Gerard Way/Frank Iero. NC-17. ~6100 words. Consensual alien abduction, mood-altering spit, excessive amounts of spunk, and a complete lack of shame. Sequel to Got another dime for your telephone, aka, Gerard Way: Sex Alien.
“I mean,” Gerard rambles on, “how was I supposed to tell him? What was I supposed to tell him? ‘Hi, sweetheart, I’m here to steal you, how about a kiss’?”
Frank wakes up with a funky taste in his mouth and an even funkier one in his nose. He paws clumsily at his face as bits and pieces of last night filter through his soggy brain. There was weed, lots of weed, his weed, and somebody else’s booze. Cautiously, he cracks open an eye. Wherever he is, it’s dim, cluttered, and smells kinda musty, closed-in like a basement. The funk is coming mostly from the thin sheet he’s tangled up in, a little from him, and he’s missing his shirt, his Chucks, and one sock. Awesome. He’s totally passed out in some dude’s bed again.
Grunting shallowly, he heaves upright. The bed slides to the right, he slides to the left. Clutching at the edge of the mattress, he waits for the piles of crap scattered like mines around the bed to quit swimming in and out of focus. His belly’s crusty above the open fly of his jeans. So is his face. The only thing that’s aching is his head, so he didn’t get too crazy, just a couple of handjobs, maybe a blow. Waking up alone in his own bed would’ve been better than doing the same in a hook-up’s, but at least this way he can find his shit and get the fuck gone. Morning-after sex has never really been his style, and if the round the night before was so unremarkable it’s barely clinging to his memory, there’s no way he wants an encore.
Using the sliver of light leaking in from somewhere, he picks gingerly through all the shit spewed everywhere. He comes up with half a dozen shirts that totally smell like something he could’ve been wearing last night but aren’t, some weird shit that might be fucking craft supplies or sex toys, and some even weirder shit that he’s not even gonna speculate about. He’s gonna let the sock go, but he wants his shirt and his fucking shoes. Kicking at the crap that’s toppled over in front of the door, holding it shut, he ploughs into the hallway.
And stops. And stares.
No fucking way.
The walls are this dirty, rust-red colour, almost black in patches. He reaches out to touch an exposed beam; it’s cold, smooth and pebbled by turns, and his fingertips come away grungy. Beneath his feet, the floor is cold and smooth, too, and fractionally cleaner, a well-worn path cut straight down the middle, arrowing into the room he woke up in. Scrubbing his hand on his jeans, he glances back over his shoulder. Still looks kinda like a bedroom, but now he can see there are no windows, no closet, no other doors. Just a big, sprawling space crammed with shit.
None of this looks anything like he’d imagined, back when he used to wonder where Gerard came from, where he disappeared to. But it fits. It could be. Throat dry, he calls out, “Gee?” His voice bounces back at him as rough and rusty as the walls. “Gerard?”
Silence. Dead, total silence. Taking a few quick, shallow breaths, he pushes away from the door. He keeps a hand light on the wall as he follows the path down the hallway, around a corner and to a split. Left looks the same as right. “Gerard?” he tries again.
When nobody answers, he heads left. This hall ends in a set of rickety metal stairs twisting upwards, like in a old warehouse. Grabbing onto the pole in the middle, other hand on the railing, he heads up. At the top, the first thing he sees are more grungy metal walls, then more shit scattered all over any halfway horizontal surface, and then beyond that, blackness. Miles and miles and miles of star-speckled nothing.
It happened. He didn’t dream it; Gerard came back.
Gerard abducted him.
“Holy fucking shit,” he croaks.
“Why are you even– No, never mind,” sighs an unfamiliar voice. “He’s up here.” There’s a pause, one where Frank thinks maybe this guy’s talking to him, and then, “I know.” Another pause. “I know.” A longer pause, and then again, in the same bored, indifferent tone, “I know. Come get him.”
“Hey,” Frank grunts, scowling. He climbs up the last few steps. There’s a guy in a chair behind a huge bank of controls, facing the window, his back to Frank. “I’m standing right fucking here, dude.”
