Move My Feet Out Of Control
Bandslash (Killjoy!verse MCR/Ricky Rebel), NC-17, 1650 words. Frank/Ricky. PWP coda to "Cobras Never Die." Title from Ricky Rebel's "Get It On."
For Ricky's seventeenth birthday, Gerard gifts him with a truly scandalous outfit. It consists of a pair of blue and white polka-dot leggings with ridiculous built-in kneepads, a cut-off shirt with the word NOISE written on the front, and a thong. Frank is pretty sure the thong is supposed to go under the leggings.
"I've inspired a new trend," says Gerard.
"If you inspire Steve to start wearing his underwear outside his pants," warns Frank, "I'm going to inspire you to start wearing your gun inside your rectum."
Gerard laughs, like Frank is kidding or something.
Frank spends the day watching Ricky flex his glutes around the tiny strip of black fabric, trying to breathe deeply enough to get some oxygen to his poor testicles as their hue gradually progresses from powder to cobalt. Ricky zips around on his skates, jumping and spinning and enthusing about how easy it is to move in Gerard's weirdo pirate lingerie, until Frank loses his patience.
"Knock it off," he snaps.
Ricky keeps skating circles around the kitchen island, striking ridiculous poses every time he rolls by Frank. "You know you want this sexy body," he teases.
Frank drops his head into his hands. "Fuck, I really do," he mumbles.
Ricky falls into the sink.
"Whoa, dude, you okay?" Frank hurries over to haul him out of the huge industrial steel basin.
"Fine, just tripped," Ricky says, wobbling back to his feet. "Just, uh. You do?"
Frank stares. The kid can't possibly be that oblivious. But there's no teasing in his eyes anymore, just honest surprise. Apparently, he has managed to miss all the blatant lusty ogling. Impressive. That's, like, Gerard-caliber cluelessness. "Yes," he says. "I do."
"But I kissed you," says Ricky. "And you--"
"You were fifteen!" protests Frank. "I couldn't fuck a fifteen-year-old!"
Ricky leans back slowly, resting against the rim of the sink. "How about a seventeen-year-old?" he asks quietly, eyes wide and hopeful. Something inside Frank lurches, like his center of gravity has shifted.
"Still not legal in California." Frank tries not to look at how the position makes Ricky's hipbones jut out.
"Tell you what," Ricky says. "If anyone rebuilds a courthouse to prosecute you, I'll testify as a witness to all the theft and murder you've been up to lately, and they'll forget about the statutory rape charges."
"You make a compelling case," Frank says dryly. He reaches out a hand to touch Ricky's cheek. "You're really still interested after all this time?"
"Are you kidding me?" Ricky demands. "I don't have a spank bank, I have a fucking Frank bank." He grins. "Not that spanking isn't involved."
"Jesus Christ," Frank says, and kisses him.
Ricky wraps a leg around him, reeling him in close. The wheels of his skate bump up against Frank's thigh. The thin material of the leggings and thong are nowhere near enough to hide his erection. Frank rubs up against it with the one he's had for hours, moving his lips to Ricky's ear and sucking gently at his earlobe.
"This is how one of my fantasies starts," Ricky whispers. "Here in the kitchen, with me wearing my skates."
"Yeah?" says Frank. "What's next?"
"You, oh," Ricky hisses as Frank's teeth find a sensitive spot, "you tell me you want me as much as I want you."
Frank trails his fingertips up Ricky's spine, under the tiny excuse for a shirt, and holds tightly to his waist as he arches back over the sink. "I want you, Ricky, god, there's no way you want me anywhere near this badly. I practically have scars in my mouth from biting my cheeks to stop myself from doing this."
Ricky's hard and squirming against him. "You... you want my cock?" he asks tentatively, like he's afraid Frank is going to laugh at him for saying it.
Laughter is definitely not Frank's reaction to that. "So much. Please, let me suck you." He drops to his knees, shaking off Ricky's leg, still hanging onto his hips to stop him taking another tumble into the sink. He pulls Ricky's cock out of the stupid polka-dot leggings and takes it into his mouth.
Ricky lets out a shout, and Frank hopes no one is enough of a jerk to investigate the noise. He doesn't tease--there's been enough of that--just sucks hard and deep, letting the head probe the back of his throat. Ricky comes in about half a minute, trembling on the edge of the sink.
Frank stands up, careful to keep him upright. Ricky kisses him slowly, licking traces of his own come from Frank's mouth. Then he says, "Now spank me."
