Fic: Skeletons in the Closet (Frank/Gerard, R)
Title: Skeletons in the Closet
Summary: So Frank pestered and pestered Gerard - what was the fucking point of living with an artist if they never did anything useful like paint epic monster-themed murals on the walls? - until he finally spent a weekend painting the living room walls a new shade of awesome.
Pairing: schmoopy domestic AU Frank/Gerard
Word count: 2200
Rating: R
AN: For fleurdeliser as a holiday gift drabble. (Just as a heads up - there's no way I'm going to get them all done before the holidays, so I'll probably be posting them sporadically as I finish them. Also I'm too impatient to sit on longer pieces.) This started life as a chatfic with perspexsea so all the funny bits are probably from her. ♥ Thanks to thesamefire for the title.
The apartment was perfect.
It had been bland when they'd moved in, all tan carpet and off-white walls that no amount of posters and randomly taped up pictures and sketches could make interesting, so Frank pestered and pestered Gerard - what was the fucking point of living with an artist if they never did anything useful like paint epic monster-themed murals on the walls? - until he finally spent a weekend painting the living room walls a new shade of awesome.
Frank is comfortably chilling on the couch resting his head on Gerard's shoulder and admiring the squid sprawled across two walls battling zombies and guessing out loud who had been the inspiration for each walking corpse. So far he has correctly identified half a dozen, including Gerard's favorite professor, Sid Vicious and Han Solo.
Gerard beams every time Frank gets one right, so it's quickly becoming Frank's favorite game when there's a knock on the door and Brian, their super, comes ambling in triumphantly holding a copy of a zombie flick none of them had seen.
He stops dead in his tracks.
"What the fuck?" he says, looking around.
"Isn't it awesome?" Frank says proudly.
"What happened?" Brian does not look happy.
"I added a few things to make it interesting in here," Gerard says. "Look, that zombie over in the corner is Mary Shelley."
"You can't..." Brian says, trailing off and looking around again.
"Dude, you aren't going to report us," Frank says. "Chill."
"I told you, the owners are coming in for spot-checking next week," Brian says, sounding miffed. "If they see this, I'll be out a fucking job. You have to paint it back."
"But Gerard spent all weekend doing this!" Frank protests. Gerard makes an agreeable sound and nods a lot.
"And it looks really fucking awesome, you should take a picture or two before you paint that shit back tonight," Brian says.
Frank would totally argue the point more but he knows Brian's resolute face by this point. "Fucker," he mutters instead, and Brian flips him off congenially.
Brian does sigh and tell them where to find extra paint and rollers in the basement, though, after Gerard gives him puppydog eyes.
"This is bullshit," Frank says when they smoosh what furniture they have back in the center of the room and he surveys the mural. "You totally appreciated the apartment, not depreciated."
Gerard sadly rolls paint onto a roller. "I'm going to miss you," he tells the squid.
"It's like living in a looney bin!" Frank says, kicking at a pail of paint. One of the securely closed ones, though, because he totally wants his security deposit back. "Stupid institutional off-white."
"No character at all," Gerard agrees. He lifts his roller and reluctantly dabbles white paint over Sid Zombie's face.
Frank squeezes his eyes shut and rolls the paint over the squid's face, so Gerard wouldn't have to. Gerard put fucking effort into creating all this! Stupid owners and their stupid hate-on for all things awesome.
It was only when Gerard starts snickering that Frank realizes he's been muttering aloud to himself.
"What?" he says. "It's true."
Gerard puts down his roller, still grinning, and surveys their progress. "Looks like you've still got half a squid to kill, Frankie."
"Fuck you," Frank says, dropping his roller with a splash in his pail of paint and sticking out his tongue. "I was just looking out for your artistic temperment. I didn't even want a fucking squid. I wanted skeletons."
Gerard starts actually laughing at him then, and Frank has no choice but to shut him up with his tongue. He maybe sticks his paint-smeared hands into Gerard's hair on purpose, though he loses sight of that goal pretty quickly when he remembers, as always, just how awesome kissing Gerard really is.
When they break apart, breathless, Frank mumbles into Gerard's swollen mouth, "You need to paint a squid on Brian's goddamn door. Prank-squid the bastard."
"Because Brian will have no idea who did it and it is the perfect plan," Gerard replies, groping for a minute before squeezing Frank's ass, just like he always did, like he has a hard time finding it. Frank, however, knows his ass is perfect, thank you.
"Proof, motherfucker, it's all about proof," Frank protests. He's pretty persuasive, what with his hand being down Gerard's pants.
