Ficlet!
So! I too went over to the Get Pedicone Some Meme and did a ficlet! The prompt I chose was:
frank/pedicone
sometimes frank doesn't know his limits and needs somebody to calm him down
This was the result!
Title: Hand-Off
Author: desert_neon
Rating: R
Pairing: Frank/Pedicone
Warnings: Dom/sub, collar and leash
Summary: Sometimes Frank doesn't know his limits and needs somebody to calm him down. It used to be Gerard's job. Now, that duty belongs to Mike Pedicone.
Frank has always said he’s two kinds of bi. Bisexual and Bipolar. But then he always adds, “But without the bi part, because I don’t get depressed. I just get really, really manic.” When asked about the bisexual part of that, given that he’s been with his wife since high school, he just laughs and gives a sly smile. Wouldn’t they all like to know?
Truth is, he’s been playing for both teams since he was sixteen, and always with Jamia’s permission. Sometimes, even, with her assistance. But she’s always understood him better than almost anyone. He says almost, because Gerard is pretty fucking good at understanding him. His whole band is, really, but in past years, it was Gerard who was entrusted with Frankie’s issues. With his health. Mental, that is.
Because sometimes Frank just needs. He needs to be told how to behave. He needs to be told how to act. He needs to be told every single thing he can or cannot do, before he gets himself or someone else hurt. He needs to be taken in hand, and he needs someone to surrender to. Gerard is always good for that.
There’s nothing sexual about it, not for them. Not really, anyway. They played with the edges of it in the early days, but Gerard wasn’t quite comfortable wielding power over Frank in that way. Gerard and all his fucking morals. But, of course, Frank submitted to Gerard’s wishes. He always would.
So when Gerard says to Frank, “I don’t think I’m enough for you anymore,” Frank doesn’t get it. He frantically thinks back, thinks if he did something wrong, if there was ever a command he didn’t obey. He comes up with nothing though, no instance of disobedience on his part, and he opens his mouth to say so. But Gerard beats him to it. “You’ve done nothing wrong, Frankie,” he soothes. He pets Frank’s hair, trails his hand down behind his ear, and runs his thumb over the top of the collar. “But you don’t submit anymore. Not fully. You consciously choose to listen, and that’s not the same thing.”
Frank wants to protest. If it has the same effect, if it keeps him from bouncing off the walls and the amps and the side of the bus, then isn’t that the same thing? Isn’t that good enough? But he says nothing. Gerard has not given him permission to speak, after all.
“I have to hand you over to someone else, Frankie. Someone who can give you what you need. All of it.”
Frank doesn’t know if he likes the sound of this. Gerard is talking like he’s already chosen the someone, and Frank doesn’t have a say in the matter. Which, okay, is sort of the point of submitting. Which just goes to prove Gerard’s point, really. Frank is questioning. Gerard is no longer enough. It sucks, but he has to admit Gerard is right.
Also, he will not fight Gerard on this. One last submission, one last acquiescence, in honor of everything Gerard has done for him. Anyway, he trusts Gerard more than anyone else in the world, other than his wife.
“Mike’s agreed to take over,” Gerard says, tilting Frank’s face up and holding his gaze. “If you’ll have him.”
Frank’s breath catches and he licks his lips. Yes. Yes, he’ll fucking have him. He nods.
Gerard smiles. “Yeah, that’s kind of what I thought.”
_________
There isn’t ceremony to the hand-off. And it literally is a hand-off. Gerard texts Mike and Mike slips into the hotel room, key in hand. Gerard gets on his knees, level with Frank, and kisses him quietly. He says “Goodbye,” and he says, “Be good,” and he pets Frank’s head one more time. Then he stands, hands Mike the end of the leash, and says, “Treat him right.”
Mike nods. “I got this,” he says, his voice low and trust-worthy.
Gerard nods, and then he leaves.
Mike stands over Frank and Frank looks down at the crappy, rough, hotel carpet. Mike tugs lightly on the leash and Frank leans forward, but apparently he was just testing the bonds, because he doesn’t ask Frank to get up or to crawl or anything. Instead, he says, “Look at me.”
