Gerard Way/Frank Iero. NC-17. ~8200 words. Pencey Prep days.
If this is what Frank wants, then fuck it. Just fucking fuck it. Frank can have it.
“Fucking amazing,” Frank rasps, hand rough on Gerard’s shoulder, fingertips digging in as he shoves Gerard’s back to the wall. His eyes are manic and bright, exactly how Gerard feels, seven steps into the wings of the shitty basement dive reverberating with pounding bass and stomping feet. “Fuckin’ told Steve– Shit, Gerard, Gee–”
“Frankie,” Gerard says, the only thing his brain’s able to spit out with Frank up in his face, hoarse and sweaty like he’s already been out there instead of back here waiting for his turn to tear it up. His shirt’s damp beneath the palm Gerard has splayed over his chest, and Gerard gets stuck staring at his hand, trying to figure out when the fuck he put it there. He’s still staring when Frank slips away, hitting the floor on his knees with a sharp grunt and yanking at Gerard’s belt. Gerard stumbles forward and slams back again, Frank’s forearm across his hips. “What– Frankie, what’re–”
Frank says, “I gotta,” like it’s torn out of him, staring up at Gerard with eyes gone dark and heavy, hazy, as he jerks Gerard’s jeans open, zipper grating. His gaze jumps to Gerard’s hand hovering weirdly in mid-air, palm still tinging with Frank’s drying sweat, then back to Gerard’s cock somehow out and in his hand and right in front of his fucking face. He doesn’t ask or say okay or fucking do anything except stare, eyes flashing wide in the dark like he can’t believe this shit either, like maybe he’s having second thoughts. Or fuck, first thoughts, because it seems like his brain hasn’t really been involved for awhile. But then he lets out this fucking gorgeous moan, thick and loud enough to hear over the noise filling the air and Gerard’s head, and his hot wet sloppy mouth is on Gerard’s dick.
“Oh fuck,” Gerard grates, fingers scrabbling at Frank’s hair, desperately trying to twist up a messy, prickly handful. Those fucking dreads are too short to get a good hold on and Gerard’s hand skids down, hooks on the hinge of Frank’s wide-open jaw. “Fuck fuck fuck.”
Frank goes down, and fucking down, too far, back heaving as he gags. It doesn’t stop him. Gerard’s flinch when teeth scrape skin doesn’t stop him either. His throat works, sweat-slick and obscene, his breaths puffing short and sharp against damp skin as he curls his fingers around Gerard’s hips, pulls him in tighter. There’s no fucking way Frank’s done this before. He’s rough and careless and greedy when he sucks, like it’s all about him, like Gerard’s just along for the ride. One tiny sliver of Gerard thinks that’s fucked up, fucked up, because Frank is fucking using him, but it’s drowned out by how fucking hot Frank is, what he looks like on his knees like this, desperate and messed up, and if this is what Frank wants, then fuck it. Just fucking fuck it. Frank can have it.
When Gerard grips his face hard, tilts it up and thrusts, he moans so loud Gerard’s fucking knees buckle. He jerks back to suck in a couple quick breaths, gaze darting up to Gerard’s face for a long second. There’s a quick flash of a wide, fucking saucy grin before he goes back down, fist tight around the base to keep Gerard from thrusting again. And okay. Maybe being a total douchebag about the really stellar blowjob Gerard had no fucking clue was about to happen–Frank is fucking blowing him backstage, what the fuck–is a good idea. He can work with that. It’s not like it’s a fucking trial to let Frank figure shit out, hard suction breaking when he gets all caught up in licking, and Gerard’s got a pretty awesome view of him fucking clutching at the crotch of his shredded jeans, face and throat flushed dark as he gets back into it again, making noises Gerard would recognise fucking anywhere as a guy about to cream himself. His lips are tight and his tongue’s firm and he’s working Gerard’s dick rough and fast and– fuck. He wants Gerard to lose it in his mouth.
“Faster,” Gerard gasps, voice sticking in his throat when Frank’s gaze flicks up again. He can’t tell from Frank’s hungry look if he’s supposed to keep talking or shut the fuck up, but if Frank wants him to come while he’s got half a case of beer and something tiny, white and wicked in his blood, Frank’s got to, Frank’s fucking got to, “Oh fuck.”
Frank lets out a sharp, eager sound, shuffling up on his knees as all the noise from the club turns to a dull static roar and Gerard comes so fucking hard he can’t even breathe. There’s a sick twist through the pleasure in his gut when Frank’s face scrunches up, spit and come spilling from his mouth, too much for him to swallow. It glistens on his chin, on the tips of Gerard’s fingers when he can’t help reaching up, thinking he’s gonna wipe it away when what he ends up doing is smearing it up over Frank’s face. When Frank pulls off, rests his forehead on Gerard’s hip, he wants to ask if it tastes good, if the sticky, tacky pull of come drying on skin is what Frank wanted. He can’t get a word out before Frank looks up at him again, still palming the front of his jeans.
Dragging in a ragged breath, Frank stumbles up and says, his face inches away, “Fuckin’ awesome,” and Gerard’s staring at the slick blur of his lips, thinking about kissing them, licking them, tasting himself on Frank’s tongue. He reaches clumsily for Frank’s zipper, and Frank laughs, rough and low and used. “M’good. Gotta– Fuck, gotta get out there, Gee.”
“Yeah,” Gerard croaks, still trying to get at Frank’s dick, thinking random shit like gotta reciprocate, gotta say thanks, gotta touch him, “yeah, fuckin’, fucking go, Frankie, kill it.”
