It Came From Within 2/3
Being sick means Frank’s been stuck indoors for too long. Even though he is feeling better it’s not enough that he’s ready to go out, not without his lungs wanting to explode from out of his chest. It means that Frank’s spending hours wrapped in a blanket and watching bad TV, and also thinking about Mikey.
Between Ray’s questions and Mikey playing nursemaid Frank’s got no idea what he’s feeling. Strike that, he knows what he’s feeling -- turned on, sexually frustrated, on the verge of humping the nearest warm object -- he just doesn’t know why. And that’s insane, the kind of insane like someone not knowing they’re pregnant until they’re in labour.
It’s all kinds of frustrating and Frank looks up when he hears a door slam and Mikey leaving his room.
“I’m going now.” Mikey’s dressed to go out, his hair styled and clothes tight, the studded belt that’s low on his hips catching the light as he pulls on his coat and starts to fasten the buttons. “I’ll text later, make sure you’re okay.”
“I’ll be here,” Frank says, settling more comfortably into the nest he’s made on the couch. By now he’s surrounded by two pillows and three blankets, the one close to his body stiffened with sweat. Frank’s also got the TV remote and his iPod and a pile of magazines and books, enough he could be reading for days, even if he didn’t keep falling asleep.
“I shouldn’t be too late.” Already wearing his hat, Mikey pulls on his gloves and under the layers of coat and impassive expression Frank can see how much Mikey needs to get out.
“Do you know where you’re going?” Frank’s not fishing, not really, except in the way he really fucking is.
“Not sure yet,” Mikey says, his hand on the door handle. “Somewhere, one of the clubs, and then I’ll see from there.”
“Have a beer for me,” Frank says, watching as Mikey waves and lets himself out.
When he’s gone Frank drinks in the silence, alone for the first time in days. The novelty makes him want to rip off his clothes and dance around naked, but the reality is even getting to the bathroom takes too much effort.
Frank sighs and leans back in his nest of pillows and blankets. But now they smell musty, from his sweat and Mikey’s and Frank should be swapping those out at least, or actually making that effort to get to the bathroom and a much needed shower.
Right now Frank feels all kinds of gross, deodorant only able to do so much against layers of dirt. Then there’s Frank’s hair which is lanky and greasy. He itches his head, digging in his fingers and pulls at his t-shirt, sniffing the pits.
Recoiling, Frank eases himself up, and slowly heads for the bathroom. Aware that standing up for a long shower is out of the question, Frank starts filling the tub, sitting on the toilet and trying not to see the hairs in the sink and the toothpaste that splatters the mirror. Which really, how the fuck does Mikey manages to do that each day?
What Frank wants it to sink into a tub full of scalding hot water and bubbles, but that’s not going to happen. Not when there’s no bubble bath to use and Frank’s wary of falling asleep and drowning. Improvising Frank squirts in a blast of shampoo, watching it bubble up in the water, and then starts to peel himself out of his clothes.
And peel is exactly the right word. Frank’s t-shirt feels like it’s starting to bond with his body and his sweat pants are stiff at the crotch. As for his boxers. Frank’s unsure if they’ll ever come clean and he throws them in the corner with the rest of the laundry, taking satisfaction when they land on one of Mikey’s t-shirts.
Almost naked, Frank lifts up each foot and breathes through his mouth as he rolls off his socks and drops them onto the floor, where they lie like two grey, toxic mounds. Frank’s sure if he looks closely he’ll see green stench lines radiating out from each one, so he kicks them both under the sink before climbing into the tub.
Immersing himself in the water, Frank sighs as he slips down. His head tucked between the bottles of shampoo and body wash and dried up bars of soap that never get used. Frank closes his eyes, reveling in feeling so warm and relaxed.
Not that it’s a state that lasts long. Waves lap against Frank’s chest as he pulls his hand through the water, groping for the sponge that seems determined to slip out of his grip. Corralling it close to his shoulder, Frank adds a squirt of body wash and starts to wipe over his stomach.
Instantly he shivers, his whole body tingling as he wipes away sweat and follows the crease of his groin. Using his thumbnail, Frank scrapes over his pubes and then draws the sponge gently over his dick and balls, wiping away days worth of sweat.
It feels like he hasn’t been touched like this in forever and within seconds Frank’s hard, the lethargy of sickness stripped back as Frank strokes his fingers over his dick. It’s a touch that’s more teasing at first, an intent of purpose and Frank’s not thinking of anything or anyone specific. Pulling up his knees, he lets them drop to the side, so they’re sticking out of the bubbled surface like two pale and scarred islands.