Frank looks, automatically. Mike’s voice is very, very different from Gerard’s. Gerard was always firm, but with a persuasive lilt in his voice. Seductive, almost. Like even if you weren’t submitting you would do what he wanted you to, because he was just that fucking hypnotic. Mike’s voice is hard, commanding, and Frank already feels himself slipping into that headspace, the one he hasn’t truly entered in quite some time.
“Gerard says your safety word is Skellington. True?”
Frank nods.
Mike nods back. “Okay. You use it whenever you need to. No repercussions, no anger, no guilt.”
Frank nods again.
Mike sits down on the edge of the hotel bed and wraps the end of the leash around his hand a few times. “Come.”
Frank knee walks to kneel in front of him.
“We’ll start carefully. You use that safe word if you need it.”
Frank nods, but he has a feeling he won’t need it at all.
_________
Frank is bounding around the greenroom, his energy hyped up after the performance they just gave for nighttime television . They spent the afternoon at the beach, and it is entirely possible that he is still feeling a little sun-whacky. He crouches from his position on the makeup counter and takes a springing, flying leap towards the back of the couch.
He doesn’t quite make it.
“Ow,” he says between his laughter.
He looks up to see Gerard standing over him, frowning, and he waits. Normally this would be Gerard’s cue to say something, to snap him into obedience. But that isn’t Gerard’s job anymore.
“Frank,” says a stern voice from the armchair in the corner, and Frank immediately quiets. He turns his head to look, and Mike has him in a fierce gaze. “Do not get hurt,” he commands.
Frank nods and stands up. He moves around to the front of the couch and grabs the book he left there earlier. He sits and reads quietly.
_________
Frank hears footsteps approaching, and he can tell they belong to Ray. Ray is the best person to scare, because he actually gets frightened and then angry, and his hair does amazing things. Frank crouches at the edge of his bunk, curtain closed, waiting.
When Ray passes by, Frank zips the curtain open and leaps into the corridor with a terrifying screech, then lands on his haunches, lost to a giggle fit.
Ray shrieks like a girl and hits Frank around the head and shoulders. Frank is laughing too hard to protest, and anyway, he doesn’t really mind.
But the blows stop coming, and Ray stops yelling, and when Frank looks up, he sees Mike shaking his head at Ray, something steely in his gaze.
“Fine. You deal with it,” Ray says, and he’s off to the back lounge, guitar in hand.
Mike does.
_________
They’re at some foodcourt in some mall somewhere. Frank doesn’t remember where. He’s tired and his head is buzzing, and he misses his girls. He’d followed Mike to the pizza place on automatic pilot, while Gerard and Mikey had gone for sandwiches, and Ray had wandered over to Hot Dog on a Stick with James.
“You can get whatever you want,” Mike says, his voice that softer level that means he’s just talking to Frank. There is no master/subservient going on today.
“I know,” Frank says. “I want to see if they’ll make me one without cheese.”
“You’re so weird.”
Frank laughs. “In so many ways,” he agrees, nodding.
Mike laughs too and pus his arm around Frank’s shoulders, pulling him into his chest. Frank can’t help but sniff delightedly, and sigh.
Mike stills underneath him. “Yeah?”
Frank nods, his head still buried in the fabric of Mike’s shirt. “Yeah.”
_________
The show in Seattle is fucking insane. It doesn’t help that it’s been raining all day, of course. Frank has been cooped up in his hotel room for way too long. It shows on stage, because he’s wilder than ever before, leaping off of risers and amps, practically humping Gerard’s leg, and going to his knees so hard he wouldn’t be surprised if he ended up cracking his kneecaps.
After, no one says a word. Mike snaps his fingers once and Frank stills, then follows him out the back of the venue and to the waiting bus. He waits, vibrating in place as Mike reaches into the drawer beneath his lower bunk and rummages around. Finally the drummer emerges with the collar and leash, and Frank falls to his knees one more time.
Mike’s hands are gentle as he fastens the buckle. He checks with two fingers that it isn’t too tight, despite the obvious wear on the leather that says the buckle is in the right spot. Frank looks at the dirty linoleum floor, already slipping pleasantly away.
“Up,” Mike commands with a tug on the leash.
Frank gets up and Mike takes him to the back lounge. Mike sits but Frank stays standing, looking at more linoleum. Mike unzips his pants.
Frank’s mouth starts to water.