Frank nods fast, claps a hand on the side of Gerard’s neck and squeezes, this quick shocking jolt before he slams on stage screaming, leaving Gerard slumped in the shadows still trying to catch his breath.
“Jesus,” Gerard says three nights later to the wasted guy swaying beside him. The night air is soft and tingly on his sweaty face. He closes his eyes and listens to the tinny, distant noise of the houseparty raging on behind them. When he looks up again, it’s still there. “Jesus,” he repeats. “It’s a motherfucking barn.”
“Jesus,” the guy agrees, and hands over his joint.
Gerard grunts a thanks and happily takes a hit, squinting up through the smoke as he breathes out. The stars twinkle brightly in the clear sky. The front of his shirt’s soaked from the cold beer he’s got clutched against it. He takes another decisive toke and says, “I’m goin’ in.”
“Dude,” the guy says, impressed. He salutes with the joint Gerard hands back.
Halfway to the big double doors barred with a beam carved from fucking Yggdrasil it’s so long and gnarly, Gerard remembers that typically barns are made for animals. Horses and cows and donkeys and shit. Being from Belleville and all, it’s not like he’s pure-bread city boy, but his Jersey isn’t exactly known for its fucking cows, okay. What if the hamburger he had on the way up here yesterday was made from one of these guys? There could be a revenge mob in there just fucking waiting for him.
Fuck. Next time he’s gonna cave to Frank’s anti-meat tirade and order the fucking veggie burger. There’s probably no way he’s gonna be able to get in there anyway, with that bar blocking the way and… oh. A door. Cut into one of the bigger ones, small and conveniently placed. Shit.
Braced for the inevitable hail of bovine wrath, Gerard jiggles the handle on the door, ducks under the bar and stumbles into the quiet dark. The first quick breath he takes sticks in his throat, so he takes another, slow and shuddery. It smells like dry dusty grass and black earth, and a faint tickle of something else weirdly musky. He stands really, really still for a long minute, staring into the deep shadows. Once he’s sure there’s nothing in here but him, he shuffles forward a few more steps. It’s actually kinda nice. Warm and close and dark. Like a basement in winter, when the heat’s cranked so it never cools down. The air’s got this thick, grainy texture, like he could reach out and grab a handful and draw it close like a blanket. He’s busy thinking about that, being cocooned in satiny darkness, when something ploughs into his back and knocks him flat on his face in a pile of prickly hay.
“The fuck!” he barks, kicking out hard and spitting dust. His wrist knocks into his spilled beer and sends it skittering away. “The fucking fuck, motherfucker, I–”
A familiar pot-choked giggle shuts him up fast. “Chill,” Frank says, one hand planted in the middle of Gerard’s back to keep him down. “Chill, dude, chill, just wanted to, like, horizontal, y’know?”
“The fuck, Frankie?” Gerard repeats, ’cause what the fuck? He totally needs another hit, but it’s probably a good thing he left the spliff with the dude outside. Lit joints and piles of dry hay don’t sound like a such an awesome idea. Unlike Frank’s hands pushing up the back of his shirt. “Frank?”
“S’cool,” Frank says, quiet and close. He shuffles around a bit, touch skimming softly along Gerard’s back until weight settles on his fucking thighs and then rough fingertips dig into Gerard’s sides, gripping hard. “Oh fuck yeah, it’s really cool.”
Gerard gears up to tell Frank to quit squeezing his fucking fat already, because Frank’s always fucking grabbing it, like it’s completely fascinating to skinny little fuckers like him, but Frank shifts and says, “Oh yeah,” again, all drawn out and breathy, not slurred even a bit despite the armload of beers Gerard saw him knocking back like he was dying. He says, “Fuck, you feel good,” and squeezes harder, and that is his motherfucking dick he’s grinding against Gerard’s ass.
Gerard says, “Frank,” and Frank says, “Shit,” and shoves his hands straight down Gerard’s pants. There shouldn’t be enough room, not both hands all the way in there like that, but Frank’s a quick sneaky fucker and somehow Gerard’s fly is wide fucking open already. Gerard shoves up on the palms of his hands, floundering in the hay, and whatever the fuck he’s planning on doing doesn’t happen because next thing he knows his shirt’s tugged halfway over his head and Frank’s hot mouth is on his back, sucking wet noisy kisses on his skin. It feels fucking electric. He goes back down fast, propped up on one elbow and panting shallowly. “Frank,” he tries again, and it comes out shaky and thick.
“You’re just, like, you don’t even fucking know,” Frank says, damp lips dragging over Gerard’s back. “You’re so fucked. You’re like really, really fucked right now, and you don’t give a shit.”
Giving a shit about being wasted isn’t something Gerard tends to do even when he’s sober, so he’s kinda confused about the point Frank’s trying to make. Almost as confused as he is over Frank yanking his fucking shorts down with his jeans and wrapping a callused hand around his dick, except it’s pretty common knowledge that when somebody puts a hand on your dick they’re trying to get you off. Why Frank wants to get him off is something he’s gonna have to tackle when Frank isn’t fucking doing it, holy fuck.
“Yeah, c’mon,” Frank says, muffled in Gerard’s shoulder, “I closed the door, c’mon. No one’s gonna– It’s just me, Gee. Just me.” He uses one of his knees to rudely shove Gerard’s wider, hissing curses when denim cuts in and stops him short. When he tries again his grip on Gerard’s dick goes loose and sloppy and all the shifting around brings a cascade of hay down over them. He shakes it off like dog shedding water and digs his teeth into Gerard’s back, making Gerard buck and hiss a curse of his own. Then he does it again, lower, and again, fucking heading south with purpose, and Gerard gasps, “Frank, what,” not like a question at all.