"Um," says Frank, "what?"
Ricky twists his body around, pressing back against Frank's crotch. He hooks a finger in the waistband of the leggings and drags them down over his ass cheeks, leaving the thong on. "You spank me. That's the next part of the fantasy. Then you fuck me."
Frank tries to think straight. It's not easy. "Don't you think maybe we should start vanilla before we get into that kind of thing? The spanking, I mean." The fucking he's pretty much okay with, if he can find anything that will work as lube. He would ask Mikey and Gabe what they use, except he's seen the paint spatters and he doesn't think he wants to know.
"We did start vanilla. A blowjob's as vanilla as it gets." Ricky turns his head and rubs his nose against Frank's cheek. "Are you really going to tell me," he whispers, "after a year and a half of letting me think you weren't attracted to me, on my birthday, that my first time isn't going to be exactly what I want it to be?"
Well, when he puts it like that.
"Okay," says Frank. "Birthday spankings. Just seventeen."
Ricky bends forward, squeezing his bare ass around the line of the thong. Frank groans. "Come on, hit me," says Ricky breathlessly. Frank delivers a hesitant swat, and Ricky makes a frustrated noise. "No way, that doesn't count as one. Spank me. Think about how I've been teasing you all day."
Frank slaps him hard, and Ricky gasps. "Yeah, yes, like that, more," he moans. It's easier now, seeing that he really does like it, and Frank spanks him hard enough that his ass is red by the time he reaches seventeen strikes.
"More," Ricky is still panting, until Frank leans down to his ear and says, "Do you want me to fuck you?" and then Ricky is nodding, silently, desperately. Frank looks around for something slippery, because it's Ricky's first time doing this and spit isn't going to cut it.
"Cabinet next to the refrigerators," says Ricky, and he barely gets his skates under him before Frank is dashing off. The cabinet contains a bottle of gun oil. He pauses and raises his eyebrows.
"It's not like we need it for the fucking ray guns," Ricky points out. "It's safe, I've used it on myself."
That image is enough to dispel Frank's doubts. He comes back up behind Ricky, unscrewing the lid and spilling oil on his fingers. Ricky reaches back and pulls down the thong, leaving himself spread bare. Frank rubs his oily fingers over Ricky's asshole until he's wriggling and squirming, then carefully starts opening him up. He's tight but not too tight; clearly he was telling the truth about having done this to himself.
"Enough, that's enough, fuck me," Ricky practically growls. Frank lets his fingers slip out and finally unfastens his too-tight jeans. He wants to slam in all at once, but Ricky's never done this before--he's never done this before, Frank is the first person ever to make him feel like this, holy shit--so he goes slow.
That is, until Ricky drops his upper body down into the sink, hangs all his weight on the metal rim, picks up his feet, sets the heels of his skates against Frank's ass, and shoves him forward.
"Fuck," says Frank, feeling the heat of Ricky's muscles enveloping his cock. "Fuck." Okay, he can take a goddamn hint. He wraps his arms around Ricky's waist and hoists him up, getting a better angle. Ricky's skates hit the floor, but he's off balance now, the wheels just rolling back and forth with Frank's thrusts.
Ricky grabs his own cock and rubs himself furiously as Frank fucks him, little gasping noises escaping his mouth every time Frank slams into him. "I'm gonna come, I'm gonna--" he says.
"Yeah, come on," Frank urges him, and Ricky arches his back and spurts into the sink. It's not much longer before Frank is shuddering through his own orgasm, filling Ricky's ass with come.
He manages to stay upright long enough to get Ricky's skates back under him, then pulls his cock out and leans panting on the opposite counter. Ricky turns around, tugging his leggings back up, and perches precariously on the edge of the sink. "Damn," he says with feeling.
"Yeah," Frank agrees. He musters the energy to zip his pants back up. "Damn. Happy birthday, kid."
Ricky swings his legs, grinning. "I'm not a kid anymore," he announces proudly. "Today, I am a man."
"Pretty sure there are manlier ways to pop your cherry than pirouetting around in a thong and then begging for a spanking," Frank says, amused.
Ricky shrugs. "So... what is this? Are we going to do it again?"
He's trying to sound cool, like it doesn't matter, but Frank has been seventeen. He knows that anxious tone of voice. He pushes off the counter and stands between Ricky's knees. "We are going to do it as many times as you want to," he says, and kisses Ricky softly on the lips.
Later, Gerard corners Frank and demands, "Did the prostitot getup finally do the trick?"
