Hold Still [2]
Frank/Jeph
One-shot
AU, written with xoverau & beatpropx. The Used boys & Frank are working as trendy punk hairdressers with tendencies towards perversion. Jeph suggests a few things to Frank, & Frank isn't sure he wants to accept the offer. Rated NC-17. Kink warnings - mostly BDSM stuff.
15,895 words
Written July 10, 2005
Jeph's hand is large, warm and tanned. When Frank looks down it looks terribly dark against the pale white skin of his stomach and legs. He can feel the calluses on Jeph's palm - the places just so rough that they rub against him, sending sparks up and down his back, making him sweat. He tightens his hand on Jeph's side. He knows he's probably hurting him, but that's what this is about, and oh god. He can't bear letting go. Jeph is moving so slow, gentle, but the way he looks at Frank is feral. Like he knows how much Frank is enjoying this. Like he knows, and it turns him on.
Frank tries to stay focused but he can't, he feels raw and needy. His breath is getting ragged. When he reaches up to push his hair out of his face, his arm brushes his own chest, and it makes him moan. Jeph smirks. He whispers, "Are you all right?"
"I didn't say you could do that." Frank breathes in deeply, tries to loosen his grip on Jeph. He slides his hand lower. Jeph twists his hips closer, and Frank bites his lip, tries not to move his hand. He can't help it. The tips of his fingers run over Jeph's cock, the piercing at the tip - warm metal and warmer skin. Jeph tightens his hand at that. Frank moans again, low and harsh. His fingers falter in their movements.
Jeph begins to move his hand faster, and when he speaks, his voice comes out rough. "I - I'm sorry. I won't do it again, master." The words trail off into heavy breathing and the occasional curse. In between flashes of pleasure, he marvels at the fact that Jeph is so far gone - he's apologizing, he's fucking calling Frank his master. It's crazy and illogical and it makes him so turned on, so fucking desperate. He gasps for air.
"Come on," he says, "fuck - don't. I have to... have to punish you. For that." He shakes his hair out of his eyes. Jeph is looking at him with those same eyes. Like just by looking at Frank, he can pin him down, fuck him slow until he's begging for it. Frank bites his lip hard.
When Jeph takes his hand away, Frank moves to kneel over him. He's looking down at Jeph's chest; the bright colors and thick, dark lines. He bends down to kiss one shape, his erection brushing Jeph's knee. He mumbles, "Fuck," but manages to keep his balance. When he bites down, Jeph's hand tangles in his hair, keeps his lips pressed to the skin.
There are red marks when Frank finally pulls back. He rests his head against Jeph's wrist; he can't catch his breath. Jeph tastes like salt and ink and Frank will never get over how good that is, how much he loves it. "Turn over," he whispers. Jeph does so, exposing the sticky, bloody stretch of his back again. Frank bends down to taste that as well. When he does, his cock presses into Jeph's skin, and he tries not to grind down too hard. Tries not to fill his mouth with the bittersweet taste seeping from Jeph's back. But he fails miserably at both, and he loves it.
-----
"You know," Frank says, "it's one thing to get your hair cut for a date. It's another thing entirely to freeload the haircut off your fucking date himself."
"Oh, I see, so this is a date, now?" Jeph snorts. "Nah. I just happen to need my hair done, that's all. It's getting too long." He leans back, closing his eyes against the stream of water Frank is spraying over him. The shop is closed; Frank is washing his hair in the biggest sink. It's a cold night. The hot water makes steam billow out, fill the room. The glass of the front door looks shimmery and mysterious.
He massages his fingers through Jeph's hair, humming softly. "It's not a date. But 'meeting for kinky sex' is remarkably longer, asshole, so shut up before I get you in the eyes with this." Even though Jeph can't see, he waves the shampoo in his face. Jeph sighs.