“Knees,” Mike says.
Frank obeys.
___
END
frank/pedicone
sometimes frank doesn't know his limits and needs somebody to calm him down
This was the result!
Title: Hand-Off
Author: desert_neon
Rating: R
Pairing: Frank/Pedicone
Warnings: Dom/sub, collar and leash
Summary: Sometimes Frank doesn't know his limits and needs somebody to calm him down. It used to be Gerard's job. Now, that duty belongs to Mike Pedicone.
Frank has always said he’s two kinds of bi. Bisexual and Bipolar. But then he always adds, “But without the bi part, because I don’t get depressed. I just get really, really manic.” When asked about the bisexual part of that, given that he’s been with his wife since high school, he just laughs and gives a sly smile. Wouldn’t they all like to know?
Truth is, he’s been playing for both teams since he was sixteen, and always with Jamia’s permission. Sometimes, even, with her assistance. But she’s always understood him better than almost anyone. He says almost, because Gerard is pretty fucking good at understanding him. His whole band is, really, but in past years, it was Gerard who was entrusted with Frankie’s issues. With his health. Mental, that is.
Because sometimes Frank just needs. He needs to be told how to behave. He needs to be told how to act. He needs to be told every single thing he can or cannot do, before he gets himself or someone else hurt. He needs to be taken in hand, and he needs someone to surrender to. Gerard is always good for that.
There’s nothing sexual about it, not for them. Not really, anyway. They played with the edges of it in the early days, but Gerard wasn’t quite comfortable wielding power over Frank in that way. Gerard and all his fucking morals. But, of course, Frank submitted to Gerard’s wishes. He always would.
So when Gerard says to Frank, “I don’t think I’m enough for you anymore,” Frank doesn’t get it. He frantically thinks back, thinks if he did something wrong, if there was ever a command he didn’t obey. He comes up with nothing though, no instance of disobedience on his part, and he opens his mouth to say so. But Gerard beats him to it. “You’ve done nothing wrong, Frankie,” he soothes. He pets Frank’s hair, trails his hand down behind his ear, and runs his thumb over the top of the collar. “But you don’t submit anymore. Not fully. You consciously choose to listen, and that’s not the same thing.”
Frank wants to protest. If it has the same effect, if it keeps him from bouncing off the walls and the amps and the side of the bus, then isn’t that the same thing? Isn’t that good enough? But he says nothing. Gerard has not given him permission to speak, after all.
“I have to hand you over to someone else, Frankie. Someone who can give you what you need. All of it.”
Frank doesn’t know if he likes the sound of this. Gerard is talking like he’s already chosen the someone, and Frank doesn’t have a say in the matter. Which, okay, is sort of the point of submitting. Which just goes to prove Gerard’s point, really. Frank is questioning. Gerard is no longer enough. It sucks, but he has to admit Gerard is right.
Also, he will not fight Gerard on this. One last submission, one last acquiescence, in honor of everything Gerard has done for him. Anyway, he trusts Gerard more than anyone else in the world, other than his wife.
“Mike’s agreed to take over,” Gerard says, tilting Frank’s face up and holding his gaze. “If you’ll have him.”
Frank’s breath catches and he licks his lips. Yes. Yes, he’ll fucking have him. He nods.
Gerard smiles. “Yeah, that’s kind of what I thought.”
_________
There isn’t ceremony to the hand-off. And it literally is a hand-off. Gerard texts Mike and Mike slips into the hotel room, key in hand. Gerard gets on his knees, level with Frank, and kisses him quietly. He says “Goodbye,” and he says, “Be good,” and he pets Frank’s head one more time. Then he stands, hands Mike the end of the leash, and says, “Treat him right.”
Mike nods. “I got this,” he says, his voice low and trust-worthy.
Gerard nods, and then he leaves.
Mike stands over Frank and Frank looks down at the crappy, rough, hotel carpet. Mike tugs lightly on the leash and Frank leans forward, but apparently he was just testing the bonds, because he doesn’t ask Frank to get up or to crawl or anything. Instead, he says, “Look at me.”
