Gerard Way/Frank Iero. NC-17. ~3700 words. Alcohol, drugs, watersports, sex involving all three.
If Frank concentrates, he’s pretty sure he remembers Gerard saying something like that about five minutes ago. That he liked dick, he liked Frankie’s dick, he kinda wants to get all up on it, hope that doesn’t make shit weird.
The bass pounds up from the basement through the asphalt straight into Frank’s bones. He fucking loves this shit. The noise, the stench, the booze and the chaos, he can feel it swirling through his blood and clawing at his bones. Digging in like Gerard’s fingers into his hips as he presses close, like the way Gerard’s squirming against him.
“Fuck,” Gerard says, and, “Frankie,” all slurred together. He’s beyond-redemption wasted. Even if Frank hadn’t seem him pounding back beers, the pills he washed down with them are sharp and bitter on his tongue. But Gerard’s a good guy, a really fucking stand-up guy, and it’s not like the same shit he’s got fucking him up isn’t fucking Frank up seven ways to Sunday too.
“Thought you were gonna take a leak,” Frank says, getting his hands in Gerard’s hair to shove his mouth against Frank’s neck, right where Frank’s got a sweet spot that needs some attention. Gerard gets right on it, hot, sloppy kisses and nipping teeth, not afraid to yank Frank’s sweaty shirt out of the way to get at more skin. It’s probably fucking freezing out here but hell if Frank cares. Gerard runs hot, stupidly fucking hot, and shoved up against the side of their van at quarter to two in the morning, he’s exactly where Frank wants him to be.
“Gotta,” Gerard says, shoving his hands down the back of Frank’s saggy jeans to squeeze his ass. That’s maybe more bold than Frank would’ve thought, if he’d stopped to think about this sort of thing. But he hadn’t. He’d swiped Gerard’s lighter off the table where he’d left it, shouted at the guys that he was gonna see a man about a dog, made a pit stop at the bar and then followed Gerard out into the night. Fuck if he knows where his beer got to. Gerard probably drank it between trying to suck Frank’s face off.
Frank says, “Me too”, and when Gerard groans, he chalks it up to how much Gerard likes Frank’s dick hard against his hip. If Frank concentrates, he’s pretty sure he remembers Gerard saying something like that about five minutes ago. That he liked dick, he liked Frankie’s dick, he kinda wants to get all up on it, hope that doesn’t make shit weird.
“It’s cool, Gee,” Frank says, shifting so he can really rub up against Gerard, get a bit of rhythm going with Gerard’s nails scratching his ass trying to haul him closer. “I like yours too. I bet I’m gonna love yours.”
“Love my what,” Gerard asks, planting a sloppy kiss to the hinge of Frank’s jaw before angling in for his mouth. “Oh, yeah– yeah! Your dick, yeah.”
“Your dick.” Untangling his hand from Gerard’s sweaty hair, Frank shoves it between them, groping along Gerard’s stomach to his groin. He gets a little distracted along the way, not even sure what the fuck it is about the softness of Gerard’s belly over tight, trembling muscles that gets him going so hard, but willing enough to work with it. Maybe it’s because they live in a motherfucking van and Frank’s seen way too much of everybody, except Gerard. For a dude who wears jeans so tight Frank knows exactly how much bigger one of his nuts is than the other one, there’s almost zero bare skin in the equation. It’s like a national fucking drought on Gerard-skin. And he fucking wants some.
“Pretty fucking weird,” Gerard’s saying, and Frank stops, wondering what the fuck he missed. “You, like, you play it really fucking close to the chest, Frankie,” he goes on, his pupils dark and blown in the light from the street, his cheeks flushed, shiny. “I couldn’t tell.”
“You didn’t fucking ask,” Frank says, thinking he’s caught up. “You never fucking said you wanted to fucking blow me in an alley!”
“Not an alley,” Gerard mumbles, his face tucked against Frank’s neck, his breaths hot-cool-hot. “In the van. While you were–” he pauses, bites, and makes a drunk, delighted noise when Frank jerks against him “–while you were sleeping. So I could feel you get hard. And feel your dick when it’s soft, ’cause I’ve seen it before, Frankie, and I like it, I wanted to touch it. I wanna touch it, lemme touch it?”
