He tries to send you a death glare as he sits down beside you but you can tell he's almost laughing too.

"But I like Jeremiah," he says seriously. "I like the sound of it, Jeeeremiiiaaahhh," he tastes the word. "That's how you look."

"What?!" suddenly you fear that he just escaped form a mental institute.

"You look the same way as it feels to say Jeeeremiiiaaahhh." He looks seriously at you and you can't help but laugh.

"Is that good or bad?"

"Good, of course."

For once your whole family is present for dinner. You feel like everyone is there to inspect Matt. You guess you have to blame yourself for that, because you haven't been able to keep your mouth shut about him for at least a couple of months.

Your parents ask him all the basic stuff, about his school, his family and hobbies. But it scares you when your siblings start to ask him things too. You try to eat up your food as fast as possible, so you can get Matt on your own again. It feels like they are stealing him from you.

And besides, if they keep this cross-examination going, they will soon start to ask him about his first sexual experience and what he's planning to do to you. And knowing your family it wouldn't surprise you if they did that.

Luckily Matt doesn't seem to mind the questioning, or he's very well brought up. You want to get him away from your family anyway. He's your's and you don't want to share the cake that is Matt with anyone else. You want to eat him with whipped cream for dessert.

"I've never been this nervous about anything before," Matt tells you when you're back in your room after dinner. "Meeting you, I mean"

"Why? I'm nothing to be scared of," you smile, trying to hide that you almost had no sleep last night, just because you were nervous. All you had done was toss and turn, worrying about meeting him. And today you had spent the morning walking around in the apartment, trying to calm yourself down, driving your family nuts.

"I know that now," he answers. "But my nerves were convinced that you were a crazy serial killer. They didn't want to be a part of me anymore."

"I hope they changed their minds."

"Yes, they have."

"Good," you smile.

"Weren't you nervous?" he asks curiously.

"No." He raises one eyebrow at you, the one he doesn't have pierced. How you love his piercings, if you had just have a bit less self control you would be drooling all over him. Now you just stare at him instead.

"Just a bit then," you give in. "Actually, a lot."

He smiles dazzlingly at you, ”Why didn't you say that? You know you can tell me the truth."

"I don't know. I guess I was just trying to be strong and manly, which includes no feelings."

"Don't try to hide your feelings for me, I know you have them," he laughs as he grabs you around your waist and pulls you down beside him on the bed. He keeps you lying there forcing you to stay by holding his arms locked around you. Not that you want to move or anything.

"Somewhere in there," he pats at your chest close to your heart, "I know there are feelings. At least one or two."

"Maybe..." you smile wrapping your arms around him too. Now your entrails are taking a really hot bubble bath, you can feel the waves of the ether nicely lap inside you. If there is anything like love, you think it feels like this.

You spend the rest of the night talking in your bed. Lying close but not touching much. It's too much for you, to have him here as a real person, flesh and blood not only a voice on the phone. It gives this whole scene an illusionary glow. You don't dare to touch him cause if you do, he may vanish in front of you like the illusion he might be.

It reminds you of a dream you had about Matt a few nights ago. You had the most romantic dinner and were about to go to bed. The only thing you wanted was to rip his cloths off and fuck him senseless. But as soon as you made the first move to touch him, he disappeared and you woke up. With an uncomfortable erection. You would have given anything to have Matt there that night to help you with that, but he wasn't so you had to use your hand.

You jerked off thinking of Matt and moaning his name as you came. At least he didn't abandon you in your thoughts.

Thinking of that, you have the same sheets on the bed now. They have been washed since than, but still. They are dark blue with small yellow stars. Kind of childish really, you hope Matt won't think you are as childish as they look.

"Why are you blushing?" he asks suddenly.

"I...I was just thinking about my sheets, they look so childish."

"That's something to think about too," he smiles, resting his head against your chest. "You're so random."