“Too fucking dark in here,” Frank bitches, and grabs a handful of Gerard’s ass and squeezes and groans so fucking loud he chokes on it. He rasps, “Fuck,” and bites at the small of Gerard’s back. There’s gonna be nothing but teethmarks and bruises by the time he’s done. He eases off, stroking lightly like he’s trying to map out the shape of Gerard’s ass with his hands but he gets all caught up in whatever the fuck is going through his mind and ends up squeezing and grabbing and biting again, digging in to the point of pain and Gerard can’t help the weird choppy noises he’s making, shocked and broken.
The sound of Frank popping open the zip on his jeans ratchets straight up Gerard’s spine. The fucking hay slips and slides as he tries to shove up, because fuck, fuck, if Frank’s getting his dick out this time, Gerard is gonna fucking see it, get his hands on it, suck it. He twists around awkwardly, grabbing at Frank’s shoulders, totally intending on shoving his face right into Frank’s crotch but they end up mouth to mouth, open and wet and sloppy. Gerard thinks, What? What? even while he’s shoving his tongue past Frank’s slack lips, tasting beer and salty chips. Frank shudders and goes completely still. He stays that way long enough that Gerard’s sure he’s done something wrong, fucked with Frank’s script, but then Frank’s grabbing at him again, falling back into the hay.
“Get on top of me, yeah,” Frank says, and cranes up for more kisses as Gerard fumbles around, trying to crawl over him without losing him in the hay. “Right on top of me, c’mon, you’re not gonna– Jesus, quit fucking around and, fuck, fuck yeah, like that,” he says, covered completely, skin to skin where their clothes are twisted. His knees come up, feet planted to find purchase as he slaps both hands to Gerard’s ass and grinds.
“Oh Jesus,” Gerard says, light bursting behind his eyelids. There’s sweat-damp cotton trapped between them and then there isn’t. Frank’s skin is soft but his stomach’s hard, tense, and his dick’s even fucking harder pressed snug against Gerard’s. Gerard sucks in a swooping, dizzying breath and thinks he feels Frank’s pulse kick, his cock getting thicker, harder, wetter. Fuck, it’s so slick between them; Frank leaks like a motherfucker.
Frank says, “Gonna, god, yeah, I’m gonna,” weirdly slurred. It takes Gerard a couple quick blinks to parse through the shifting shadows and figure out Frank’s sucking on his own fingers. Gonna come? Gerard wants to ask, wants to know before Frank loses it so he can imagine what Frank’s face looks like. But the second Frank’s fingers slide free with a slick wet pop, Gerard’s tongue is back in there, almost like totally independent of any thought on his part. But it’s a fucking good idea. Kissing Frank is pure fucking genius. Gerard’s brain might be fried but his body’s got a good handle on shit.
Something like, “Mm, yeah,” buzzes against Gerard’s lips. Frank’s hand is skidding down so Gerard hikes his hips up helpfully, completely on board with where Frank’s heading because fuck, he’s gonna come with like, two good hard strokes. He gets ready for it, knees locked and mouth shoved hard against Frank’s to muffle the noises he’s gonna make, and Frank makes this sound like a laugh.
Breaking away just far enough to breathe, Gerard asks, “What?” kinda surly and maybe a little pissed, because he’s gonna fucking come god dammit.
“You’re so fucking hot,” Frank says, all by-the-way, and uses a knee to shove Gerard off balance. He barely wheezes when Gerard sprawls flat out on top of him, just this flash of teeth like he’s grinning, so fucking pleased with himself, and his hands are on Gerard’s ass again, both of them, wet fingers in his crack, pressing, sliding in.
“Jesus fuck,” Gerard barks, but it’s not a bark at all, it’s tight and breathy and fuck, fuck, fuck.
“So hot,” Frank says again, “so fucking hot,” moaning it, like it’s the only thought he’s got in his head. He works in deeper, hard pressure that’s not slick enough but Gerard’s halfway up on his knees asking for it anyway. His dick drags over Frank’s belly, quick shocking pleasure, and he arches his back, rolls his hips, because fuck it, it feels good, great, fucking amazing.
“Fuck,” Frank says, a sharp, hard snap. Then, “Fuck,” again, “fuck, Gee, Gerard, oh fuck man, what’re you fucking– Shit, please.”
Gerard’s thighs are starting to tremble, the burn too hot, overwhelming. Another sharp curse from Frank, the sound of him spitting, and his hands are pressed harder to Gerard’s ass, one over the other shoving his wet fingers all the way to the knuckle. It’s deep and thick and sudden, being filled up like that. For a long second Gerard hangs there, shallow panting breaths shunted back in his face by the hay and Frank’s cheek slick and hot against his, Frank’s own breaths thick and laboured in his ear. Inside him, Frank’s fingers crook, making his hips twitch, and like a domino fall it rolls up Gerard’s spine, back down again, slow and not at all easy as he fucks Frank’s hand.
Crisp and really fucking clearly, Frank says, “Fucking kiss me.”
It fucks with the steady rhythm Gerard’s got going on when he tries. “Motherfucker,” Frank says, “kiss me,” like it totally doesn’t occur to him even as he’s pushing up to take Gerard’s mouth himself that he could do that shit. Gerard tries kissing back, but it’s loose and sloppy and mostly ends up being Frank’s tongue tracing his slack mouth, sucking so hard on his lip it tingles and aches and he knows it’s gonna bruise. Everything’s messy and frantic and hot and close, and Frank won’t stop talking about how good Gerard is, the best fucking fuck ever, riding Frank’s fingers like that. He’s gotta be higher than Gerard is, because Gerard’s pretty sure what he means is the best worst fuck ever because Gerard’s gonna come without getting his fucking hand on Frank’s fucking dick. Again.