Frank makes a loose fist around his dick, lazily stroking, the water lapping against his arm. And it’s good, easy with a low level thrum that’s filling his whole body, cutting through the aches that still linger.
Frank moves his head when his neck starts to crick. A bottle of body wash that’s close to his ear topples, hitting his shoulder and dropping into the water. It’s some bottle that Mikey brought home after Christmas, a generic gift given by distant family and Frank’s heard about smell being linked to actual people, but that’s not happening here. Mikey hasn’t got a smell that can be tied down to anything artificial and kept in a bottle. In fact, Frank doesn’t think he’s got an actual consistent smell at all, and isn’t this just pathetic, Frank lying in the bath with his hand on his dick and thinking about how his best friend smells.
“Fucking rank,” Frank mutters, but that’s not actually true. Because as much as Mikey does smell of sweat and coffee and sometimes the sugary cereal he likes eating for breakfast, it’s a combination Frank likes.
“Fuck.” Frank tightens his hand and the lazy feeling of before is overlain with a sudden sheer wave of need. Everything is pulling in tight and Frank’s wrist slaps against the water as he increases the pace of his strokes, and all he can think about is Mikey.
Mikey tied to a bed, his wrists bound with rope and legs spread.
Mikey bent over their kitchen table, pants and underwear crumpled at his ankles and his head turned to the side as he takes in a ragged breath.
Mikey under Frank’s body, pliant and eager, urging Frank on as he thrusts in hard and deep.
The images blur together, and Frank’s panting, bracing himself with his knees as he drags his thumb over the head of his dick, more bottles falling as he jerks his head in response. Sliding his hand down, Frank palms his balls and keeps going, curling his fingers so only one’s pressing up close to his ass. It means Frank’s straining forward, his spine arched and he wishes he had more hands, or was out of the tub so he could use both without drowning. But Frank isn’t and he has to contend with just one, drawing in a sharp breath when he pushes inside and finger fucks himself slow and shallow, just enough that Frank’s legs are shaking, his whole body tense.
Sometimes, Frank can come from finger fucking himself only, but that always takes time and tonight he can’t wait, too needy for slow and steady. Frank needs hard and fast and he slips out his finger and brings his hand back to his dick.
It doesn’t take long after that. Frank’s grip is tight and he thrusts up with his hips, fucking his fist, water slopping over the side of the tub as he gasps and shudders, come spilling over his hand.
Spent, he lies back and looks over his body, where come is pooled on the water and sticking to Frank’s pubes. Lazily, Frank brushes it away, lying still as the bottles float around him.
~~~~~~
Frank falls asleep on the couch with a clean body, mostly clean clothes, and wrapped in the least dirty blanket.
When he wakes up it’s to find Mikey sitting beside him, crammed in to the small space where Frank isn’t lying. Mikey’s watching the TV without sound, light from the screen flickering over his face and reflecting over his glasses. When Frank moves, Mikey looks over and says, “Hi.”
“You’re home.” It’s a stupid statement because obviously Mikey is home, but Frank’s still sleep-soggy, yawning as he says, “It’s late.”
“Or it’s early.” Mikey looks at his watch and Frank’s eyes are pulled to the bruise half hidden under the strap, a match to the one that encircles Mikey’s other wrist. In the low light they look stark, dark circles with blurred edges. There’s no way to disguise what they are and Frank reaches out, compelled to touch.
“Cuffs?” Frank full-body shivers as he traces the bruises, imaging burst blood vessels just under the skin. “You played hard tonight.”
“I needed it,” Mikey says, and Frank takes note of his language, how it’s need and not want. “I ended up at some guy’s house. He paid for the cab.”
“Some guy?” Frank’s waking up fast, putting things together he isn’t sure that he likes. “Tell me you knew where you were going and what he was called.”
“There was a subway close by,” Mikey says, sounding unconcerned that he went home with a stranger. “I went with him, had a good time and then came back.”
“Are you crazy?” The question bursts out, Frank unable to understand what Mikey was thinking. “You don’t go off with strangers.”
“I’ve gone off with strangers before,” Mikey says. “I haven’t been killed yet, and I sent you a text.”
Frank reaches for his phone, where he left it sitting on the stack of his books. Going to messages he reads through his texts. “You think saying you’re okay and are going to some guy’s house is keeping yourself safe?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” Seemingly unconcerned, Mikey sits back, watching as on the TV an old woman starts plucking a chicken. Frank pretends to watch too, the silence stretching out until Mikey says, “I’m always careful.”
