
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/405722.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Bandom, My_Chemical_Romance
  Relationship:
      Frank_Iero/Gerard_Way
  Character:
      Frank_Iero, Gerard_Way, James_Dewees
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe, First_Time, Teenagers, High_School, Virginity,
      Inexperience, Drugged_Sex, Public_Sex, Misunderstandings, Past
      Relationship(s), Dirty_Talk
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-03-01 Words: 13445
****** The Keeper Of The Keg ******
by synonomy
Summary
     Jacob Anderson is a complete douchebag, but when you're sixteen and
     still haven't been to a big house party, there's something fucking
     wrong. So Frank says yes when Dewees asks him to go and then he says
     hello to Jacob by comparing the size of his house to his mom's ass,
     just on principle.
Notes
     For Rachel and Maria. ♥
     Massive thanks to Rachel also for gifting me with the super_cute_art
     you'll also see in this fic.
Jacob Anderson is a complete douchebag, but when you're sixteen and still
haven't been to a big house party, there's something fucking wrong. So Frank
says yes when Dewees asks him to go and then he says hello to Jacob by
comparing the size of his house to his mom's ass, just on principle.
It turns out to be worth it in the end, because right now, at approximately
two-thirty am on a Saturday night (or Sunday morning, depending on how you look
at it), his bicep is satisfyingly stained with a big purpling bruise, and Frank
is high as fuck. He brought his own pot, of course, because good luck trying to
score anything halfway decent from the likes of these fucking chumps. He's sat
on the kitchen table, knees spread around the keg, legs cold and numbing in his
jeans. Everything's blurry around the edges, and people swim in and out of his
vision like shadows, like vague outlines of what they're supposed to be. Like
ghosts.
It would probably freak Frank out if he wasn't drunk off his ass, too. As it
is, the noise of rowdy inebriated teenagers is strangely soothing. He's pretty
sure ghosts don't sound like that. They probably, like, make haunting noises.
Wooooo and shit.
"Dude, the fuck you talking about?" Dewees' voice is distinctly un-ghostly,
slurred and obnoxious from the floor.
Frank snorts, "Your face," and then giggles at his own lame response. He is
really not on his top game right now. "Oh man, I am so wasted. So wasted. I'm a
total waste right now."
"Your life is a total waste," Dewees grunts, foot suddenly connecting with
Frank's calf, and Frank yelps when his bare knee connects with the keg in a
sharp flash of coldfuckcold! Why does he have to rip the knees of every single
pair of jeans he owns to shit, again? "You wanna, like, go?"
Frank tries to look down at him. He's slouched against the cabinets, legs
sprawled out across the tiles, seemingly unconcerned with the grumbling people
shuffling and stepping over him trying to get into the kitchen. Giggling again
at some dumbass blonde chick's annoyed orange face, Frank says, "Dude, naw, not
yet." He's been playing Keeper Of The Keg for a little while, but so far that
pretty greasy dude hasn't come over. A few stupid jock types, some raised-
eyebrowers, and a random tall guy in a dress, but no pretty greasy dude.
"It's not faaaair," Frank whines, mostly to himself, and Dewees obligingly
ignores him. Yeah, Frank's probably moaned to him enough tonight. Like, Dewees
is a buddy, but Frank gets there's only so many times you can listen to your
best friend bitch about how they've had a big gay self-revelation only to
realize they have absolutely nobody to experiment with.Like, wow, it sucks so
hard, and not in the literal sense Frank would like; he's just been flailing
around and confused and figuring it out for so long that now he's finally
realized that yes, he does indeed like cock he just has no patience left. Frank
knows what's what now, okay, and he's done waiting. He just wants to touch a
dick already.
"No," Dewees says, and the disgusted look on some approaching neanderthal’s
face confirms Frank has indeed just said that out loud.
Frank pulls the most grotesque face he can at him until he slowly turns and
shuffles back the way he came. No beer for the homophobe, yay! Gleefully, Frank
turns back to Dewees, "Not you, dickbag, don't fucking flatter yourself." The
keg totters a little as he kicks a leg in his general direction with a
deliberately childish, "Ewwww,no way! I wouldn't wanna catch something."
Dewees smacks Frank's foot away, flipping Frank the bird. "Fuck you, asshole,
it was your mom that gave me it in the first place," and Frank's laughing so
hard several people follow Neanderthal Homophobe out of the kitchen, shooting
Frank dirty looks as they go. Frank happily makes blowjob gestures at them.
Maybe he can get thrown out before three am.
"Ugh," Dewees moans, "M'so drunk. I don't wanna pass out here, man, I want my
bed."
The awww, diddumsis thrown off Frank's tongue by the sudden emerging of a
certain pretty face from the crowd. Fuck, yeah. He's black-haired and pale and
kind of dirty looking, and Frank guesses that must be his type because god damn
Frank would hit that. Like, sure, technically he doesn't even know what hit
that means yet, but he knows he would anyway. He's feeling all tingly and shit.
Greasy dude shuffles through the kitchen door, holding a paper cup awkwardly
against his chest and looking slightly alarmed, twitching every time someone
gets too close. Frank guesses he must have finished that little bottle of vodka
he was trying to hide in his jacket pocket earlier, taking sips in the corner
of the living room when he thought no one was looking. His tastes must have
turned to good old-fashioned beer now, because he's coming this way.
Shit, he's coming this way. Greasy dude edges gingerly around some dickhead in
a wifebeater and then suddenly his wide eyes land on Frank.
And get wider.
And-- oh. Yeah. Frank should probably take his fist away from his mouth now.
Dewees is still talking, fucking reciting poetry about going home and jacking
off in bed with a bowl of Lucky Charms or something, and it isn't doing
anything for the dude's caught-in-the-headlights look.
Frank flails his foot in Dewees' space again, catching him in the ribs. "You
want beer?" he asks over Dewees' threat-filled spluttering.
Greasy dude visibly hesitates, his eyes darting between Frank, Dewees and the
keg. Booze is booze though, and after a moment he says slowly, "Yeah," and
steps up.
Frank internally fistpumps. "Gimmie your cup," he says, and after another pause
the dude hands it over, looking a little wary, like he thinks Frank's going to
spit in it or something. "Don't worry," Frank reassures him. "I'm Keeper Of The
Keg, this is what I do."
"Hah," greasy dude actually laughs, thick and kind of croaky in his throat.
"Sounds kinda like, er," he trails off, scratching awkwardly at the back of his
neck.
"What? Noooo, come on, what?" Frank maybe sounds a little too eager, but
whatever, he's too high to care. "I'm gonna put a fucking -" The dude's smile
is kind of dorky and lopsided, shy from behind his hair, and wow, what's the
word Frank's searching for? He fills the cup while he thinks. Oh yeah. "Toll!
I'm putting a toll on your beer. I'm the keeper, so you have to tell me."
"Fuck," greasy dude says, making a weak grab for the beer, but Frank holds it
out of reach with a grin. "Fuck," he repeats, sighing. "Okay, just that. It
sounds kind of like Tolkien. Or a D&D villain, or something. The Keeper Of The
Keg." He sounds almost nervous as he says it, fingers fidgeting.
Frank stares. And then stares some more. The dude coughs, eyes down, and Dewees
snorts so loud Frank wants to deck him, except he's too busy staring at pretty
nerdy dude. "Wow, okay. Screw that, I'm changing the toll price," the words
flow easily from Frank's mouth even as his stomach knots up, "now you gotta
kiss me."
"Uh," greasy pretty nerdy dude says, and Frank does kick Dewees then, right in
the curve where neck meets shoulder, because wow, he does not need his stupid
fucking - guffawing right now, okay.
"Oh my god, you are such a fag," Dewees spits through his laughter, lunging
away from Frank's foot when he goes for a second blow and spilling his beer all
over the floor. "Oh, shit! I swear to god, Frankie, if I wasn't too drunk to
move you'd be on your fucking ass right now, fuck."
"Huh?" Frank's still laughing at the beer slowly spreading over the floor, the
shrieking girls falling over their high heels to avoid it, but greasy dude is
looking down at Dewees, eyes narrowed. "Hey, that's. That's not cool, dude, you
shouldn't say that."
"What?" Frank and Dewees say at the same time.
"Fag," the dude says quietly. His pupils are blown but his expression is
suddenly serious, mouth set in a tense little pout. "It's not. Not a nice
word."
"Yeah, well, Frank isn't a nice person," Dewees says with exaggerated tragedy,
clutching dramatically at his chest. "I mean, first he assaults me with his
feet, and then he murders my beer! And his mom gave me the herp."
"Fuck off," Frank tries to say, but it kind of dies in his throat because -
because what, pretty greasy nerdy dude is suddenly all up in his space. Like,
looming. "Uh," Frank says; he's reallypretty and also really strongly tobacco-
scented and then he's got a hand up against Frank's face and he's-- oh.Oh man,
he's fucking kissing him,lips wet and hot, pressing close. The keg wobbles a
little when Frank flails, free hand grabbing at the dude's jacket, the other
hovering in mid-air behind himself so he doesn't spill beer everywhere, moving
on autopilot because fuck if he knows how to handle this. His mind is spinning
and all there is is heat, and spit, a sloppy hint of tongue and a solid,
crowding body between his thighs.
