MCR ficlet: Drift (Frank/Mikey, adult)
Title: Drift
Pairing: Frank/Mikey
Rating: Hard R? NC-17?
Summary/Note: x-posted from original here, for Porn Battle VIII, prompt: fall. 1600 words.
The first thing Mikey says when he sees Frank on his back in his bunk, icing his ankle?
"You're an idiot."
"How do you know?" Frank replies, indignant. Seriously. Mikey wasn't even there when it happened, and-- "Hey, I could've fallen or something."
"Did you fall?"
"Um."
"Did you hurt your ankle because you're an idiot?"
"It's never because I'm an idiot. It's because I'm uncoordinated. There's a difference."
"Yes-the first thing means an accident everybody else sees coming, the second means even you know the accident is coming."
"Yeah, well you're an accident coming."
Mikey snorts and finally crawls into the bunk and curls himself around him, arm thrown over his stomach. For no good reason, it gives Frank goose bumps, like his skin's oversensitized or something. It takes him a minute to process why he feels so weird: this is the first time he's been this close to Mikey since…
Fuck, since yesterday, probably.
When Mikey squirms a little closer, Frank is all too aware of his fucked-up ankle because it means he can't wrap himself around Mikey like he usually does. They've never had an explosive chemistry, but it's always been a strong one. They're sort of magnetized to each other, always drifting into each other's space, always falling into bed with their hips and mouths and hearts aligned. And once they really get their hands on each other, they don't let go.
Sometimes, they spend whole days apart without quite knowing why, not until they close the door on a hotel room and realize the space was absolutely necessary-for their sanity but especially for the tension it builds, the kind that makes them fuck slow and hard to make up for lost time.
Mikey asks, "You going to the emergency room?"
"Not if I can help it. First Aid lady said wait to see how it looks in the morning."
Mikey makes an affirmative noise into his shoulder, and when he leaves his mouth there, his breath is hot through the fabric of Frank's t-shirt.
Mikey says, "Can you walk on it?"
"Technically, yes. Actually, no."
"Well," Mikey murmurs, then he pauses to pull at the collar of his shirt so he can kiss his collarbone. "Can you lay there and let me give you a hand job?"
"Mmm," Frank says, slipping his fingers underneath the waistband of Mikey's jeans, at the small of his back.
Mikey raises his head so he can look him in the eye. "It's a serious question."
Well, then.
"My ankle doesn't hurt bad when I'm off it," Frank says. "And, really, have you ever known me to have problems in that department?"
Mikey smiles, and it turns to a bit of a smirk. "Well, I am a little concerned for your tragic lack of coordination."
"But I'm good on my back."
Mikey grins at him and ducks his head back down to kiss Frank's neck
After a moment or two, Mikey mumbles, "So, aren't you going to ask me if the bus is empty?"
"Um." Just then, Mikey finds that one spot that makes Frank squirm and shiver a little, so Frank's voice is a little shaky when he says, "So, um. Is the bus empty?"
"Totally," Mikey replies, mouth pausing at Frank's jaw, and Frank can feel his smile. "And Bob's milling around outside, standing guard. He says he owes you, whatever that means."
Frank's having a hard time seeing how his jumping off something he shouldn't have jumped off is Bob's fault, just because Bob was nearby and didn't stop him, but he's not going to argue with the man's guilty conscience if it benefits him. At least not this second.
Frank says, "Remind me to tell you later. And remind me to thank him, apparently."
"Actually, I'm pretty sure he'd rather not think about what we might be doing in here."
When Mikey goes back to kissing his neck, Frank suddenly feels enormously frustrated. Fucking ankle; he can't do anything but lay here, flat on his back, and that's just fucking weird. But he tells himself maybe it can be fun. He'll just lay still and let Mikey do what he wants with him. It's not often Mikey's in control of this. Hell, it's even less often that he actively takes control, so Frank really has no idea how this is going to play out, but it's already making him pretty fucking hot just having Mikey's mouth on his neck and his hand wandering over Frank's stomach. Slow and easy, but everything so charged with possibility. That's the thing people don't get about Mikey: he might hang back, but sometimes that's because there's definitely something there he's holding back, patiently waiting for the right time.