"You know, you don't have to be so weirded out - "
"I'm not weirded out!" Frank pulls a bit too hard on his hair, then sighs and falls silent. The shampoo smells like Asian pears. Frank isn't sure whether that just means pears from Asia, or if it's a different kind of pear, or if it's just something they made up - like those shampoos that smell like "rain" or "moonlight" or whatever the fuck. But it does smell fucking excellent, and it works like nothing else in the shop, so Frank tries to use it sparingly. Jeph is one of the few to use it on a regular basis. Frank rinses the suds off his hair, watching the rainbows refract off, bounce into nothingness. He says, "It's not like I haven't fucked you before."
"Exactly." Jeph blows soap suds up at him. "So why are you being so fucking uptight?"
There really isn't a good way for Frank to tell him that when he's around Jeph, he feels like he's living in the path of a tsunami, and he knows that tomorrow night he's going to say all the wrong things. He's going to not hurt Jeph enough, or hurt him too much, or he's going to just seem like a complete asshole. And Jeph will blow it off like it's not a big deal, or he'll joke about it, even if it goes well. Frank can't think of anything to explain that that kind of reaction is just... too close to emotionless.
So he says, "I don't want things to be weird between us."
Jeph glances around, biting his lip for a minute before he bursts out laughing. "Come on," he says, "give me some fucking credit. Branden gets you off with his foot while he does your gauges, man, don't even."
He can't resist snickering at that - so okay, maybe he's gotten a few... odd favors from Branden. Once or twice. He can't help it; Branden always gauges his ears, and the slow burn makes Frank's body do strange things. "Okay," he says, taking out the blow-dryer, "seriously, though. I mean it."
"Things won't be weird. I promise." Jeph smiles at him. "C'mon, blow me."
"Yeah, yeah - fucking horndog." Frank aims the blowdryer at him like a gun. "Bang, bang." Then he flicks off the water faucets, and sets to the task of drying Jeph's hair and trimming it into something decent.
The steam in the room settles down, fades away; when they head out the door, each going their separate ways, the night feels like a cool pane of glass shaped around Frank's face. He starts up his motorcycle and heads home. The city speeds past in streaks of light and neon. Frank's hands are jittery on the handlebars, and when he gets off, he sways a bit. When he tries to unlock the door, his key misses the lock three times. He can't stop thinking about Jeph. The idea of tomorrow is like going to sleep before high school graduation, except Frank never graduated so he's kind of guessing at it. Or maybe it's like the day before his thirteenth birthday. Scary and ominous but nothing he'd ever turn down, not for anything.
He ends up sleeping on the couch because he can't even look at his bed. Jeph is coming to his place tomorrow. He's bringing toys, he said; Frank doesn't want to think about what that implies. So of course he thinks about it. He jerks off twice before he can manage to sleep, once in front of his laptop looking at terrible porn and once just lying on the couch with the window wide open. The air is cool and sharp with the scent of gasoline.
Surprisingly, work the next day isn't that bad. Actually being around Jeph is more relaxing than being alone and thinking about it. He sends Bert across the street to get him a veggie dog in the afternoon; Quinn makes lewd comments as per usual. The routine of it is relaxing. Even so, Frank finds himself smoking half a pack more than usual. He goes to steal a handful of lollipops from Branden and doesn't even realize until halfway through the first that they're the wrong ones - not marijuana, but the kind with bugs in the middle. Real bugs. Frank nearly pukes, and then yells at Quinn for buying the fucking things.
"Dude," Quinn says, shaking his head sadly. "You bought a potato gun."
Frank knows he should defend his need to shoot chunks of potato at people. Instead, he just says in outrage, "I don't make them eat the raw potato!" Quinn sighs and shakes his head, and points out that nobody made Frank eat the lollipops, either. Frank lights up another cigarette and stomps off to dye someone's hair bright blue.
Later, Quinn apologizes and pulls him out into the alley, where they make out until Frank almost can't stand up. When they come back in, Jeph tells Quinn he has lipstick all over his mouth; it takes them all a few moments to realize he's referring to the red dye from the lollipops. Frank laughs and tells them all to go to hell. Really, it's not much different from a normal day. Frank rides home on his bike as usual. Everything's the same.