God, yeah. This is awesome. This is what Frank has been waiting for. He's
pretty much ready to go for the dick-touching right now, but hot pretty nerdy
awesome-kisser pulls back. "Your toll," he whispers, face still all up near
Frank's, hot-breathed and long-lashed, sort of out of focus. Frank keeps his
grip on his jacket. He feels a little unsteady. His ass is sort of numb. "Now
give me my beer."
"Beer," Frank repeats dumbly.
"Oh my god," Dewees voice anguished voice is kind of fuzzy and faded in the
background. There's shuffling around them, some agitated mumblings.
Pretty awesome-kisser dude says, "Small minded idiots." His hands are on
Frank's hips. When did that happen? His hands are really warm, too, spanned
wide over Frank's t-shirt.
"Uh-huh," Frank says.
The dude smiles again, but Frank's pretty sure there's nothing shy about it
now. "So your name is Frank, yeah?" His teeth are tiny and white. There's
stubble on his jaw, peppering his neck. Frank nods. "I'm Gerard. Uh, beer?"
"Oh," Frank says. "Sure." He hands it over and greasy - no, Gerard - drains it
in one go, throat rippling in front of Frank's face before he tosses the cup
carelessly over his shoulder. Jesus. Frank would really, reallylike to touch
his dick right about now. Also the rest of him, but mostly his dick. It's kind
of crazy how much he wants it. He's not even nervous - or, okay, mostly not
nervous, but through the pot-fuzzy vision and the low burn in his gut and the
semi-boner in his pants he knows Gerard is hot as hell, and that's kind of all
he can concentrate on right now.
"Frank, I love you, man, but I'm not getting my head kicked in for you," Dewees
says, apparently on his feet now; there's the vague impression of his badly
shaved hair moving around behind Gerard's head. "I'm just gonna go, um. Over
there. Just. Come find me later, okay? When you're not, uh, yeah."
"Yeah," Gerard agrees, like Frank can't say it himself. Like he isn't this
braindead, wordless mess from just a fucking kiss. It's not like he's never
done that before. Well, okay, never with a really hot, pretty, nerdy, awesome-
kissing dude in front of a whole audience of stuck-up homophobic douchebags,
but--
Fuck it. "You're really hot," Frank breathes. "Um."
Gerard laughs easily, licking his lips a little. Frank can't believe he thought
this dude nervous, or shy, or anything other than, like, blowing Frank's
fucking mind. "Thanks," he says. "But maybe we should, uh, go somewhere. Else."
Frank's heartbeat kicks up a notch, and he barely manages to cling to the last
tattered remains of his self-restraint against the part of his mind that's
yelling dick-touching! Dick-touching!He manages to nod again, and Gerard grins,
taking him by the hand and tugging him gently off the table. Frank very
deliberately does not rush; his ass is still kind of numb, his legs don't want
to cooperate, and the glimpse of people's variously horrified faces doesn't
help his head rush when he gets upright.
        [http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mb081rdRPu1ql74goo1_500.jpg]
Frank can't help but laugh as Gerard leads him out the kitchen, "Did you see
their faces? Oh my god," but Gerard doesn't look back, just tightens his
fingers around Frank's, leading him carefully through the people standing
around in the living room, out into the hall. Frank swallows hard, suddenly a
lot more nervous than he was a minute ago. Gerard seems to know exactly where
he's going, and - oh, apparently it's right here, the closet under the stairs.
"Spiders," Frank blurts out, but Gerard's already pulled him inside, shutting
the door after them and pressing Frank up against it, kissing him again, just
like that. Everything feels weightless for a moment, suspended in the dark;
it's pitch black but Gerard's mouth is hot and sloppy, tasting like beer and
spit, messy and wet and completely awesome. "Mmph," Frank moans appreciatively,
grabbing handfuls of Gerard's jacket, gut full of heat, and Gerard presses
close, closer, until suddenly his thigh is between Frank's legs.
"Oh fuck," Frank breaks away to pant, and Gerard makes this noise, low and
rumbling in his throat. Frank feels his hair brush his face and then his mouth
is on Frank's neck, thigh pressing up hard and firm up against Frank's dick and
damn, that feels good. This is already better than jerking off. He tries to
tell Gerard that, but his hips are running ahead of him, rutting up against
Gerard's thigh. He could get off like this so easily, just rub himself off
until he came in his pants, but Gerard's breathing hard in his ear and rocking
his thigh up and fucking groping every inch of him, and Frank's just--
"I wanna, wait," Frank gasps, pushing blindly at Gerard's chest, eyes blinking
uselessly in the dark. "Can I just-- ugh, can I just touch your dick already, I
want -"
Gerard's hands falter, and there's a long, dragging moment where everything
slows down, stops, stretching into the blackness. "Are," he says slowly, "Are
you? Oh, wow, really?" Frank's mind is spinning with confusion, panic rising in
his chest, but before he can freak out, Gerard laughs, low and not unkind.
"Frank. You've never done this before, have you?"
Crap. "I," Frank starts, but then there's Gerard's teeth dragging over Frank's
neck, the slippery-wet hint of his tongue tracing the shell of Frank's ear.
"It's okay, we won't stop," he whispers soothingly, hands sliding up Frank's
arms. "It's just - god, I'd just never have guessed, the way you were in the
kitchen, I mean, I'm not. I don't do this much myself, really, but you just--"
"You kissed me," Frank gets out.
"Yeah," Gerard murmurs, lips moving against Frank's throat. "Yeah, I did, but
you didn't stop me. You asked me to, in front of everyone. You didn't give a
fuck who saw, and that's. Fuck, I can't even," His voice is rambly and nasally
in Frank's ear, surrounding, sinking into Frank's consciousness. Through the
dark and the veil of need everything seems a thousand times louder, sharper -
hotter, and Frank is so turned on he can't even think.
"Come here," Frank growls, and then they're kissing again, heavier, more
desperate. Frank can't get enough, and he doesn't even know what he's doing.
It's just touch and need, grabbing for everything he can get. It's another
warm, moving, pressing presence, another heavy breath and - oh shit, yeah,
another hard dick, right up against Frank's hip, hot and straining in Gerard's
jeans.
"Oh, that, yeah," Frank grunts mindlessly, hands frantic and ineffective at
Gerard's waist. He's soft and sweaty and there are too many clothesin the way,
and Gerard getting his hands up under Frank's t-shirt isn't helping anything.
Frank jerks and swears when Gerard rubs over his nipples, hips bucking against
Gerard's thigh, shit, shit -
He chokes out a noise and Gerard's thigh is gone. Frank's whine is muffled by
Gerard's tongue. "You gonna come for me already?" Gerard says breathlessly
against Frank's mouth, knuckles suddenly nudging Frank's stomach - unbuckling
his belt and pulling Frank's jeans open, oh god. "Before I even get my mouth on
your cock?"
"Fuck," Frank gasps. Air hits Frank's thighs; his jeans are around his knees
and Gerard's hands are on his lower back, sliding under the waistband of his
boxers, fanning fingers over Frank's ass and squeezing. Frank grabs behind
himself for Gerard's wrists, hears himself saying, "No, fuck, I can't," because
jesus christ, even the idea of Gerard sucking him off is making him stupidly
close. "Can you just--"
"What? What do you want, Frank?" Gerard practically purrs, this low dragging
sex voice that Frank didn't think people actually didoutside of porn,what the
hell. "You want me to touch you? Want my fingers in you?"
"Nggh?" Frank says, but Gerard makes that noise again like Frank actually
answered, hands pulling away from Frank's grasp. All Frank hears is slurping,
sloppy noises and then Gerard's sweaty palm is spreading over Frank's ass,
spit-slick fingers pressing firmly into the crease, sliding wetly over Frank's
asshole. He doesn't even tease him, just goes for it, slides one right up
inside - all deep, sudden pressure and Frank gasps and shivers because wow,
what?He's experimented himself, sure, but it's never been like this, never been
this good. Gerard fucking knows exactly where to touch him, exactly how to
crook his finger to make Frank jerk, dick leaking against his stomach until the
fabric of his boxers is sticking to his skin.
"God," Frank pants, and then, "Oh god,mother of fuck," when Gerard works
another finger in, the stretch sweet and sharp, twinge of pain making his spine
arch. Gerard's other wrist is sweaty - or, no, it's Frank's palm, damp to the
air when Gerard lets go of his ass, sliding around to push Frank's underwear
down, wrapping around his cock. "Oh, shit."
"Mmm," Gerard hums, all throaty and satisfied against Frank's shoulder. "So
fucking hot," and Frank is suddenlyreallyglad for the darkness, because he's
almost certain he would not want Gerard to see the face he's making right now.