Frank can’t get his belt undone fast enough. “Any fucking time you want.”
“But you’re hard,” Gerard says, blinking at him like this is a problem or something.
“Yeah I’m fucking hard,” Frank shouts, “you’re fucking making out with me, of course I’m hard!” He grabs Gerard’s hand and shoves it down his shorts. “Fucking jerk me off if you want it soft, fucking freak.”
Gerard grins at him, flipping his hand over to curl it nice and tight around Frank’s dick. “I got you hard,” he says, like he doesn’t have fucking confirmation right there in his grip. “I’d be so hard for you right now too, Frankie, if I wasn’t so fucked. Man, I am fucked.”
“Hell yeah, you are.” Palming the side of Gerard’s face, Frank turns it toward the light. Just like with Gerard’s soft little belly, Frank wouldn’t be able to say what it is about his face that’s so great. It’s just great. It’s really fucking great. Frank licks it and Gerard giggles, and tugs hard on his cock. Frank’s fucking knees buckle.
“Oof,” hits Frank in the face on a beer-scented gust. “C-careful, Frankie. I gotta, still gotta piss.”
Frank says he’s sorry by groping Gerard’s junk. It takes him a second to figure out for sure that it’s actually Gerard’s junk, because Gerard wasn’t kidding–he’s not hard. The most he’s got going on is a semi, and even that’s pretty sad. Frank backs off a bit, staring down past his open jeans, Gerard’s hand disappearing inside them, to squint at Gerard’s crotch.
“It’s not you,” Gerard says very seriously, “it’s me.”
Frank fucking cracks up.
“No, no,” Gerard says, free hand flailing wildly, “no, I mean it! I took, I took– I don’t even fucking know what, but I’m really fucking turned on right now, okay? I promise. I wish I could get it up. I’d be so hard it’d hurt. Fuck, it kinda hurts anyway.”
Giggling through every other word, Frank says, “It’s cause you gotta pee, dude.”
Frank slides his hand up to push against Gerard’s belly, imagining the tension there isn’t muscle. Gerard’s eyes go flying-saucer wide. “You gotta pee,” he repeats.
Groaning, Gerard lets his forehead fall against Frank’s shoulder. “Fuck, I do.” He drags in a shuddering breath. “I really fucking do.” And he does, so bad he’s shaking with it, but he drags Frank back in and kisses him. Gerard kissing is like Gerard doing anything he loves–he throws everything he’s got into it, mind and body. Literally, his whole fucking body, a leg hooked around Frank’s, one hand hot and damp clutching at Frank’s shoulder, the other on Frank’s dick sorta absently jacking him off-rhythm and shitty. Frank’s not so sure that’s something to bitch about, because Gerard is fucking good with his mouth. Like, to him, kissing is sex. Especially when Gerard gets hold of his hair to keep him still and starts fucking his mouth with his tongue. It’s kinda gross in this really amazingly dirty way. Frank’s totally feeling it.
“I saw you,” Gerard confesses around their kisses. “At that place with the, the guy’s house, last week? I think it was last week. With the fucking ark in the back.” Frank nods, not really paying attention. Gerard sometimes does this thing where he, like, he licks the corner of Frank’s mouth, his tongue sliding in and down along Frank’s lip, and Frank’s busy trying to figure out how that sequence of events makes him fucking leak all over Gerard’s stupid hand. “You know, in the bathroom?”
Since Frank expected that last part to be more like when you jerked off behind the couch, because that was absolutely something he did, the whole bathroom bit throws him off. Why the fuck Gerard keeps wanting to have a fucking conversation right now is totally beyond him. “Like, in the shower?”
“No,” Gerard says, then, “I mean, yeah, after. But before.” Gerard’s fingers are idly rubbing at the crown of Frank’s cock and it’s driving him crazy. He shifts and thrusts a bit, hoping to get Gerard back on track. “In the mirror. Um, above the toilet.”