When Jeph bangs on the door to his apartment, Frank nearly falls off the couch.
He puts out his cigarette, runs to the door, then turns around and goes back to the couch. He gets up and walks slowly. Casually. Making sure he's swaying his hips just enough, but not... swishing them. When he opens the door, Jeph is standing there. He's wearing the same clothes he was at work, and he's kind of laughing. "Took you long enough," he says. "Your neighbors were staring." When he comes inside, he drops a whip and two pairs of handcuffs on the kitchen table. Frank tries to think of something to say that doesn't involve "oh, shit."
He settles for, "Do you want something to drink?"
"Nah, I'm good." Jeph shifts his weight from one foor to the other. He's biting his lip, and suddenly, Frank realizes Jeph's never really been inside his apartment before. It's messy and needs to be vacuumed - Frank doesn't even own a fucking vacuum, really. He has a little handheld one, but as far as actual cleaning goes, he's done shit-all. So the rooms look just terrible. And Jeph is glancing around, trying to get his bearings, and this makes Frank's shoulders relax.
"Hey," he says, and he smiles. "You... uh, you wanna see my room? There's some stuff I think you'll like."
Jeph nods. He grins slowly, grabbing the whip off the table. When he follows Frank into the crowded, messy bedroom, he drops the whip on the dresser and says, "Fuck, you're right." He points to the large Black Flag poster and says, "Fuckin' excellent."
"Yeah, I love them." Frank rolls up his sleeve and points to the tattoo low on his arm. "See? Told you, man, can't believe you never noticed it."
He laughs, shaking his head. "I saw it, I just never remembered to mention it."
"Yeah..."
There's a long moment where they both stand, facing each other, picking at their clothes. Frank scratches the back of his neck. Jeph flickers between looking at the bed, the whip, and at the blank patch of wall behind Frank's shoulder. Each makes a sort of humming noise, as if to begin to speak, but never quite gets past that.
Finally, Jeph says, "You know... this is pretty fucking moronic."
"Yeah?"
"I'm still Jeph, you're still Frankie." He laughs, sounding a bit embarrassed. "Not like we haven't done this shit before, right? So... what the fuck." Frank nods in agreement, and Jeph leans over and punches his arm.
"Aw, motherfucker, you touch me one more time - I swear. I'll shoot you dead right here." Frank rolls his eyes. And then he realizes how fucking ridiculous that sounds, and they both laugh. "Okay," Frank says, "let's do this shit." Jeph nods and, without a warning, peels off his shirt. "Oh, motherfucker - "
"Don't be ridiculous," Jeph says, chuckling. "C'mon, I was thinking. How to set it up and shit. I... uh, you got anything to tie me up with? Those handcuffs, they hurt like fuck." Frank glances about; there's a leather shoelace lying on his nightstand for some reason that's completely flown out of his mind. He picks it up, offers it to Jeph.
"Will this do?"
"Yeah, sure." Jeph swallows, then closes his eyes and drops to his knees. Frank tries not to concentrate on the angles of his shoulder blades, or the way the lamplight is turning his skin golden-yellow. "Well? I can't exactly tie it myself, asshole."
Frank laughs and sits down behind him. Jeph is holding his wrists together behind his back, making the muscles of his arms stand out; Frank takes care as he ties it the cord. He almost kisses the back of Jeph's neck when he finishes but decides not to. When he stands up, he doesn't know what to do with his hands. He clears his throat. "So," he says.
Jeph smiles at him patiently. "Can you... uh, can you leave the room for a minute? I gotta... y'know. Kind of get into a different space, or whatever." Frank considers his words.
"Yeah, sounds good." He knows what Jeph means - something doesn't feel right. They're still just Jeph and Frank, still not quite... there. So he goes out into the hallway and kicks at the wall a bit and takes his socks off. After five minutes, he straightens up, pushes the cuffs of his sleeves up to his elbows. When he goes back inside, Jeph has his head bowed, his back curved forward. He's looking up, though. Like he's waiting.