You play nervously with his hair, still afraid that he will vanish into thin air. You like his hair, it's short and brown made into spikes with small spots of different colours that imply that he had a really bright hair color a while ago. Most likely something akin to a rainbow according what you can see now. But he has a bit too much gel in it, you can't really feel the consistency of his hair, just his hair gel. Mental note: remind Matt to wash his hair so you can feel it without all the gel.

"You're right" he says, "the sheets are kinda childish, but it's better then Winnie the Pooh."

You stare up at the ceiling, or what would be the ceiling if it weren't too dark to see. Matt lies on the mattress on the floor beside your bed. You were right about yourself, you didn't dare to ask him to sleep in your bed. Even though you wanted to and you knew he wanted to too. Not the first night, it was too early.

You hear him shift and you try to see what he's doing, but as much as you can't see the ceiling you can't see him. It gets quiet again and you guess he's found a comfortable position. You close your eyes and try to fall asleep.

You're almost asleep when you feel something crawl into the bed beside you a while later.

"Are you asleep?" an unfamiliar voice that you almost recognise whispers.

"Mmmm..." you murmur.

"Do you mind if I sleep here? It was so lonely on the floor."

You move closer to the wall behind you as respone. Now you feel a body lying down beside you and an arm wrap around you.

"That's better," the voice says, "now I can sleep."

You're too tired to open your eyes, but you like the feeling of the other body close to yours and you like the slightly tickling feeling of its breath against your cheek. You fall into a peaceful sleep.

There's something beside you in the bed and that something just hit your leg and woke you up. You turn on your side to find a guy sleeping beside you. It takes you a few seconds to realise that it is Matt, but when you do, you feel the same bubbling feeling in your stomach as always. And it hits you that he's real, he is real and he's not going to disappear. You put your arm around him and move closer to his body. It feels so good to have him close. He makes you feel safe even in your sleep.

You feel him stir under your arm as he wakes up.

"Good morning," you smile.

"Good morning," he yawns and stretches himself. You watch him as he does so, just enjoying seeing him. He turns his head so he's looking at you too.

For a little while you just lie there watching each other, both of you unsure of what to do. Suddenly he smiles broadly and moves closer to you.

"Did I tell you how happy I am to be here?" he asks and nuzzles his head into your shoulder. The cold metal of his piercings makes you shiver. Not of pleasure but of coldness. You don't answer him, because you honestly don't remember if he did say that yesterday. You are too tired to remember. Instead you place a light kiss at his head. He bends his neck so he's now facing you, he's still smiling. He must have the most beautiful smile in the whole wide world. It makes your knees weak. It's a good thing that you're lying down, or your legs would probably give in and leave your body in a pathetic little pile on the floor.

You smile back and lean in to him, letting your lips meet in your first mutual kiss. The kiss is gentle and exploring. You try to memorise his taste, for all the times when he won't be there to kiss you. The metal of his lip ring makes itself much more useful against your lips then your shoulder, now you like it.

After a while you pull away, catching your breath. "You're a good kisser," you tell him.

"You don't know what magic I can do with my tongue" he smiles playfully. You wrap your arms around him, holding him as close to you.

"You have to show me that magic."

"Of course."

You let your fingers slip through his hair, it stands in all possible angles on his head and there's still too much gel in it, but it's better than yesterday. You can almost feel the real softness of his hair.

"So, what have you planned for today, master?" he lifts his head to give you a fast kiss.

"We're going to take a walk and I'm gonna show you my favourite place in the world, if that's okay?"

Matt looks around, you watch him take in the environment. The trees, mostly pines and spruces that grow here and there. The rocks that go all the way down to the sea where the water greets them with soft calming waves.

You love this place, it's just a 15 minute walk from the city but it feels like it's at the country side. You always go here when you want to be alone and think. You remember the first time you talked to Matt on the phone. It was a long call and when you finally hung up it was really late. But even though it was you walked to this place immediately to think. That time it felt like you were flying all the way to your favourite rock. But that was just that time, there have been so many times when it seemed to you like the way to the rocks was longer then the way to China.