“Gonna,” Gerard gasps, and Frank hisses, “Yes, yes, c’mon, yes,” shoving his hips up, grinding dicks into bellies and his fingers in deep, hard and insistent, so fucking insistent all Gerard can do is gasp again and take it, and take it, and when he comes it’s with this vicious strangled yell that he kinda wishes he could fucking replicate on stage it’s that fucking cool.
Frank says, “Fuck yeah, babe,” and digs his knuckles hard into Gerard’s gut.
“What the fuck, fuck,” Gerard pants. That’s kinda fucking rude, elbowing a dude off right after he blows it, Frank could give him a second to catch his fucking– Oh. Oh shit. Frank’s jacking off fast and loud, his fingers still buried to the knuckle and twitching sometimes like he can’t help it. Gerard clamps down because he can’t fucking help it either, his ass is totally feeling used, slick and sensitive, and that makes Frank groan and finger him a bit more and it’s this crazy endless loop of oh sweet fucking Christ. When Frank finally stiffens up and comes, back arched so sharply he’d fucking lift Gerard up except the hay shifts again and they go skidding down a foot or more, and Gerard feels the pulse-kick of Frank’s dick, he’s pretty fucking sure Frank’s fucked him sober. It’s crystal fucking clear and cut-glass sharp and fucking beautiful.
His bare ass hitting the scuffed dirt floor isn’t so pretty, but it’s hard to care with Frank tumbling along, landing sprawled out on top of him half-naked and sweaty. “Fuck,” Frank rasps, and just lies there, breathing fast.
“Yeah,” Gerard says, voice fucked beyond belief. “Fuck.”
Frank rubs his face against Gerard’s shoulder, not caring that he’s crammed halfway into Gerard’s armpit. Gerard gets the feeling he’s gonna bitch about it later, though. Frank’s got opinions about armpits. “That was so fucking good.”
Licking his lips and swallowing, Gerard nods. It really fucking was. Frank’s jizz is all over his belly and he can’t stop touching it, feeling it go from slick to tacky to dry. It occurs to him that his spunk is all over Frank’s belly, too, and he reaches out before he thinks it through.
Frank scrunches up and giggles. “Tickles, man, quit it.”
Gerard means to. He honestly does. But the more he touches, the more Frank squirms, and Frank’s not trying to stop him, not really, but it still comes as a total surprise when Gerard rolls over and Frank goes easy, flopped flat on his back clutching at Gerard’s shoulders as he wheezes and curses and laughs.
“Fuck,” Gerard says, listening to Frank pant in the darkness. “That’s really fucking hot.”
Unsteady arms loop around his neck. “Fuckin’ freak,” is what Frank says, soft and warm as the air pressing close, but what Gerard hears in it is, “Go ahead, give it to me some more.” He ducks his head and barks out a laugh, ’cause it turns out he’s not one bit sober at all. Frank wouldn’t call him babe.
“Did you call me babe?” he asks.
Frank hums quietly.
“C’mon, babe,” Frank says, a grin in his voice, and slaps Gerard’s bare hip. “Let’s go get you a beer.”
“Babe,” Gerard snorts, but yeah. Beer. Something harder than beer. And maybe another toke or two. He lets Frank roll him off and then haul him to his feet. It’s totally surreal standing there in the middle of a fucking barn while Frank leans against him and giggles and does up their jeans. Surreal, and really fucking cool.
“So then,” Frank says, flinging his arms out wide and clipping Gerard across the nose. “Sorry, dude,” he adds absently, palming Gerard’s face like that’s gonna make it quit stinging, “then she was like, yeah, in my fucking pants.”
The guys from Pencey are already laughing like they’ve heard this one before but it’s still good shit, and now that the punchline’s out even Mikey’s busting a gut–Mikey’s fucking weird when it comes to Frank, though, like Frank breaks all his rules, and at least inside his own head Gerard can admit that’s one of the things he likes about Frank, that Frank’s different for Mikey too–and Gerard huffs a couple giggles just to make like he’s paying attention to something, anything, other than Frank’s leg slung heavy and warm over his lap. The basement rec room they’re all camped out in before the show tonight is cramped and musty, familiar though it’s a few hundred miles west of Gerard’s comfortable hovel, but that just makes this even more unreal.
Frank pulls off a fancy little bow from the waist, half-full beer bottle held aloft. Giving it a quick eyeball, Gerard snatches it from his sloppy grasp, tilts it up and knocks the whole thing back in one go. The burning rush doesn’t distract at all from Frank’s heat pressed so close, halfway in his fucking lap. Frank’s been all over him all fucking night but not all over him, not in the way Gerard keeps expecting with the lazy, heavy-lidded grins Frank keeps slinging his way. He knows that look now. They don’t talk about it, haven’t said one fucking syllable about it, but that’s Frank’s I’m gonna fuck you so fucking hard you’re gonna pass the fuck out before I’m even fucking done with you look. This shit’s been going on for two fucking weeks. Messy blowjobs in dark corners, Frank’s hands hot and hard and demanding in the middle of the night, shadows heavy around them driving Gerard crazy with wanting to see him in the light. Two fucking weeks and Gerard still hasn’t gotten a hand on Frank’s dick. Not for fucking lack of trying, either. Frank’s just– He’s always– He’s fucking fucking with Gerard so bad.
