Post #160

[skipstoomuch]

Fics:
Are You a Meat Lover (Frank/Gerard)
Haunted by day (tentacle!Gerard/Mikey)
Tonight (kitten!Gerard/Mikey)
Covered in skin (Bob/Emilie Autumn, Gerard/Dean, Gerard/William, SPN crossover)
Frank/Gerard, missionary
Therianthropy (Alicia/Mikey/Pete)
Well, I Can't (Well, I Can) {MCR!Gerard/Poison Party)
Ryan! Stop Licking the Window! (fox!Ryan)
No

Comments

honey, this mirror (part 2)

[anonymous]

The heavy pewter bat buckle clinks a little against itself when he undoes his pants and gracelessly tugs his jeans and boxers down around his knees. Gerard stops, staring at himself in the mirror for a few moments. Still half-splattered with fake blood, shirt askew, hips jutted forward, hand gripping his dick, he looks so fucking undone. He doesn’t look like himself, he doesn’t look like Gerard, like he’s still the stage demon, some unholy lover out of the story he constructed in his head when they were making the album. Like maybe he just killed evil men #678-693 and got fucking turned on by it, and he’s just jerking off in the bathroom before the cops come.

Maybe it’s just the stark lighting in the dirty bathroom, the flickering flourescent, making everything look unreal.

He lets go long enough to spit into his hand, holding his hand far enough away from his mouth that he can watch the spit fall from his mouth into his palm. His eyes flicker up to the mirror, and again, his reflection isn’t Gerard. His hand moves on his dick again, and he has to bite back a moan with little white teeth sinking into his bottom lip. The band they were opening for has just started their set, so any noise he makes is lost under the sound of the crowd outside and music, so he tips his head back and lets his mouth fall open, uncensored. His other hand starts tracing the trail of light brown hair up to his navel, hiking up his shirt in the process. He rakes his jagged bitten nails into the pale soft skin, and he thinks of the way Bert dug his nails into his sides to get him to make a noise, as though trying to blow their cover on purpose.

He’s pretty sure no one can hear him over the sound of the band-- he doesn’t care anymore if anyone can hear him-- so he whimpers and moans and curses. He lets his hips buck forwards once or twice, imagining Bert telling him off, pressing him back and telling him to hold still. Gerard lets his eyes flutter shut, thinking about Bert’s mouth, thinking about the hellbent lover in his head getting off in the middle of a murder scene, and he feels fucked up, ashamed, dirty. It makes his face flush and his stomach drop and twist, but it also makes him hard and puts him right on the edge of an orgasm. And fuck, he can hear Bert’s low, hoarse, devious voice telling him hold it, don’t cum until I say so.