"Come on," you grab Matt's hand. "I'm gonna show you my favourite rock."

The sun is shining at the flat surface of the rock, making it hot and comfortable to sit at. It's hidden behind trees and another rock that is like a wall to the rest of the world. When you sit here you're only visible from the lake and to those who know that this place exists. You found it once when you were a kid and played hide and seek. It was the best hiding place ever, your friends didn't find you and you never told them where you had been hiding.

"I always go here when I want to think or just be alone," you tell him. You're sitting at the rock with your arms around each other, like a couple that are deeply in love that are out on a romantic walk. And in fact, maybe you are that.

"Yeah, it's beautiful... I didn't know there was anything like nature this close to Stockholm." he lets out a little laugh at his own joke and you giggle too. Not because you find it funny just because his laugh is so cute.

You stay like that for a while, just enjoying the feeling of his body against your own. Boats are sailing by on the lake, the trees tell you their own stories as the wind blows through their crowns. Suddenly Matt stands up. You show a sad face to make him come back to you.

"I just have to see how hot the water is," he says as he walks over the rock bending down in the water's edge. He sticks his hand in the water.

"Hot?" you ask.

"Hotter then I thought, but too cold to take a bath." He wipes off his wet hand on his pants.

"You gotta come back later this summer, when it's hot enough to bathe."

He nods and smiles as he walks back to you. You pat at the rock beside you to show him that you want him to sit close to you. He sits down where you showed him, resting his back against the rock behind him.

"Are you sure you want me to come back?" he wonders shyly.

"Of course I want you to! Why shouldn't I?"

He shrugs, "Maybe you don't like the real me..."

"I do," you nod to confirm what you just said. "You're better in real life."

"You think so?"

You nod again.

"You are too," he smiles at you. His lips look so tasty you can't resist kissing him. At first you kiss him gently, but you want to feel more of him. You move to sit in his lap as you deepen the kiss. As soon as you sit down his hands go for your ass.

You hope he doesn't think you're fat. He's so perfect, not a pound more fat then needed. But you on the other hand, you always feel like you're too fat. And especially your ass. You hope he doesn't mind, not now anyway. You try to push your weight problems to the back of your mind. You don't need them now. Instead your hands start to explore his chest and stomach. It's soft and strong and a bit hairy.

He's hands are now inside your pants, touching your bare ass. He pushes you closer to his body making you moan as your erections rub against each other.

Time with Matt passes by way too fast. Before you know it it's his last day in Stockholm. The first thing that'll happen tomorrow is that you're going to follow him to the station. His bag stands on your floor, packed and ready to leave. He lies beside you in the bed. You feel a strong pain that you never felt before, it's located somewhere in your stomach. You have been feeling it since this morning and you know that the only thing that can make the pain go away is Matt, if he stays.

"I don't want you to go home," you whisper burying your head into his neck.

"Do you think that I want to go home?" his hand is slowly stroking your back. "But you will come and visit me soon, won't you?" he adds.

"I will. But what about the time in between? I'll suffer from Matt withdrawal."

" I call you as soon as I get home."

"That's not the same"

"I know. Stop whining now, you'll just make this harder."

You nod slowly, “Just promise that you won't forget me when you get home."

"I will never forget you!" He cups your chin and bends your head up to his so he can kiss you. "Never."

"Never ever?"

"Never ever. Because you're the best thing that ever happened to me." He gives you a soft kiss. "And besides, I have to come back to you so we can find the king and slap his ass."

"You're just using me to get to the king!?" you say faking a pout.

"No, I just don't want to get arrested for harassing him by myself."

"You're weird." You shake your head like he's an impossible case of human stupidity.

"Yeah, I know. And that's why you love me," He grins and leans in to kiss you again.

There's nothing you could hate as much as the underground, you were sure about that. Until now. The train that is standing in front of you now is the subject for all the hate your body is capable of producing. And it is an ordinary railway train not an underground train. The train is going to take Matt away from you, and you'll never forgive it for doing that to you.