"Jesus, Gerard," Frank says and laughs. "Yeah. Yeah, it did the trick."
For Ricky's seventeenth birthday, Gerard gifts him with a truly scandalous outfit. It consists of a pair of blue and white polka-dot leggings with ridiculous built-in kneepads, a cut-off shirt with the word NOISE written on the front, and a thong. Frank is pretty sure the thong is supposed to go under the leggings.
"I've inspired a new trend," says Gerard.
"If you inspire Steve to start wearing his underwear outside his pants," warns Frank, "I'm going to inspire you to start wearing your gun inside your rectum."
Gerard laughs, like Frank is kidding or something.
Frank spends the day watching Ricky flex his glutes around the tiny strip of black fabric, trying to breathe deeply enough to get some oxygen to his poor testicles as their hue gradually progresses from powder to cobalt. Ricky zips around on his skates, jumping and spinning and enthusing about how easy it is to move in Gerard's weirdo pirate lingerie, until Frank loses his patience.
"Knock it off," he snaps.
Ricky keeps skating circles around the kitchen island, striking ridiculous poses every time he rolls by Frank. "You know you want this sexy body," he teases.
Frank drops his head into his hands. "Fuck, I really do," he mumbles.
Ricky falls into the sink.
"Whoa, dude, you okay?" Frank hurries over to haul him out of the huge industrial steel basin.
"Fine, just tripped," Ricky says, wobbling back to his feet. "Just, uh. You do?"
Frank stares. The kid can't possibly be that oblivious. But there's no teasing in his eyes anymore, just honest surprise. Apparently, he has managed to miss all the blatant lusty ogling. Impressive. That's, like, Gerard-caliber cluelessness. "Yes," he says. "I do."
"But I kissed you," says Ricky. "And you--"
"You were fifteen!" protests Frank. "I couldn't fuck a fifteen-year-old!"
Ricky leans back slowly, resting against the rim of the sink. "How about a seventeen-year-old?" he asks quietly, eyes wide and hopeful. Something inside Frank lurches, like his center of gravity has shifted.
"Still not legal in California." Frank tries not to look at how the position makes Ricky's hipbones jut out.
"Tell you what," Ricky says. "If anyone rebuilds a courthouse to prosecute you, I'll testify as a witness to all the theft and murder you've been up to lately, and they'll forget about the statutory rape charges."
"You make a compelling case," Frank says dryly. He reaches out a hand to touch Ricky's cheek. "You're really still interested after all this time?"
"Are you kidding me?" Ricky demands. "I don't have a spank bank, I have a fucking Frank bank." He grins. "Not that spanking isn't involved."
"Jesus Christ," Frank says, and kisses him.
Ricky wraps a leg around him, reeling him in close. The wheels of his skate bump up against Frank's thigh. The thin material of the leggings and thong are nowhere near enough to hide his erection. Frank rubs up against it with the one he's had for hours, moving his lips to Ricky's ear and sucking gently at his earlobe.
"This is how one of my fantasies starts," Ricky whispers. "Here in the kitchen, with me wearing my skates."
"Yeah?" says Frank. "What's next?"
"You, oh," Ricky hisses as Frank's teeth find a sensitive spot, "you tell me you want me as much as I want you."
Frank trails his fingertips up Ricky's spine, under the tiny excuse for a shirt, and holds tightly to his waist as he arches back over the sink. "I want you, Ricky, god, there's no way you want me anywhere near this badly. I practically have scars in my mouth from biting my cheeks to stop myself from doing this."
Ricky's hard and squirming against him. "You... you want my cock?" he asks tentatively, like he's afraid Frank is going to laugh at him for saying it.
Laughter is definitely not Frank's reaction to that. "So much. Please, let me suck you." He drops to his knees, shaking off Ricky's leg, still hanging onto his hips to stop him taking another tumble into the sink. He pulls Ricky's cock out of the stupid polka-dot leggings and takes it into his mouth.
Ricky lets out a shout, and Frank hopes no one is enough of a jerk to investigate the noise. He doesn't tease--there's been enough of that--just sucks hard and deep, letting the head probe the back of his throat. Ricky comes in about half a minute, trembling on the edge of the sink.
Frank stands up, careful to keep him upright. Ricky kisses him slowly, licking traces of his own come from Frank's mouth. Then he says, "Now spank me."
"Um," says Frank, "what?"