Frank looks, automatically. Mike’s voice is very, very different from Gerard’s. Gerard was always firm, but with a persuasive lilt in his voice. Seductive, almost. Like even if you weren’t submitting you would do what he wanted you to, because he was just that fucking hypnotic. Mike’s voice is hard, commanding, and Frank already feels himself slipping into that headspace, the one he hasn’t truly entered in quite some time.
“Gerard says your safety word is Skellington. True?”
Frank nods.
Mike nods back. “Okay. You use it whenever you need to. No repercussions, no anger, no guilt.”
Frank nods again.
Mike sits down on the edge of the hotel bed and wraps the end of the leash around his hand a few times. “Come.”
Frank knee walks to kneel in front of him.
“We’ll start carefully. You use that safe word if you need it.”
Frank nods, but he has a feeling he won’t need it at all.
_________
Frank is bounding around the greenroom, his energy hyped up after the performance they just gave for nighttime television . They spent the afternoon at the beach, and it is entirely possible that he is still feeling a little sun-whacky. He crouches from his position on the makeup counter and takes a springing, flying leap towards the back of the couch.
He doesn’t quite make it.
“Ow,” he says between his laughter.
He looks up to see Gerard standing over him, frowning, and he waits. Normally this would be Gerard’s cue to say something, to snap him into obedience. But that isn’t Gerard’s job anymore.
“Frank,” says a stern voice from the armchair in the corner, and Frank immediately quiets. He turns his head to look, and Mike has him in a fierce gaze. “Do not get hurt,” he commands.
Frank nods and stands up. He moves around to the front of the couch and grabs the book he left there earlier. He sits and reads quietly.
_________
Frank hears footsteps approaching, and he can tell they belong to Ray. Ray is the best person to scare, because he actually gets frightened and then angry, and his hair does amazing things. Frank crouches at the edge of his bunk, curtain closed, waiting.
When Ray passes by, Frank zips the curtain open and leaps into the corridor with a terrifying screech, then lands on his haunches, lost to a giggle fit.
Ray shrieks like a girl and hits Frank around the head and shoulders. Frank is laughing too hard to protest, and anyway, he doesn’t really mind.
But the blows stop coming, and Ray stops yelling, and when Frank looks up, he sees Mike shaking his head at Ray, something steely in his gaze.
“Fine. You deal with it,” Ray says, and he’s off to the back lounge, guitar in hand.
Mike does.
_________
They’re at some foodcourt in some mall somewhere. Frank doesn’t remember where. He’s tired and his head is buzzing, and he misses his girls. He’d followed Mike to the pizza place on automatic pilot, while Gerard and Mikey had gone for sandwiches, and Ray had wandered over to Hot Dog on a Stick with James.
“You can get whatever you want,” Mike says, his voice that softer level that means he’s just talking to Frank. There is no master/subservient going on today.
“I know,” Frank says. “I want to see if they’ll make me one without cheese.”
“You’re so weird.”
Frank laughs. “In so many ways,” he agrees, nodding.
Mike laughs too and pus his arm around Frank’s shoulders, pulling him into his chest. Frank can’t help but sniff delightedly, and sigh.
Mike stills underneath him. “Yeah?”
Frank nods, his head still buried in the fabric of Mike’s shirt. “Yeah.”
_________
The show in Seattle is fucking insane. It doesn’t help that it’s been raining all day, of course. Frank has been cooped up in his hotel room for way too long. It shows on stage, because he’s wilder than ever before, leaping off of risers and amps, practically humping Gerard’s leg, and going to his knees so hard he wouldn’t be surprised if he ended up cracking his kneecaps.
After, no one says a word. Mike snaps his fingers once and Frank stills, then follows him out the back of the venue and to the waiting bus. He waits, vibrating in place as Mike reaches into the drawer beneath his lower bunk and rummages around. Finally the drummer emerges with the collar and leash, and Frank falls to his knees one more time.
Mike’s hands are gentle as he fastens the buckle. He checks with two fingers that it isn’t too tight, despite the obvious wear on the leather that says the buckle is in the right spot. Frank looks at the dirty linoleum floor, already slipping pleasantly away.
“Up,” Mike commands with a tug on the leash.
Frank gets up and Mike takes him to the back lounge. Mike sits but Frank stays standing, looking at more linoleum. Mike unzips his pants.
Frank’s mouth starts to water.
“Knees,” Mike says.
Frank obeys.
___
END