Gerard goes, "I'll proof you," around where he's bitten into Frank's lip. Frank knows it's because he's really not paying attention to the conversation anymore and also is really bad at dirty talk
Frank starts to giggle at him, because, what the hell does that even mean, and Gerard kind of throws himself into proving that he'll proof Frank and Frank ends up falling against the freshly painted wall.
"Cocksucker," Frank gasps, pulling himself away from the wall, extracting his hand from Gerard's pants and leaning down to pick up the paintroller, "Because fuck you, Gerard, I actually liked this shirt."
He smears it from Gerard's forehead down to his thigh.
Gerard makes a tiny noise of protest, clearly only finding this distressing because it means Frank has removed his hand from Gerard's pants. Gerard does not care about stupid things like cleanliness or his clothes, Frank remembers.
"Maybe you should have been wearing less clothes," Gerard grumbles. Frank scowls and does in fact remove his shirt, if only to inspect the damage done.
A zombie peeks through the fresh Frank-sized smear in the new paint on the wall. Its face has started to run and is even more grey than before. Gerard gets distracted leaning in and inspecting the effect, saying, "Hey, why haven't I ever tried this technique before? This makes for some fucking kick-ass zombies, man!"
Frank's standing over here without a shirt on and Gerard's more interested in the wall. So Frank decides to take matters into his own hands and shucks his pants, too, and waits patiently for Gerard to catch on.
Gerard has started to use his hand to wipe of more of the white paint, though, and smear around the wet zombies, muttering to himself and raking his hands through his hair, so it sticks out in white spikes. Frank's getting impatient, standing in just his boxers with his hip cocked and his arms crossed. It doesn't look like Gerard's even turned on anymore, what the fuck.
He waits patiently for what feels like forever and then leans in close over Gerard's shoulder, watching his progress. It does look really cool, the way the different layers of paint in various stages of dryness combine into a gloopy mess, but Frank doesn't think it looks cooler than sex.
Especially not cooler than sex with him. His and Gerard's sex is the best sex and dammit, he just wants to bone his boyfriend, not watch Gerard painstakingly create another zombie that he's going to have to paint over in an hour.
He points this out to Gerard.
"It's about technique," Gerard replies. "I bet some oatmeal would really add to this..."
"No food on the walls," Frank says, echoing his mother. "Also, I want to show you my technique."
Gerard doesn't answer, lost again in the world of recreating a zombie-face.
Frank straightens up, recrosses his arms higher across his chest and taps his foot and clears his throat, feeling vaguely like a neglected housewife. Gerard makes his typical art-distracted 'just a minute' incoherent mumble and uses his knuckle to do something to the zombie's disintegrating cheek.
Frank harumphs and stomps off into the bedroom, tossing his boxers over his shoulder at Gerard's stupid head and shouting something that comes out angry and mostly incomprehensible about how he was just going to have to do it himself, fuck you, except no wait, it's just me fucking me because you won't participate. Dammit.
Gerard calls after him, sounding torn. "Seriously, Frankie, your dick is still gonna be there in ten minutes when the paint is too dried up and gloopy to achieve this effect, come on, I'll totally make it up to you."
Frank doesn't even dignify that with an answer.
Frank's angrily jerking off, muttering to his dick about Gerard being the fucking dick, wish you were his neck right now, which, what the fuck, is he still getting off like this? Frank's maybe a total creep and deserves Gerard ignoring him for a painting of a corpse.
But then Frank hears Gerard sadly apologize to the zombie before following Frank's messy clothes-trail to the bedroom.
Gerard sort of hovers in the doorway, biting his lip and wringing his hands and covered in paint and looking a little bit shameful and a whole lot fuckable, like, really really a lot fuckable. It's totally not fair that Gerard has a face like that and Frank sighs. "Get over here, asshole"
He can't resist that stupid nervous lip-biting even when Gerard looks like a mad scientist with white-streaked hair sticking up all over his head, and Frank instructs him to strip before he gets paint all over the sheets
Gerard's face and hair and hands are still covered in paint, though, so it's a fairly pointless gesture, but whatever, Frank mostly just wanted Gerard to finally get fucking naked, jesus christ, they've been trying to have sex for like fifteen minutes now and Gerard is still fully dressed.
He totally doesn't wolf-whistle when Gerard takes off his pants, though, because that fucker doesn't deserve it when he totally ignored Frank getting naked, like he was bored of Frank or something. Fucker. Frank is totally going to teach him a fucking lesson and he tells him so.
Gerard looks up and fucking smirks at that, his fucking dirtiest smile, and Frank pulls Gerard down on him and nibbles at his lip.
Gerard starts kissing down Frank's neck, the tease, making a show of touching Frank everywhere but where Frank wants him to, and Frank starts squirming and trying to convince Gerard to get with the fucking already, seriously.