Glad and disappointed all at once, because wow, he wishes he could see it,
those pale fingers wrapped around his cock, the way it must look sliding
through Gerard's fist, his hips riding Gerard's fingers. Gerard's hand is wide
and warm and sure, shit, he knows exactly what he's doing, thumb smearing
through the precome Frank's leaking everywhere, stroking slow and firm until
his whole hand is slick with it - making the slide easy, making Frank's fucking
toes curl in his sneakers.
Frank moans, loud, head hitting the door with a thud. His hips are twitching,
rocking forwards and back like he can somehow get more of this, like he could
even take it if he could. He's grabbing at Gerard's arms, pinned in place by
Gerard's body and the hand on his cock and the fingers in his ass; this is what
he's been missing out on, all this time he's spent bitching when he could have
just been doing this.
Frank pretty much wants to do this for the rest of his life, except Gerard's
jacking him faster, fucking him with his fingers and running his mouth off in
Frank's ear - stuff Frank can't even understand, he's too far gone - but he can
hear the heat in Gerard's voice, knows instinctually it's just pure, awesome
filth, and Frank's going to come.
"Yeah?" Gerard's hands slow and Frank makes a choked, protesting noise, but
Gerard's drawling, "Thought you wanted to touch my dick?" and oh, hell yeah,
Frank does.
"Yes, yeah." Frank's scrabbling for Gerard's belt again; he's clumsy and
useless and in the end Gerard just does it for him, fingers sliding out, belt
clicking loud and metallic in the dark. Frank's panting, reeling from the edge
of orgasm, but then he hears Gerard's zipper come down, the rustle of denim,
and he's too turned on to think about it.
"Come here," he says again, and shoves his hand inside Gerard's jeans.
...And finds nothing but bare, hot, sweaty skin.
"Oh my god," Frank says.
Gerard presses close, breath hot on Frank's face. "Laundry day," he says,
weirdly sheepish after all that bravado. "Uh."
"Oh my god," Frank repeats. Fuck, Gerard was going commando. That's really hot,
and Frank's head is spinning. He's really doing it. He's touching a dick.He's
touching Gerard's dick. And it's - "You're fucking big."
Gerard laughs breathily, licking teasingly at Frank's bottom lip. "Y'dont-- you
don't have to say that, Frank. I'm already getting you off."
Frank wants to protest, because wow, Gerard really is fucking big, thick and
hard and leaking in Frank's hand, skin smooth and pulsing - but he's too busy
marveling at the way it feels. It feels exactly like Frank thought it would -
like a dick, like his own - only it's not his own, it's someone else. It's
Gerard,this random pretty, greasy nerd who Frank just met, who apparently gets
off on hormonal teenage virgins throwing themselves at him in public.
And it's weird, doing this to someone else, like everything's back to front.
But Gerard makes a little moany encouraging noise when Frank strokes
experimentally, his own hand back on Frank's cock in response, tipping their
foreheads together so Frank can hear him - feel his little hitches of breath
against his face when Frank does something just right.
"Wow," Frank breathes. "Oh, wow."
"Yeah," Gerard agrees, free hand sliding up Frank's sweaty neck, cupping his
skull. It's really hot in here, stifling and endless in the dark. The only
sounds are their breath, the rustle of their arms working, and the dull buzz of
the party they left behind.
"Fucking limbo," Frank gasps, and Gerard kisses him clumsily, moans into his
mouth as the pace speeds. Frank's breathing hard, doing his best to mimic
Gerard, but he can feel the edge coming, his balls drawing up, heat twisting up
tight in his stomach - and Gerard's hips are moving, fucking hotly into Frank's
fist as he pants against Frank's face. "Gerard, I can't--"
"You're good," Gerard groans, fingers twisting in Frank's hair, mouth dragging
sloppily over Frank's jaw, hand relentless on Frank's cock. "Yeah, just - ah -
just like that. God, Frank, gonna make me come."
"I am? I mean, fuck yeah, I am, I'm gonna," Frank's babbling and he knows it,
but he can't make himself stop. He's mindless, gone - and when Gerard twists
his wrist on the next stroke and yanks hard on Frank's hair, he's done. Frank
comes, hard, with a noise he didn't even think he was capable of making.
Through the white noise in his ears he hears Gerard swear appreciatively, and
then not so appreciatively when Frank goes limp. His hand disappears from
Frank's cock and then suddenly there's slick, dirty, fucking porno noises: the
sound of Gerard jerking off with fingers wet with Frank's come.
"Holy fuck," Frank says weakly, but he can't just stand here and listen, not
after all this. He grabs for Gerard's hand, folding his own palm over Gerard's
sticky knuckles so they can bring him off together, hands moving in sloppy
sync. Gerard moans, thick and desperate and gorgeous, and when he comes Frank
can feel it, hot and dripping over their entwined knuckles.
This is the greatest night of Frank's life. Gerard's face is still smushed in
Frank's shoulder; he's slumping and kind of heavy, both of them breathing hard,
sweaty and reeking of come. The world is still lurching, and Frank's buzzing
from head to toe.
"God," Frank sighs happily, and salutes a fond goodbye to his dick virginity.
His hand is still covered in come. Well. Gerard can't see it, Frank reasons.
Slowly, he brings his hand to his mouth, licks a little, curious. It tastes
like come, thick and gloppy and not all that pleasant, but Frank digs it
anyway. He can't wait to try sucking Gerard's dick sometime.
Gerard makes a choking kind of noise. Frank giggles with realization. "Sorry.
Kind of lose my filter when I'm trashed. And everything else, actually."
"Oh," Gerard says. There's a long pause, and then he peels himself away, his
warmth and weight disappearing into the dark. Frank tries not to feel too
disappointed. "So you. You want to see me again?"
"Yes?" Frank says, and then realizes it's true. Wow, it's really true.
The silence stretches. There's the rustle of clothes, a clink of a belt like
Gerard is pulling his jeans up. "Um."
"Wait, now you go shy on me? Come on, man." Frank wipes his hand on his own
jeans like an afterthought, like, Gerard's come is on your hands! You touched a
dick! Shyness has no place here! He doesn't say that, though. He doesn't feel
quite as good as he did a few minutes ago.
"M'not, I just." There's shuffling sounds; slow, tense breaths. "I just. God, I
just have to go, I'm sorry."
"What?" Frank says, but Gerard's already opening the door, making Frank stumble
forwards, still off-balance with his jeans around his knees. The sudden bright
light streams in like a flash of lightening, hitting Frank in the eyes; he
curses and rubs at them but by the time they've adjusted, Gerard is long gone.
"Shit," Frank says, rushing to pull up his own pants, but his heart is already
sinking.
There's nobody greasy or pretty in the hall, or the living room, or by the keg.
There's nobody waiting outside. It's just the same stupid people that were
there before Gerard. Frank finds Dewees asleep on the stairs and kicks him in
the head.
"Ugh," Dewees groans, blinking up at him blearily. "Frank? The fuck, man?"
"Come on," Frank says dully. "We're going."
"Wow, finally," Dewees says, clawing at the stair railings until he finally
manages to get himself upright, grumbling and clutching at his head. "Ow,
motherfucker. So?"
"So, nothing," Frank says, shoving Dewees down the stairs. "Fucking nothing at
all."
                                       *
Frank doesn't care. He really doesn't. People do it all the time, this casual
sex thing. They go to parties and they get drunk or high and they hook up with
strangers in closets and then they never speak to each other ever again. Frank
just forgot about that fact of life, or something.
Thankfully, he and Dewees aren't a pair of chicks, which means Dewees doesn't
pester him about the details. Frank thinks he knows it didn't go too well,
though. Maybe it was the kick to the head, or maybe it was when Frank said he
didn't fucking want to talk about it, in that tone that was just daring Dewees
to try, and see how far it got him. It doesn't matter, though, because by
Sunday night, Frank's convinced himself he's over it. Like, he had his gay
dick-touching experience, and it was-- it doesn't matter. The point is, he can
move on now.
Monday rolls around too quickly. Frank feels vaguely sick in the morning, but
nobody calls him a fag. At least, no more than usual. Not in any way other than
it's just the easiest insult to throw at the short kid with the shitty fauxhawk
that doesn't give a damn who sees him jumping on Dewees by his locker. Nobody
says it with intent, like it's coming from a place of knowledge. Frank's kind
of amazed, considering the whole world and its dog must have seen him necking
with Gerard in Jacob's kitchen. Maybe the people who saw don't go to his
school. Frank can't recall any of their faces from memory, probably wouldn’t
recognize them even if saw them. They all look the fucking same anyway. Gerard
was the one who looked like he'd been beamed in from outer space.
...But Frank doesn't want to think about him. He's over it.
And school may suck, but at least it keeps him busy. Jacob may be responsible
for the bruise on Frank's arm, but he was flanked by his cronies when he gave
it to him. It's an entirely different story here in the hallways; Jacob's a
sophomore like Frank, and most of his friends are older, which means in the
classes they have together, Jacob doesn't have backup. Frank relishes his
revenge in the form of spitballs and noogies. He doesn't need to fuck the
fucker up to prove his point. Although he totally could.