“I know,” says the guy again, and swivels around. He’s got slicked-back blond hair, deep-set eyes, and a quirk at the corner of his mouth that matches the quirk of his eyebrow. “I told Gerard you’d wake up soon.”
At the name, Frank’s fist wants to unclench from the railing. Stubbornly, he hangs on. “You’re Mikey.”
The guy gives a shallow nod. “Hi, Frank.”
I would have taken you that night, Gerard said. Mikey wouldn’t let me.
Sweet hot noise buzzes through Frank’s head. “Motherfucker,” he wheezes, lurching forward, knuckles white and fucking itching.
“Frank, no!” Hands scrabble at Frank’s shoulders from behind, grab onto his arms and yank. He stumbles, snarling, the need to hurt caught like something tangible in his throat, sour and hot. Six fucking years. They’re teetering at the top of the stairs, no hands free to catch the railing if they fall, and he doesn’t give a shit. Six fucking years.
“I know, Frankie,” Gerard says, holding tight. Frank bucks and twists, but Gerard’s strong, as strong as Frank remembers, keeping Frank pinned as easily now as he had back when Frank was young and drunk and pleasure-dazed, half out of his mind with Gerard going down on him. “I’m so sorry, Frankie, I told you I’m sorry, so fucking sorry. He was only looking out for me. He knew I wouldn’t let you go. I had to wait.”
“Six fucking years!” Frank snarls, tangling his hand up in Gerard’s hair, yanking hard. Gerard makes a satisfyingly sharp noise of pain, giving Frank just enough room to struggle around, fist up a thicker, more solid handful. “You ever fucking think maybe I wanted to come? That I spent my whole fucking life waiting for you to show up, didn’t even know it until you did, and you fucking left me, made me wait all over again?” He’s got Gerard’s head pulled back, throat stretched out long and pale and vulnerable, and Gerard’s still hanging on. Gerard’s eyes are all screwed up but his mouth’s slack and open, breaths coming quick, short, and Frank doesn’t even fucking know what he’s saying, just that he’s gotta say it. It’s all gonna come spewing out of him whether he wants it to or not. He’s a little more steady when he opens his mouth again, which is kind of a trip while he’s still burning up inside. “Except I knew this time, I fucking knew. You showed me what the fuck I was waiting for. And you left and didn’t come back and I thought I was never gonna get it again.”
Gerard whines, fucking whines, and tears out of Frank’s grip. His mouth is hot and sloppy, teeth scraping Frank’s lips as he grabs at Frank’s face, palms sweaty, fingers skidding up into Frank’s hair, twisting tight. It’s deep and dirty for a few frantic seconds, then the kiss slows, stays just as deep, just as dirty, but turns thorough, deliberate, like the sleep-heavy taste lingering in Frank’s mouth is something to savour.
“Humans,” Gerard says wonderingly, his lips trembling against Frank’s as he pulls back a bit, breathes in. He says, “Frankie,” in exactly the same way and comes in again, tongue soft and slick and sweet. A mellow, vaguely metallic taste spreads through Frank’s mouth. At first, it only tingles, then starts to thrum. It pitches to a sudden buzz at the slow, lingering slide of Gerard’s tongue against his, and Gerard pulls back again, murmurs, “Sorry, I’m sorry. Don’t pass out again. I’ll go fucking crazy if I can’t touch you right now.”
“Not gonna,” Frank says, slurring the edges, “not gonna, fuck,” and he’s sliding through Gerard’s arms to the floor in a slow, controlled fall. He ends up slumped over on his knees, forehead propped on Gerard’s thigh, while Gerard pets his hair and his face and whispers steady, quiet instructions like, “Breathe, baby. That’s it. Nice and slow. Deep. Is there enough oxygen in here for him?”
“Optimum levels,” says Mikey. Frank’s hands try to twitch into fists, but his body’s heavy, lax. Gerard’s the only thing holding him up. “You can’t kiss him like that yet, Gee. His body can’t take it.”
“I know, fuck, I know.” Gerard’s fingers card slowly through Frank’s sweaty hair. “He’s so angry at me. What if I really fucked it up? What if he doesn’t want to stay?” A thumb traces the shell of Frank’s ear, sends a muted shiver rippling down his spine. He tries to look up, he wants to see Gerard’s face, but his head weighs a fucking ton. “Fuck, he’s pretty.”