Gerard pulls away. "I think I recall something about being a cocksucker? I think I'd like to expand on that."
Frank plans on saying, "I told you so" or "I'm always right" or something else asshole-ish and annoying but the words totally fly out of his head the second Gerard wraps his lips around Frank's much-neglected self-abused dick.
The warmth of Gerard's mouth is perfect as always and Frank tries his best to concentrate on not coming immediately, because it feels like he's been trying to get to this point for fucking years and now Gerard is sucking lightly on the head and tightening his hand around the base and Frank is right there, about to finally, finally come when Gerard pulls abruptly away and makes a 'blech' face.
His hand is still right there, though, and Frank has just enough time to think, "The fuck?" before he comes.
"You've never made that face before!" Frank says indignantly when he catches his breath.
"Your dick has never been covered in paint before," Gerard replies. Frank looks down and there are in fact white smears of paint where Gerard's hands had been.
"Oh," he says.
Gerard snuggles up against him and bumps his own erection against Frank's hip. "Help me out?"
Frank looks down and sees that Gerard has managed to get paint on himself, too, and decides to go with a handjob, as to save Gerard the trauma of seeing his boyfriend look disgusted mid-blowjob. Afterwards he snuggles in close and protests when Gerard prods him saying, "Don't go to sleep yet."
"Fuck you," Frank mumbles, then looks up to realize Gerard is still rather bright-eyed. "What?"
Gerard grins.
Frank suddenly registers that Gerard hasn't been all that upset to paint over the mural. "Why are you so happy?"
"Go look in the closet," Gerard says.
The closet is ten whole feet away and requires Frank to get out of bed and away from snuggles, which are two things he highly disapproves of. But Gerard asked him to so he sighs and squirms out of bed - the sheets are totally fucking ruined, even by 'living with an eccentric artist' standards of cleanliness - and stumbles naked to the closet.
He turns on the light and pushes aside the four shirts that are still hanging on hangers instead of crumpled on the floor to reveal a mural painted on the closet wall of a Frankenstein monster battling hordes of skeletons to get to a castle, where a princess who bore a remarkable resemblance to Gerard-as-a-vampire waited.
"Okay, I totally don't miss the squid anymore," Frank announces happily, and leaps back in bed to properly show his appreciation for his totally awesome boyfriend.
Summary: So Frank pestered and pestered Gerard - what was the fucking point of living with an artist if they never did anything useful like paint epic monster-themed murals on the walls? - until he finally spent a weekend painting the living room walls a new shade of awesome.
Pairing: schmoopy domestic AU Frank/Gerard
Word count: 2200
Rating: R
AN: For fleurdeliser as a holiday gift drabble. (Just as a heads up - there's no way I'm going to get them all done before the holidays, so I'll probably be posting them sporadically as I finish them. Also I'm too impatient to sit on longer pieces.) This started life as a chatfic with perspexsea so all the funny bits are probably from her. ♥ Thanks to thesamefire for the title.
The apartment was perfect.
It had been bland when they'd moved in, all tan carpet and off-white walls that no amount of posters and randomly taped up pictures and sketches could make interesting, so Frank pestered and pestered Gerard - what was the fucking point of living with an artist if they never did anything useful like paint epic monster-themed murals on the walls? - until he finally spent a weekend painting the living room walls a new shade of awesome.
Frank is comfortably chilling on the couch resting his head on Gerard's shoulder and admiring the squid sprawled across two walls battling zombies and guessing out loud who had been the inspiration for each walking corpse. So far he has correctly identified half a dozen, including Gerard's favorite professor, Sid Vicious and Han Solo.
Gerard beams every time Frank gets one right, so it's quickly becoming Frank's favorite game when there's a knock on the door and Brian, their super, comes ambling in triumphantly holding a copy of a zombie flick none of them had seen.
He stops dead in his tracks.
"What the fuck?" he says, looking around.
"Isn't it awesome?" Frank says proudly.
"What happened?" Brian does not look happy.
"I added a few things to make it interesting in here," Gerard says. "Look, that zombie over in the corner is Mary Shelley."
"You can't..." Brian says, trailing off and looking around again.
"Dude, you aren't going to report us," Frank says. "Chill."
"I told you, the owners are coming in for spot-checking next week," Brian says, sounding miffed. "If they see this, I'll be out a fucking job. You have to paint it back."
"But Gerard spent all weekend doing this!" Frank protests. Gerard makes an agreeable sound and nods a lot.
"And it looks really fucking awesome, you should take a picture or two before you paint that shit back tonight," Brian says.