He's still tense, though. But then suddenly it's Wednesday and there's still
nothing, and Frank starts to let himself think that maybe - maybe, nothing's
going to happen. That everything will just carry on as normal.
He's not sure if he feels relieved or disappointed.
On Thursday his mom works late, and Dewees comes over. Frank had been avoiding
it as casually as he could, but the dude is used to being at Frank's
practically every night, so he knew he couldn't keep it up.
"This weekend," Dewees says from the floor at the end of Frank's bed.  "There's
a party over in Bloomfield." He pauses, and Frank can hear the grin in his
voice, "A friend of Jacob's."
"Eh," Frank says. He's lolling on his back on the bed, staring up at the
ceiling. "I dunno, I'm kinda bored of crashing douchebags' little get-
togethers." Dewees can't see his finger quotes, so he makes sure to stress it.
He has legitimately heard one of those lame-asses say that.
"Dude," Dewees says incredulously. "You've been once. And since when do you get
bored of fucking around with assholes?"
"Wasting my weekend on fuckheads like that?" Frank says, a little sharper than
he meant to - but fuck it, he has a point. "I'm surprised you actually wantto,
damn. You got a boner for Jacob or something?"
"Not me, man. Boners are your department." Dewees snorts with laughter at
himself, giggles floating up from the end of the bed, like he thinks he's
totally hilarious.
"I'll shove my boner in your mom's department," Frank snaps, and the giggles
taper off. Frank immediately feels stupid, but his gut is still fluttery with
annoyance. He's been unusually quick to lose his temper the past few days. Even
getting back at Jacob didn't help much.
"Okay," Dewees says finally. "Are you going to tell me what's up your ass or
what?"
Frank grits his teeth. "Nothing's up my fucking ass." His mind unhelpfully
flashes related images at him, but Frank doesn't feel like making the obvious
joke. He likes things in his ass, so fucking what. Dewees can go suck a fucking
turd.
He very deliberately does not think about Gerard.
"Whatever," Dewees sighs. "I dunno what went on with you and creepy goth dude,
but you need to get over it. Your little fag drama is really starting to piss
me off."
Maybe it's the words, or maybe it's the way he says them. Maybe it's nothing to
do with Dewees at all, but Frank's scrambling up and throwing himself off the
bed anyway. He catches a glimpse of Dewees' wide, surprised eyes before they're
crashing together onto the floor, Frank landing on top with a satisfying thud.
And then they're rolling around, grunting and swearing as they wrestle to pin
each other down. Dewees is bigger and stronger than him, but Frank fights
dirty, and he's bony in places where Dewees is soft. When Dewees tries to get
him in a headlock, Frank digs his fingernails hard into his ribs, throwing him
off with a swift knee to the thigh when he jerks back and swears.
And they're laughing, kind of, but then Dewees grabs Frank by the hair and
suddenly they're not anymore, shoves getting harder, fists less restrained.
Suddenly, they're thrashing around on Frank's bedroom floor for a reason Frank
can't remember. He just knows he feels so angry he wants to smash something,
even if that something happens to be his best friend.
"Frank!" Dewees eventually yells, trying to restrain him, Frank thinks -
grabbing for Frank's wrists. "Frankie, come on, man!" He manages to get his
weight on top of Frank, pinning him down on his back; Dewees' face is flushed
and his eyebrows are scrunched up, and something about his expression makes
Frank feel instantly, abruptly shitty. He lets himself go limp, breathing hard.
Dewees looks down at him warily. "Are you gonna sock me if I let go?"
"Maybe," Frank growls, but he stays still when Dewees moves away, holding his
hands up like Frank's aiming a gun at him.
"Seriously Frank, the fuck is your problem?"
Frank lets his breath huff hard through his mouth, back to staring at the
ceiling. "Nothing."
"Yeah, right," Dewees scoffs, thudding back on his ass against the side of
Frank's bed. "I know you're pissed off because your little homo rendezvous
didn't go how you wanted, but don't fucking take it out on me."
Frank's stomach is twisting. His whole body is still buzzing with adrenaline,
but he grits his teeth. He knows he deserved that. He inhales deeply, exhales
in a harsh sigh, trying to calm down. After a long moment, heartbeat finally
slowing, he snorts a little. "Did you just say homo rendezvous? Like, really? I
thought I was the fag?"
Dewees suddenly looks a little sheepish. "Look, Frank. I didn't, uh. I didn't
mean that."
"What?"
Dewees rolls his eyes, looking hulking and uncomfortable. "When I called you a
fag. Like, I know I rip on you sometimes, but y'know I don't really give a shit
what you do with your dick, right? I'm just," he trails off, apparently at the
limit of his ability to express an emotion other than total scuzzy dickhead,
which is what he usually rocks.
Frank feels strangely touched. He doesn't even want to laugh at Dewees' stupid
awkward face. "It's okay," he says, and it is. He already knew that, really.
Dewees is an asshole, but he isn't that kind of asshole. "Sorry I whaled on
you."
Dewees visibly relaxes, grinning a little. "S'okay. Not like it hurt," and wow,
that didn't take long. Frank sits up and punches him lightly in the arm, like,
okay,and that's that. Frank's always liked that about Dewees, about their
friendship. It's refreshingly simple. "So, like, are you -"
"I'm fine," Frank says quickly. "Just got, like. Carried away."
Frank can tell Dewees doesn't believe him, but he keeps his mouth shut. Frank
would never tell him, but sometimes he's really glad they are friends.
                                       *
They end up going to the stupid party. It's just as suicide-worthy as Jacob's,
if not worse. Frank thinks he sort of recognizes a few faces, mostly by the way
they're looking at him. And of course, Jacob himself, who doesn't seem too
pleased to see Frank, for some reason. Usually Frank would be all over it -
messing around with people, stealing beer, reclaiming his spot in the kitchen -
but the thing is, he can't stop seeing Gerard's fucking face everywhere.
Everywhere he looks, people with dark hair, dark jackets. They're all talking
to each other, though, guffawing and hooting at each other's pathetic stories
and unfunny jokes like a pack of ugly hyenas. Everyone who's here, looks like
they should be here. Like this is where they belong.
Their natural habitat, Frank thinks snidely.
With the exception of him and Dewees, of course. But even then, Frank's always
thought Dewees could fit in here, if he wanted. He's just that kind of guy -
the kind that people just like. He's funny, a little bit weird, but only in the
sort of way where people want to know him. He's a character. Frank has too much
of a chip on his shoulder to be a character and he knows it; his form of funny
and weird is laced with sarcasm and that makes people uncomfortable. People
want to feel like you're laughing with them, not at them.
Frank doesn't give a shit. He wouldn't try and fit in here if you paid him.
He's only here because he had nothing better to do, not because he thought
there might be a chance Gerard would show up. Because even if he did, it's not
like it would matter. Gerard made that pretty clear when he ran awayfrom Frank
like Frank had the goddamn herp.
Fuck it, Frank has pretty much given up pretending he's entirely over it. It's
just-- he just can't stop replaying those fuzzy moments before Gerard opened
the closet door. It won't arrange itself right in his mind. He just sees
endless darkness, vague memories of fumbling hands. Gerard's stuttering voice
saying, "God, I just have to go, I'm sorry."
That, and how it had felt when Gerard touched him.
Frank feels himself flush. Right here, sat on the steps of the front porch of a
house filled with fucking chumps from his high school, he's blushing thinking
about some greasy-haired douchebag he doesn't even know. Frank finishes his
cigarette in an angry puff of smoke and immediately lights another one. He's
really got to get around to scoring again soon. Dewees is still inside
somewhere, probably hooking up with that empty-headed brunette in the sparkly
top - Frank doesn't care. He's tempted to just leave, go home and go to bed
and--
Except, he can't just go. Frank can take the half-hour walk alone in the dark,
no problem, but Dewees was trashed before they arrived.
"For fuck's sake," Frank spits under his breath, and stomps inside to find him.
That turns out to be easier said than done, because he is indeed in brunette
bimbo land; Frank only finds out that they're locked in the bathroom together
by chance. He just happened to be passing when Dewees apparently threw up on
her. (Even if she hadn't shrieked like the building was coming down, he would
have recognized Dewees' retching anywhere).
They kind of haveto leave after that, because brunette bimbo's boyfriend comes
to see what's going on. Frank would usually call being chased down the street
by an angry football player the sign of a good night, but when he gets home and
falls into bed, Frank just feels, like, deflated.
Maybe Gerard had a reason he left. Like, a reason other than he realized he'd
just hooked up with a stupid little kid and now had to deal with them throwing
themselves at him like a pathetic character in one of those hideous romcoms
Frank's mom likes. Maybe he had to get home to feed his dog. Maybe he left the
goddamn oven on.