“Mirror?” Frank echoes, trying to catch Gerard’s bottom lip between his teeth. It looks all red and swollen and he wants to taste it. “Yeah, sure. Right. Okay?”
Gerard leans back. “Okay?”
“Yeah,” Frank says, “Okay, whatever, I don’t care. Your hand is on my dick.”
Glancing down like he wants to make sure, Gerard smiles. Not just any old smile either, or like the one he gets when Mikey jumps in with a suggestion for the bridge, or even his new-lyrics-to-blow-your-mind smile. This big, beautiful smile that Frank’s never seen before and he kinda wants to take a picture of right the fuck now. If Gerard’s hand wasn’t actually on his dick, he’s pretty sure he’d go for a camera.
“You’re so fucking sweet, Frankie,” Gerard says, which sounds kinda out of line with a drunk, dirty fuck up against the van, but whatever, Gerard’s never been a toe-the-line kinda guy. Letting go of Frank’s cock, he angles his hips so they’re pressed flush to Frank’s, his shoulders braced against the van, and sighs happily against Frank’s mouth. “Kiss me, okay?”
While he’d really fucking like to get off sometime soon, Frank figures why the fuck not and goes for it. Once they work through whatever the hell it is going on in Gerard’s head, he’s sure Gerard will get back to getting him off. Hell, maybe if he asks, Gerard’ll blow him. Gerard likes using his mouth, and he likes Frank’s dick, he already said so. Frank should ask. He’s definitely going to ask.
Letting out a low noise, Gerard tilts his head and invites Frank to kiss him deeper, and Frank really gets in there, makes it dirty and wet, pure fucking pornography with their damn clothes still on. So Frank keeps kissing him, and thinks about getting him naked, about licking his soft white belly and the insides of his thighs, about touching his cock and making him come and seeing all the stupid, gorgeous faces he makes. And the noises, fuck, the noises, just like the ones he’s making now, soft and choked low in his throat, then this long kinda whispering moan, with a hitch right in the middle that Frank wants to record for their next song just so he can play it over and over and fucking over again. And he’s still not really hard but he’s kinda squirming really hard right up against Frank, their clothes getting all twisted up and shoved aside until the denim of his jeans is rough against Frank’s belly and Frank’s dick is half out of his shorts.
Breaking away, Gerard looks down again, says, “Oh god, oh– fuck,” and closes his eyes on the sweetest, most fucking illegal sound ever. Frank wants to record that, except if anybody else ever heard it, he’d have to fucking kill them. It’s seriously fucking doing it for him, and coupled with the slack-jawed bliss on Gerard’s face, it’s like Gerard’s come up with a Frank-specific double-whammy, so Frank’s not at all surprised when he feels a hot wet rush seep into his shorts. He’s always been kind of a leaker when he got really turned on. Saved on lube, so whatever.
That’s way more than a little precome, though. Frank looks down, curious, because it didn’t feel like he came. Close, sure. Give him a little bit of friction and he’s there. His grey shorts are looking a little more like black in the shadows, so he squints, mumbles, “What the fuck?” and doesn’t really protest when Gerard goes to kiss him again. Until he figures out that the slow, spreading warmth isn’t really stopping.
“Oh my god,” he says. Gerard whines quietly and tries to kiss him again, missing and going for his throat instead. Heat blossoms beneath Gerard’s lips. “Are you– fuck, Gerard, what the–”
“Frankie,” Gerard moans, clutching at him.
“Are you fucking peeing on me?”
Gerard’s eyelashes flutter against Frank’s cheek. “Yeah,” he breathes, hiding his face. But he doesn’t let Frank go, and he doesn’t stop. “Oh fuck, Frankie. It feels so good.”
Frank stands there with Gerard burrowing in a close as he can fucking physically get, fucking pissing on him, and stares at the single visible bight red sliver of Gerard’s face. “You’re pissing on me,” he repeats.
Gerard’s whole body shudders. “I couldn’t, I couldn’t hold it.”
“What?” Grabbing Gerard by the shoulders, Frank shoves him against the van. The crotch of his jeans is soaked and he can’t fucking think. “Fucking what?”