Frank would totally argue the point more but he knows Brian's resolute face by this point. "Fucker," he mutters instead, and Brian flips him off congenially.
Brian does sigh and tell them where to find extra paint and rollers in the basement, though, after Gerard gives him puppydog eyes.
"This is bullshit," Frank says when they smoosh what furniture they have back in the center of the room and he surveys the mural. "You totally appreciated the apartment, not depreciated."
Gerard sadly rolls paint onto a roller. "I'm going to miss you," he tells the squid.
"It's like living in a looney bin!" Frank says, kicking at a pail of paint. One of the securely closed ones, though, because he totally wants his security deposit back. "Stupid institutional off-white."
"No character at all," Gerard agrees. He lifts his roller and reluctantly dabbles white paint over Sid Zombie's face.
Frank squeezes his eyes shut and rolls the paint over the squid's face, so Gerard wouldn't have to. Gerard put fucking effort into creating all this! Stupid owners and their stupid hate-on for all things awesome.
It was only when Gerard starts snickering that Frank realizes he's been muttering aloud to himself.
"What?" he says. "It's true."
Gerard puts down his roller, still grinning, and surveys their progress. "Looks like you've still got half a squid to kill, Frankie."
"Fuck you," Frank says, dropping his roller with a splash in his pail of paint and sticking out his tongue. "I was just looking out for your artistic temperment. I didn't even want a fucking squid. I wanted skeletons."
Gerard starts actually laughing at him then, and Frank has no choice but to shut him up with his tongue. He maybe sticks his paint-smeared hands into Gerard's hair on purpose, though he loses sight of that goal pretty quickly when he remembers, as always, just how awesome kissing Gerard really is.
When they break apart, breathless, Frank mumbles into Gerard's swollen mouth, "You need to paint a squid on Brian's goddamn door. Prank-squid the bastard."
"Because Brian will have no idea who did it and it is the perfect plan," Gerard replies, groping for a minute before squeezing Frank's ass, just like he always did, like he has a hard time finding it. Frank, however, knows his ass is perfect, thank you.
"Proof, motherfucker, it's all about proof," Frank protests. He's pretty persuasive, what with his hand being down Gerard's pants.
Gerard goes, "I'll proof you," around where he's bitten into Frank's lip. Frank knows it's because he's really not paying attention to the conversation anymore and also is really bad at dirty talk
Frank starts to giggle at him, because, what the hell does that even mean, and Gerard kind of throws himself into proving that he'll proof Frank and Frank ends up falling against the freshly painted wall.
"Cocksucker," Frank gasps, pulling himself away from the wall, extracting his hand from Gerard's pants and leaning down to pick up the paintroller, "Because fuck you, Gerard, I actually liked this shirt."
He smears it from Gerard's forehead down to his thigh.
Gerard makes a tiny noise of protest, clearly only finding this distressing because it means Frank has removed his hand from Gerard's pants. Gerard does not care about stupid things like cleanliness or his clothes, Frank remembers.
"Maybe you should have been wearing less clothes," Gerard grumbles. Frank scowls and does in fact remove his shirt, if only to inspect the damage done.
A zombie peeks through the fresh Frank-sized smear in the new paint on the wall. Its face has started to run and is even more grey than before. Gerard gets distracted leaning in and inspecting the effect, saying, "Hey, why haven't I ever tried this technique before? This makes for some fucking kick-ass zombies, man!"
Frank's standing over here without a shirt on and Gerard's more interested in the wall. So Frank decides to take matters into his own hands and shucks his pants, too, and waits patiently for Gerard to catch on.
Gerard has started to use his hand to wipe of more of the white paint, though, and smear around the wet zombies, muttering to himself and raking his hands through his hair, so it sticks out in white spikes. Frank's getting impatient, standing in just his boxers with his hip cocked and his arms crossed. It doesn't look like Gerard's even turned on anymore, what the fuck.
He waits patiently for what feels like forever and then leans in close over Gerard's shoulder, watching his progress. It does look really cool, the way the different layers of paint in various stages of dryness combine into a gloopy mess, but Frank doesn't think it looks cooler than sex.
Especially not cooler than sex with him. His and Gerard's sex is the best sex and dammit, he just wants to bone his boyfriend, not watch Gerard painstakingly create another zombie that he's going to have to paint over in an hour.
He points this out to Gerard.
"It's about technique," Gerard replies. "I bet some oatmeal would really add to this..."
"No food on the walls," Frank says, echoing his mother. "Also, I want to show you my technique."
Gerard doesn't answer, lost again in the world of recreating a zombie-face.
