MCR ficlet: Hazards (Bob/Gerard, R)
Title: Hazards
Pairing: Bob/Gerard
Rating: R
Summary: x-posted from original here, for Porn Battle VIII, prompt: darkness. 1800 words.
Note: For crowgirl13. (I had written something of a Bob/Ray variety, but it was pretty much DOA. I'm working on something else with them, but in the meantime, Bob/Gerard?)
Gerard likes to fuck in the dark. He'll stop them in the middle of something if he has to, just to get up and flip the switch. Bob thinks it's kind of ridiculous. Once, Bob was with someone who did this same silly thing Gerard does, but that was when he wasn't even old enough to drink legally, and he was dating, like, an 18-year-old girl.
It's not just ridiculous, it's bordering on dumb. Gerard is not a shy person. Quiet, sometimes. Laid back, if the mood strikes him. But it's not because he's afraid of people paying attention to him. Bob's not an idiot; he knows that sometimes people are different in bed than they are in any other arena, and he's not unaware that people can be really different on stage than they are off. But still, it doesn't compute. Gerard has stuck his tongue down Frank's throat in front of thousands of people. He's grabbed his own crotch and made faces that put his actual orgasm face to shame. He's posed willingly for photo shoots that make him look prettier than most girls.
Yet here he is: shedding his shirt in a quick flash of skin on his way to the light switch, where he plunges the room into darkness before feeling his way back to the bed.
It's not that the dark isn't fun. It's nice to feel his way along Gerard's torso, down over his hips, and bite his way up over Gerard's chest past his collarbone to his neck. Gerard makes the best fucking noises, even when they're just kissing, but when Bob's sucking him off, he squirms and moans like Bob's mouth is really the best thing ever. Which is nice, really nice. Only…
Well, Bob would kind of like to see all the thrashing about. And Gerard's face. There's usually enough light for a silhouette, a gleam of the eye, but Bob wants to watch Gerard's pupils blow and his face flush, wants to watch the flush spread down his chest. Fuck, he wants to see everything: green eyes fluttering closed, mouth red and open, white skin covered in a sheen of sweat. He wants to watch Gerard's hands clench and unclench like they do when he's close, wants to see his thighs fall open and his cock curve hard against his stomach.
Yes, he likes touching him, and there's something nice about their shadows moving in the dark, whether things are frantic or lazy. But just once he'd like to see it. Is that too much to ask?
Apparently, it is. Or it has been, for the five months they've been dating. He thinks they fucked in the light once or twice back in the beginning, when they were too desperate for each other to bother taking all their clothes off or to wait to set the mood. Not that that's what Bob thinks Gerard's doing when he shuts off the light. Then again, Bob's never fucking asked him.
Now, as Gerard starts to unzip his pants, seems as good-or as bad-a time as any.
"So, what's with the dark thing?"
There's just enough light coming in around the hotel curtains that Bob can see Gerard suddenly snap into focus, the softness of his face going sharper. With confusion, though, not defensiveness.
"What?" Gerard says.
"I mean, why do you always turn off the light? When we're, you know, doing this. It's not- I mean, it's okay that you do and everything, I just…wondered. Why, I mean."
And then Gerard is suddenly attached to his side, wrapped around him and clinging like an octopus or something. If Bob weren't so used to such things, it would freak him out. Actually, it kind of does anyway, because it means Gee's about to get either mushy or serious, perhaps both.
"Hey," Gerard says. "Hey, it's not because I, like, don't like looking at you or anything. Okay? So please don't think that."
Actually, the idea hadn't really occurred to Bob, not as a serious possibility. Well, until now, that is.
"Then…why?"
Gerard presses his face to the side of Bob's neck. "I don't know."
Bob's hand sweeps up and down his back, and he says as kindly as he can, "Don't try that coy bullshit with me. You know I don't fall for it. You do it on purpose, the light thing, so you have a reason. I just wanted to know the reason."
Bob's tempted to turn on the lamp now, if only to see Gerard's face. Gerard's a pretty piss-poor liar, especially with Bob. For a second he worries that all this has something to do with that, with Gerard not wanting Bob to see his face, but he quickly wipes that idea from his mind. They don't do this neurotic bullshit with each other. Sometimes that means they don't talk about shit, but the upside is they really, really don't second-guess their relationship. They save the neuroses for the world outside them; they fight it together.
Which, come to think of it, means this, whatever it is, isn't serious so much as simply Gee being…Gee.
Gerard sighs into his neck.
"Gee."
"Okay, so. So you know how I can be, right?"
"You'll have to be a shit-ton more specific than that."
"About… Well, the way I'm kind of ADD, right?"