Frank isn’t so sure. He’s seen Mikey going off with girls and boys, having fun in ways where he’s always the centre of attention. That’s just what he does, and this sex thing is just another element of that, one that Frank should be mocking. Instead he’s obsessing, thinking about the things Mikey is doing and who he’s doing them with. Strangers and casual pick-ups, people who’re not good enough for Mikey but still get to have him.
It’s frustrating and Frank has to admit to himself that deep down he’s jealous, wanting what Mikey’s been so freely giving away.
“Are you feeling sick again?” Mikey’s watching Frank closely, one hand wrapped around his wrist, hiding the bruising. “Do you want a drink?”
Frank needs to go to bed and get some sleep. That way he’ll wake in the morning feeling refreshed and clear-headed, unlike now when he looks at Mikey and just wants what he can’t have.
“Frank?” Mikey says, and he shuffles closer, looking concerned. “Are you okay?”
Mikey’s only inches away, his meticulous created casual look of earlier swapped out for bleary eyes and concern. It’s Mikey, but not the sexualised Mikey of Frank’s obsession, but that doesn’t matter. This is Mikey, and Frank still doesn’t know what he’s feeling, except right now, Mikey’s right there, and Frank makes an impulse decision. Grabbing hold of Mikey’s shoulders, Frank pulls him in close, hesitating a moment before moving in for a kiss. It’s not the first time, dares and stupid games have often resulted in Frank and Mikey locking lips, but not like this. This time Frank’s doing it with intent and he holds on, relaxing when Mikey opens his mouth in response.
Frank touches his tongue against Mikey’s, and they’ve done this before too, but always surrounded by people, most of them drunk and cheering them on. Now, in this quiet, dark room, Frank’s whole body is tingling and he feels unsteady when Mikey starts to kiss harder, his tongue in Frank’s mouth and hands on his back.
And it’s good, really fucking good and Frank doesn’t want it to stop. Except, every second that passes he’s regretting his impulse and it feels like he’s thrown himself off of a cliff. One where the inevitable ending is a painful crash at the bottom, unless Frank can grab hold of a branch and stop his descent.
Frank makes himself pull back, breaking the kiss and looking past Mikey, trying not to see his dawning confusion. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”
“Okay,” Mikey says, and is making no attempt to stop Frank from leaving.
Which is good. It’s just how Frank needs it to be.
Really.
~*~*~*~
Frank loves his band, and has for years.
It’s why this thing with Mikey can’t happen, because if it goes wrong Frank loses it all. His band, his friends, his dreams of going out and making a difference.
It’s what Frank tells himself as he lies in bed, on top of the covers and staring into space.
It’s too much of a risk - isn’t it?
~*~*~*~
In total Frank’s slept for at most a few hours. His eyes feel scratchy and his headache is constant as he crawls out of bed and stumbles to the bathroom. Inside he tries to ignore the laundry pile in one corner, and stares blankly into the toilet bowl as he pisses.
Making a mental notes that he needs to drink more liquids, Frank washes his hands and brushes his teeth, foam dripping out of his mouth as he scrubs. Minutes later - and he rinses his toothbrush and drops it back in the beaker with Mikey’s.
The two brushes are lying together, yellow against blue and Frank doesn’t know what he was thinking last night. He knows it’s going to be weird, but despite that, Frank can’t regret the kiss itself, which was too short but still awesome. It’s the repercussions that are the issue, and the fact that Frank’s allowed himself a taste of something he knows he can’t have.
Even thinking about it now makes Frank’s dick sit up and take notice, his morning wood back at full force. Not that Frank’s about to give it attention. His dick needs to learn that it’s Frank in charge, and that means no more jerking off while thinking about Mikey.
To show that, Frank heads for the kitchen, his hands in fists and nowhere near his crotch, and then stops dead when he sees that Mikey’s asleep on the couch.
It’s nothing unusual, they’ve both slept there often, especially at the end of nights out when the beds seem too far to walk. Normally Frank would leave him sleeping or take a flying jump onto Mikey’s stomach and tell him to fuck off to bed already so Frank can watch TV. Now, Frank just stands there watching.
It makes him feel like some kind of creeper, standing there staring and taking in how Mikey’s taken off his glasses, his face resting on his tucked up arms and his mouth slightly open. It means that he’s drooling, a patch of wet on his wrist and over the bruising.
