fic: see your moves (frank/mikey)
see your moves
frank/mikey
R
~1360 words.
written for the porn battle, also posted here. written for the prompts laugh and roommates, therefore set when they were living together. kind of silly!
The thing is, Frank has been waiting a long ass time to get in Mikey’s pants.
It’s just that Mikey is clueless, or that Frank really is as bad at flirting as he’s been accused of being in the past, because it’s taken fucking forever for them to get to this point: to lying on top of the covers of his bed in his dark room in their shitty apartment, Mikey straddling him and leaning down to kiss him again, hot and slick and wet. Frank’s finding it hard to catch his breath, warmth spreading all over under the surface of his skin, and he feels so keyed up and fucking ready for this that it’s fucking unfair, the way something in his brain makes him start laughing against Mikey’s mouth as Mikey slides his hand down under the waistband of Frank’s jeans, under Frank’s underwear, fingers brushing the coarse hair there.
Mikey stills, mid-kiss. With a little effort, Frank stops laughing, but he’s still grinning, even as Mikey takes his hand out of his pants and pulls back, frowning at Frank from behind his crooked glasses. Frank’s mattress squeaks under them, absurdly loud.
“Dude,” Mikey says.
Frank tries to straighten his expression out. “Sorry,” Frank says, “sorry, it’s just.” He’s not sure exactly what it is, though, so he reaches up, threading his fingers through Mikey’s hair and pulling him back down. He hides his smile against Mikey’s mouth.
Frank’s always known that Mikey is a good kisser, from hazy memories left over from games of truth or dare and the smug, satisfied looks he sees sometimes from the girls Mikey hooks up with, but the reality of it, sober and slow and searing heat, is even better. He could do this for hours, just the two of them locked away in here. Mikey bites his lip, like he’s kind of annoyed Frank interrupted them by bursting into laughter, and Frank tugs lightly on his hair, makes a mental note to piss Mikey off more often if it gets Mikey all riled up; Mikey doesn’t waste any more time getting his hand back in Frank’s jeans, undoing the button this time so he has more room. He palms over Frank’s dick through the thin material of his boxers and Frank arches up into it. His bed covers bunch up under his back, around by his shoulders. “Fuck yeah,” he mutters in a low, rough breath, mouth against Mikey’s jaw.
Mikey turns his head to catch his mouth. They kiss until Frank’s breathless again, until Mikey’s panting. They’re still both wearing their all their clothes, jeans and faded t-shirts, and Frank feels like he’s burning up; Mikey’s skin is hot to the touch as he slides his hand up under his shirt, fingers tracing over the notches of his spine, slowly pulling the thin material up to expose more skin. He feels Mikey shiver, shift in small movements on Frank’s thigh,and Frank manages to keep it together through all of that, right up until Mikey’s thumb rubs over the head of his cock, smearing wet on the front of his boxers.
Frank’s hips rock up, his breath catching at the back of his throat, and the mattress squeaks again. He begins laughing as soon as he can breathe again, the sound lower than usual. It feels fucking amazing, somehow a million times better than his own hand ever feels even though Mikey hasn’t touched him skin to skin yet, and he definitely doesn’t want Mikey to stop. He can’t help it, though, trying to stop making any noise and then practically dissolving into giggles even as Mikey pulls back again.
“What the fuck?” Mikey asks. He sounds both curious and annoyed. It’s almost the exact tone he uses when Frank rearranges his DVDs without asking, just a notch lower, a pitch Frank has only heard here in his bedroom.
“I don’t know,” Frank tells him honestly. He doesn’t let go. “I think it’s just - it’s you’re Mikey.”
“Yeah,” Mikey says slowly. “I know that.”
“We’re - it’s us,” Frank continues. “We’ve never done this before. It’s like I’m seeing all your, like, your moves.”
“My moves,” Mikey repeats, just as slowly. “What?”
“They’re hot moves,” Frank assures him, still grinning. He doesn’t think he even really needs to say anything; he’s lying underneath Mikey with his pants undone, hard and leaking from just the build up of his light touches, the slide of their tongues together. It’s obvious. “But we live together, and like, work together. We’ve toured together and everything. I’ve never hooked up with someone I’m already living with. It’s kind of like, it’s fucking weird.”
Mikey’s slowly smiling too now, like he’s starting to see the inexplicably funny side to it all as well. Frank doesn’t know why that makes things even hotter, except that the quirk of Mikey’s mouth makes him want to lick it.
“Who the fuck has sex with their best friend after this long?” Frank finishes, and he’s fucking laughing again, even though all his wants is for Mikey to touch him again.
“I don’t know,” Mikey says. “Whoever. Us. Just shut up.” He leans in closer, though, and Frank can feel the hot gust of Mikey’s breath against his chin as he exhales a quiet laugh.