Or maybe Frank is just a fucking idiot. He feels unbearably embarrassed when he
remembers it, how he blurted out that he wanted to see Gerard again so soon;
even Frank knows you're supposed to wait, play it cool or whatever, so you
don't freak them out. Frank doesn't know how old Gerard is - hell, he doesn't
know anything about him, not really, just knowing what his mouth tastes like
and his hands feel like isn't knowing him - but he's got to be at least a
couple of years older than Frank. If only going by the way he was, how in
controlhe was. He probably does that all the time, Frank thinks. Just drags
boys off into closets and kisses them like that and says that filthy shit in
their ears--
You want me to touch you? Want my fingers in you?
Under the covers, Frank rubs his fingers lightly against his hipbones. He can
feel how his eyebrows have screwed up, how his gut has tightened, because he
just - he just doesn't understand. He doesn't get why Gerard didn't say
anything, even if it was just to tell Frank no. He doesn't know why he can't
stop thinking about it. He thinks about touching Gerard, how his cock had felt
in his hand, and wishes not for the first time it hadn't been so fucking dark,
because now he has nothing.No pictures in his mind, nothing to really make him
feel like it was real. It's just vague memories of touch, sound, sensation.
When Frank closes his eyes as he thinks about Gerard's fingers in his ass, it
feels exactly the same.
The covers ruck up over Frank's bare chest as he eases his hand inside his
boxers. This is mostly why Frank realized he had to stop pretending this isn't
a big deal; it's been a week since Gerard touched him now and Frank has touched
himself every night since. It's conflicting, frustration laced through every
nerve even as he feels himself getting hard thinking about it. It almost feels
like he's jerking off to a dream, sometimes - like the whole thing is just some
lame fantasy he made up - and that only makes him angrier. All he has, is that
pretty fucking face and the lingering sound of Gerard's voice. Frank doesn't
even know his last name. He doesn't know anything at all.
He feels his mouth curl into a snarl as he strokes himself roughly, curving his
palm over the leaking head of his cock to ease the slide. It's always the same.
At first he feels pathetic, like this is just insult to injury, but then it
gets to the stage where he's digging his heels into the mattress and fucking
his fist as he thinks about Gerard's fingers sliding up between his ass cheeks,
Gerard's wet fingertips stroking over his hole and sliding inside. How Frank
had felt the stretch through his whole body, from his thighs to the tips of his
toes. And when Gerard had done that thing, curved his fingers that way and made
Frank's knees jerk and his spine buckle, clutching and gasping desperately into
the dark.
That's never happened before. Frank has never been able to do that to himself.
Gerard, a stranger, this random fucking nerd from a high school house party,
can work Frank's body better than Frank himself can.
"Fucking fuck," Frank spits into the empty room, free hand thumping hard into
the mattress as he jacks himself faster, harder. Maybe he just wasn't good
enough. He remembers when he came, that complete bleaching of his senses - how
Gerard had practically had to finish himself off, for god's sake. He remembers
how his fingers had felt, sticky and clumsy over Gerard's own; christ, no
wonder he bolted, Frank barely even touched him. Maybe he should have tried to
suck Gerard off, instead, or made him come first before he let him touch Frank.
Just done something, anything more than flail around in the dark like the
pathetic little virgin he was, and just take it.
Maybe he should have really taken it. He didn't have condoms on him and he
doubts Gerard did either, but he was that fucked up--
Frank would have let him. As soon as he thinks it he knows it's true. It's
fucked up and disgusting and wrong, fucking dangerous, but he would have let
Gerard turn him around and fuck him bare. He would have let him come in his
ass; fuck, just the thought of it is enough to make Frank grit his teeth and
squeeze his eyes shut and come all over his own hand, his underwear, the
insides of his thighs.
He kicks the covers away from his heated skin and lays there panting for a
while, hand still inside his soaked boxers. He doesn't feel good. He just feels
dirty, violated. Violated by his own fucking brain.
And really, he hopes he never sees Gerard again. Because if he did, he doesn't
know what he'd do. Whether he'd kiss him stupid, or punch his fucking lights
out.
                                       *
Time passes. Frank stops going to parties. Well, those kind of parties, at
least. Dewees gets friendly with the right people (Frank always knew he had it
in him) and by his seventeenth birthday, Frank Iero has his very own fake ID.
Not that it always helps, because he still looks about thirteen years old and
he knows it - but it turns out that the bouncer at The Monroe club is very
susceptible to friendly persuasion. The first time Frank blows him in the alley
behind the club is a rush like nothing else he's experienced - fucking
terrifying but also completely exhilarating, and hot in a way he's almost
ashamed to admit to himself. A way that suggests he liked being used like that.
After that, he gets even more careless, and his luck with school finally runs
out. Every cloud has a silver lining, though; Frank supposes he kind of owes
Jacob and his posse for jumping him on his way home, because it's what finally
persuades his mom to get him a car. She might as well have handed Frank an all-
access life pass that said "Freedom!" on it in giant shiny letters. Or,
alternatively, "Sex!"
Holy shit, Frank has a lot of sex. Blowjobs in bathrooms, alleys, dudes' houses
(never, ever Frank's house - even if his mom isn't in, it just doesn't sit
right with him) and, occasionally, Dewees' house, when he's too wasted to
notice or care what Frank's getting up to in the next room.
The first time Frank fucks a guy he lasts about a minute, but it's okay,
because he's always younger than them. He's still got his stamina.
He thinks about Gerard occasionally, but it's distant. At first, he kept an eye
out in the clubs, paid a bit more attention than he should have to anyone with
a vague resemblance - but after a while, he gets over it.
He still jerks off to him sometimes, though. But only sometimes.
                                       *
Two weeks after his eighteenth birthday, Frank moves out. His new apartment is
shitty, but it's close to where he works at the convenience store and, most
importantly, it's Frank's. It's Frank's own place, and he can do whatever the
hell he wants in it. He's not quite sure he's mastered this whole adulthood
thing yet, but he's got things to fill his days and in the evening he's got a
place to fill other things, so he thinks he's doing alright. He fucks up
sometimes; a few months later he gets himself fired and almost arrested for
punching some homophobic douchebag in the face, and one time he messes up on
his budgeting and has to live on toast and raw carrots for a week (yeah, he
goes home for a dinner a few times, whatever) but it's okay. He's figuring it
out.
The main and most awesome thing is that Frank gets his first tattoo. A
Halloween jack-o-lantern on the back of his neck. It hurts like a bitch and it
costs an entire week's worth of wages, but it's so worth it. And after his
first time in the chair, Frank kind of can't stop. By the time he's nineteen,
he's wearing almost every penny he's earned from every crappy job he's had
since leaving school.
Frank gets his first boyfriend a few months after his birthday. His new
favorite club has gigs every Friday and Frank meets him in the pit when they
barrel into each other. His name is Kyle and he's really hot and funny and fun
to be with and awesome in bed - everything he should be, Frank supposes, and he
likes him a lot - but he keeps expecting to feel something more, and it just
never happens. They break up after six months, and if he's honest, Frank
doesn't feel too sad about it. He feels bad, because he doesn't know what his
deal is, but he doesn't feel sad.
He doesn't think much about Gerard anymore. Or at least, he doesn't until after
he says goodbye to Kyle.
It's another year later before Frank runs into him.
                                       *
The band is shitty, but the pit is on fire. There's a burly, blond,
aggressively enthusiastic dude who seems to keep finding his way into Frank's
space, biceps and hips and snarling smiles. It's exactly what Frank needs. He
gives back as good as he gets, throws himself around as hard and heavy as he
can. He comes out bruised and sweaty and shirtless, burly blond in tow.
Frank fucks him in the bathroom, pressing his face into the cubicle wall with a
hand twisted in his blond hair as he ruts into him from behind. They're both
noisy and drunk and it's good, it's satisfying. The guy offers him his number
when they're done and Frank says sure, lets him scrawl it on the back of his
hand between his tattoos. Whatever. It's usually less hassle than just turning
them down outright.
Back in the club, the band is packing up for the night. Frank finds his shirt
and heads for the bar.
"Jäger," he tells the bartender. "Straight up."
"Frank?"
He fucking knows who it is as soon as he sees the hair. He looks older,
obviously, and a little thinner, but the hair is exactly the same. "Fuck me,"
Frank says.
"Wow," Gerard says. He's wide-eyed, half-drunk, and still pretty. Frank can't
help but laugh, rubbing a sweaty palm over his face. "Um." Gerard blinks a few
times, looks around a little aimlessly at the empty stools next to him. "Can I
get you a drink?"
Frank pointedly holds up the Jäger the bartender just set down for him, and
then downs it in one go. "Thanks anyway," he rasps, teeth bared against the
harshness of the alcohol burning down his throat. He slams the glass down,
throws a couple of bills on the bar, and turns to leave. He's not angry,
exactly, but his stomach feels tight and hot, vision swimming a little. He
knows he wants to get as far away from Gerard as possible.
"Wait," he hears Gerard say faintly, "Frank, wait," but Frank's already shoving
through the door onto the street. The cool night air is pleasant on his
overheated skin, through the tattered rips in his shirt, and Frank lights a
cigarette as he trudges down the street towards his car. He is notrunning, but
he isn't sticking around, either. He hears the club door open, quick footsteps
behind him, and curses under his breath, keeping his head down. Maybe Gerard
will take the fucking hint.