“Gerard,” Mikey says, drawing it out sadly. “Were you even listening to him?”
Another body presses close to Frank’s back. He twitches and Gerard says, “Easy, Frankie. He’s just gonna help me get you up.” There are hands, and arms, and Frank blinks hard, trying to figure out which ones belong to Mikey, to Gerard, to himself. “Of course I was fucking listening to him. He’s pissed.”
“At me for keeping you from him, and you for letting me do it.” The floor lurches away. It takes Frank a couple seconds to figure out that it’s not coming back. He’s got one arm around Gerard’s shoulders, one around Mikey’s, and they’re carrying him down the stairs like he weighs about as much as a feather. “Do you really think he would’ve come with you if he wasn’t willing to get the fuck over it?”
“Quit being so fucking logical,” Gerard grumbles. “You weren’t there. I didn’t actually get around to telling him anything.”
“Pretty sure he knows the important parts already.”
“I mean,” Gerard rambles on, “how was I supposed to tell him? What was I supposed to tell him? ‘Hi, sweetheart, I’m here to steal you, how about a kiss’?”
A low noise rumbles deep in Frank’s chest. Sounds like a fucking stellar line to him.
“See?” says Mikey, and Gerard says, “Shut up.”
A handful of seconds later, the world tilts sideways again. Frank sinks gratefully into the soft funk of the bed he woke up in, concentrating hard on staying conscious. The slight wobble of the mattress as Gerard settles down beside him makes him want to pass out, but he squeezes his eyes shut and breathes carefully through the feeling, focusing on the slow drag of Gerard’s hand down his arm, along his side. Quietly, Gerard says, “Isn’t he amazing?”
“He’s great, Gee. Do you want me to get him something to help metabolize your spit?”
“Do you think he needs it?”
There’s a soft shuffling noise, then the bed dips again. Warm fingers settle lightly on Frank’s throat. “Probably not,” Mikey says, sounding surprised. Frank can’t help a smirk. Fuck you, Mikey. He’s totally got this alien thing handled. “Though if you’re going to jerk him off again, try not to kiss him, or he’s going to pass out before he comes.”
“Oh Jesus,” Frank groans, shoulders hunching. Making out with Gerard had gotten him halfway there, and whatever the fuck Gerard’s saliva does to him, it sure as hell isn’t a boner kill. Mikey checking his pulse and giving Gerard the fucking Talk should be, but Gerard’s hands are still on him, he can still taste Gerard’s tongue in his mouth, and his dick doesn’t care that they’ve got an audience.
“Oh fuck,” Gerard replies. His hand on Frank’s hip clenches tight. “Smell that?”
“I can see it.” The bed wobbles one more time, then there’s the heavy metallic groan of hinges. From a long way off, Mikey says, “Just be careful with him, okay? Remember that he’s human.”
“Couldn’t forget it, even when I wanted to,” says Gerard, his lips skimming Frank’s jaw. “I never forgot you, Frankie. I tasted you for weeks after. Months. When you started to fade, I thought I was gonna cry.”
“Shoulda come back,” Frank says. “Fucker.”
“I did,” Gerard says, and presses his mouth, clamped carefully shut, hard against Frank’s for a long moment. “I watched you. I wanted you so much. Tell me you get it, Frankie. Why I had to wait.”
Talking is rough, but if Frank runs the words through his head first, really focuses on getting his lips and tongue to form them, he can do it. It doesn’t help that talking is the last fucking thing he wants to do. Gerard’s so close, so warm. All that pale, perfect skin is right there for him to touch, if he could figure out how to get his hands to deal with Gerard’s clothes. “Don’t get it,” Frank finally says, his fingertips stroking uselessly down Gerard’s chest, unable to find a zipper or buttons or anything. “Didn’t want to wait.”
Gerard groans and pushes Frank’s hands away. Frank slurs a curse at him, making him laugh unsteadily. “You do want me to take off my shirt, though, right?”
“Yes,” Frank hisses, the force of it surprising him into opening his eyes. “Yeah. Take your clothes off.”