Gerard bites his lip, his gaze sliding sluggishly sideways. “I– You said you didn’t care. I had to.”
“Look at me, motherfucker,” Frank says, and Gerard sucks in a hissing breath, the flush on his face going all the way down his throat into the stretched-out collar of his shirt. “Look at that shit.”
Obediently, Gerard looks down. He groans again, helplessly, and cups the front of Frank’s stained jeans. “You’re still hard,” he whispers.
There is way more going on here than Frank signed up for. He wracks his memory trying to remember what the fuck he did in that dude’s bathroom that made Gerard think he was into getting fucking pissed on, and Gerard just stands there, watching, and waiting, and looking really fucking, like, fucking blissful. Through the haze of booze and drugs and sex, something clicks in Frank’s brain. It wasn’t when Frank was in the bathroom, it was when Gerard was.
“I couldn’t hold it anymore, Frankie,” Gerard says, his thumb rubbing in tiny circles on Frank’s cock still stuck in his wet clothes, not like he’s doing it on purpose but like Frank’s there, and he’s there, and he’s gotta touch. “I tried. I was holding it all night. You saw me.”
“Y-yeah. Yeah, I saw you.” Frank saw him wriggle around a little in the booth when his attention wandered from some debate Mikey and Ray were having over Tiddlywinks and the development of spatial judgement in kids or what the fuck ever, and chalked it up to Gerard’s usual fidgeting. Frank saw him cross his legs, uncross them and lean over the table, yelling something at somebody on the other side of the room. Saw him cross them again, sit back, sit up, slump sideways, shoot Frank this slanted little grin. Frank saw all of that, and he didn’t fucking know.
But Gerard did.
“I didn’t mean to pee on you,” Gerard says, and this time when he strokes Frank’s dick, it’s definitely deliberate. “I didn’t think that’s what you were into. I didn’t think you were into me, either. I mean, I don’t know. I guess you are. I should’ve asked. I thought it was just, y’know. Just this.”
Frank really doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t, but he asks, “This?” anyway.
“Watching me,” Gerard says. “I said I had to take a leak and you followed me, Frankie. You watched me hold it all fucking night for you and then you fucking followed me out here, and I’m sorry I couldn’t hold it, I was trying, but I had to go so bad and you were right fucking here and I didn’t want to let you go.”
Frank sucks in a breath, not sure what the hell he’s gonna say, but Gerard barrels on, still talking, he never stops fucking talking, “You always fucking make me hold it when you’re driving. You flew right past that stop a couple weeks ago, you fucking made me piss on the side of the road. And you fucking sleep on me in the van when you know I’m gonna have to piss like a motherfucker in the morning and you hold me down and you make me fucking wait, Frankie.”
Frank says, “Shit,” with as much feeling as he can muster with Gerard’s hand somehow suddenly inside his shorts, wrapped around his bare, wet dick. It doesn’t feel like enough, so he tries again, and this time it gets stuck in his throat.
“I don’t care.” Gerard pushes Frank’s ruined clothes out of the way, cupping his junk to haul the whole works out into the light. “I think I like it. I’m pretty sure I like it? I wanted to do it.” He spits, the noise really fucking filthy in the half-empty lot, and takes Frank’s cock in firm overhand grip with his thumb pressing in under the ridge like maybe he’s been watching too. “I jerk off sometimes when I gotta go, thinking about you doing it that way. To yourself, doing that to yourself.” Somehow, he’s got his hand on Frank’s dick and he’s jerking Frank off in this no-nonsense, gonna-make-you-come way, and when he glances up, he manages to look fucking shy. “And to me.”