Ricky twists his body around, pressing back against Frank's crotch. He hooks a finger in the waistband of the leggings and drags them down over his ass cheeks, leaving the thong on. "You spank me. That's the next part of the fantasy. Then you fuck me."
Frank tries to think straight. It's not easy. "Don't you think maybe we should start vanilla before we get into that kind of thing? The spanking, I mean." The fucking he's pretty much okay with, if he can find anything that will work as lube. He would ask Mikey and Gabe what they use, except he's seen the paint spatters and he doesn't think he wants to know.
"We did start vanilla. A blowjob's as vanilla as it gets." Ricky turns his head and rubs his nose against Frank's cheek. "Are you really going to tell me," he whispers, "after a year and a half of letting me think you weren't attracted to me, on my birthday, that my first time isn't going to be exactly what I want it to be?"
Well, when he puts it like that.
"Okay," says Frank. "Birthday spankings. Just seventeen."
Ricky bends forward, squeezing his bare ass around the line of the thong. Frank groans. "Come on, hit me," says Ricky breathlessly. Frank delivers a hesitant swat, and Ricky makes a frustrated noise. "No way, that doesn't count as one. Spank me. Think about how I've been teasing you all day."
Frank slaps him hard, and Ricky gasps. "Yeah, yes, like that, more," he moans. It's easier now, seeing that he really does like it, and Frank spanks him hard enough that his ass is red by the time he reaches seventeen strikes.
"More," Ricky is still panting, until Frank leans down to his ear and says, "Do you want me to fuck you?" and then Ricky is nodding, silently, desperately. Frank looks around for something slippery, because it's Ricky's first time doing this and spit isn't going to cut it.
"Cabinet next to the refrigerators," says Ricky, and he barely gets his skates under him before Frank is dashing off. The cabinet contains a bottle of gun oil. He pauses and raises his eyebrows.
"It's not like we need it for the fucking ray guns," Ricky points out. "It's safe, I've used it on myself."
That image is enough to dispel Frank's doubts. He comes back up behind Ricky, unscrewing the lid and spilling oil on his fingers. Ricky reaches back and pulls down the thong, leaving himself spread bare. Frank rubs his oily fingers over Ricky's asshole until he's wriggling and squirming, then carefully starts opening him up. He's tight but not too tight; clearly he was telling the truth about having done this to himself.
"Enough, that's enough, fuck me," Ricky practically growls. Frank lets his fingers slip out and finally unfastens his too-tight jeans. He wants to slam in all at once, but Ricky's never done this before--he's never done this before, Frank is the first person ever to make him feel like this, holy shit--so he goes slow.
That is, until Ricky drops his upper body down into the sink, hangs all his weight on the metal rim, picks up his feet, sets the heels of his skates against Frank's ass, and shoves him forward.
"Fuck," says Frank, feeling the heat of Ricky's muscles enveloping his cock. "Fuck." Okay, he can take a goddamn hint. He wraps his arms around Ricky's waist and hoists him up, getting a better angle. Ricky's skates hit the floor, but he's off balance now, the wheels just rolling back and forth with Frank's thrusts.
Ricky grabs his own cock and rubs himself furiously as Frank fucks him, little gasping noises escaping his mouth every time Frank slams into him. "I'm gonna come, I'm gonna--" he says.
"Yeah, come on," Frank urges him, and Ricky arches his back and spurts into the sink. It's not much longer before Frank is shuddering through his own orgasm, filling Ricky's ass with come.
He manages to stay upright long enough to get Ricky's skates back under him, then pulls his cock out and leans panting on the opposite counter. Ricky turns around, tugging his leggings back up, and perches precariously on the edge of the sink. "Damn," he says with feeling.
"Yeah," Frank agrees. He musters the energy to zip his pants back up. "Damn. Happy birthday, kid."
Ricky swings his legs, grinning. "I'm not a kid anymore," he announces proudly. "Today, I am a man."
"Pretty sure there are manlier ways to pop your cherry than pirouetting around in a thong and then begging for a spanking," Frank says, amused.
Ricky shrugs. "So... what is this? Are we going to do it again?"
He's trying to sound cool, like it doesn't matter, but Frank has been seventeen. He knows that anxious tone of voice. He pushes off the counter and stands between Ricky's knees. "We are going to do it as many times as you want to," he says, and kisses Ricky softly on the lips.
Later, Gerard corners Frank and demands, "Did the prostitot getup finally do the trick?"
"Jesus, Gerard," Frank says and laughs. "Yeah. Yeah, it did the trick."