Gerard’s shirt gets shrugged aside faster than Frank probably could have managed even if his blood wasn’t singing with the chemical hit of Gerard’s kisses, and then Gerard’s hiking his hips up, skinning his pants down. Frank fumbles him in close before he’s done kicking them off and groans at the pliant give of his flesh, needing to dig his fingers in to feel muscle tense over solid bone. “Fuck,” Frank says, grabbing at his thigh when he hitches his leg up on Frank’s hip, squeezing it hard. He wonders if Gerard can bruise. “Fuck, you feel so fucking good.”
“Keep going,” Gerard says, groping Frank’s ass through his sagging jeans. He pushes at them irritably, getting his hand inside, palming a cheek. “Tell me what you want. You can have it. I’ll give you anything you want, anything.”
Somehow, Frank’s up on one elbow, staring down at Gerard sprawled out beneath him, bright red hair–red like cherries, like apples, like filthy back-alley neon, how did he ever forget–spilled across the pillow. He doesn’t realise he’s gonna say, “I don’t want to go back,” before it’s out of his mouth.
“You can’t,” Gerard says, as if he’s already forgotten what he said to Mikey. Or like he thinks Frank didn’t hear, doesn’t know that if he asked, if Frank meant it, Gerard would let him go.
Gerard was right. He’s never gonna ask.
He’s had a long, long time to think about that night. To imagine all the stuff he would’ve done differently if he’d known it was gonna be a one-time thing. Getting his hands on Gerard shot to the top of the list after about a week, and hasn’t lost its spot yet.
Naked, Gerard’s wiry and sleek in places, surprisingly, gorgeously soft in others, and all Frank really wants to do is grab him, fuck the frustration and desperation and everything, everything, Frank suffered for all those years into him. He wants Gerard wrecked, in pieces, and then he wants to put him back together again, bit by bit. “Anytime,” he says, gentling his hands, “anytime, you could have. I would have.” Gerard makes a soft distressed noise, then another, a different one, somehow as sweet, as Frank curls a hand around his cock, stroking it too slow and loose. “I said yes, right? When I kissed you last night. That was yes. It was always yes, you didn’t have to wait.”
“But I did,” Gerard groans, his stomach tightening, hips pushing uselessly into Frank’s slack hand. “I dreamed about stealing you right out of your fucking bed. I wanted to keep you just like you were. I wanted you high on me and hard for me all the time, fuck, you smell so good, I want you in a total fucking mess and fucked out of your mind and mine. I had to wait, Frankie, please,” he says, miserably, “please stop teasing me.”
Gerard’s stronger than he is. Faster, too. There’s no way Frank’s the one in control here. But Gerard’s waiting for him, begging him, unashamed. Honestly unashamed even, not revelling in it, getting off on it, but the total absence of shame. It’s so fucking hot it hurts.
But it doesn’t hurt enough.
“Should’ve done it,” Frank says, tightening his hand into a fist, Gerard’s shocked moan so grateful and then so frustrated when all Frank does is hold him, “you should have fucking done it.”
Gerard’s eyes blink open, focused briefly on the ceiling before dropping to Frank. His gaze is dark, heat-hazy. When he surges up, snarls, “Fuck you,” Frank’s got maybe three seconds to react. He wastes every single one of them on fuck, fuck, fuck, like the tick of a clock. He’s laid out flat with Gerard on top of him, clawing at his jeans, on four. “I fucking did it now, okay? You don’t even– You’re not even– Don’t fucking tell me it was a waste, it wasn’t a waste, I waited and now you’re whatever stupid fucking arbitrary age you gotta be for me to have you and I’ve got you, fuck your fucking jeans!”
“Fuck your fucking spaceship!” Frank yells back, yanks Gerard’s hands away, and flops around kicking his way out of his fucking jeans on his own. Dealing with his shorts is easy. “There! Fucking jerk me off, asshole!”
“Shit,” Gerard says, up on his knees with a hand stuck in his hair, like he was in the middle of shoving it out of his face and just… stopped. “Shit. Oh fuck.” He swallows hard, his eyes showing white all the way around. “I think I forgot. How the fuck did I forget?”
Frank stares at him. “You fucking forgot how to jerk off?”