-----
Frank sometimes hates a lot of things about sex. He hates fumbling for lube in the middle of it all, he hates how cold it feels on his skin. Hates the way everything always gets sticky, no matter how hard he tries. On some level, he even kind of hates the fact that asses are involved at all. Some part of him has never gotten over the basic biological purpose of an ass.
But however much he hates the details, those always get lost after a certain point. It comes early with Jeph - when Frank's still preparing him, two fingers in, pumping slow and gentle. Those shouldn't be words to go with what they're doing. But he doesn't want this to be the part that hurts. Jeph is rocking backwards, hands clutching fistfuls of the sheets; occasionally he'll hiss, "Faster," and Frank will do it immediately. He knows he shouldn't let Jeph command him. He'll bite at the soft skin of his leg, where the muscle is tense beneath, as a warning. But Jeph keeps doing it so Frank obliges. Faster and harder and he's trying so hard not to touch himself, but it's hard, it's so hard. Jeph's back is sleek with sweat and remnants of blood.
When he pulls back, Jeph groans, looks over his shoulder. "Please," he says, wriggling back against Frank.
Frank closes his eyes. He tries not to look. When he opens his eyes, Jeph is still there, lips wet. He's only human; he pours a bit of lube into his palm and strokes himself twice, fast. He wants to do it more - just push himself over the fucking edge right now, just do it - but he can't. When he pushes in, Jeph winces a bit, but arches back again. The sensation hits Frank in the back of the head. Everything is just overwhelmed with how good it feels, the tight heat, everything pulsing through his skin.
He holds onto Jeph's hip with one hand, for balance. When he digs his nails in Jeph moans, "Fuck, yes." That sound - the purity of the lust in it, the way there's nothing there but that - Frank gives up and just does it. He works up a rhythm, and then he's slamming into Jeph, making the bed creak faintly. Jeph gasps with the harder strokes, grinds his hips down. Frank doesn't even listen to the words he's saying. Doesn't worry if they're stupid or cliched, just says them, just keeps calling Jeph's name - dragging it out, "Jepha," making the 'a' long and desperate.
Jeph responds easily enough. He's digging his fingers into the blankets, pushing his hips back, repeating words fast under his breath. He keeps saying how fucking good it feels, keeps saying faster harder more please, oh, fuck, more, keeps saying Frank's name. Frank thinks he's going hard enough to bruise. Pounding him, leaving nail marks embedded in his hip, scratches down to his thighs. He reaches under with his other hand, curling it around Jeph. He keeps his thumb pressed over the center of the ampallang.
After a few more strokes, Jeph comes, still panting Frank's name. Frank can see his parted lips and his bright eyes watching, and the expanse of his back split open, and when Jeph whispers, "Now," Frank comes.
-----
After, Frank gets up, goes into the bathroom to wash his hands and look for the bandages. He doesn't have much - Frank doesn't really believe in babying his wounds. When he was a kid, he'd stay up for hours coughing until his throat bled; after that, he figures a scrape here and there won't kill him if he leaves it open. After a bit of digging, he finds an unopened box of gauze pads. He runs a washcloth under the tap. His face in the mirror is flushed; he has sex hair. Jeph's fault. He laughs and makes kissy-faces at his reflection, trying to ignore the adrenaline still making his fingers jittery, then goes back to the bedroom.
Jeph is still lying on his stomach, eyes closed, humming quietly. Frank sits down next to him. "Hey," he says softly.
"Hey, you." Jeph glances up. He's smiling. "What's that?"
"Hold still." Frank dabs at his back with the washcloth, frowning. It comes away pink with blood - Frank is used to this sort of thing by now, he's been in enough violent mosh pits to see worse - but that doesn't mean he enjoys this. There are scabs forming on a couple of the cuts. The blood sticks to the skin, so Frank has to press down a little; Jeph only winces twice. "I really got you, huh."
