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Illustrate Your Life in Romance
By Rayna
Pairing: Adam Lazzara/Gerard Way
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Angst
A/N: To be fair, I like Adam and despise Gerard. This story was just to get that very strong hatred out... constructively. XD There's a second part to this that I've started, which I'll post if I ever get around to completing it.
Gerard's POV
-Written to Die Romantic, by Aiden-
You can illustrate your life in romance
I can show you something so much more than words
In my hands
It's not your best intention now to burn your friends
This is your last night
This is your last chance
In my hands
He's looking at me again, with those big brown eyes and I can tell what he's going to ask me. I'm wincing in advance, because already, I think we both know what the answer will be. He sits closer to me and puts his hand on my shoulder. I flinch at his touch, and he asks, "Gerard, are you okay?"
I don't even try to meet his eyes, I look at the bridge of his nose. And I nod. I'm okay. I'm just fine. Nothing he has ever done was done directly to me, so therefore I shouldn't have a problem with it. Sometimes I act like he's taken a knife and plunged it into my chest, but he hasn't. It's my own doubts and fears that make me hurt, not Adam living his life like any normal traveling musician would.
And it's sitting here with him, with him still looking at me, concerned, obviously, that I realize how extremely selfish I am. What do I expect from him? What can I possibly expect him to give me? I close my eyes because I just can't stand to see him looking so hard at me. I know he cares. He just doesn't understand. He can't understand; I can't make him understand.
He tells me he'll be in the lobby if I need him. I nod, perfectly content to stay in the sanctity of the hotel room. We aren't sharing a room. I don't even know why I'm in here with him, but I am. He leaves, and I'm sitting alone on the bed. Vaguely, I think it's dumb that I should run him out of his own room. He could have told me to leave. And I start sniffling because I can't help it, because I hate how he seems to care so much, and still, he has no idea what he does to me. He must think there's something wrong with me. Is it pity? Is that all it is that he's been giving me? These late nights where I need someone--no, not just someone, only him--and he holds me... Is that really the only reason he does it, out of nothing but pity? Some kind of obligation he feels he has, to make me feel better, when really he only ends up making me feel a hundred times worse than I did before, just to think that he might actually CARE.
At some point, I lie down on the bed. It's late, after all, around one in the morning. I leave the lights on, because I need them on to feel safe. So I lie down, with the lights on, and I fall asleep... because when I next open my eyes, the lights are off, and the bed isn't balanced as it was before. I start breathing hard, my eyes wide against the blackness. I look toward the vicinity of the door and see the cookie cutter effect of the lights outside, around the cracks of the door. Shadows play from that spot. I can't move. I'm petrified. My entire body is stiff and I'm breathing so hard that I'm not even conveying oxygen to my lungs, it's only shallow gasps that leave my chest burning.
Whoever is next to me on the bed senses the disturbance and turns over, facing me, I presume. I can't bring myself to look at them, though I'm certain it's Adam. I'm in his room, after all, and figure it must be him unless he decided to switch with someone else because he didn't want to deal with me. But no, I can sense his aura. I can also smell him. Lever 2000, always. His smooth hand touches my cheek and my body jerks as though I had just been issued a thousand bolts.
"Gerard?" he says quietly, and I feel him sit up, and he's leaning over me now. He has his hand on my cheek still, and his thumb is stroking slowly, and God, I can't breathe. "Gerard, are you okay?"
I can't speak. Why can't he just turn the light back on? He gently taps my face now with four of his fingers. "Are you having a bad dream? Wake up, Gee."
I'm still not moving or responding, and he's shifting again and I feel the whispering touch of his hair as it tickles my nose. He's closer than he was before. I can smell his breath, feel it on my face, and I can't help but squirm. He's making me even more uncomfortable. He's petting my hair, stroking it back away from my face, and he presses his cheek against mine. His breath's in my ear now. I inhale sharply.
"Just calm down," he whispers to me, and kisses the tender skin right below my ear. My toes curl. I'm distracted now, no longer focusing so much on the dark; my attention has been diverted to the heat now washing over me, stemming from where his lips are still pressed to my skin. "It's over now, you're awake... you're okay. Just calm down. I'm here." He still thinks I had a nightmare. That's okay. It was more like a waking nightmare, but maybe that is still categorized as a nightmare... In any case... the next breath I take brings the air to my lungs and the burning eases away. I take another breath. He has his left hand trailing away from my hair and it's rested on my shoulder now. It runs down my arm and he lays back down on his side, and then the hand's on my hip, pulling me to him.
His warmth serves as a reminder of how cold the room is. It's tomblike. For one fearful moment, my brain is bombarded with the image of he and I lying in the pitch darkness of a sarcophagus, and I feel a tremor start to wrack my body.
He's kissing me gently, on my cheeks and my forehead, my chin, the side of my mouth, with his arms wrapped around me and he's rubbing my back. Our chests are pressed together and I'm trying so hard to stop shaking. He's muttering nonsensical things to me, strings of words meant to comfort and reassure. Then he shifts his hips.
There may be sparks. The extreme heat that issues forth from that single tilt of his hips toward mine is enough to incinerate me. He breathes in a shuddering breath and I flinch at the throbbing in my groin. He rolls his hips against mine and our erections brush against one another. For all the light that is bursting afront my closed eyelids, the darkness is very much forgotten. My fear is very much forgotten. All that is there is Adam. And the light. And he's like an angel, enfolding me in his wings, and now I'm shaking for an entirely different reason.