The downside of this is he's sort of a fucking tease sometimes, and Frank's not usually patient enough for that. Tonight, though, for some reason, it doesn't make him antsy, just makes heat coil tight in his belly as he feels Mikey's hand drifting up and down and never really touching anything he wants touched.
He figures Mikey will go for his nipples first, eventually, so it's a surprise when his palm slides down over Frank's belt buckle and slips into place over the line his cock is making just to the left of his zipper. He's only half hard, but as Mikey lets his thumb rub down toward the head, he's suddenly hard as a goddamn rock.
"Fuck," he says in a sharp hiss of air. Mikey seems pleased; he kisses his neck harder, sucks a little. Still, his hand stays just like it is, lightly touching and teasing. Frank can feel himself starting to practically vibrate with the need to move his hips, buck against his hand, but he doesn't, just breathes deep and waits.
When Mikey unzips his pants, he makes a move to help, but Mikey picks up his hand and places it on his stomach.
"Mikey," he says, and maybe it's a whine. Maybe, but he can't help it. Mikey works his hand into the open V of his jeans, his long, thin fingers palming him through his briefs. His hand is so hot, and he knows exactly how to touch him to make him incoherent. Frank groans, "Fucking evil, fuck."
Mikey just makes a little murmuring sound in his ear and squeezes harder.
By the time Mikey takes his hand back and gets Frank's help pushing his jeans and underwear down over his hips, Frank's cock is already leaking, and it curves back against his stomach. Frank watches Mikey's hand close around his cock as he gives him a slow stroke all the way down, but then his eyes flutter closed, and he lets them, just gives himself over to feeling this.
And then Mikey starts talking. It's not some stagey dirty talk, either. It is dirty, but it's just Mikey being honest. He doesn't talk during sex all that much, but Frank thinks it might be worth the occasional tease to get to hear Mikey've voice low in his ear while he's getting him off.
"I wish we weren't on the bus," Mikey says in a tone like they're just sitting on the couch watching a movie or something and he's decided to bring up a new topic of conversation. "And that you weren't stuck in this position. 'Cause what I really wanted to do is suck you."
Frank's never entirely sure if Mikey's playing it cool on purpose or just being himself, but either way, it's hot as hell, and he can't help but thrust up with his hips a little.
Mikey goes on: "It's been a long time since I made you come with my mouth, hasn't it? I don't know why. I like doing it. You smell good. You taste good."
"You, too," Frank says, and now that he's opened his mouth, he can't shut it again. He gasps with every stroke of Mikey's hand, and now he can't get this image out of his head of Mikey sucking him off. Pretty quickly, though, that leads to images of just the opposite, of him sucking Mikey's dick. Right now, even. Fuck. He could stay on his back, just like this. Mikey could straddle him and, Jesus, fuck his face.
He's about to say so when Mikey says against the shell of his ear, "Look at you, so fucking hot. I've been watching you all day."
"Yeah?" Frank says in a thin rush of air.
"Always watching you," he says simply.
Frank turns his head so he can kiss him, and even though he's pretty much leading with his tongue, Mikey just growls deep in his throat and kisses him back, the hand on his cock moving just a little faster, just as fast as Frank needs it to. Frank's mouth goes slack as he comes, and Mikey's mouthing his jaw as he drifts back to reality.
He knows Mikey's hard, pressed like he is against his hip. Mikey finally throws a leg over Frank's and ruts against him a little, but almost unconsciously because he's still kissing Frank's neck, taking care of him. But Frank's beginning to feel how tightly wound Mikey is.
Frank says, "Think Bob can wait a few more minutes?"
Mikey snickers against his neck. "I think Bob's not coming in on us no matter how long we're in here."
"Okay then, how's your coordination?"
Mikey gives him an understandably skeptical look. When Frank tells him his plan, that skeptical look narrows and sharpens, but he doesn't protest. In fact, he just starts shimmying out of his jeans, and his eyes, wide open and dark, never leave Frank's.