You wake up from your hateful thoughts by Matt squeezing your hand. "I have to go now," he whispers.

You grab his bag resolute and help him carry it to his seat. Together you push it onto the bagck before he sits down.

He's golden eyes are looking at you, big and sad. You swear there are tears hiding in them. You feel like crying too, it breaks your heart to see him go away.

Quickly you bend down and hug him tightly. This makes you think of the first time you hugged him. It was here at the same train station, but that time it was of happiness and relief to have found him. Now you feel like you're falling down a deep hole and Matt is the rope that will help you get out. But some evil people on the ground are forcing Matt upwards, leaving you to fall deeper down.

He gives you a soft kiss. "I'll call you, now get out before the train leaves."

"What if I don't want to go?"

"You have to, you don't have a ticket."

"I know... But I don't wanna leave you!"

"I don't wanna leave you either, " he kisses you again, more forcefully this time. Licking the inside of your mouth like he wants to save the taste of you. You pull away, realising you have to go even though you don't want to.

"Good bye," you say kissing his cheek.

"Good bye, I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too." You walk towards the exit, knowing you won't be able to leave if you stay any longer.

Out at the platform you see the train leave. You wave at the window you know Matt's hiding behind. And you know Matt's waving back, but you can't see it.

You can't wait until you see him again. You want him with you at the platform hugging you now as tears roll down you face. Just because that evil train is taking your only love away from you.

The second bad thing for today...

2004-10-07T13:07:16Z

Titel: Cinderella
Författare: Emelie
Par: Jag föreställde mig Tracy/OFC
Sammanfattning: ”I ain’t no Cinderella”
Bortförklaring: Äger inte, inte sant, har aldrig hänt, kommer aldrig hända…
Not: Skriven efter för mycket lyssnande på NOFX’s ”Lori Meyers”

Who are you to tell me what to do?
You think I sell my body, I merely sell my time

Du tittar på henne, tittar på den person som sitter framför dig. Hon stirrar intensivt på dig, stirrar utan att blinka. Det känns i alla fall som om hon inte blinkar.

Intensivt stirrar hon ut dig med ett uttryck av överlägsenhet i ansiktet. Hennes blå ögon gnistrar i skenet från den dämpade belysningen. Du hatar när hon gör så här, och du hatar att du vet att du kommer förlora. Du gör jämt det mot henne, men du kämpar i alla fall.

Hon får dig att tänka på NOFX’s låt ”Lori Meyers”, på tjejen som sjunger i den. Hon ser ut som den rösten låter, hård, raspig och kaxig med ett sprucket skrik på slutet. Så vacker men ändå så farlig.

Hon har inte vikt med blicken från dig. Hon stirrar dig rätt i ögonen, så genomträngande att det känns som om hon kan plocka ut dina tankar med sina ögon. Plocka ut dem och knyckla ihop dem innan hon slänger dem på golvet under bordet där du sitter.

Kvar på bordet står resterna av er måltid, grytor och tallrikar med torkade matrester. Det stirrande har torkat det.

I ain’t no Cinderella
I ain’t waiting for no prince, to save me
In fact until right now I was just fine
And on and on

Hon vet att den här får dig att tänka på den låten, och hon vet också hur väl det passar. Hon känner dig för väl, och det skrämmer henne. Skrämmer henne för att hon vet att du känner henne lika väl.

Det börjar mörkna utanför, gatlyktorna har tänts. Det dämpade ljuset som innan var mysigt är nu bara mörkt. Hennes vita ansikte försvinner nästan i skuggorna på andra sidan bordet. Men hennes ögon glittrar.

”Förlåt?” försöker du när tystnade blivit för stor och mörkret tagit för mycket utrymme.

Hon gör en plötslig rörelse med huvudet som får hennes svarta hår att falla ner över ögonen på henne. Impulsmässigt rycker det i din hand för att föra undan håret, men du gör det inte. Tiden är inte mogen för det än.