Flapping a hand wildly, Gerard says, “No. No, no no no. I forgot–” He pauses, wetting his lips. Frank gets hit hard with the urge to kiss him. He looks so much now like the weirdo dude who dropped out of the sky six years ago. But more than Frank wants to kiss him, he wants to not fucking pass out this time. He’s not sure if he’s ever gonna be able to sleep again. Gerard’s always gone when he wakes up. “Do you remember?” Gerard asks. “When, after I kissed you, when you were on your bed.”
That’s not really specific. Frank scrunches up his face, about to remind Gerard that it all happened on his bed, and then it hits him. After Gerard got him high. When Gerard pushed him down.
“I didn’t,” Frank starts, and has to stop, breathe for a minute. Some of it was instinct back then. Most of it was an unmonitored internet connection. He spread his legs because Gerard touched him, kissed him, crawled on top of him, and he wanted Gerard there, heavy and solid and real. “Maybe I didn’t know exactly what the fuck I was asking for,” he’s willing to admit, “but it felt good. It felt like what I wanted.”
One side of Gerard’s mouth hooks up. “You just got through telling me you didn’t know what you wanted.”
“I had some ideas.” Pushing tangled sheets out of the way, Frank stretches out on his back, arms above his head. Easy, relaxed. He’s totally got this. “You were doing a pretty good job showing me.”
Gerard says his name again, softly wondering, maybe kinda reverent. It sends another one of those crazy-good shivers zipping up and down Frank’s spine. It clashes weirdly with the nervous flutter in his stomach, because yeah, he’s been around the block, all over town, but–
“I know you haven’t,” Gerard says.
All those tingling nerves explode in a hot rush. Frank’s got a good poker face, though. He keeps it together, keeps it steady. Alien or not, dude’s not a fucking mind-reader. That’s bullshit.
Grinning a bit, Gerard shakes his head. “I told you. I watched.” He drops forward onto the palms of his hands, caging Frank in. “I watched you a lot. I liked to pretend you were waiting for me.”
Frank hikes up an eyebrow and shrugs. He wasn’t. His hook-ups were short, sweet. Dicks got hauled out, hands and mouths got to work. If fingers got involved, if he enjoyed it but didn’t really wanna go there, it was no big deal. Nobody cared.
“You were,” Gerard whispers. He’s rocking slightly, tip of his dick dragging wetly against Frank’s thigh, his hip, skidding across his belly. Lip caught in his teeth, he slumps closer, shifting and grinding and touching Frank’s face like he wants to make sure what he’s seeing is actually there. “You–” His shoulders hunch, head dropping. He’s really fucking going for it, breathing hard and fast, shuddering when Frank’s hands skim down his back, settle on his ass to feel him shift and flex and fuck. “Fuck, fuck, you waited for me, Frankie. You wanted it to be me, all those people, and you, you want me, shit, shit, fuck.”
Gerard’s voice cuts out with a hiss. His eyes are scrunched closed and his mouth is all twisted shut, and Frank can feel the throb of his dick, the hot, wet spill as he comes. All the times Frank’s imagined it, when he’s watched somebody lose it and tried to picture Gerard’s face instead, none of it was even close. It’s ridiculous and heart-stopping and when Gerard’s eyes slowly blink open, when he nuzzles into the hand Frank can’t remember laying against his cheek, he can’t believe it’s over already.
Then Gerard’s hips give a tiny little kick. Frank glances down at the mess on his belly, at Gerard’s hard cock pushing through it, getting slicker, wetter. Gerard carefully pushes up, sits back on his knees between Frank’s sprawled legs, and curls a hand around his dick, stroking it with a casual, definite purpose.
“You still haven’t told me what you want,” Gerard says. “I’d love to suck you again, but Mikey’s right. We gotta be careful.”
“Quit talking about Mikey,” Frank says absently. He leans up on his elbow, squinting at Gerard’s cock. Gerard grins like he thinks Frank’s enjoying the show–which he is, totally, Gerard’s got gorgeous hands, long, slim fingers, and his dick is big and thick and smooth. The view’s great. But– “Are you still fucking hard?”
