If you ever shoot yourself, I'll write your name on the bullet so you will be the last thing to pass through my head.

Heather took a box out of her left jeans pocket and pulled out a cigarette. She put it in between his lips and rummaged around for a lighter. A hand came out of nowhere holding a lighted matchstick.

"Twenty years, Heather. Twenty-fucking-years, and I find you here. Of all places." The hand dropped the match and it left a mark on the parquet floor where it landed. Heather know that voice, she had heard it all her life, but she was afraid to turn around.

"Look at me, Heather." She couldn't. Would Angie still look the same? She still sounded the same, only her voice was a little lower, more mature. More...intense.

She opened his mouth and the cancer stick fell, joining the match on the ground. She felt two hands snake around her waist and hot breath on her left ear.

"You know how I love the way you look in a sweater." She looked down at the hands wrapped around her. They looked exactly as they did all those years ago. Would they feel the same? She put her arms on Angie's, and fell hard and fast for her once again.

"Look at me again, Heather." But she didn't want to. She pulled free and ran to the open window, pulling herself through it with surprising vigor and energy for someone so thin. Angie didn't stop her, but her hand was still reaching out. Heather closed her eyes, both to stop the tears and to to save herself the trauma of seeing the ground get nearer, before she jumped.

Angie took a gun out from her pocket, and a bullet out from the other. She remembered something from two decades ago. Before she left Heather.

"I know you collect them, so I got this made for you," Heather put a box in her hands. She smiled and opened it. Inside there was a bullet with 'Heather' engraved on it.

"Honey, it's gorgeous." Angie pulled her close with one arm, the other still holding the box, and made to kiss her. But Heather put her palms on her chest. Her voice grew solemn.

"If you ever decide to shoot yourself, I want you to shoot yourself with this. So that I will be the last thing to pass through your head." Angie stared.

"Honey, that's crazy." Heather's face broke out into a grin.

"Which is why you should never shoot yourself, you idiot. Or I'll hunt your ghost down and kill you again, you got it?" They both laughed.

Angie loaded the gun, and put the mouth of it on the side of her head. She pulled the trigger, and fell to the floor, dead even before she touched the ground. Five storey's below, a dead body of a woman lay skewered on the metal fencing.

I need to tell you

I stared at him wishfully. There was no other word to describe him. The flawlessness of his features,Gerard. He was perfect. And I wanted him so much for that very reason.

I tell myself,loving you is a sin. And yet I can't stop my heart from fluttering every time I meet your gaze. Every look you give me,was it love? Did you have the same fucked up fantasies I kept about you? Your voice,the breathy,sexy tone you had. Can I kiss you?

Fuck no. Did I just say that out loud? He looked at me,puzzled. Everyday,for a year,I had been struggling to keep that a secret. The movie,some retarded chick flick,was forgotten.

"Gerard,I love you"

I lowered my eyes. I wasn't going to look at him,not anymore. I felt a hand on my chin, lifting my face. Gerard stared into my eyes. Was it love this time? He pressed his lips to mine,and kissed me. Damn,he tasted good. I was completely melting into that gorgeous creature. Leaving my thoughts behind me,I kissed him back.

"I love you too,Frankie" he said,pulling me onto his lap. I stared at his entrancing eyes,the beautiful hazel orbs of his. Gerard gave me such a horny look that made my blood flow to my cheeks,noticeable even in the dim lighting. He was probable wondering how long it would take to the nearest motel.

"You want to get out of here? " I asked. Screw that movie.

"Only if I get to have my way with you afterwards.” he said,kissing me again.

***********

I winced as Gerard threw me onto the comfy white hotel bed and jumped on it himself. God knows what that fucking thing would endure by morning, or what Gerard was planning. I brought myself into a kneeling position and beckoned him to come closer. He did, placing his strong arms around my waist, under my jacket, and kissed me full-force, pulling my hips closer to his own. We had ordered tequila before coming up, and I could still taste it on him. I wrapped my tattooed arms over his neck, and buried my fingers in his hair, pulling him closer.


Gerard toyed with my lip piercing for a while until it bled, and then licked my lips apologetically, before pulling off my jacket, and my shirt over my head leaving marks. He was wearing a black buttoned-down shirt. I could feel muscles beneath that damned piece of cloth, and I was getting turned on. So much, I didn't bother unbuttoning anything, I just tore it apart, the plastic bodies of buttons flying across the room. My eager hands explored his torso, not leaving an inch untouched, while at the same time not breaking the kiss. I turned over so I was on top and he smirked, that annoyingly lustful smile of his.