Till din förvåning leker ett litet leende över hennes läppar.
”I ain’t no Cinderella,” viskar hon med sin mjuka, melodiska röst, inte alls den ruffigt punkiga som tjejen som sjunger på skivan har.

”…I ain’t waiting for no prince,” svarar du med ett litet leende.

”Kom så går vi och lägger oss,” Hon reser sig upp och sträcker ut sin hand mot dig, leende.

”Men disken då?”

”Den tar vi imorgon”

”Du menar att jag tar den imorgon.”

”Nej, vi.”

Du skrattar mjukt och tar hennes hand i din.

”Du har vackra ögon, ” säger du medan du följer henne ut från köket. ”Men vi måste köpa en diskmaskin.”

”Vadå,” ler hon skämtsamt, ”gillar du inte att jag stirrar på dig?”

”Bara de gånger det slutar såhär, inte de gånger det slutar med att jag diskar.”

Hon stannar tvärt och fångar in dig i sina armar.

”Förlåt,” viskar hon i ditt öra. ”Jag försöker lära mig.”

”Jag vet,” mumlar du tillbaka och stryker henne över ryggen. Och du vet att hon försöker.

Du lösgör dig försiktigt från hennes grepp för att kunna se hennes ansikte. Det är lätt sorgset nu, inte alls överlägset som innan. Fast det är inte underlägset heller, det kommer det nog aldrig att bli igen. Du minns när du först träffade henne, du var underlägsenhet det enda som hennes vackra ögon utstrålade. Hon har kommit ifrån det nu, det förvånar dig nästan hur stark hon har blivit sen dess.

I know what degradation feels like
I felt it on the floor,
At the factory
Where I worked long…

“…before I took control,” viskar ni samtidigt och ler mot varandra. Hon drar dig tätt intill sig igen och kysser dig. Hennes färglösa läppglans blandas med ditt blodröda läppstift.

Du ler inombords. Hon är som den rösten, hård, kaxig och raspig. Precis som hon var när du träffade henne först. Men nu var det bara spel för att skrämma folk, nu är det äkta. Hård, kaxig och raspig, men mjuk som en dunkudde om man bara tar henne på rätt sätt.

Ingenting är perfekt, men för var dag liknar det mer och mer något som kan kallas bra. Trasiga liv lappas ihop. Och en dag kanske hon kan diska.

This one sucks...

2004-10-07T13:06:27Z

Title: Untitled
Author: Emelie
Paring: Cristiano Ronaldo/Nuno Gomes
Rating: R
Summary: Portugal just lost their game against Greece and Nuno Gomes tries to comfort Ronaldo.
Disclaimer: I don't own, never happen...
Note: 1. I don't usually write soccer slash, this is my first try. I did it because it's a challenge with my sister. 2. This isn't BETA'ed, so sorry for any mistakes…I didn’t dare to send it to my usual beta, because this is unusual lol 3. My first PWP, sorry it sucks...

He's beautiful when he cries, you can't help but think that. You watch him as he walks slowly and without any noticeable destination over the pitch, showing his tears for the world.

You bet there's a camera focusing on him right now and you bet there's tons of teenage girls home in their living rooms right now going "awww" over his cutenes.

Sadly you have to admit that you could be one of those girls, even though you're not a teenager and not even a girl.

Some of your team-mates give him random hugs. But it's more like fast embraces to you, he should need a real hug. You want to give it to him, you want to hug him as hard as you possibly can. Hold him tight to your chest and comfort him until he gets happy again. But you don't. You don't even touch him. If you do you may hump him right here in front of half the world.

You don't think your mom would like that.

So you don't make a single move towards him, but you watch him.

*

He's still crying, but not as much as before. Now it's more pathetic sobs. It took you long to find him, but now he's in front of you. This must be the most distant corridor of the whole soccer arena, just as you want it. And in the end of the corridor he's sitting, face buried in his hands and shaking of sobs.