Frank straightens up, recrosses his arms higher across his chest and taps his foot and clears his throat, feeling vaguely like a neglected housewife. Gerard makes his typical art-distracted 'just a minute' incoherent mumble and uses his knuckle to do something to the zombie's disintegrating cheek.
Frank harumphs and stomps off into the bedroom, tossing his boxers over his shoulder at Gerard's stupid head and shouting something that comes out angry and mostly incomprehensible about how he was just going to have to do it himself, fuck you, except no wait, it's just me fucking me because you won't participate. Dammit.
Gerard calls after him, sounding torn. "Seriously, Frankie, your dick is still gonna be there in ten minutes when the paint is too dried up and gloopy to achieve this effect, come on, I'll totally make it up to you."
Frank doesn't even dignify that with an answer.
Frank's angrily jerking off, muttering to his dick about Gerard being the fucking dick, wish you were his neck right now, which, what the fuck, is he still getting off like this? Frank's maybe a total creep and deserves Gerard ignoring him for a painting of a corpse.
But then Frank hears Gerard sadly apologize to the zombie before following Frank's messy clothes-trail to the bedroom.
Gerard sort of hovers in the doorway, biting his lip and wringing his hands and covered in paint and looking a little bit shameful and a whole lot fuckable, like, really really a lot fuckable. It's totally not fair that Gerard has a face like that and Frank sighs. "Get over here, asshole"
He can't resist that stupid nervous lip-biting even when Gerard looks like a mad scientist with white-streaked hair sticking up all over his head, and Frank instructs him to strip before he gets paint all over the sheets
Gerard's face and hair and hands are still covered in paint, though, so it's a fairly pointless gesture, but whatever, Frank mostly just wanted Gerard to finally get fucking naked, jesus christ, they've been trying to have sex for like fifteen minutes now and Gerard is still fully dressed.
He totally doesn't wolf-whistle when Gerard takes off his pants, though, because that fucker doesn't deserve it when he totally ignored Frank getting naked, like he was bored of Frank or something. Fucker. Frank is totally going to teach him a fucking lesson and he tells him so.
Gerard looks up and fucking smirks at that, his fucking dirtiest smile, and Frank pulls Gerard down on him and nibbles at his lip.
Gerard starts kissing down Frank's neck, the tease, making a show of touching Frank everywhere but where Frank wants him to, and Frank starts squirming and trying to convince Gerard to get with the fucking already, seriously.
Gerard pulls away. "I think I recall something about being a cocksucker? I think I'd like to expand on that."
Frank plans on saying, "I told you so" or "I'm always right" or something else asshole-ish and annoying but the words totally fly out of his head the second Gerard wraps his lips around Frank's much-neglected self-abused dick.
The warmth of Gerard's mouth is perfect as always and Frank tries his best to concentrate on not coming immediately, because it feels like he's been trying to get to this point for fucking years and now Gerard is sucking lightly on the head and tightening his hand around the base and Frank is right there, about to finally, finally come when Gerard pulls abruptly away and makes a 'blech' face.
His hand is still right there, though, and Frank has just enough time to think, "The fuck?" before he comes.
"You've never made that face before!" Frank says indignantly when he catches his breath.
"Your dick has never been covered in paint before," Gerard replies. Frank looks down and there are in fact white smears of paint where Gerard's hands had been.
"Oh," he says.
Gerard snuggles up against him and bumps his own erection against Frank's hip. "Help me out?"
Frank looks down and sees that Gerard has managed to get paint on himself, too, and decides to go with a handjob, as to save Gerard the trauma of seeing his boyfriend look disgusted mid-blowjob. Afterwards he snuggles in close and protests when Gerard prods him saying, "Don't go to sleep yet."
"Fuck you," Frank mumbles, then looks up to realize Gerard is still rather bright-eyed. "What?"
Gerard grins.
Frank suddenly registers that Gerard hasn't been all that upset to paint over the mural. "Why are you so happy?"
"Go look in the closet," Gerard says.
The closet is ten whole feet away and requires Frank to get out of bed and away from snuggles, which are two things he highly disapproves of. But Gerard asked him to so he sighs and squirms out of bed - the sheets are totally fucking ruined, even by 'living with an eccentric artist' standards of cleanliness - and stumbles naked to the closet.
He turns on the light and pushes aside the four shirts that are still hanging on hangers instead of crumpled on the floor to reveal a mural painted on the closet wall of a Frankenstein monster battling hordes of skeletons to get to a castle, where a princess who bore a remarkable resemblance to Gerard-as-a-vampire waited.
"Okay, I totally don't miss the squid anymore," Frank announces happily, and leaps back in bed to properly show his appreciation for his totally awesome boyfriend.