"What do you think you're doing?" His voice was husky. I guessed all lead-singers must have been like that, lips chapped and dry from screaming on-stage, and voices always hoarse, as if they had a sore-throat. If so, then how could he manage to sound so orgasmically sexy on stage? I barely had time to answer my own question, when Gerard flipped over so he was on top, and I was left to his mercy.

He traced my collarbone with his painted finger, the black nail-polish chipping off, and then traced the same path with his tongue. I was dangerously close to moaning like a little whore, while staring into his electrifying eyes, now pools of dark chocolate. His other hand was concentrating on pinning both my wrists over my head. He shrugged off the shirt he wore, and used it to tie my hands to the bed-stand. Fuck.

He double-tied the knot, and straddled me to the bed with his hips. I couldn't move, and who knew what that gorgeous creature could do to me when he wanted to. When I wanted him to. I wanted him to ravage me, to violate every part of my body. I wanted it so much, it didn't matter if we were both guys, or if I had a girlfriend in Jersey. That was what I got.

Too Pretty To Be Real

Get off it, what was I thinking. He's my brother. I refuse, hands down, to think about him in that way. He let out a little giggle as one of the characters on TV did something really fucked up. If he got anymore animated, he probably would be a cartoon character himself.

"Ryan, I'm going to take a shower."

"Yeah, whatever". Ryan made a flapping gesture with his hand, not looking up from the TV. The credits started rolling and he picked up the remote control, before flipping through the channels. I made a threatening gesture at him that he did not see, and went to pick up my towel.

When I came back, I heard screaming. Damn, was he watching that movie again? He always got scared after watching trashy horror films and would come and annoy me in the middle of the night because he was too scared to sleep. Not that I thought that was a bad thing. I shook my head, and got into the bathroom.

I rid myself of my clothes and took a glance at the mirror. I didn't look that bad. Even after losing some weight after touring I wasn't skinny to the extent of my bones showing. Even so, me and Ryan were completely different when it came to our builds. His body was made of soft, feminine curves while mine was straight and hard. Before I could stop myself, I was thinking about his dramatic eyes, those enticing green orbs. As cheesy as it sounded, I could tell what he was feeling just by looking at them.

If there was a crease in between his eyebrows it meant he was thinking about something. If they were wide it meant he was happy. When he raised his eyebrows, he was taunting you. There was something in them that I couldn't see anywhere else. It made Ryan, Ryan. And those lips. True, they weren't the best looking ones on the planet. But what came out of them made all the difference. He could scream at you, whisper to you, or just hold a conversation and all you could focus on was the way he shifted his gaze, or gestured with his hands.

As my mental gaze got lower and lower, a call came from outside of the bathroom.

"Brendon?" I jumped.

"What?"

"Could you maybe, be a bit faster..." There it was. His annoying little girly scared voice.

"I'll be out in an hour."

"But I can't wait that long." I turned the shower on just as he finished the sentence, before calling back out to him louder than necessary.

"I can't hear you, the shower's too loud. I'll be out in an hour." I laughed at the thought of his scared face. But the thought soon morphed into something else. I might be crazy over my brother, but like any other guy, I couldn't say no to any hot girl. I definitely couldn't have said no to that slut I picked over at the club the other night. My thoughts shifted to her, and I ended up taking longer than an hour.

*************

I wrapped a towel around my waist and got out of the bathtub. The steam made it impossible to see, so I decided to get dressed in our room. Our apartment had two rooms, but sometimes one of the other band members would come over so Ryan and I shared one room. I found him sitting on his bed, hugging his knees to his chest. He looked at me as I walked in.

"What's gotten your panties in a bunch?"

"You took longer then an hour,"

"So?" I turned away from him and rummaged through my wardrobe for a clean shirt. He wretched the blanket from the foot of the bed and covered himself up to his neck in it, before turning away. So now he was mad at me. I put down the shirt, walked up to his bed, and bent over him before brushing his hair out of his eyes.

"I'm sorry Ryan, I didn't think you were that scared." He pushed my hand away and covered his face with the blanket. He would give in someday. I stood straight and went back to my shirt.

"You know you should really take off your eyelashes before going to bed."

He sat up straight now. I laughed and showed him a box that I had stolen from his make-up kit. He made a wild grasp for it but I held it away.

"Give it back to me!" Ryan stood in front of me now, "How the fuck you know I had fake eyelashes on?"

He pinned me to the wall and brought his face millimetres from mine, while his hand still did whatever it could to get a hold on the box. I half-breathed out my reply.

"I always knew. They were too pretty to be real."