"I wouldn't say so. Not near as bad as Frank or anything. Well, except for with video games."
"And movies. And trips to the drug store."
"Or any store, really."
"And at restaurants. And in bars. And, well."
Bob sighs.
Gerard says, "It's like-well, it's worse with sex. Way worse. Sometimes. Or, it would be with you, I think. Like, everything's a little too much, but in a good way. Fuck. I don't know."
Why with me?, he thinks, but he asks, "But what does that have to do with the light?"
"I focus better. Or something. It just…works?"
Bob would really, really like to turn on the light now, this time so Gerard could see his face, but he fears he would look less like the supportive boyfriend he's trying to be and more like the Bob he's always been with Gerard: a strange mix of a little guarded and a lot bewildered because he's just a little too taken with him. He's dorky and silly and messy and flawed and charming and sincere and…perfect, and he just doesn't seem to get that everyone loves him precisely because he is the way he is.
"Hey," Bob says, fingers curling into Gerard's hair, just at the nape of his neck. "I like intense and focused, but I like you, too, so I really doubt you could scare me away, even if you can be a little…"
"Crazy?" Gerard says in a tone that only sounds bitter to Bob because he's used to listening through light-hearted self-deprecation.
Bob sighs heavily, and it turns into a groan. "Goddammit, Gerard, you are fucking crazy if you think I don't know you by now and want you exactly the way you are. And you know what else? You're way too fucking beautiful for me to be fucking you with the goddamn lights out all the time."
Gerard stills against his chest immediately, and Bob freezes, his heart laying on a sudden hard thump like a wicked, out-of-control backbeat. Back when they were just friends and bandmates, they always talked to each other this way, and he forgets, sometimes, that it's not that simple anymore.
But Gerard does relax into his arms again-just before he apparently thinks better of it and pulls away. Bob's afraid now, so afraid that this is why they don't talk about shit, because Gerard can be kind of incomprehensible at times and Bob is a little too comprehensible when he's frustrated. But then he realizes that Gerard's just going for the light switch.
Gerard bathes the room in the light from two lamps, a warm yellow that momentarily blinds him before it reveals Gerard squinting down at him, kohl-lined eyes so intense it makes the hair on the back of Bob's neck stand up. Bob grimaces, because that's better than looking as fucking sheepish as he feels, but then Gerard breaks out in this soft, fond grin, one that makes Bob feel kind of hot and helpless.
Gerard just stands there and looks at him for a minute, long and hard. Then he says:
"Take off your pants. I wanna see you."
So Bob does. It's not sexy or graceful or anything, but he pushes down his jeans and boxers and pulls them off his feet and sits back, half hard and waiting.
Gerard sheds his own pants without much ceremony, and when he climbs back onto the bed, he's already pushing Bob's thighs apart, and Bob has very little warning before Gerard's bending over and sucking in the head of his cock.
Gerard hums as Bob fully hardens, filling his mouth, then he pulls back a little and takes his time swirling his tongue around the crown until Bob's wiggling impatiently and biting back whimpers.
"Fuck, Gee, just-"
Then suddenly, Gerard takes him all the way down, the head of his cock is brushing the back of Gerard's throat.
He can't exactly help the pathetic groan he makes at that, and how the groans don't stop as Gerard quickly sets a rhythm. He knew Gee could do that-hell, he's done it to him before-but it's just not smart when they're on tour. Gerard will be operating entirely on Halls cough drops and honey-lemon tea tomorrow to chase the roughness from his voice, and everyone on the bus will know why, because Gerard is such a terrible liar. Not that Bob is thinking in terms of kinky pride or potential embarrassment just now. He can't really focus on anything but Gee's hot wet mouth and the way his hands keep Bob's hips pressed down into the mattress.
It's over so fast Bob would be embarrassed if he had enough brain cells left for that kind of thing. As it is, he just melts into the mattress, unable to wipe a goofy smile off his face. After Gerard takes a trip to the bathroom to wash his hands, he crawls back into place over him and kisses him once on the mouth and then just stares down at his face, smiling.
Bob says, "So that was supposed to convince me you can't focus and concentrate during sex?"
Gerard giggles, but it's this tense thing, as tightly wound as he is. "No," he says, "that was to watch your stupid face when you come."
"Oh," Bob says, and Gerard kisses his forehead and flops down on his back beside him.
Bob thinks he's recovered enough coordination to be useful now, so he sits up and climbs over Gerard, straddling his legs and looking down into his eyes, questioning.
Gerard just smiles mischievously but says with serious eyes, "I think, tonight, you should have whatever you want."
I've already got it, Bob thinks, and he doesn't even bother to chastise himself for being sappy. It's pretty much just a hazard of being in love with Gerard Way.