Frank uncurls his hands and drops his arms as he takes a step closer. It’s a maddening compulsion, to see and to touch and Frank’s seconds away from rubbing one out right here while staring at Mikey as he sleeps. Which is wrong, so fucking wrong, and something Frank won’t let happen.
Frank looks away, and goes to the kitchen, knowing he needs to make a tactical retreat. Taking a breath before opening the fridge, and careful that his hand doesn’t touch the green mold that’s expanding over half of a shelf, Frank grabs a soda and the last slice of old pizza.
Supplies in hand he goes to his room, to eat and read and hope he hasn’t fucked everything up completely.
~~~~~~
Frank’s reading his book when his bedroom door opens and Mikey appears, looking more asleep than awake as he announces bleakly, “There’s nothing to eat.”
Frank touches the slice of pizza he’s got balancing on his knee, untouched except for one bite. “There’s pizza.”
“You’re a fucking prince.” Mikey leaves Frank’s door open and drops onto the bed, taking the slice from Frank. About to tear it in half, he stops when Frank shakes his head.
“You can have it.” Frank’s not hungry at all, especially now that Mikey’s here and all Frank can do is sit and wait for him to mention the kiss. Already it feels like some elephant in the room, and Frank’s reading the same line over and over as Mikey eats, his teeth crunching through the dried up crust.
“We should go to Matt’s later,” Mikey swallows, wiping his fingers on Frank’s sheet. “Or Ray’s, if you can go out without dying.” Mikey sits to the side, staring at Frank. “You don’t sound like Darth Vader.”
“The force is strong in this one,” Frank says, and takes a deep breath, feeling the slight crackle that remains deep in his chest. “We need to go to the store first.”
Mikey frowns and flops back onto the bed, one leg on the floor to keep him him place. “It’s freezing out there.”
“We need food, and toilet paper,” and countless other things that they always seem to forget. Frank closes his book over his fingers, using them to keep his page. “We should get gloves and clean out the fridge.”
“We’d need a hazmat suit to do that,” Mikey says, and he’s holding his hands in the air, peering at his wrists where the bruising has darkened. “They look badass.”
Frank agrees, but it’s not something he wants to discuss, especially when Mikey’s not mentioning the kiss. It’s like it didn’t happen and Frank hates the uncertainty, becoming even tenser the longer he waits for Mikey to actually bring it up. Except it seems he’s not going to, and Frank’s telling himself he needs to let it go already, that Mikey ignoring it is the best thing to do. But Frank’s not made that way, he needs to know and manages to wait for all of a few minutes then blurts out, “I kissed you last night.”
“I know,” Mikey says, and then, “I was there.”
One of the worst things about Mikey is deciphering his silences. Frank’s known him for years now and still has trouble at times, and right now Mikey’s so impassive that Frank wants to grab him and demand to know what he’s feeling. “That’s it?”
“What else do you want?” Mikey looks puzzled at that, his brows pulling together as he stares up and over at Frank. “It was only a kiss.”
Frank’s sure that Mikey doesn’t mean to sound so dismissive, but the fact is, he really fucking does. It’s feels like Frank’s been kicked in the gut, which is stupid as it’s not like he even wanted anything to happen between them. At the same time, he wants Mikey to feel something, no matter how small.
Frank looks at his watch, needing to get out of this room and distracted from his own tangled thoughts. “If we go now, we’ll catch Ray making dinner.”
“Okay,” Mikey says, and he’s watching Frank, as if he’s aware that there’s something he’s not saying. “The kiss, I...”
If Mikey says he liked it Frank’s going to lose it right here. Tacked-on reassurances are the last thing he wants and Frank stands, dropping his book onto his pillow. “I need to piss.”
Mikey sits, and watches Frank go.
~*~*~*~
One of the best things about meeting at Ray’s is he tends to have actual food. He’s also got heat, comfortable furniture and multiple gaming systems that circle the TV.
After his own apartment and his mom’s, it’s one of Frank’s favourite places to go to relax, and he starts to peel off his layers, shedding his coat and top hoodie. Already his hat, gloves and scarf are draped on a radiator, crowded against the ones that are lying there drying.
“Should you even be out yet?” Ray asks, hovering and watching Frank as if he expects him to collapse any moment. “Mikey said you were dying.”
“I said he looked like he was already dead,” Mikey corrects and right now he looks twice as bulky as normal, his arms barely bending as he starts to unfasten his coat. “He could have been an extra on Six Feet Under.”