~
Pairing: Frank/Mikey
Rating: Hard R? NC-17?
Summary/Note: x-posted from original here, for Porn Battle VIII, prompt: fall. 1600 words.
The first thing Mikey says when he sees Frank on his back in his bunk, icing his ankle?
"You're an idiot."
"How do you know?" Frank replies, indignant. Seriously. Mikey wasn't even there when it happened, and-- "Hey, I could've fallen or something."
"Did you fall?"
"Um."
"Did you hurt your ankle because you're an idiot?"
"It's never because I'm an idiot. It's because I'm uncoordinated. There's a difference."
"Yes-the first thing means an accident everybody else sees coming, the second means even you know the accident is coming."
"Yeah, well you're an accident coming."
Mikey snorts and finally crawls into the bunk and curls himself around him, arm thrown over his stomach. For no good reason, it gives Frank goose bumps, like his skin's oversensitized or something. It takes him a minute to process why he feels so weird: this is the first time he's been this close to Mikey since…
Fuck, since yesterday, probably.
When Mikey squirms a little closer, Frank is all too aware of his fucked-up ankle because it means he can't wrap himself around Mikey like he usually does. They've never had an explosive chemistry, but it's always been a strong one. They're sort of magnetized to each other, always drifting into each other's space, always falling into bed with their hips and mouths and hearts aligned. And once they really get their hands on each other, they don't let go.
Sometimes, they spend whole days apart without quite knowing why, not until they close the door on a hotel room and realize the space was absolutely necessary-for their sanity but especially for the tension it builds, the kind that makes them fuck slow and hard to make up for lost time.
Mikey asks, "You going to the emergency room?"
"Not if I can help it. First Aid lady said wait to see how it looks in the morning."
Mikey makes an affirmative noise into his shoulder, and when he leaves his mouth there, his breath is hot through the fabric of Frank's t-shirt.
Mikey says, "Can you walk on it?"
"Technically, yes. Actually, no."
"Well," Mikey murmurs, then he pauses to pull at the collar of his shirt so he can kiss his collarbone. "Can you lay there and let me give you a hand job?"
"Mmm," Frank says, slipping his fingers underneath the waistband of Mikey's jeans, at the small of his back.
Mikey raises his head so he can look him in the eye. "It's a serious question."
Well, then.
"My ankle doesn't hurt bad when I'm off it," Frank says. "And, really, have you ever known me to have problems in that department?"
Mikey smiles, and it turns to a bit of a smirk. "Well, I am a little concerned for your tragic lack of coordination."
"But I'm good on my back."
Mikey grins at him and ducks his head back down to kiss Frank's neck
After a moment or two, Mikey mumbles, "So, aren't you going to ask me if the bus is empty?"
"Um." Just then, Mikey finds that one spot that makes Frank squirm and shiver a little, so Frank's voice is a little shaky when he says, "So, um. Is the bus empty?"
"Totally," Mikey replies, mouth pausing at Frank's jaw, and Frank can feel his smile. "And Bob's milling around outside, standing guard. He says he owes you, whatever that means."
Frank's having a hard time seeing how his jumping off something he shouldn't have jumped off is Bob's fault, just because Bob was nearby and didn't stop him, but he's not going to argue with the man's guilty conscience if it benefits him. At least not this second.
Frank says, "Remind me to tell you later. And remind me to thank him, apparently."
"Actually, I'm pretty sure he'd rather not think about what we might be doing in here."
When Mikey goes back to kissing his neck, Frank suddenly feels enormously frustrated. Fucking ankle; he can't do anything but lay here, flat on his back, and that's just fucking weird. But he tells himself maybe it can be fun. He'll just lay still and let Mikey do what he wants with him. It's not often Mikey's in control of this. Hell, it's even less often that he actively takes control, so Frank really has no idea how this is going to play out, but it's already making him pretty fucking hot just having Mikey's mouth on his neck and his hand wandering over Frank's stomach. Slow and easy, but everything so charged with possibility. That's the thing people don't get about Mikey: he might hang back, but sometimes that's because there's definitely something there he's holding back, patiently waiting for the right time.