"Frank!"
"Motherfucker," Frank snarls to himself, kicking his car in the back tire when
he reaches it. When he turns around Gerard is right there, out of breath and
twitchy. "What?" Frank asks him harshly, and then, suddenly, "Fucking weird me
being the one running away from you, huh?"
"Oh god," Gerard says, eyebrows screwing up. He's wearing an old, black, beat-
up leather jacket, just like the last time Frank saw him. Maybe it's the same
one. "Look, can we just--"
"What?" Frank says again, taking a couple of steps forward. Gerard's still
taller than him, but not by much, and he seems smaller with the way he shrinks
back into himself when Frank gets in his face. "What the fuck do you even want
from me, Gerard? Fucking tell me so I can go."
"You're driving?" Gerard asks, expression turning worried. "But you're drunk."
Frank snorts. "The fuck do you care?" He was actually planning on walking to
Dewees', but he doesn't feel like telling Gerard that.
Gerard looks upset. "I do. I do care, Frank, please. Look, I live near here.
Why don't you come back with me?"
Frank laughs bitterly. "What, so you can fuck me and then kick me out? Sorry,
I'm not really--"
"No!" Gerard says, voice rising. "No, I just. I just wanna talk, Frank,
please."
Frank stares at him. The edges of his vision are a little blurry, just like the
last time Frank saw him. It only makes this feel even more surreal. Maybe this
isn't even happening. Maybe someone spiked Frank's fucking drink. How does
Gerard even remember him? "But why," Frank eventually asks, a little
desperately now. His head is spinning. He absolutely cannot deal with this
right now. "What do you even want to say?"
Gerard looks at him, eyes wide and earnest, lips set in a worried little line.
"I just," he starts, and then sighs. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry, okay?
Fuck, I know it was years ago, but I've always felt really shitty for running
off like that, Frank. Will you just."
"What?" Frank asks again, but there's no venom in it now. He doesn't know why
his heart is pounding; it was years ago. Four of them. Frank should not still
be hung up over this. He didn't think he even was.
"Come back with me," Gerard says softly.
"Yeah," Frank says, surprising himself. "Yeah, okay."
                                       *
Gerard's apartment is a fucking mess. Gerard opens the door and Frank nearly
falls over a stack of boxes right in the goddamn doorway. "Sorry," Gerard says
sheepishly. "I, um, just moved in."
Oh, okay. So that explains why he suddenly just appeared in Frank's club. Frank
shrugs, edging around into what is apparently Gerard's living room. Boxes
everywhere, then, overflowing with books and paper; an ugly old couch,
countless used cups and plates stacked on the floor and on a battered-looking
coffee table. There's a desk against the wall under the window, and it's the
only thing that looks actually lived-in. Pots bulging with pens and pencils, a
tray full of paper and card, some elaborate-looking elevated drawing board with
metal rulings. There's an easel, too, and canvasses leaning against a box full
of art supplies.
"You're... an artist?" Frank says slowly.
Stood in the middle of all the mess, Gerard scuffs his toes against the dirty
beige carpet. "I guess," he says.
Frank doesn't know what that means. His eyes scan the room a little aimlessly.
The air is thick, tense. Frank doesn't know what to say. Between this and the
ten minute silent walk here, he doesn't feel that drunk anymore.
After a long moment, Gerard stutters, "Um, so--"
"So why didyou run away?" Frank interrupts. He didn't mean to say it, entirely,
but fuck it. This is still really fucking weird, and Frank just wants to know,
finally. Even if he's sure he knows already; he's still spent a lot of time
only hearing it in his own head, and now he wants to hear it for real. He wants
to hear Gerard say it was just a fuck, say he didn't really want him. If he can
just hear him say it, maybe Frank can--
"Because." Gerard hesitates. He's looking mostly at the floor, awkwardness
laced into every limb, and Frank just wants to tell him it's fine, he gets it,
he was a stupid naïve kid who didn't understand how hookups go - but he
doesn't. He watches Gerard rub his palms together, sighing again a little
desperately. "Because I'm chickenshit, I guess."
"Yeah," Frank agrees. Gerard winces a little, but Frank goes on, "I mean, I
know I was just a sad little virgin, but it's not like I couldn't have handled
you just telling me you didn't want to see me again, for fuck's sake. You
didn't have to fucking run away like--"
"What?" Gerard says, looking up at Frank for the first time. "What, no. That
wasn't why I," Gerard pauses, eyebrows narrowing with confusion. "No, you
said.You said you were trashed. You pretty much told me flat-out you had no
idea what you were doing."
Frank opens his mouth to protest, but then - oh. Oh yeah. He remembers. Feeling
giddy, feeling awesome. Tongue-trigger happy and rambling right off the top of
his high little head. But he didn't - that's not what he meant."I did," Frank
says, shaking his head. "No, I did know. I was just."
"And in the kitchen," Gerard goes on quickly, voice gaining weight now, "When
you kissed me--"
"You kissed me!"
"Well, exactly!" Gerard says frantically, hands flying up in frustration. "I
kissed you because you asked me to, because you seemed fine, you weren't
fucking, like, falling all over the place - you didn't," he trails off,
crossing his arms over his chest and looking hard at the wall. "You just
weren't acting like you were out of it, okay."
"But," Frank frowns, "you knew I was high, dude. Come on, you must have!"
"Well, yeah," Gerard says tightly. "I mean, obviously I knew you weren't sober,
but I at least thought you knew what you were doing, and when you said that, I
just - I dunno, I just felt. Like, dirty. Like I'd taken advantage of you." He
looks utterly miserable, hunched up inside himself, and something kicks in
Frank's gut, twists up into his chest.
"No." Frank's moving forwards, a couple of wide steps until he's right in front
of Gerard. Gerard jumps a little, flinches like he's going to step back, but
Frank grabs him by the arms. "No," Frank says again, softer, and Gerard looks
at him, eyes big and slightly panicked, hands suspended in mid-air between
them. "I wanted it. I wanted you."
"You didn't even know me," Gerard says quietly.
It's true. Hell, that was partly what had gotFrank so much about it, the fact
he couldn't stop thinking - obsessing, really - about something that by all
rights should have meant nothing. "No," Frank admits, leaning closer. "But I
wanted to. I would have. If you'd let me."
"God." Gerard closes his eyes briefly. "I wish I hadn't just - ugh. But I guess
I just freaked out. I didn't even know how fucking old you were, christ."
"Sixteen."
Gerard's eyebrows crease up even more. "Fuck. I was nineteen."
"And now I'm twenty," Frank goes on smoothly. "And I still -" For a moment he
thinks about not saying it, about making his peace and leaving. About letting
this go, finally. Finally.
Gerard's face is open, anxious, and still so fucking pretty; it's like Frank's
seeing him for the first time all over again. Like this, right here, is
entirely new. "I still want you," Frank finishes.
"Frank." Gerard licks his lips, barely, and Frank can't help it - he leans in
and kisses him. Gerard huffs a harsh breath against Frank's mouth, hands
grabbing instantly for Frank's shoulders, and he kisses Frank back. It's deep
and hot from the start, clutching hands and teeth. Frank lasts about ten
seconds before he's pushing at him, shoving him back onto the couch and
straddling his hips.
"If you're gonna run away after this you better fucking tell me now," Frank
breathes when he pulls back for air, impatient hands shoving at Gerard's
jacket.
Gerard makes a forceful, negative noise and surges up - gets his wet, open
mouth on Frank's neck as the jacket gets tossed carelessly onto the floor. They
make out hard and fast, hands everywhere, until they're both panting and
grinding their hips, both hard in their jeans. It's messy and desperate and
Gerard's mouth and hands are interfering, distracting, stopping Frank getting
Gerard naked, and horizontal, sweaty and moaning and possibly begging-- wow,
that's an idea. Gerard wasn't a virgin last time, wasn't fumbling or clueless
or anything other than rocking Frank's world, and now -
Now Frank wants to give it back, show Gerard what he's learned since that
goddamn closet. He wants to rock Gerard's world.
Frank forces himself to pull away, pressing Gerard back with firm hands on his
chest. "Bedroom?"
"Down the hall," Gerard gets out, face flushed. Frank practically drags him
there, half-tripping over each other. Gerard loses his shirt before they reach
Gerard's bedroom, and shit, he's fucking gorgeous, pale and pliant under
Frank's fingertips.
Frank has to shove him up against the door when it closes, get his hands on
Gerard's hips, waist, arms while Gerard fumbles for the light switch. He's
definitely thinner than Frank remembers, but Frank's fingers still dig
pleasingly into that fleshiness around his waist, the sweaty dip of his back
when Gerard arches into his hands. For a second there's the weirdest stab of
déjà-vu, mind swinging back to Gerard pressing him up against that closet door.