~
Pairing: Bob/Gerard
Rating: R
Summary: x-posted from original here, for Porn Battle VIII, prompt: darkness. 1800 words.
Note: For crowgirl13. (I had written something of a Bob/Ray variety, but it was pretty much DOA. I'm working on something else with them, but in the meantime, Bob/Gerard?)
Gerard likes to fuck in the dark. He'll stop them in the middle of something if he has to, just to get up and flip the switch. Bob thinks it's kind of ridiculous. Once, Bob was with someone who did this same silly thing Gerard does, but that was when he wasn't even old enough to drink legally, and he was dating, like, an 18-year-old girl.
It's not just ridiculous, it's bordering on dumb. Gerard is not a shy person. Quiet, sometimes. Laid back, if the mood strikes him. But it's not because he's afraid of people paying attention to him. Bob's not an idiot; he knows that sometimes people are different in bed than they are in any other arena, and he's not unaware that people can be really different on stage than they are off. But still, it doesn't compute. Gerard has stuck his tongue down Frank's throat in front of thousands of people. He's grabbed his own crotch and made faces that put his actual orgasm face to shame. He's posed willingly for photo shoots that make him look prettier than most girls.
Yet here he is: shedding his shirt in a quick flash of skin on his way to the light switch, where he plunges the room into darkness before feeling his way back to the bed.
It's not that the dark isn't fun. It's nice to feel his way along Gerard's torso, down over his hips, and bite his way up over Gerard's chest past his collarbone to his neck. Gerard makes the best fucking noises, even when they're just kissing, but when Bob's sucking him off, he squirms and moans like Bob's mouth is really the best thing ever. Which is nice, really nice. Only…
Well, Bob would kind of like to see all the thrashing about. And Gerard's face. There's usually enough light for a silhouette, a gleam of the eye, but Bob wants to watch Gerard's pupils blow and his face flush, wants to watch the flush spread down his chest. Fuck, he wants to see everything: green eyes fluttering closed, mouth red and open, white skin covered in a sheen of sweat. He wants to watch Gerard's hands clench and unclench like they do when he's close, wants to see his thighs fall open and his cock curve hard against his stomach.
Yes, he likes touching him, and there's something nice about their shadows moving in the dark, whether things are frantic or lazy. But just once he'd like to see it. Is that too much to ask?
Apparently, it is. Or it has been, for the five months they've been dating. He thinks they fucked in the light once or twice back in the beginning, when they were too desperate for each other to bother taking all their clothes off or to wait to set the mood. Not that that's what Bob thinks Gerard's doing when he shuts off the light. Then again, Bob's never fucking asked him.
Now, as Gerard starts to unzip his pants, seems as good-or as bad-a time as any.
"So, what's with the dark thing?"
There's just enough light coming in around the hotel curtains that Bob can see Gerard suddenly snap into focus, the softness of his face going sharper. With confusion, though, not defensiveness.
"What?" Gerard says.
"I mean, why do you always turn off the light? When we're, you know, doing this. It's not- I mean, it's okay that you do and everything, I just…wondered. Why, I mean."
And then Gerard is suddenly attached to his side, wrapped around him and clinging like an octopus or something. If Bob weren't so used to such things, it would freak him out. Actually, it kind of does anyway, because it means Gee's about to get either mushy or serious, perhaps both.
"Hey," Gerard says. "Hey, it's not because I, like, don't like looking at you or anything. Okay? So please don't think that."
Actually, the idea hadn't really occurred to Bob, not as a serious possibility. Well, until now, that is.
"Then…why?"
Gerard presses his face to the side of Bob's neck. "I don't know."
Bob's hand sweeps up and down his back, and he says as kindly as he can, "Don't try that coy bullshit with me. You know I don't fall for it. You do it on purpose, the light thing, so you have a reason. I just wanted to know the reason."
Bob's tempted to turn on the lamp now, if only to see Gerard's face. Gerard's a pretty piss-poor liar, especially with Bob. For a second he worries that all this has something to do with that, with Gerard not wanting Bob to see his face, but he quickly wipes that idea from his mind. They don't do this neurotic bullshit with each other. Sometimes that means they don't talk about shit, but the upside is they really, really don't second-guess their relationship. They save the neuroses for the world outside them; they fight it together.
Which, come to think of it, means this, whatever it is, isn't serious so much as simply Gee being…Gee.
Gerard sighs into his neck.
"Gee."
"Okay, so. So you know how I can be, right?"
"You'll have to be a shit-ton more specific than that."
"About… Well, the way I'm kind of ADD, right?"
"I wouldn't say so. Not near as bad as Frank or anything. Well, except for with video games."