Jeph shrugs. "I've had worse. God, you're sweet, that feels really nice."
"Sweet! Honestly." Frank clicks his tongue. "I beat the hell out of you, fuck you into the bed, and you call me sweet. I give up." When he starts taping the gauze on, he tries to be as gentle as possible; the skin still looks red and sore. He presses down with only the very tips of his fingers.
"You are sweet. Bandages - what the fuck? It's a couple cuts, I'll be fine." Jeph slides off the bed, laughing. He digs through the pockets of his discarded jeans and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. "You want one?"
"Nah, I'm good." Frank throws the box of gauze at the dresser. He misses terribly, and it hits the wall with a light noise. He tries not to watch the way Jeph's spine makes tiny raised bumps in his back. He ends up looking at the curves of his shoulders instead; it's an improvement, kind of. When Jeph sits back down on the bed, he hunches forward around the cigarette. Frank breathes in the smoke he exhales. "So," he says. "We actually... did this."
"Of course we did this, dumbfuck." Jeph bumps him with his shoulder. "Told you you'd like it."
Frank nudges him back. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever."
"Hey, seriously, why was this a problem?"
He considers it, then shrugs helplessly, tipping his head against Jeph's. He can feel the smooth curve of Jeph's ear on his cheek. "No reason to fuck things up. I thought this would. It's... y'know. It's different, not like just fucking - " He falls silent. Frank is terrible at explaining his thoughts properly. The rhythm of Jeph's smoking makes him want to fall asleep.
Jeph says, "But it didn't." Frank nods. They sit for a moment like that, legs hanging over the edge of the bed. Jeph holds his cigarette up to Frank's lips and Frank takes a slow drag off it. His fingers are slowing down a bit. "You know," Jeph says casually, "I'm an asshole."
Frank tries to figure out whether he means because of this, or because of something else entirely. Jeph always thinks he's an asshole. He'll never get quite too worried about it, but he thinks it, and Frank wishes he knew why. Maybe it's just stupid shit like giving Bert acid, maybe it's not. He says, "You're not."
"Yeah? What makes you sure?"
He doesn't know, so he doesn't say anything. He sits up, pulling his head away from Jeph's, but they're still sitting close enough for their arms to brush. It's... comfortable. Frank has barely even noticed that they are, in fact, still both naked as the day they were born. They're just sitting and smoking. He remarks, "You know, you're the only guy I know who actually smokes after sex."
Jeph laughs, tipping his head back. "That's because I'm like a movie star. Too fucking cool."
"Yeah, yeah, you wish." Frank stands up, bracing his hands on his thighs. "C'mon, you want food? I'm fucking starving. I'll make you a sandwich, or some shit." Jeph nods happily.
In the kitchen, while he is toasting their whole-wheat bagels, Frank says, "I really need to up the gauges on my ears a little. I'm only at a twelve now, I wanna get up to a six, maybe." Jeph looks up from where he is sitting on the counter - he's put his pants back on, thankfully, or Frank would be beating him for real.
"What, did the bagel holes remind you of that?" He snorts.
Frank shakes his head, laughing. "Actually, they did, asshole. You got a problem with that, you can kiss my ass."
"Already done that, sweetheart. Hey - if you want, I could probably do the gauging for you. Y'know. If you want. I totally know how, don't worry about that, I've done it before."
His voice is still as casual as ever, but Frank looks up from the toaster, considers him. Jeph is swinging his feet back and forth. He keeps kicking the handle of the cabinet below him. He's sitting hunched over again, with his hair in his eyes. It doesn't even occur to Frank to say that Branden always does his ears. "Yeah," he says. "That... that sounds pretty cool. You willing to put up with me?"
Jeph laughs. "You mean your hard-on thing? You say that like it's a problem, man. Nah, nah. I can put up with you."