You walk up to him, quietly and sit down in front of him. Softly you grab his cheek and make him look up at you.

He's big brown eyes looks stunned as they realise who the person in front of him is. You can't deny that the surprised look fits him.

He's still dressed in his tram cloths form the game earlier and sweat that starts to dry make his skin look sticky. The silver medal is still resting around his neck. Your medal is in your bag in the dressing room. You've already taken a shower and changed out of your cloths from the game. Now you’re wearing a pair of old, comfy Adidas trousers and a t-shirt.

"Second place isn't that bad,” you whisper.

"We should have won..." he pouts like a child that didn't get what it wanted.

"Yes, we should. But we did a great job reaching this far."

"Tell me that in a week and I might agree," he sobs.

You smile slowly as you wipe away a tear that's rolling down his cheek. He's just a boy and the whole world is lying in front of his feet, but anyway he acts like this is the end of everything.

"I can make you feel better," you say pushing yourself forward so your lips brush against his. You notice a sudden fear light up his eyes as he realises what you're doing. It reminds you that you once promised that you wouldn't touch the newcomers, but you can't help it. He's too adorable.

You lick his lips slowly, waiting for him to let you in. He does, to your big relief. And he kisses you back too, hard. You almost think he tries to choke you.

You push his legs down so they lay flat against the floor, so you can place yourself atop him. When you found a comfortable place in his lap you let your hands travel down his chest and make their way underneath his t-shirt as they reached the hem of it.

You take his sweaty shirt of and throw it beside you at the floor. It's red, almost identical to the one you have somewhere. The only difference between them is that at his back its written "C. Ronaldo" but on yours it's "Nuno Gomes". Now it's only the silver medal covering his light brown, well-trained chest.

He pulls away from you, looking like he wants to ask you what you're doing. You're not in the right mood to explain your actions now, so you just put a finger over his lips showing him to be quiet before you kiss him again. During the short period of time that your fingers rest against his lips you realise to your pleasure that he'd stopped crying.

You bend down kissing your way down his chest and stomach. You feel his fast breathing against your lips as his chest rises and falls under you touch.

His stomach is soft and strong, as you imagined, it's just tastes a bit more like half dried sweat than you find appealing. But that is a side effect you have to take, so you push that taste to the back of you mind, were it can stay to sometime when it's useful.

Your hands are in his pants now, they are trying to get his shorts and boxers down. Even though you don't want to admit it to yourself you were scared that he would push you away, but now you know he won't. The bulge in his pants is showing him that he likes it, and it makes you pleased to know.

"Now lift your sexy ass so I can get this off,” you say with a smirk. He moans out in respond and lifts his hips. You pull down his shorts and underwear quickly and spread his legs so you can bend down between them.

All the time you make sure that you look him in the eye. His eyes are filled with a mixture of fear, excitement and curiosity. Just by that look you can tell that he's never gotten any from a guy before.

You take him into your mouth, firmly resolved to make his first sexual experience with a guy his best yet.

You suck carefully at his cock, making sure that the moans that escapes his lips gets louder and louder.

It doesn't take long until he explodes into your mouth. That guy can't have much sexual experience at all, you think to yourself as you swallow his cum and lick up what missed your mouth.

He's panting heavily as he rests his head against the wall, looking at you. You lift yourself up from in between his legs, smiling at your work.

"Thanks," he whispers

"No problem," you kiss his cheek softly. "But you owe me one for this," you add cheeky.

"And," you sit down beside him, "you better go take a shower now. You have cum on your pants and you smell like sweat."

Quietly he stands up, dressing himself. He's still beautiful, you think, but he's so slow.

"Bye,” he smiles and finally he starts to walk away down the corridor.

It feels like an eternity to you before his back turns around the corner in the other end of the corridor. You let your hand travel down your own pants and into your boxers. With a sigh you closes your eyes and the image of a red soccer t-shirt with "C. Ronaldo" written at on a body with a very sexy ass popes up in your head. Finally you can take care of yourself.