"Gee," he whispers my nickname, almost as if he's in awe. His lips meet mine, and I realize... I realize how different a real kiss is from a playful one. It's not the first time he's pressed his lips to mine, but there is something behind this. There is passion behind this, not laughter. And my stomach coils up even as my own lips move against his. And then I feel his tongue, hot and wet and prying, and my mouth slips open. It's enough to make me arch my back, the pleasure, the feeling of his tongue and mine twining together and the hands that were once stroking my back have moved down to my hips, pulling me harder against him.
I can feel the thrumming of his heart. And I think the beat is in sync with mine. I have my eyes shut still and his tongue is working against mine, and we're both breathing hard... Our hips are moving and my hands are itching to touch him, so I rest them lightly on his shoulders.
It gives me a headrush when he rolls us over. He's on top of me now, never breaking our kiss, and he has his legs spread, his knees to either side of my body. I nearly jump out of my skin when I feel his hand touch me through the material of my pants. He has a strong grip, and he's not being quite so gentle anymore. Yet I moan all the same. The throbbing in my skull hardly compares to the throbbing elsewhere, and he's stroking me harder. I'm so aroused that I think I might faint... from the sheer intensity of it. And my light-headedness that has yet to go away.
His lips leave mine and my mouth is left open, panting out shrill breaths because he's moved down, and his hands are working at the button to my pants. I'm wriggling as if I'm literally aflame and am trying to put the fire out. Stop, drop, and roll. Because my erection is free and the extreme cold of the room hits the heat of my flesh and I don't know whether to buck or recoil. I can't get over how his hand feels. He spit into it before he wrapped it around my length. It slides so well, and I'm leaking precome profusely and shoving my hips up into his hand. And moaning. I haven't gotten a coherent word out all night.
Then he's pushing up my shirt so that his lips can torturously make their way along my belly, and my chest, and he's using his tongue... flicking my nipples and taking first one into his mouth, suckling gently, then the other. And I'm bucking hard into his hand, the coil in my gut being wound tighter and tighter as my orgasm approaches. My hands find his hair, and it's so soft... runs through my fingers so well... He seems to like when I play with his hair because a soft moan rumbles in his throat and vibrates around my nipples and I tighten my fingers in it, pull it with just enough force to make him moan again.
He breaks free of my grip, though, and the light behind my eyes is still so bright. But it explodes like a thousand suns as I feel his mouth engulf my erection. There is a moment where the world stops. My heartbeat stops. Just for a moment. A brief moment. Then, like the electric current returning to a house deadened by a bolt of lightening to a wire, everything starts back up. And my heart is threatening to break free of my rib cage. His tongue... the warmth... and the wet... suction... I gasp for air. I'm drowning in my own extreme bliss.
He's sucking me like a hungry infant would a teat, hungrily, yearningly, and I can't do anything but writhe. My hands are restless, fisted in the bedsheets, or in my own hair, or running over my stomach. He gives them a job, however, when he reaches up and laces his fingers with mine. I grasp him as though he were the only thing keeping me on this earth, and cling to him while I feel his head bobbing, his mouth moving up and down and his throat opening to accept me deeper. So much deeper than I would have ever imagined I could get. And it's so hot. My veins pump lighter fluid and he's set them aflame. I'm so close. I can feel it. My body stiffens. The spasms begin. My hips freeze in mid-thrust.
And he swallows around me.
The mid-thrust is completed as a scream tears itself from somewhere deep inside me. My vocal chords are worked raw as my voice resonates off the walls, and I'm shooting my load down Adam's throat. He's swallowing repeatedly, not wasting a single drop, still sucking and coaxing me to give him all I have to offer. And I do. My hips continue to move against his face as I'm milked dry, before collapsing to the bed, completely spent. I'm breathing hard, but he's still sucking me, and it's almost painful, the way it feels, but I don't have the energy to speak, to tell him to stop, to push him away. He's licking me now, cleaning me up even though nothing was spilt.
I'm clinging to consciousness, so very near to blacking out. Stars are still dancing behind my closed eyelids, but things are fading to black. I feel him slide up my body so that he's sitting on my stomach, supporting himself with his legs still to either side of me, and I hear him grunting. My eyes crack open. It's still dark, but I see the outline of his body. The sun is just peaking through the crack in the curtain that the air must have blown open, and I can see him... his face. His eyes are shut in ecstasy and he has his pants open, his erection out, stroking it almost violently. I see the muscles in his stomach tighten and he throws his head back as a loud cry resounds from his lips, and he spills his seed all over my chest. My eyes are wide as I watch him, as I watch his hand slow down and retuck his spent cock back into his pants. Then he distractedly takes a corner of the bedsheet and wipes my chest off before collapsing onto the mattress beside me and pulling me to him.
We're in the same position we were in earlier, my mind conjures vaguely. Both facing each other on our sides, his hands rubbing my back while he kisses me beneath my ear and tells me it's okay... Only now he's telling me I'm beautiful, and that he loves me. And my chest contracts.
Because he'll never understand just how much I love him.
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