“You should make me shut up,” Frank says, and he feels Mikey laugh once more before he leans in and kisses him again, hard.
“Not the first time,” Mikey mutters, and Frank shudders at the implication in Mikey’s words, suddenly not so hilarious anymore, fingers digging into Mikey’s skin as Mikey moves his hand back down again and finally curls his fingers around Frank’s cock.
Frank digs his heels into the mattress, rocking up, pulling Mikey down so he can get his mouth on Mikey’s neck. “That’s cool. This is fine.” He breathes hard against Mikey’s throat, mouth open, wet against his skin. Mikey strokes him firm and steady, fast, like he’s done letting Frank find anything funny. Frank’s too hot; he wants to take his jeans off, but he doesn’t want to let Mikey stop for that long, so he doesn’t mention it. He does whine as Mikey takes his hand away for a second, but then he’s just staring as Mikey spits into it and goes back to touching him, smoother and slicker than before, twisting his wrist on the upstrokes. Frank knows it should be gross, but it’s fucking hot. “Fucking good.” He can’t remember the last time he was getting off this fast from a hand job, whether it’s because of how long they’ve been leading up to this moment for or just because it’s Mikey.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Frank groans. Mikey’s hand is just a little rougher than Frank is used to, and all Frank can hear is his own breathing, amplified in his head, and the dirty, wet noise of Mikey’s hand moving over him. “You’re fucking -- fucking good at this, I’ve wanted to do this for fucking ever. So hot--”
“It’s ‘cause you can’t resist my moves now you’ve seen them,” Mikey says, almost seriously, and Frank’s laughing, shaky bursts of noise that make him feel like he can’t breathe at all as he grunts and comes, hard enough that his toes curl up in his tangled sheets. He pulls Mikey back down, both hands in his hair, and kisses him sloppily, almost lazily. Mikey strokes him through it until Frank reaches down to still his wrist when he gets too sensitive to stand even the light brush of Mikey’s fingers. He’s dimly aware that Mikey is still shifting on top of him, short movements seeking out friction on his thigh, and he’s also dimly aware that Mikey just wiped Frank’s come all over his sheets, but that seems like less of a pressing issue.
“Guess you get to see my moves now,” he says, smoothing his hand over Mikey’s shoulder, rubbing his thumb over the mark he left without realising just above Mikey’s collarbone.
Mikey nods, his smile sharp, his eyes dark behind the smudged lenses of his glasses. “I wanna see the best ones.”
frank/mikey
R
~1360 words.
written for the porn battle, also posted here. written for the prompts laugh and roommates, therefore set when they were living together. kind of silly!
The thing is, Frank has been waiting a long ass time to get in Mikey’s pants.
It’s just that Mikey is clueless, or that Frank really is as bad at flirting as he’s been accused of being in the past, because it’s taken fucking forever for them to get to this point: to lying on top of the covers of his bed in his dark room in their shitty apartment, Mikey straddling him and leaning down to kiss him again, hot and slick and wet. Frank’s finding it hard to catch his breath, warmth spreading all over under the surface of his skin, and he feels so keyed up and fucking ready for this that it’s fucking unfair, the way something in his brain makes him start laughing against Mikey’s mouth as Mikey slides his hand down under the waistband of Frank’s jeans, under Frank’s underwear, fingers brushing the coarse hair there.
Mikey stills, mid-kiss. With a little effort, Frank stops laughing, but he’s still grinning, even as Mikey takes his hand out of his pants and pulls back, frowning at Frank from behind his crooked glasses. Frank’s mattress squeaks under them, absurdly loud.
“Dude,” Mikey says.
Frank tries to straighten his expression out. “Sorry,” Frank says, “sorry, it’s just.” He’s not sure exactly what it is, though, so he reaches up, threading his fingers through Mikey’s hair and pulling him back down. He hides his smile against Mikey’s mouth.
Frank’s always known that Mikey is a good kisser, from hazy memories left over from games of truth or dare and the smug, satisfied looks he sees sometimes from the girls Mikey hooks up with, but the reality of it, sober and slow and searing heat, is even better. He could do this for hours, just the two of them locked away in here. Mikey bites his lip, like he’s kind of annoyed Frank interrupted them by bursting into laughter, and Frank tugs lightly on his hair, makes a mental note to piss Mikey off more often if it gets Mikey all riled up; Mikey doesn’t waste any more time getting his hand back in Frank’s jeans, undoing the button this time so he has more room. He palms over Frank’s dick through the thin material of his boxers and Frank arches up into it. His bed covers bunch up under his back, around by his shoulders. “Fuck yeah,” he mutters in a low, rough breath, mouth against Mikey’s jaw.