“I didn’t look that bad.” Frank has to protest, because really, a corpse? “I’m the master of sick chic.”
“You’re the master of snot, puke and green gunk.” Mikey pulls at the sleeve of his coat, tugging it over his layers of hoodies, “I woke up one night and had a green tissue stuck to my cheek. It was fucking gross.”
“He threw it at you?” Ray asks, and really, Frank’s working himself up to be insulted, like he’d take the time to go throw snotty tissues at Mikey when he was feeling so sick. Not that it’s a bad idea and Frank makes a note to check for still-slimy specimens that lurk in his room.
Finally out of his coat, Mikey says, “I rolled onto it when I was sleeping.”
“You slept with him?” Ray gives Frank a significant look, while trying to conceal that from Mikey. As efforts go it’s worthy, but still, all it manages to do is make Ray look insane, and Frank’s stifling his laughter when Mikey replies.
“I was keeping him company, he gets lonely when he’s sick.”
Ray gives Mikey a dubious look. “You spent time with this diseased freak so he wouldn’t get lonely?”
“Yeah.” Down to his hoodies, Mikey holds his hands over the radiator, his palms held over the tiny gaps between gloves, hat and scarves. “I read and listened to him snore.”
“You’re a brave man,” Ray says, and heads for the small kitchen, “I was just about to start making dinner, but I guess you knew that already.”
“Really?” Frank says, his mouth twitching. Unlike Mikey. Whose expression never flickers, like they hadn’t spent the journey over discussing what Ray might be making.
“Want any help?” Frank figures he should offer. It’s not as if he minds cooking, especially when he’s not in danger of a mold monster exploding from out of the fridge. “I can chop vegetables.”
Hand on a cupboard door, Ray looks over his shoulder. “Are you going to try juggling with knives again? Because if so, no, I don’t need any help.”
“It looked easy on TV.” Frank examines the scar on one of his fingers and then takes a knife from out of a drawer. Brandishing it he says, “Bring it on.”
It turns out Ray was planning to make chili. Gathering ingredients he throws a bagful of onions at Frank and then takes a packet of soya mince from out of the freezer.
Frank grins and starts to peel the first onion. “You keep food for me.”
“I keep food for me, you just happen to be able to eat it,” Ray says, and puts two pans on his small stove. “So, how’s the situation with Mikey?”
Ray’s pitched his voice low, but still, Frank looks behind him seeing that Mikey’s claimed the easy chair and is reading something on his phone. Digging his thumb nail into the papery onion skin, Frank says, “I kissed him last night.”
“And....” Ray prompts, and Frank loves him right now, that he’s so obviously schooling his reaction until he knows how it went.
“And he said it meant nothing.” Which okay, isn’t what Mikey said exactly but it is what he meant and Frank blinks as the air is filled with onion fumes.
Ray moves to stand next to Frank. “That doesn’t sound like him. Was he drunk?”
Frank shakes his head and brings the knife down the middle of the onion. Separating the two halves he starts to cut one into slices. “He’d been drinking, but no. He just doesn’t want me.”
“He could have had you?” Ray sounds confused, and he glances back at Mikey and then brings his attention solely to Frank. “I thought this was a sex thing, you know, you getting off to what he’s been doing.”
“It is.” The knife clatters against the chopping board and more than anything Frank wishes they weren’t having this conversation. Especially here when Mikey could so easily overhear. “I thought it was, and then he was there and I wanted to kiss him. So I did.”
“The kiss that he said meant nothing,” Ray says, and then, “Did he know it was supposed to mean something? It’s not like you haven’t kissed before and you didn’t want him then.”
“He should have known.” Frank starts chopping, hating how Ray sounds so reasonable and keeps asking questions that Frank can’t answer. And yet he still isn’t getting the most important issues. “I need to get the fuck over it, nothing could happen even if he did want me.”
Ray opens his mouth, and Frank just knows he’s going to ask meaningless questions. It’s why he’s relieved when there’s a knock at the door and Frank takes the opportunity to leave and go answer.
~~~~~~
“I handcuffed Mikey to the bed once,” Gerard says, grinning as he looks over at Mikey. “We were playing space rangers and bandits. His bed was my home base.”
“So, last week then,” Matt says, and holds up his hand for a hi-five.
Frank obliges, leaning forward so he can slap Matt’s outstretched hand. It’s also a position that allows him to hide his face for a moment, taking time before he has to deal with Mikey talking about handcuffs yet again. And he will, that’s inevitable.