“Yeah,” Gerard says, on a happy little sigh. “Why, you wanna jerk me off? Because you can, absolutely.” He drops his hand. “Go for it.”
A lot more tentatively than Frank would like, he reaches out. Aside from being a little messier, Gerard’s cock feels exactly the same. “You don’t,” he says, words catching in his dry throat. “You can keep it up?”
Gerard’s grin is quick and vicious. “You like that?”
“Fuck yeah, I like it, but.” Alien. They’re on a motherfucking spaceship. Frank gets high on Gerard’s spit. Even with how human Gerard looks and feels, how the fuck did Frank manage to forget that he’s a fucking alien? “How long?”
“I’m mid-cycle, so not long,” Gerard says apologetically. “A couple of hours.”
Frank’s eyes go wide. Hours. How many times can an alien come in a couple of hours?
“I’ll hit my heat by, um,” Gerard bites his lip, eyelashes fluttering. Scooting closer, Frank flicks his thumb over Gerard’s slit again. That move usually just feels ticklish to him, but Gerard makes a noise like he really, really likes it. “Thursday! Yeah. Should be Thursday. Your calendar is really inaccurate, you know.”
Busy shifting around so he can rest his head on Gerard’s thigh, really get in close–Frank kinda wants to suck him, because if alien spit gets him high, he can’t wait to see what jizz does to him, but not passing out is still the plan here–it takes Frank a few seconds to really parse through that. “Wait, heat? Like, fucking, in heat?”
Gerard nods fast. “Yeah. Yeah, fuck, do that thing again, with the twisty– Yeah.”
“What does that even fucking mean?” Frank asks. He should really quit jacking Gee if he wants any answers, but he doesn’t want to. Gerard doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to come, anyway, content to let Frank stroke and squeeze, totally straight-up play with him. Gerard’s balls seem really, really sensitive in that way where he jerks and shudders and makes this really awesome shocked noise every time Frank touches them. It’s kinda fascinating, and really addictive. “When you’re in heat, what does that mean?”
“The same thing it does for in-heat beings on your planet,” Gerard says. He’s got one hand braced on Frank’s shoulder for support, the other curled into a tight fist against his thigh. His gaze is fixed on Frank’s cock, half-hidden by the tangled sheets and curved up hard against his belly, leaking. It looks like Gerard’s trying pretty hard not to make a dive for it. Or roll Frank the rest of the way over, climb on top of him, and fuck him stupid. “It, uh. I’m fertile and receptive. And horny, really horny. Fuck, Frankie, look at your dick. I can’t wait for you to fuck me.”
Frank’s cock jerks, making them both groan. He struggles his way through the haze. “Receptive, like, like–”
“Yes,” Gerard hisses.
On Gerard’s cock, Frank’s hand goes still. “You can get knocked up?”
“What?” Gerard’s eyes fly wide open, his chest heaving. He flaps both hands at his dick. “Male!”
“Receptive to advances,” he says, and lets out a tiny snorting giggle, “advances.”
“You said fertile,” Frank shoots back sourly. “You said you couldn’t wait for me to fuck you! What the fuck was I supposed to think?”
“Viable sperm in my ejaculate, so there’s more of it, it’s thicker,” Gerard says, still giggling a little and curling his hand over Frank’s on his dick, giving it a pointed tug. Clinical shit like that shouldn’t sound so hot. “More frequent, longer-lasting orgasms. Yeah, I’m gonna want you to fuck me. A lot.”
Frank clambers up on his knees. “How about fuck me, you’re gonna want to do that, too, right?”
Biting his lip again, Gerard nods. “A lot.”
“Like, now?” Willing to risk an extra shot of dizziness, Frank licks over Gerard’s lips, between them, quick and unsatisfying. “You wanna fuck me now?”
“Yeah, you wanna.” Frank gives his dick a slow squeeze. “You really want to. Been thinking about it? What it woulda been like if you’d gone for it, just said fuck it, and fucked me? I was gonna let you put your fingers in me. It was so fucking hot how you kissed me. I was gonna let you put anything you wanted in me.”