The downside of this is he's sort of a fucking tease sometimes, and Frank's not usually patient enough for that. Tonight, though, for some reason, it doesn't make him antsy, just makes heat coil tight in his belly as he feels Mikey's hand drifting up and down and never really touching anything he wants touched.
He figures Mikey will go for his nipples first, eventually, so it's a surprise when his palm slides down over Frank's belt buckle and slips into place over the line his cock is making just to the left of his zipper. He's only half hard, but as Mikey lets his thumb rub down toward the head, he's suddenly hard as a goddamn rock.
"Fuck," he says in a sharp hiss of air. Mikey seems pleased; he kisses his neck harder, sucks a little. Still, his hand stays just like it is, lightly touching and teasing. Frank can feel himself starting to practically vibrate with the need to move his hips, buck against his hand, but he doesn't, just breathes deep and waits.
When Mikey unzips his pants, he makes a move to help, but Mikey picks up his hand and places it on his stomach.
"Mikey," he says, and maybe it's a whine. Maybe, but he can't help it. Mikey works his hand into the open V of his jeans, his long, thin fingers palming him through his briefs. His hand is so hot, and he knows exactly how to touch him to make him incoherent. Frank groans, "Fucking evil, fuck."
Mikey just makes a little murmuring sound in his ear and squeezes harder.
By the time Mikey takes his hand back and gets Frank's help pushing his jeans and underwear down over his hips, Frank's cock is already leaking, and it curves back against his stomach. Frank watches Mikey's hand close around his cock as he gives him a slow stroke all the way down, but then his eyes flutter closed, and he lets them, just gives himself over to feeling this.
And then Mikey starts talking. It's not some stagey dirty talk, either. It is dirty, but it's just Mikey being honest. He doesn't talk during sex all that much, but Frank thinks it might be worth the occasional tease to get to hear Mikey've voice low in his ear while he's getting him off.
"I wish we weren't on the bus," Mikey says in a tone like they're just sitting on the couch watching a movie or something and he's decided to bring up a new topic of conversation. "And that you weren't stuck in this position. 'Cause what I really wanted to do is suck you."
Frank's never entirely sure if Mikey's playing it cool on purpose or just being himself, but either way, it's hot as hell, and he can't help but thrust up with his hips a little.
Mikey goes on: "It's been a long time since I made you come with my mouth, hasn't it? I don't know why. I like doing it. You smell good. You taste good."
"You, too," Frank says, and now that he's opened his mouth, he can't shut it again. He gasps with every stroke of Mikey's hand, and now he can't get this image out of his head of Mikey sucking him off. Pretty quickly, though, that leads to images of just the opposite, of him sucking Mikey's dick. Right now, even. Fuck. He could stay on his back, just like this. Mikey could straddle him and, Jesus, fuck his face.
He's about to say so when Mikey says against the shell of his ear, "Look at you, so fucking hot. I've been watching you all day."
"Yeah?" Frank says in a thin rush of air.
"Always watching you," he says simply.
Frank turns his head so he can kiss him, and even though he's pretty much leading with his tongue, Mikey just growls deep in his throat and kisses him back, the hand on his cock moving just a little faster, just as fast as Frank needs it to. Frank's mouth goes slack as he comes, and Mikey's mouthing his jaw as he drifts back to reality.
He knows Mikey's hard, pressed like he is against his hip. Mikey finally throws a leg over Frank's and ruts against him a little, but almost unconsciously because he's still kissing Frank's neck, taking care of him. But Frank's beginning to feel how tightly wound Mikey is.
Frank says, "Think Bob can wait a few more minutes?"
Mikey snickers against his neck. "I think Bob's not coming in on us no matter how long we're in here."
"Okay then, how's your coordination?"
Mikey gives him an understandably skeptical look. When Frank tells him his plan, that skeptical look narrows and sharpens, but he doesn't protest. In fact, he just starts shimmying out of his jeans, and his eyes, wide open and dark, never leave Frank's.
~