And he’s giving Gerard that fucking look again, right now. Sly quirk to his mouth, hooded gaze sliding down, tingling like a touch until he’s looking at Gerard’s lap and it shoots back up again, that smile spreading wide in an evil grin. “Yeah,” Frank says, tossing a quick glance at the empty beer bottle Gerard’s holding up like a trophy, “you hold onto that for me, ‘kay?” and then he’s fucking in Gerard’s lap for real, arm hooked around Gerard’s neck as he reaches for another beer, his small bony ass planted square on the half-formed boner Gerard’s been trying to keep under wraps for the last hour. Gerard’s lungs seize. Fuck.
“Mmm,” Frank hums around the mouth of his fresh beer. He pulls off and slumps back, thumbing the corner of his lips. Gerard can’t see his expression and it doesn’t fucking matter. He knows the look that’s on his face. Lazy and satisfied but totally gearing up for more. He sinks down lower, a slow, controlled slide, riding Gerard’s trapped dick the whole way. “That’s it, baby.”
“Jesus,” Gerard chokes. He flails a hand at Mikey and snaps his fingers a couple times. Eyebrow cocked, Mikey hands over what’s left of his beer. Gerard downs it like a dying man.
“That’s not even the fucking best part,” Hambone’s saying, waving his arms like he’s trying to get their attention, like he’s maybe said that bit a couple times now. “And then Frank, Frankie, he fucking–”
Whatever the fuck Frankie did, Gerard’s not listening. He’s holding onto Frank’s hip so hard his knuckles are aching, and Mikey’s giving the two of them this look like he knows exactly what they’re up to and he’s not fucking amused, except he totally is, that smirk doesn’t lie. Gerard would like to know what they’re fucking up to. Frank’s been mostly careful about this thing. Not smart about it–shoving Gerard against the emergency exit five feet and one sharp turn away from the bathroom in a busy club isn’t exactly smart–but he hasn’t fucking stuck his hand down Gerard’s pants in front of an audience yet. If he did it right here, right now in front of their bands and friends and Gerard’s fucking brother, in the house belonging to the girl kind enough to put their freeloading asses up for the night, Gerard doesn’t know what the fuck he’d do. Dump Frank flat on his ass and run for it? Run for it and drag Frank with him? Give it up like the desperate fucker he is and let Frank do whatever the fuck he wants, even if it’s haul his dick out in front of the guys?
Jesus. He’s so fucked.
Before any of that happens, Frank rocks forward, planting a hand on Gerard’s thigh for balance as he scoops up another beer. “Later, babe,” he says, mouth slanted wickedly, and leans back in, laying a loud, smacking kiss square on Gerard’s mouth. While Gerard sits there, slack-jawed and stunned, he heaves up and meanders off, bellowing something at somebody upstairs. Gerard’s jeans aren’t hiding a fucking thing.
“Fuck you all,” Gerard says pre-emptively.
After the show, while the guys are milling around the backyard trying to get an old rusted barbecue going, Gerard digs his bag out of the mess in the back of the van and tromps upstairs. His skin’s tight and itchy with more than dried sweat. Frank was fucking incredible on stage tonight. He usually is, throwing himself into the music body and soul, holding nothing back, and it’s almost as scary as it is awe-inspiring to see him stripped raw like that. Tonight, he was fucking on. If there hadn’t been a wall at Gerard’s back to hold him up, halfway through Pencey’s set he would’ve been on his knees.
Just like that, mid-step on the landing, Gerard gets hit with a full technicolour memory of Frank on his knees screaming into a mic, then a quick flicker like a television shorting out and it’s Frank still on his knees, come-smeared mouth hanging open as he pants for breath, his gaze steady and hot. Gerard’s been half-hard for hours. Now he’s there, ready, fucking dying for it, and Frank’s outside giving Hambone shit over how to properly stack coals for even grilling when he’s not even going to eat whatever the fuck they’re planning to slap on it.
“Motherfucker,” Gerard hisses, and slams into the bathroom. He’d dropped hints in the fucking van. Mostly his hints were wide, desperate eyes, and tugging on Frank’s dreads like they were in fucking gradeschool, and scrambling to ride with Pencey instead of his own fucking band, but they were hints, god fucking damn it. Frank had said later. It’s fucking later. And if Frank’s willing to let Gerard’s perfectly good boner go to waste, then fuck it. Gerard might as well. And never mind that he hasn’t had to jerk off in two weeks because Frank’s been giving it to him every other night, he still fucking knows how.
Right about the time he’s half out of his clothes, bent over fiddling with the temperature, Gerard realises that hey, Frank’s been giving it to him every other night. For a booty call, even an on-semi-tour booty call, that’s a lot. Way more than like blowing off stress or an adrenaline burn. If he wasn’t totally wasted right now, he’d probably be able to figure out what the fuck that means.
But he is, and he’s horny, and look at that, still hard. He shucks the rest of his clothes and clambers into the old avocado-green tub, whips the curtain shut and whips it out. Or puts a hand on his dick, anyway, since it’s already waving in the breeze. Privacy’s been pretty rare these days, so there’s a moment where he thinks about dragging this out, playing around a little. He eyeballs the bottle of organic soap sitting on the window ledge and rubs his fingers together, letting the idea slop around his brain. He could. Nobody would know he’s up here with a hand on his cock and a couple fingers up his ass.
If he goes out back all loose and satisfied, though, Frank might know. Frank would know. Frank’s seen him post-orgasm enough times by now. And then Frank would know that Gerard didn’t bother to save it for him. Ha, Gerard thinks viciously, and pulls sweetly at his dick, making it a show for one, and slapping his free hand to the wall when his knees wobble. Take that, Frankie.