Only - it's not dark, and Frank's not high, he can see everything. He can see
Gerard's bare skin, the way his own hands look against it. Gerard's dark eyes,
dark hair, dark jeans bulging deliciously at the front.
"Oh, yeah. I remember this," Frank breathes, hand dropping to cup Gerard's cock
through the denim, rubbing slowly, feeling him hard and straining against his
palm. "Remember how fucking big you are."
Gerard makes a low, breathy noise, and yeah, Frank remembers those, too. He
unbuckles Gerard's belt, pulls his jeans open, and - hey, Gerard's wearing
underwear this time, impressively tenting the front of a pair of purple
(fucking purple) boxer-briefs. Frank's mouth is already watering even before he
sinks to his knees.
"Frank," Gerard's breath catches, hands grabbing for Frank's shoulders as Frank
hooks his fingers over the waistband. "You don't. You don't have to, I--"
"I thought about this," Frank cuts him off, talking quietly, like he's
admitting a secret. He kind of is, he supposes. "For months after. Wondered if
I'd tried to suck you off, if I'd been better, then you wouldn't have run
away." Gerard makes a sad sort of noise, starts to speak, but Frank goes on
hastily, "But mostly I just thought about it when I was jerking off. Thought
about if I'd got on my knees in the dark and just let you fuck my mouth. If I
could even have taken it. If you would've made me take it."
Gerard's breathing hard above him as Frank pulls the briefs down carefully,
leaving them bunched up with Gerard's jeans around his thighs. And fuck, yeah,
Frank wishes he'd got to see this last time. Gerard hard and huge, straining up
against his stomach, the way Frank's hands look cupping his hipbones. Frank
leans in straight away, licks long, slow lines up Gerard's cock, base to tip,
flicking the tip of his tongue against the head and speaking lowly, "Thought
about you coming on my face. Making me feel used, dirty."
Gerard makes a strangled noise, hands clutching at Frank's shoulders as Frank
goes down on him as far as he can. Frank's done this a lot, but christ, he has
to work to get Gerard into his throat, wrapping a hand around what he can't
take. Gerard tastes good, sharp and a little sweaty, filling up Frank's mouth
and nose with his smell, turned-on and heady. Frank's heart is thudding in his
ears, eyes welling up, and Gerard's hips are twitching, like he's fighting not
to just fuck forwards into Frank's mouth. Frank braces his free forearm over
Gerard's hips, pulls back to breathe, and goes down again. And then again.
Saliva pools in his mouth, leaking through the seams of his stretched lips,
until Frank's chin is dripping and Gerard's cock is shining with Frank's spit.
When Frank finally pulls back, throat sore, breathing hard and leaking in his
pants - Gerard's fingers are twisted tightly in Frank's hair, and his chest is
flushed almost as much as his face. "Fuck, Frank," he says hoarsely, looking
down at him like he's never seen him before, eyes huge and dark. And suddenly,
in a rush of clarity or maybe madness, Frank wants. He knows exactly what he
wants.
"Yeah, you should," Frank says, and god, his voice is wrecked."You should fuck
me."
"Uh," Gerard says a little desperately, chest heaving. "Are. Are you sure?"
Frank watches his own wet hand stroke Gerard's cock, plush skin sliding, head
slick. He says, "Yeah," and it's weird to mean it, weird to wantit, when he's
never--
"Fuck, okay," Gerard says, running a hand through his hair. "Let's - we should.
Bed."
Frank's heart is pounding, gut churning with nerves. He feels light-headed when
he stands, but Gerard's pulling him close and kissing him, licking at the
wetness smeared around his mouth as he walks them backwards, kicking out of his
jeans as he goes. It reminds Frank that he's still fully dressed; he pulls his
shirt up and Gerard steps back to help him tug it off before pressing Frank
back onto the bed. Gerard has black, paint-stained sheets that smell like smoke
and fabric softener, and Gerard's weight on top of him - his bare body resting
between Frank's thighs - is really, really awesome.
What's also awesome are Gerard's hands, smoothing over Frank's chest, head
bowed to watch his fingers trace Frank's tattoos. "Mmm," Gerard hums, fingertip
skirting the flame over Frank's heart, circling his nipple lightly, trailing
down to the birds on Frank's hips. "I like these."
"Yeah?" Frank asks breathlessly, stretching a little as he leans back on his
elbows, because yeah, he's proud of his ink, and Gerard's touch is intent,
slow, taking it all in. His fingers stroke Frank's stomach, tracing the faint
red lines where his jeans have been digging in, opening the fly as he kisses
and sucks on Frank's neck.
Unlike Gerard, Frank isn'twearing underwear. He kind of left them in club
bathroom. But Frank doesn't want to think about that, now. It suddenly seems
extremely unimportant.
"Oh," Gerard says, high and surprised, and Frank grins, pushing his hips up to
help Gerard get his jeans off. It kind of fades from his face when Gerard
presses his lips to Frank's stomach - licking teasingly close to Frank's cock,
dragging his tongue up until he's sucking on Frank's nipples, one then the
other until Frank's panting, falling back flat and pulling at the sheets with
impatience. "Gerard, come on."
"Shhh," Gerard soothes, hands sliding up Frank's thighs, bringing them up
around Gerard's hips as he leans down, braces himself over Frank. "You're not
the only one who's thought about this."
"What?" Frank tries to ask, but Gerard kisses him again, deep and messy and
shit, suddenly it's serious, both of them naked and hard and pushing against
each other, Gerard's hand wandering between Frank's legs, sliding down the back
of his thigh. When his fingers tease at Frank's hole Frank breaks away to
swear, breathing hard against the sudden rush of fear. "Uh, you should - I've
never." Fuck, his face is flaming. He can't believe he just-- Gerard just knew
last time, but Frank's not exactly unpracticed anymore. He really likes to
think he's past that whole blurting out stupid shit thing.
Gerard stills, raising his head to look at Frank. The realization that spreads
slowly over his face is almost comical. "Oh, my god. Seriously?"
"Shut up," Frank grumbles, pulling at Gerard's shoulders, but Gerard's smiling,
lopsided and strangely familiar in a way that tugs behind Frank's ribs. "No,
it's okay. Just a little, um. Déjà vu."
"Fucking tell me about it," Frank growls, finally succeeding in pulling Gerard
down, pressing his mouth to his ear. "Now fuck me."
Gerard makes a pleased noise of agreement, and shoves his tongue in Frank's
mouth. Frank gets back into it straight away, stomach swooping not entirely
pleasantly, but Gerard's hands slide down his body, curl around his hips -
urging Frank over, rolling him onto his front. Which, okay. Okay.
Frank exhales hard into the sheets, trying to calm down, and Gerard kisses at
his shoulders, the nape of his neck, knee between Frank's thighs, nudging them
further apart until Gerard's kneeling between them. "I thought about this,
too," he's saying, voice low behind Frank's ear. "Well, not this, specifically,
but." His mouth is between Frank's shoulderblades, the mattress dipping as he
goes lower, licking down Frank's spine. "I felt really bad for a long time,
thinking I might have fucking messed you up or something."
No, Frank thinks. It didn't mess him up, not in the way Gerard's thinking - but
he can only make a negative noise, because he's suddenly lost the power of
speech. Gerard's mouth is on his lower back, hands fanning over his cheeks and
spreading them and oh, Frank thinks he knows where this is going but he's not
sure, he's never -
Gerard's tongue is hot and wet, dragging up from the base of Frank's balls to
his tailbone. "Mmm, yeah," Gerard drawls over Frank's shocked moan. "I remember
I really wanted to use my mouth on you, but you wouldn't let me."
"Couldn't--" Frank gasps as Gerard licks him again, back arching and hands
fisting in the sheets. "Couldn't have - handled it, fuck."
"You handled my fingers though," Gerard says, and there's that porno voice
again, the one Frank's been hearing in his dreams ever since that damn closet.
"God, you were so hot. I was jerking off to the sounds you made for months.
Like, it was all I could think about, even though I still felt bad. Just
couldn't stop myself." He laughs a little against Frank's ass, breath hot and
teasing on the sensitive wet skin. "Guess we're both kind of sad, huh?"
"I'll be really sad if you fucking stop," Frank spits out in a rush, and Gerard
laughs again before his tongue is back - all long, slow strokes over Frank's
hole, circling and then pressing in, fucking into him with quick, firm jabs.
Frank swears, forehead sliding sweaty against the sheets. He knows he's making
stupid noises but it's just-- he can't believe how this feels, how worked up
he's getting just from Gerard's tongue in his ass. It's actually ridiculous how
ready to come he is from this, cock jerking against his stomach with every lap
of Gerard's tongue, hips moving helplessly against the bed just to get some
form of relief, some friction.
When Gerard finally pulls back Frank almost whimpers; he's so turned on and he
can feel how wet he is, Gerard's spit sliding over his asshole and dripping
from his balls. Gerard leans over him to fumble in his bedside table and Frank
licks his dry lips as he hears the rip of foil, the click-squelch of lube. He
feels giddy, strung-high, not even nervous anymore. All he can think about is
feeling Gerard inside him, feeling his body open around that big dick of his,
Gerard's hips flush against his ass and his voice low and heated in Frank's
ear.