So the next night, Frank finds himself lying on Branden's piercing chair, squinting up at Jeph. Being in the piercing booth always feels faintly weird - Branden has Chia Pets and old retro posters of Elvis and, in the corner, a tiny inflatable Godzilla. He's probably violating about seven different health regulations but nobody says a word. Jeph has the little metal cart next to him with all Branden's stuff; right before he starts, he opens a pack of Pez and eats half of it in one bite. Frank nearly falls off the chair laughing.
"You," he says, wiping his eyes, "are a fucking Pez addict. Don't even, I know what you do at night to get your Pez."
Jeph flips him off. He swallows, then says, "I can quit anytime I want. And anyway, you might not wanna say that, I'm the one who decides whether or not you'll be left alone with your hand."
"Threatening to withhold sex? Didn't know you had it in you." Frank reaches past him and takes the rest of the candy; Jeph slaps at his hand lightly. It's strawberry and makes his mouth feel a little gritty.
"What," Jeph says, "too nice?"
"Too horny."
Frank watches Jeph smear lube on the tapers, and he tries not to think about the awkwardness of that. Parallels to last night, and all that shit. He loses his train of thought when Jeph starts pushing the taper in - his ears are sensitive, already feeling a bit of a burn. He hums softly, trying to keep his head still. Jeph is staring lasers through Frank's ear. His eyebrows are furrowed, and he's pushing very slowly, making the blood pound in Frank's head.
"Hey," Jeph says quietly, not looking up from the gauges. "Question. You think Bert's ever gonna quit?"
Frank blinks. He's not sure where this came from, really; the answer comes out before he can stop it. "Nope."
"Oh."
"I mean... hey." Frank swallows, trying to concentrate on the words and not the fact that he is really fucking turned on. "Me not believing it doesn't mean shit. You think when I was ten, I believed in this? I mean, hell no. Nobody thinks they're gonna grow up and be a gay vegetarian hairdresser."
"Nobody thinks they'll get turned on from stretching their ears," Jeph says, smirking faintly.
"Exactly - fuck!" Frank sucks in his breath, feeling the sting of his skin widening. He's sure his ears are bright red. "That's what I mean, man. I wanted to be a fuckin' astronaut. Maybe a guitarist. So I don't believe in him. That don't mean shit."
Jeph nods. He's holding his breath, and when he pushes the taper all the way in, he breathes out against the side of Frank's face. "There. Okay. A little blood, but nothing bad. I told you I can do this."
"You sure did." Even before he finishes the sentence, Frank is unzipping his pants, sliding his hand inside and stroking fast. "Oh, shit, shit - " Jeph cracks up, holding his stomach as he laughs. Frank thinks maybe he should be pissed but fuck, does that ever feel good. He'll be pissed later. His vision is a bit hazy, clouded with the constant pulse of blood behind his eyes, but he can sort of see Jeph open another pack of Pez and start eating. He comes just hard enough to make his legs tense up. "Bitch," he says. "Give me a tissue or something."
"Oh, one minute." Jeph heaves a sigh and digs around, pulling out a small pack of tissues from somewhere on the cart. "Branden's prepared for you, huh?"
Frank cleans himself up quickly, re-zipping his pants. "Don't be an asshole. C'mon, let's do this other one already."
As he's getting the other taper ready, Jeph says, "You know what else you'd never have believed?" Frank doesn't even have to ask; the grin and raised eyebrows lets him know exactly what Jeph's thinking. He sighs, trying not to let on how funny he really finds it. Of course Jeph's teasing him about it, and of course things are different - every fuckin' day is different. It's all comfortable. That's what he needs - being able to smoke with Jeph, and knowing someone will still make him coffee in the morning, even if he always leaves the goddamn sugar and cream out. He leans back on the chair, closing his eyes.
"You know," he says, "I really do hate you."
"Yeah, Quinn told me all about that. I hate you too. Ready?" The taper is cool and wet against Frank's ear, and he mentally steels himself for it. Jeph's fingers on the side of his ear are soft. Frank breathes in.
"Anytime you are."