By the time he’s fumbling for the soap, he’s on his knees bent forward in the sputtering spray. A deep, satisfying burn starts to build in his thighs as he tries to spread them wider, the tub keeping him penned in so he has to shuffle forward a little more, twist and reach between his legs to stroke behind his balls. They rest heavy and full and totally ready against his wrist, and he pushes up against them a little at the same time he crooks his fingers. He’s not thinking about anything specific, concentrating on the pleasure rippling up his spine, the way it arrows in sharply when he tugs on his dick, but between one stroke and the next he’s imagining it’s Frank’s hands on him. He sucks in a sharp breath and squeezes his cock hard, teeth clenched, ’cause he’s not gonna come just from fucking thinking about Frank. He’s not, because fuck Frank, fuck him, okay, Gerard’s not gonna do it, he’s just fucking–
–coming so damn hard his vision whites out, is what the fuck he’s doing.
When he gets his breath back, he’s still kneeling on the floor of the tub, water pattering warmly against his back. He groans and heaves himself up on shaky legs. This is usually the part where he’d take a couple half-assed swipes at himself with a cloth, but instead he reaches for the shampoo, then the fruity-smelling conditioner, then dumps a giant glop of soap into his palms and lathers up. His mind is pleasantly blank. He’s like a zombie. A really clean zombie.
After he’s dry, he shuffles into some mostly clean clothes, gathers up his stuff, and shuffles downstairs. His brain’s doing that alarming thing where it’s trying to reboot, so he detours into the kitchen to snag a couple beers to cut that shit out. Somehow he manages to chug half a bottle before he realises Frank’s perched on the counter by the sink tossing something from hand to hand and watching him like a hawk.
“Hey,” Gerard croaks, because at least he’s got some fucking manners.
Frank’s eyes narrow suspiciously. Resisting the urge to brandish his beer like a broadsword, Gerard hikes up an eyebrow. Frank slips smoothly off the counter to the floor, and Gerard considers running the fuck away as the better part of valour. He’s still considering it by the time Frank’s close enough to smell the pot smoke clinging to his clothes.
Leaning slowly forward, Frank sniffs once, really loudly and deliberately. “Motherfucker,” he says, voice low, dangerous-sounding. “You showered.”
“I do that,” Gerard says, stealthily inching back toward the fridge. He’s gonna need more than two shitty beers to cope with the way Frank’s staring at him. “Occasionally.”
“You fucking showered,” Frank repeats, not-so-subtly crowding Gerard against the fridge. A tiny magnet in the shape of a unicorn jabs Gerard in the shoulder. Wriggling away from it puts him closer to Frank than is maybe safe. Frank’s looking really fucking unhinged.
“Frank,” Gerard starts.
“Shut the fuck up, motherfucker, Jesus Christ,” Frank says in a rush, and then he’s up on his toes, their mouths smashed together and what’s left of Gerard’s beer glug-glugging all over their shirts. He rudely shoves his tongue past Gerard’s teeth, cutting short Gerard’s yelp at the cold shock. And he keeps his tongue there, tasting like hard liquor and cigarettes and totally ignoring how Gerard’s trying to fucking talk, like he doesn’t give a shit at all that Gerard’s got opinions about what’s going on here.
“Mmph,” Gerard insists, and Frank shoves both hands into his wet hair, yanking his head back to latch onto his throat. Which immediately changes Gerard’s opinion to, “Oh fuck,” and maybe a sliver of, “Frank, shit,” because hot and sloppy in dark corners or not, Frank’s been paying attention. For the second time tonight, Frank’s almost put him on his knees.
“C’mon,” Frank says, stumbling back a step and pulling Gerard with him. “Forget that shit, just, fucker, c’mon.”
“C’mon where?” Gerard asks without really caring. He lets Frank manhandle him across the kitchen to the rickey screen door, through it and down the steps, and barely registers the noise spilling around the side of the house. Frank’s not being real subtle here, but it’s still a surprise when Gerard catches up against the cool metal of one of the vans. He tries to figure out if it’s his or Pencey’s by the way the shocks squeak when Frank shoves close.
“Inside,” Frank says, fumbling at the handle. “Fuck, babe, c’mon, get inside.”
If Gerard could phase through the fucking door, he would. As it is, he’s got to wait until Frank gets the thing open, and then it’s not so much he climbs inside as he falls in with Frank on top of him. He lets out an involuntary huff, more surprise than anything since Frank weighs about as much as a gnat. There’s a flash of teeth in the light pouring in from the street and then Frank’s scrabbling up, pushing at him and muttering and hauling the door shut.
“Yeah,” Frank says, whisper-rough as he pushes at Gerard’s shoulders. Gerard’s not sure where the fuck Frank’s trying to put him but he goes, clambering up on his knees on the seat, hesitating for a second before letting Frank’s weight press him up against the back of it. “Fuck, Gee, yeah, like that. Fuckin’ just like that. More.”
“No more for me to go,” Gerard mutters, shivering. Frank’s hands are under his shirt, pushing it up to his armpits, ghostly light.
Frank says, “Sure there is,” wickedly cocksure as his hands skim back down, tug open Gerard’s jeans. “Bend over.”
“What?” Gerard shoves up, stopped short by Frank’s hand heavy and certain on the back of his neck. He gives one half-hearted attempt to shake it off, catching a glimpse of Frank folded down in the footwell, lip caught between his teeth. “Shit, oh fuck, shit,” he rasps, slumping over the seat, eyes hidden in the crook of his elbow. There’s no way– “You gonna–?”
“Fuck yeah I’m gonna.” One good tug has Gerard’s clothes around his knees. Warm palms press against the inside of his thighs, urging them wider. He shuffles around awkwardly, still not sure even though he’s really pretty fucking sure. Frank’s mouth is on the small of his back and it’s fucking going places.