Frank swallows a couple times, wets his lips, finally says, “I like it,” like it’s this big revelation because it fucking is and he’s so gonna ignore the searing heat that flows up his neck. Gerard doesn’t care. Gerard likes it. Gerard fucking did it for him without even knowing for sure Frank wanted it, and to think of Gerard putting himself out there like that, risking it with everybody else around, that seriously fucking turns Frank on. If Gerard’s got the balls to do that shit, then Frank fucking owes it to him to admit it. “You, uh, shit.” Gerard gives him a rough tug, and he squeezes his eyes shut, slapping a hand on the van to prop himself up. “You know that time you kept grabbing yourself on stage, right? When you were playing it up as part of the show but you had to piss so bad you couldn’t, like, not do it? And after, when you fucking barrelled straight into me at the gas station and took a leak staring right at me telling me how fucking good it felt to finally let go?”
“Yeah?” Gerard says, low and dirty and so fucking sexy. Probably seriously fucking turned on ’cause now Frank’s the one who can’t stop fucking babbling.
“I jerked off thinking about you losing it on stage. Just, like, not all the way, but I saw– When you hauled your dick out–” Frank slams the side of his fist into the van. “Fuck, you’re so fucking good, I’m gonna come.”
“Not yet,” Gerard says, not slowing down so he’s not really helping, “tell me what you saw, Frankie. Tell me, please.”
Fuck if Frank’s gonna be able to say no to Gerard now. “I thought maybe some of the sweat on your shorts wasn’t sweat at all and you pissed yourself a little up there and you could feel the whole time, and I wanted to touch it and ask and fuck, see what you’d do, fuck, fuck, Gerard, Gee–”
“It wasn’t,” Gerard says in a rush. “I did, Frankie, I couldn’t hold it then, either, come on, Frankie, I wanna see you come. I’ll fucking let you hold me down until I’m begging to go if you want, just let me see you come.”
Frank’s already fucking there, losing it with Gerard babbling pure filth in his ear, promising him anything and everything he wants, as if Frank ever had a fucking clue what he really wanted. Of course not; it takes fucking Gerard in an old dirt lot pissing on him with a hand down his pants for him to figure out what the fuck he wants and how the fuck he’s gonna get it. It takes Gerard’s mouth wet and sloppy on his, Gerard’s hands all over him, Gerard Way’s fucking smile shy and open and half hidden by shadows, but there, for him.
“Fuck you,” Frank groans, and collapses against Gerard, mouth wide open trying to breathe as orgasm pulses through him. By the time it’s over, he feels like he went three hours in the pit, aching straight to his bones but feeling good, great, like he’s fucking flying.
“Go on, Frankie.” Gerard slowly stops stroking, loosening his grip until he’s cradling Frank’s sticky cock in his hand. “I got it. You just go.”
“Shit.” Frank laughs a little, turning his head so his sweaty cheek is pressed against Gerard’s. “Fuck, I don’t. Gerard.”
“Baby,” Gerard says softly, and Frank laughs harder; forget the rest of it, his life is so fucking surreal if Gerard is out here calling him baby. “Please. Just fucking go.”
Letting his laughter peter out, Frank sucks in a shaky breath. Gerard sounds like he really wants it. Like, more than he wanted Frank to come, he wants this strange fucking– Not making them even, because fuck that, but he wants Frank’s trust, the intimacy of it, and if that isn’t the most fucked up thing that’s ever happened to Frank in a motherfucking parking lot, he doesn’t know what the hell is. And even if Frank kinda wants that too, he’s pretty sure it’s not gonna happen. Sure, he’s not hard anymore, but he’s outside with his pants down and Gerard’s holding his fucking dick so he can take a leak. Talk about fucking performance anxiety.
The exact moment Frank’s ready to call it quits, the niggling urge that had been pushed way, way, way back makes an appearance in a tiny trickle. Frank tries not to think about how Gerard’s watching, but that just makes him want to think about it more, so he opens his eyes and stares straight at Gerard’s hand on him, aiming the steady, thin stream of piss right between his boots. Heady relief swims up and the stream gets stronger for a couple seconds, then Frank’s laughing, fucking giggling, loopy as all get out.
“Told you,” Gerard says, waiting until Frank’s done to give him a little shake and tuck him back in his wet shorts. Frank wrinkles his nose. “It feels really fucking good.”
“These jeans really fucking don’t.”
Gerard shakes hair out of his face and grins. “So don’t make me wait so long next time.”
Next time. Motherfucker.