Gerard gives him two slick fingers at once and Frank moans gratefully; it's
been a while since he's fingered himself and the stretch is just right, the
undertone of hurt giving the heat that climbs up his spine a sharp,
overwhelming edge.
"God, still hot," Gerard says breathlessly and Frank grunts something,
demanding. Three fingers feels like more but still not enough; it's like he's a
fucking virgin all over again. Maybe there's just something about Gerard that
brings that out in him, Frank thinks wildly. "Can't believe you've never done
this."
"Fuck me," Frank tells him again, the record stuck in his head, and Gerard -
Gerard does.
His cock pushing in draws a moan from both of them, Frank's half-choked and
gasping because holy shit, he feels that. That's a lot.Gerard doesn't mess
around, doesn't try to treat Frank like something delicate, thank god. He just
goes for it, leans over Frank's back with hands braced either side of him and
rocks his hips slowly, burying himself an inch at a time. It kind of hurts, but
that's never exactly been a turn-off for Frank - the deeper Gerard gets the
better it is, the more it makes Frank feel like he's going to go insane from
how fucking fullhe feels.
When Gerard's hips finally flush against his ass, Frank lets out a hard,
overwhelmed breath. Gerard stills, hair brushing Frank's shoulders as he gets
out, "Okay?" breathing hard.
Frank can't even speak. He just nods, face in the bed - and after a long, tense
moment, Gerard sits up and pulls back. Slow, still so slow, and Frank gets a
bunch of sheets in his mouth and bites down, muffling the strangled noises he
makes as Gerard slides back in. Jesus christ.
"Frank." Gerard's grunting and shifting his weight, knees sliding against the
inside of Frank's thighs, fingers digging in to Frank's hips. "Uh, can you -
can you get up on your knees for me?"
Frank doesn't think he can, but Gerard's hands are firm, coaxing, pulling his
hips up until Frank manages to get his knees under himself. "Oh my god," Frank
spits as the angle changes, his back arching and hips tilting, letting Gerard
get even deeper. He buries his face in his forearms and tries to breathe
through it. He's shaking, a little, thighs trembling. He can't help it, he
feels completely wrecked - and exposed like this, in a way he's never wanted
anyone else to see before.
He doesn't know why he's letting Gerard see it now. There's just something
about this guy that makes Frank want to give him everything.
"Yeah, yeah," Gerard's murmuring to him in the porn voice, draped over Frank's
back, fucking him with sharp, rolling thrusts of his hips. "S'good, you feel so
good - so tight, god, how. How come you never?"
"Just," Frank gets out, breaking off to moan and pant when things suddenly amp
up, their movements getting easier, more fluid. "Just never - I dunno, I--"
Gerard's hips kick just rightand Frank swears, fumbling a hand under himself so
he can jerk off, fast and hard. The pace kicks up in response, skin starting to
slap together, both of them breathing hard. "So how's it feel?" Gerard pants.
It feels overwhelming, almost painful. It feels like Frank's not going to walk
right for days, like he's going to fall apart as soon as Gerard pulls out. It
feels fucking incredible. Frank tries to tell him that, but he's kind of about
to come already, pulsing in his own hand and clenching around Gerard's cock.
Gerard's teeth dig into his neck and Frank chokes out a warning; a hand joins
Frank's on his dick, the other sliding up his chest, cupping Frank's chin and
turning his face so Gerard can swallow his noises as Frank comes hard, all over
their fingers and the sheets and his own stomach.
Gerard moans and fucks into him faster, harder-- fucking Frank back down into
the bed, fucking him through Frank's orgasm and out the other side. Frank
whines into the bed, strung-out and oversensitive, but he doesn't want Gerard
to stop, hell no - he wants Gerard to use him, keep going until Frank literally
can't take it anymore, every nerve ending in him screaming for Gerard to stop.
It doesn't happen. Gerard comes with the same gorgeous throaty noise Frank
remembers, and the pulsing of his cock inside that Frank doesn't, sticky hands
petting clumsily at Frank's thighs and arms and sides. They lie together in a
sweaty heap for a while, breathing hard and sticking together.
"Sorry about your sheets," Frank eventually says, because it seems like the
thing to say. He is lying in one hell of a wet spot.
Gerard makes a laughing, snorting sort of noise into Frank's shoulder. "S'okay.
Not like-- um. Let's just say they needed a wash anyway."
Frank makes a snorting laughing noise of his own. Gerard's still inside him,
face in Frank's skin, greasy-damp hair in Frank's face, and Frank doesn't know
how he feels. He feels good, he thinks. Fluttery, content. He does hiss a
little when Gerard pulls out, but even the zap-shock of being so suddenly empty
- feeling so open and raw, doesn't change that. Frank still really, really
wants a cigarette.
And he doesn't want to leave, which is strange. This is usually the part where
he starts getting his shit together.
Gerard rolls off him, ties and chucks the condom, and fumbles in the draw
again, coming up with a cigarette in his mouth like he read Frank's mind. "You
want one of mine?" he asks and Frank nods gratefully, rolling onto his back
with a high, thin wince. Gerard makes an acknowledging noise. "Yeah, sorry.
You'll be feeling that for a while."
Propping himself up on his elbows to take the smoke Gerard hands him, Frank
looks at him. Despite everything, there's still a small part of Frank that's
expecting Gerard to freak or kick Frank out - but Gerard just smokes, looking
quite calm, sat hunched forward over his half-crossed legs. He's pale and soft
and fleshy and so far from what Frank usually picks up it's funny, but Frank's
attracted to him anyway. Still.
"You wanna stay?" Gerard asks him then, and suddenly that nervousness is back,
tugging at his fingers. It's seriously confusing, especially since Frank's
stomach is still tacky with come and Gerard's dirty, drawling voice is still
fresh in his mind.
Frank nods again, surprising himself. "Yeah." He doesn't know what this is,
what happens now, but he knows he wants to stay.
They smoke together silently, lying side by side, not-quite touching. When
they've finished Gerard fetches Frank a washcloth, turns the lights off, and
pulls the covers over them. This is still really weird, but Frank's tired,
aching to his bones, and Gerard's emitting heat next to him, present and
comforting.
He falls asleep pretty quick.
                                       *
When Frank wakes up, his head is throbbing, his ass and thighs are screaming,
and he has no idea where he is. It's dim in the room, but light enough to see,
like the morning light is escaping around the edge of blinds. Frank's really
hot and he doesn't know why; when he shifts he feels something really warm and
really soft pressing all along his back, steady breaths against his nape and an
arm draped over his side and--
Oh, yeah. Frank stops squirming, but Gerard's already stirring, groaning a
little against the back of Frank's neck, low and vibrating. Frank can tell when
he wakes up because his whole body goes stiff, breathing stilling and tensing
in pace.
After a long pause he goes to pull back, but Frank reaches behind himself and
stops him. "Don't."
"Sorry," Gerard mumbles. "I, er, move in my sleep a lot."
"It's. It's fine." Frank can't remember the last time he woke up with someone,
let alone spooning with them. Kyle hadn't stayed over much, and most of the sex
he's had has been in bathrooms and basements. He does pull away though, just
because he is really hot. He lets the sheets pool around his waist and lays
back down, turning to face Gerard.
Gerard looks back at him, face a little flushed, hair stuck to his forehead and
neck. "I am sorry about, y'know," he suddenly says, voice a little tight.
"Running off."
"It's okay," Frank says, and it is. Whatever's happened, whatever the fuck's
going on now, Frank feels okay. With Gerard, with himself. "It was just. I
couldn't stop thinking about it. It was insane."
"It was your first time," Gerard says understandingly, but Frank shakes his
head.
"It wasn't just that. I mean, I'd pretty much been ready to do it for weeks."
He laughs a little, remembering moaning to Dewees in his basement, getting high
and frustrated and going home to jerk off. "It was just you. Fucking, kissing
me like that, in front of everyone. I couldn't get over it."
"You told me to," Gerard reminds him, but he's smiling, visibly relaxing. "Me
neither. That you just let me, I mean. Like, you were a virgin, and you still
didn't care. You were fucking fearless. And - I don't know, I guess that turned
me on."
"Oh yeah?" Frank says knowingly, raising an eyebrow. "You get off on stealing
vulnerable young boys' innocence, sicko?"
"No!" Gerard protests, and then catches on. "Oh, fuck off. Stop laughing at me,
asshole."
Frank stops laughing, mostly, but only because Gerard's stupid pouty face is
making him want to kiss him too much.
"Mmph," Gerard huffs against Frank's mouth when Frank pulls Gerard into it with
a hand curled around his jaw, kissing him until they're both breathless.
When Gerard starts making awesome little whimpering noises and pressing his
hips forward into Frank's, Frank pulls back. There's a full, squirmy feeling in
his stomach. It feels like anticipation.
"So," he says, grinning at Gerard's flushed face. "You wanna get breakfast?"
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