“Fuck,” Gerard moans, and Frank says, “Yeah, I’m so fucking gonna,” again, raspy-sweet as his thumbs curve over the cheeks of Gerard’s ass, spread them. His breath tickles the crack and Gerard jerks, cock dragging against the seat.
“Make lotsa noise for me, Gee,” Frank says, and fucking nuzzles his face right in there, soft lips and a scrape of stubble. “Been thinking about eating you out for weeks, you’re gonna make lots and lots of noise for me, right?”
If Gerard could fucking breathe, sure. No problem. Except he can’t, because Frank’s fucking face is in his fucking ass, and Frank’s kissing him. Small, gentle kisses that would be sweet and chaste if they weren’t pressed to Gerard’s asshole. His thighs, already worn out from fooling around in the shower, start trembling, and Frank moans so loud he’s sure the guys out back will hear.
Frank’s hands skid up and clench tight on his hips. “Fuck yes,” he says, nuzzling down lower, tongue sneaking out to swipe quick and wet and hot over Gerard’s balls, sending another hard shiver through him. Frank says, “You want my tongue in your ass so bad. Fuck, Gee,” another hot push against oversensitive skin. “Fuckin’ shaking with it.”
“Fucking do it,” Gerard gasps out, trying so hard not to hump the back of the seat, he’s that ready for it. “I fucking, I jerked off thinking about your fingers in my ass, do it, Frankie, fuck, don’t– Fuck.”
Frank’s moan is pushed right into the meat of Gerard’s ass, his tongue following, a hot slippery push. Everything’s already kinda feeling used from before so it’s worse, better, nerves hyper-aware of every move Frank makes. He curls his tongue deep, face mashed into Gerard’s crack, and eases back so slow, licks long and hard and doesn’t stop. Gerard grabs for one of the shadowy lumps in the back of the van, hoping whatever it is his hands close on is solid enough to handle it as he hauls himself up, spine arched to shove his ass back. Frank’s nails dig into flesh and he moans, tries working his hips to ride Frank’s face, the slippery shove of Frank’s tongue.
“Fuck,” Frank grunts, and pulls back, chuckling like the total asshole he is when Gerard can’t help the noise that slips out of him. “Not gonna stop,” he says, rubbing his wet face off on Gerard’s ass. “Just gotta– Fuck, wish I could see.” His fingers brush lightly over Gerard’s hole, his breath hissing when it twitches, and Gerard does it again deliberately, listening to his voice break. “Feels so wet and hot and loose, baby, I wanna see.”
“Dragged me out here,” Gerard says, pressing back onto Frank’s thumb. It sinks in just a little, so easy. Fuck. He’s so ready for it right now Frank could fuck him on spit and latex. It sinks in a little more when Frank pushes, pulls down a bit, leans in and licks some more. “Could’ve fucking– There’s a fucking bed in the basement, Frankie, we coulda went there.”
“Could’ve,” Frank agrees. He keeps his tongue quick and light between words, his fingers doing most of the work keeping Gerard rocking to his rhythm. “Didn’t think about it. Thought about this, though.”
That’s one thing Gerard honestly didn’t consider Frank did–think about this. It never felt like it’d been thought through. When Frank got horny, Frank did him.
Frank gets horny a lot.
“Fuck.” Planting both hands on the seat, Gerard shoves back. Frank makes a weird disjointed noise as he thumps against the back of the passenger’s seat. “Fuck,” Gerard repeats, scrambling to turn around, his jeans all caught up in his knees and sending him tumbling down awkwardly on his side. But that’s okay. That’s really fucking okay, because Frank’s up on his knees staring at him, half his face wet from fucking eating Gerard out, and his dick is tenting the front of his baggy jeans right there in front of Gerard’s mouth.
“Get your dick out,” Gerard says, yanking at his belt. “Get it out, fuck you, oh my god, get it out, I gotta–”
“Okay,” Frank rasps. His fingers tangle with Gerard’s as they both tug open his jeans. “Okay, fuck, god, okay, just let me–” Angling his body over Gerard’s, he twists up a handful of Gerard’s jeans and yanks. They get stuck on on boot, but he keeps tugging, grunting when Gerard shoves both hands inside his underwear. “Take your fucking clothes off, Jesus Christ.”
Gerard says, “Okay,” and doesn’t lift a finger to help. His hands are on Frankie’s dick. Frank’s hard, wet, thick, fucking gorgeous dick. Saliva floods his mouth. “Gonna suck you.” Elbowing his way closer, absently kicking his foot to get his boot off when Frank yanks at it, he lines up, lets the idea, the reality of Frank’s cockhead against his lips wash over him. Frank smells so fucking good. Kinda thick and dirty, pure sex. He’s fucking savouring this.
And he doesn’t get a chance to stuff his mouth full of it before Frank’s fingers are buried in his ass. “Wha–?” he gasps, jerking forward.
“Not gonna stop just ’cause you decided to be a fucking porn star,” Frank says. He twists his wrist, thumb pushing up behind Gerard’s balls, pressing hard. Gerard’s legs jerk. Then a slow, deliberate stroke inside him has his back arching, legs spreading wide, wider, until his knee hooks over the back of the seat. He’s still got Frank’s dick in hand and he absolutely plans on doing something more with it than jacking it clumsily, but every time he tries, it’s like Frank knows, and presses deeper, so fucking deep, rubs just right, right there.
“Fucker,” Gerard spits, shakes his hair out of his face, and shoves his mouth over Frank’s cock.