Mikey turns his head to catch his mouth. They kiss until Frank’s breathless again, until Mikey’s panting. They’re still both wearing their all their clothes, jeans and faded t-shirts, and Frank feels like he’s burning up; Mikey’s skin is hot to the touch as he slides his hand up under his shirt, fingers tracing over the notches of his spine, slowly pulling the thin material up to expose more skin. He feels Mikey shiver, shift in small movements on Frank’s thigh,and Frank manages to keep it together through all of that, right up until Mikey’s thumb rubs over the head of his cock, smearing wet on the front of his boxers.
Frank’s hips rock up, his breath catching at the back of his throat, and the mattress squeaks again. He begins laughing as soon as he can breathe again, the sound lower than usual. It feels fucking amazing, somehow a million times better than his own hand ever feels even though Mikey hasn’t touched him skin to skin yet, and he definitely doesn’t want Mikey to stop. He can’t help it, though, trying to stop making any noise and then practically dissolving into giggles even as Mikey pulls back again.
“What the fuck?” Mikey asks. He sounds both curious and annoyed. It’s almost the exact tone he uses when Frank rearranges his DVDs without asking, just a notch lower, a pitch Frank has only heard here in his bedroom.
“I don’t know,” Frank tells him honestly. He doesn’t let go. “I think it’s just - it’s you’re Mikey.”
“Yeah,” Mikey says slowly. “I know that.”
“We’re - it’s us,” Frank continues. “We’ve never done this before. It’s like I’m seeing all your, like, your moves.”
“My moves,” Mikey repeats, just as slowly. “What?”
“They’re hot moves,” Frank assures him, still grinning. He doesn’t think he even really needs to say anything; he’s lying underneath Mikey with his pants undone, hard and leaking from just the build up of his light touches, the slide of their tongues together. It’s obvious. “But we live together, and like, work together. We’ve toured together and everything. I’ve never hooked up with someone I’m already living with. It’s kind of like, it’s fucking weird.”
Mikey’s slowly smiling too now, like he’s starting to see the inexplicably funny side to it all as well. Frank doesn’t know why that makes things even hotter, except that the quirk of Mikey’s mouth makes him want to lick it.
“Who the fuck has sex with their best friend after this long?” Frank finishes, and he’s fucking laughing again, even though all his wants is for Mikey to touch him again.
“I don’t know,” Mikey says. “Whoever. Us. Just shut up.” He leans in closer, though, and Frank can feel the hot gust of Mikey’s breath against his chin as he exhales a quiet laugh.
“You should make me shut up,” Frank says, and he feels Mikey laugh once more before he leans in and kisses him again, hard.
“Not the first time,” Mikey mutters, and Frank shudders at the implication in Mikey’s words, suddenly not so hilarious anymore, fingers digging into Mikey’s skin as Mikey moves his hand back down again and finally curls his fingers around Frank’s cock.
Frank digs his heels into the mattress, rocking up, pulling Mikey down so he can get his mouth on Mikey’s neck. “That’s cool. This is fine.” He breathes hard against Mikey’s throat, mouth open, wet against his skin. Mikey strokes him firm and steady, fast, like he’s done letting Frank find anything funny. Frank’s too hot; he wants to take his jeans off, but he doesn’t want to let Mikey stop for that long, so he doesn’t mention it. He does whine as Mikey takes his hand away for a second, but then he’s just staring as Mikey spits into it and goes back to touching him, smoother and slicker than before, twisting his wrist on the upstrokes. Frank knows it should be gross, but it’s fucking hot. “Fucking good.” He can’t remember the last time he was getting off this fast from a hand job, whether it’s because of how long they’ve been leading up to this moment for or just because it’s Mikey.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Frank groans. Mikey’s hand is just a little rougher than Frank is used to, and all Frank can hear is his own breathing, amplified in his head, and the dirty, wet noise of Mikey’s hand moving over him. “You’re fucking -- fucking good at this, I’ve wanted to do this for fucking ever. So hot--”
“It’s ‘cause you can’t resist my moves now you’ve seen them,” Mikey says, almost seriously, and Frank’s laughing, shaky bursts of noise that make him feel like he can’t breathe at all as he grunts and comes, hard enough that his toes curl up in his tangled sheets. He pulls Mikey back down, both hands in his hair, and kisses him sloppily, almost lazily. Mikey strokes him through it until Frank reaches down to still his wrist when he gets too sensitive to stand even the light brush of Mikey’s fingers. He’s dimly aware that Mikey is still shifting on top of him, short movements seeking out friction on his thigh, and he’s also dimly aware that Mikey just wiped Frank’s come all over his sheets, but that seems like less of a pressing issue.
“Guess you get to see my moves now,” he says, smoothing his hand over Mikey’s shoulder, rubbing his thumb over the mark he left without realising just above Mikey’s collarbone.
Mikey nods, his smile sharp, his eyes dark behind the smudged lenses of his glasses. “I wanna see the best ones.”