"And movies. And trips to the drug store."
"Or any store, really."
"And at restaurants. And in bars. And, well."
Bob sighs.
Gerard says, "It's like-well, it's worse with sex. Way worse. Sometimes. Or, it would be with you, I think. Like, everything's a little too much, but in a good way. Fuck. I don't know."
Why with me?, he thinks, but he asks, "But what does that have to do with the light?"
"I focus better. Or something. It just…works?"
Bob would really, really like to turn on the light now, this time so Gerard could see his face, but he fears he would look less like the supportive boyfriend he's trying to be and more like the Bob he's always been with Gerard: a strange mix of a little guarded and a lot bewildered because he's just a little too taken with him. He's dorky and silly and messy and flawed and charming and sincere and…perfect, and he just doesn't seem to get that everyone loves him precisely because he is the way he is.
"Hey," Bob says, fingers curling into Gerard's hair, just at the nape of his neck. "I like intense and focused, but I like you, too, so I really doubt you could scare me away, even if you can be a little…"
"Crazy?" Gerard says in a tone that only sounds bitter to Bob because he's used to listening through light-hearted self-deprecation.
Bob sighs heavily, and it turns into a groan. "Goddammit, Gerard, you are fucking crazy if you think I don't know you by now and want you exactly the way you are. And you know what else? You're way too fucking beautiful for me to be fucking you with the goddamn lights out all the time."
Gerard stills against his chest immediately, and Bob freezes, his heart laying on a sudden hard thump like a wicked, out-of-control backbeat. Back when they were just friends and bandmates, they always talked to each other this way, and he forgets, sometimes, that it's not that simple anymore.
But Gerard does relax into his arms again-just before he apparently thinks better of it and pulls away. Bob's afraid now, so afraid that this is why they don't talk about shit, because Gerard can be kind of incomprehensible at times and Bob is a little too comprehensible when he's frustrated. But then he realizes that Gerard's just going for the light switch.
Gerard bathes the room in the light from two lamps, a warm yellow that momentarily blinds him before it reveals Gerard squinting down at him, kohl-lined eyes so intense it makes the hair on the back of Bob's neck stand up. Bob grimaces, because that's better than looking as fucking sheepish as he feels, but then Gerard breaks out in this soft, fond grin, one that makes Bob feel kind of hot and helpless.
Gerard just stands there and looks at him for a minute, long and hard. Then he says:
"Take off your pants. I wanna see you."
So Bob does. It's not sexy or graceful or anything, but he pushes down his jeans and boxers and pulls them off his feet and sits back, half hard and waiting.
Gerard sheds his own pants without much ceremony, and when he climbs back onto the bed, he's already pushing Bob's thighs apart, and Bob has very little warning before Gerard's bending over and sucking in the head of his cock.
Gerard hums as Bob fully hardens, filling his mouth, then he pulls back a little and takes his time swirling his tongue around the crown until Bob's wiggling impatiently and biting back whimpers.
"Fuck, Gee, just-"
Then suddenly, Gerard takes him all the way down, the head of his cock is brushing the back of Gerard's throat.
He can't exactly help the pathetic groan he makes at that, and how the groans don't stop as Gerard quickly sets a rhythm. He knew Gee could do that-hell, he's done it to him before-but it's just not smart when they're on tour. Gerard will be operating entirely on Halls cough drops and honey-lemon tea tomorrow to chase the roughness from his voice, and everyone on the bus will know why, because Gerard is such a terrible liar. Not that Bob is thinking in terms of kinky pride or potential embarrassment just now. He can't really focus on anything but Gee's hot wet mouth and the way his hands keep Bob's hips pressed down into the mattress.
It's over so fast Bob would be embarrassed if he had enough brain cells left for that kind of thing. As it is, he just melts into the mattress, unable to wipe a goofy smile off his face. After Gerard takes a trip to the bathroom to wash his hands, he crawls back into place over him and kisses him once on the mouth and then just stares down at his face, smiling.
Bob says, "So that was supposed to convince me you can't focus and concentrate during sex?"
Gerard giggles, but it's this tense thing, as tightly wound as he is. "No," he says, "that was to watch your stupid face when you come."
"Oh," Bob says, and Gerard kisses his forehead and flops down on his back beside him.
Bob thinks he's recovered enough coordination to be useful now, so he sits up and climbs over Gerard, straddling his legs and looking down into his eyes, questioning.
Gerard just smiles mischievously but says with serious eyes, "I think, tonight, you should have whatever you want."
I've already got it, Bob thinks, and he doesn't even bother to chastise himself for being sappy. It's pretty much just a hazard of being in love with Gerard Way.
~