On a ragged groan, Gerard shoves Frank away. He goes easily, rolling onto his back, letting his legs fall open again as Gerard crawls on top of him. He’s kinda expecting it when Gerard’s slim fingers push inside his mouth, so he sucks hard for a bit, gets them wet. He’s totally not expecting it when they slide free and Gerard pushes them inside his own mouth. Gerard’s gaze is heavy on him as he watches Gerard’s jaw work, watches him suck Frank’s spit off and swallow.
When Gerard draws them out again, they’re dripping. He says, “Get your knee up.”
“Oh fuck,” Frank says, and grabs onto the back of his thigh, fingers skidding in sweat. “Fuck, fuck.”
The first light skim of Gerard’s fingers over his hole has him choking on air. He grits out, “Don’t stop, c’mon,” just in case, and Gerard gives him this smile, this satisfied, slinky curve of his lips, that totally means nobody was thinking about stopping anything. Or hurrying the fuck up. Frank’s slick and ready long before Gerard gets around to pushing in, and he goes slow, so fucking slow, that it’s kinda pissing Frank off. He’s not that fucking breakable.
“You feel so good,” Gerard says, pushing deeper, pressing up instead of in. The shallow burn flares to a heavy kind of ache, a fullness Frank hasn’t really felt before, not even with his own fingers up his ass. “When you can take it, I’m gonna rim you. See if you taste as soft and hot as you feel.”
Frank says, “Shit,” on a shaky laugh. “Figures you’d be a talker.”
“You don’t wanna hear what I’m gonna do to you?” Gerard asks, probably aiming for innocent from the way he pitches his voice, but the look in his eyes and the crooked quirk of his mouth lands him square on impish. “What I want you to do to me?”
Hiking up an eyebrow, Frank asks, “I got a choice?”
“Always,” Gerard says, and presses his mouth hard to the corner of Frank’s. The press of his fingers becomes shallow again, a sharper ache as he works Frank loose, then works his spit deeper into Frank’s ass on something slicker. A lazy, delicious kind of heaviness spreads out from there, relaxing muscles one after the other, turning Frank’s eyelids heavy. Beneath the blissful lassitude, those nerves keep fluttering, but they don’t seem important anymore.
Not nearly as important as the blunt thickness of Gerard’s dick taking the place of his fingers. Frank tries to tense up in anticipation but his body’s not listening to him anymore. It’s tuned wholly and completely to Gerard’s frequency, muscles clenching only when Gerard hisses, when Gerard says, “Oh fuck, Frank. Frank,” and Frank grins, letting his eyes slip shut to ride out the sweet, slow stretch. It’s fucking incredible. It’s perfect.
Out of everything Frank came up with, he never figured it’d be like this. Gerard starts off slow, long, deep pushes of his hips, and it stays that way. He cups a hand loosely over his cock, enjoying the tiny zings of pleasure it adds, but the need to come is muted, distant. He thinks maybe this could go on for a long while.
Gerard kisses his throat, his shoulder, bites a little. “I’m gonna,” Gerard says, all the strain that isn’t showing up in his body clear in his voice, “I’m gonna come again. You’re gonna get really wet, Frank, okay? And I’m gonna have to stop for a minute and it’s probably gonna feel weird, but trust me, it’ll get so good. Just let me, I gotta, I want to come in you, I really want to, let me–”
“Yeah,” Frank croaks, “yeah, do it, yeah, ” and Gerard does, he shudders and shoves in hard and he groans out this long, ragged noise like he’s dying, like it’s the best thing he’s ever felt. Frank barely feels anything at all aside from heat and pressure until Gerard shifts and his body clamps down and yeah, okay. That’s pretty fucking wet. It feels like Gerard might slip out. Frank hooks his ankles more securely together, thighs holding Gerard tight and close.
“You okay?” Gerard asks. He brushes hair carefully back from Frank’s face. “You wanna come?”
“Yeah,” Frank says, “but not, like, not yet.” Blow a load, go home, go to sleep is his usual Friday night. That’s not what this is. That’s not what he wants anymore. Gerard’s still inside him, thick and hot. It should feel weird. Kinda intrusive. It doesn’t. “Last night, did we, what did we–”
“Not surprised you don’t remember. That was a pretty determined kiss you gave me.” Gerard gives a tiny, experimental roll of his hips. Pure shocking pleasure shoots straight up Frank’s spine. “Almost,” he says, “almost there.” He hangs his head for a second, breathing. When he lifts it again, his eyes are the dark, rich black of space Frank saw out the window, glittering and full. “I laid you out right here. Watched you come in my hand. Kissed you until you passed out.”