“Jesus fuck!” Frank barks, like he hadn’t honestly been expecting it. A grin tries to take over Gerard’s mouth but he fights that shit off, keeps his lips tight. He gives it a couple beats, three hard kicks of Frank’s pulse right there on his tongue as Frank gets harder, fucking hell, and then he sucks.
Frank slumps forward, barely catching himself on his free hand. “Oh fuck me,” he moans, hips hitching. “Motherfucking fuck me, Gee, Gerard, fuck.”
Gerard gives a pleased little hum, pulling up to lick all around the head before diving back down. He knows he’s fucking good at this. It’s about time Frankie knew it too.
He gets lost it in for a bit, the heavy weight on his tongue familiar but new, different when it’s Frank he’s sucking, Frank’s voice the one he hears breaking on sweet little moans. It makes him work harder, force Frank’s dick down deep and hold it there while he fights not to gag. He doesn’t need to breathe. He’s finally got Frank’s taste thick in the back of his throat. Oxygen’s overrated anyway. And he can tell Frank’s close, so fucking close. Any second now, Frank’s gonna lose it, he’s gonna come, it’s gonna be right in Gerard’s mouth and he’s–
Fucking pulling out?
“What the fuck,” Gerard wheezes, grabbing at him.
“Not yet,” Frank manages, and bites hard at his lip when Gerard gets a hand back on him, jerks him fast and steady. His cock’s so slick it’s easy, and he’s leaking like crazy, making a mess everywhere. “I wanna, god, you don’t even fucking know, man. You’re like, Gerard, fuck, you’re fucking my fucking hand, it’s so hot.”
Gerard opens his mouth to say no he fucking isn’t, Frank’s the one doing all the work fingering him, but when he glances down just to make sure, he totally is. His mind’s so blown it’s totally separated itself from his body or something, because his hips are working, muscles in his abs and thighs bunched tight as he rocks down on the hand Frank’s holding steady for him. That’s the spark his brain needs to make the connection again and suddenly he can feel it, sweet hard pressure right against his prostate making him work harder, faster, riding the thick knot of Frank’s fingers.
“Fucking gorgeous,” Frank breathes. He’s staring down at Gerard like he’s never seen him before, pure awe turning his mouth slack.
The crazy laugh burbling up in Gerard’s chest bursts free on a shocked moan. And out of the fucking blue, he’s there. He’s done. He sucks in a hasty breath, caught between giggles and groans as he comes. It’s not the weirdest orgasm he’s ever had. It might be the fucking best, burning though his belly and legs and all the way to the tingling tips of his toes.
Frank’s leaning in close when Gerard opens his eyes. Warm breaths push against his open mouth. “Yeah,” is barely more than a whisper sliding smoothly over his lips, followed by the easy push of Frank’s tongue. Frank’s fingers are still in him, moving slowly, still too much. He makes a noise around Frank’s tongue but Frank doesn’t let up. The slick sound of Frank’s hand moving on his dick gets louder.
“Mmph,” Gerard tries again, one hand fisting weakly in the front of Frank’s sweaty shirt. He means to push Frank off because it’s too much, way, way too much, overtaxed nerves trying to fire and making his legs twitch, his stomach jump. But Frank keeps going, somehow so slow and sweet until it gets to be too much for him too and he’s speeding up again, fucking Gerard’s mouth with his tongue and ass with his fingers and coming so hard some of it gets spattered all the way up on Gerard’s neck. Frank sucks in a wheezy breath through his nose and starts to laugh with his mouth still crushed roughly to Gerard’s, sharing slow, sloppy-wet kisses between bursts of sound.
“Fuckin’ crazy,” Frank says into Gerard’s mouth. “Fuckin’– wow.”
“Christ.” Gerard flops flat on the seat and tries to get his legs to stay still. Even after Frank’s carefully pulled free, he can’t get his muscles to stop jumping.
“So fucking glad you showered,” Frank mumbles, nuzzling up under Gerard’s chin. “I was like, fuck. I couldn’t fucking figure it out, y’know? How I was gonna, mm, yeah,” and he trails off, licking sweat out of the hollow of Gerard’s throat.
“How you were gonna fuckin’ what?” Gerard wheezes.
“Told you.” Frank pushes away a couple inches, the light from the street catching on the corner of his lazy smile. “I’d been thinking about it for awhile. Besides, it’s more fun getting you dirty when you’re already clean.”
Gerard swipes a hand over the mess on his chest and groans. “So not clean anymore.” This is why he doesn’t bother to shower every five minutes like some people. There’s no fucking point.
“But you can get clean again.” Frank’s hand makes a slow, purposeful trek up Gerard’s thigh to where his dick’s slumped and sticky. “I can even help.”
“Oh fuck,” Gerard moans, and flings an arm over his eyes. Frank giggles. “Please don’t. I can’t fucking take it, ah, ah, fuck.”
“So sexy,” Frank says like he’s not talking to Gerard at all, like he’s not busy fondling Gerard’s soft cock. Tiny shocks skip-hop from nerve to nerve. “Kinda big even when you’re down, huh?”
Gerard swallows hard. “Yeah.” What the fuck is his life. “I, uh, guess?”
“Hot,” Frank says, settling in like he’s planning on cuddling right here with his palm curved heavy and warm over Gerard’s bare junk. “Wanna use that bed later?”
Peeking out from behind his arm, Gerard says, “Sure?”
“Not for sleeping,” Frank clarifies.
“Yeah. I mean, no.” Shuffling up, Gerard leans closer to Frank’s mouth, wondering. “Not for sleeping.”
“Awesome,” Frank says, and gives Gerard a kiss he doesn’t have to ask for.