“Are you gonna,” Frank says, “were you gonna–” He breaks off with a groan. Gerard’s moving again, still slow, still easy, but it’s like he’s rubbing up against every fucking nerve ending Frank’s got. That sounds like maybe it should hurt, but it’s good, so good, like scratching an itch and rubbing a sore muscle and sinking into a long, endless stretch, all at once. “Gonna–”
“Do it again when you wake up?” Gerard asks. “Yeah. Yeah, I am. Come on, Frankie. Look at me.”
Frank struggles to open his eyes. He doesn’t remember closing them, and it takes way too much effort to focus on Gerard’s face. An ugly frisson of fear curls through his belly. It’s like that night. Gerard said he’d be back. Gerard said.
“Don’t, don’t fight it,” Gerard says, and snaps his hips harder, grinding in deep. Everything feels so wet, so slick, the crack of his ass and even the cheeks, the backs of his thighs and their bellies where his cock is trapped between them, rolling through his own mess and the one Gerard already made on him. “You’re mine now, I get to keep you. You’re all mine, let me have you, please, I can’t–”
Slow is gone. Slow is totally fucking out of here. Gerard’s got him pinned to the wrecked sheets, pounding into him, his knees up around his fucking ears and his body so open, wide fucking open and taking it all, taking everything. All he can hear is the rasp of Gerard’s voice, the slick wet noises of them coming together, sliding apart, and the roaring inside his own head. It’s rough and frantic, and some tiny scrap of his brain is telling him this should hurt, it does hurt, it aches like a son of a bitch, but even that feels good, thick and deep and he wants more, he wants all of it, he wants Gerard to never fucking stop.
“I want to come,” Gerard pleads, “please, I can’t, you have to come for me, Frankie, please. It’s too much. It’s too–”
Too fucking much. Frank’s spine snaps taut, arching him up off the bed, blunt nails clawing into Gerard’s back as he comes. Waves of heat rush out from his core, thick, choking pulses of it, endlessly. He hangs in its grip, eyes wide, seeing nothing. He can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can’t do anything. His body’s moving, rocked by Gerard’s harder thrusts, but he can’t control it. He thinks he might’ve screamed, or Gerard did, or they both did and maybe they still are, locked in it together. Maybe it’s all inside his head.
Maybe Gerard’s inside his head, like he’s inside his body.
“Look at me,” Gerard’s saying, like he’s been saying it for awhile now, “baby, look at me, come on, there, that’s it,” when Frank finally manages. “You’re okay. Are you okay, can you hear me?”
Frank tries wheezing an answer. The crinkle of worry between Gerard’s eyebrows furrows deeper and Frank laughs, his throat rusty, aching. “Yeah,” he grunts out, and drags in a few deep lungfuls of air. His mouth is dry, so he works his tongue around a bit. “I, yeah,” he says, “what the fuck was that?”
“You came,” Gerard says happily. He snuggles in closer to Frank’s chest. Frank blinks a couple times, only realising then that they’re kinda sloppily cleaned up and he’s on his back with Gerard tucked under his arm. “It was really great.”
Sounds like a pretty mild way to describe what Frank’s pretty sure was ecstasy. Like, the real deal, the actual meaning of the word, out of body, out of mind. Out of this fucking world. He half-snorts, half-giggles, and slaps a hand over his face. He is so fucking blazed.
Gerard tugs his hand away and smiles up at him. That’s kinda out of this world, too.
“Hey,” Frank says, and Gerard hums quietly, his fingers lazily stroking Frank’s chest. Frank gathers them up in his own, makes sure they’re twined really snugly together. “You wanna kiss me until we both pass out?”
“Yeah,” Gerard says, still smiling, “yeah, I really fucking do,” and he does, and the last thing Frank feels before he’s out is Gerard’s other hand folding into his, holding tight, holding on.