Not that Gerard is helping. Frank hasn’t got any brothers, but he’s sure they’re not supposed to be so interested in their sibling’s sex life. Except, it seems, if your name is Gerard, who has no issues in grilling Mikey on what he’s been doing.
Not that it’s any kind of surprise that he’s doing so. It’s just, normally Frank isn’t sitting dreading each detail, the worry of popping a boner ever present, even with the kissing disaster.
Mikey’s sitting on the couch next to Gerard, leaning against him so together they’re taking up all of the space. “He lost the key, Elena had to hacksaw me free.”
“It fell out of my pocket,” Gerard says, and he touches Mikey’s right wrist, fingertips at the edge of the bruising. “You’re being careful, right?”
It’s a sideways step to the conversation, Gerard going from nostalgia to serious in seconds and as far as Frank’s concerned neither is right to talk about now. Not that it’s stopping the Ways, who as always exist inside their own personal bubble, always aware of the people around them but their attention focused on each other.
There’s only one place this can go and Frank’s about to slide from the easy chair and claim the spare game controller when Ray makes like a ninja and gets there first. Sitting on the floor next to Matt he throws Frank an apologetic look and starts playing, leaving Frank to sit and pretend not to listen.
Mikey keeps his hand still as Gerard traces a line over his wrist. “I’m careful.”
Gerard seems to take that at face value, unlike Frank, who wants to protest that Mikey’s version of careful isn’t as good as it could be. Not that it would make any difference, when on occasion both Gerard and Mikey have the same issues with self care.
“Good.” Gerard takes hold of Mikey’s hands, putting them together and then wraps his fingers over both of his wrists, touching as much as he’s able. “You planning any more pictures?”
Mikey holds up his hands, says, “I don’t think so. It’s not really for me. Once was enough.”
Frank wants to sink into the cushions of his chair and never emerge, or go hide in the bathroom, or go eat the toxic rice and put himself out of his misery. Anything but sit here and have to listen to Gerard discuss Mikey’s photographs, which have to be the ones that Frank has in his room and still hidden in the back of his wallet.
Deciding on a tactical retreat, Frank pushes himself up and steps over Matt’s and Ray’s legs and then into the kitchen. Right now it looks nothing like the clean space of before, and Frank starts stacking dirty bowls, doing anything so he doesn’t have to listen to Gerard and Mikey.
It helps -- to an extent. Gerard’s voice tends to carry and Ray’s apartment is small so Frank can’t help hearing details, even when he’s trying to focus elsewhere. Like now, when Gerard says, “It makes sense, remember when you put that plastic bag over your head? I about had a fucking heart attack.”
Frank doesn’t want to know the context -- he doesn’t -- and grabs a soda from out of the fridge, rolling the cold can over his inner wrist. It helps cool him down, a little, and Frank concentrates on the roll and not the fact that Mikey and Gerard are still talking.
“I forgot about that,” Mikey says, and then, “I researched and it said someone’s hand was good, as long as you trust them.”
“That’s a fucking big but, Mikey,” Gerard says, and Frank thinks that finally Gerard’s reacting in the way that he should, even if he is apparently happy to discuss fisting with his brother. Though how the bag ties in Frank doesn’t know, and he’s puzzling over that when he looks over, and sees that Mikey has his hand wrapped around his throat.
It means he’s got his head tilted back, his fingers digging in at the sides of his neck and Frank lets the can go. It hits the ground with a thud, but Frank can’t look away from Mikey, who’s still squeezing his fingers as Gerard looks on.
“Move your hand to the left a little, it’ll be more effective,” Gerard says, as if he’s supervising some project and not Mikey sitting on Ray’s couch and apparently demonstrating auto erotic asphyxiation.
Mikey moves his hand, squeezes once and then says, “Yeah, that’s good.”
And all Frank can think of is Mikey’s been researching this shit. Probably on his computer while Frank was so sick. He could have been lying on the foot of Frank’s bed or at his side on the couch, reading up and practicing. It’s all too easy to imagine, Mikey’s fingers tight around his throat, his pants undone and jerking himself off.
At that mental image Frank’s almost instantly hard. Thankful he’s standing behind the counter, he tries to will his hard-on away, thinking about disgusting things like their laundry pile or the toe nail clippings Frank found on the floor. It doesn’t work, every disgusting thing Frank thinks about leading back to Mikey, and Frank feels all kinds of pathetic as he gives in and goes to the bathroom.
Initially he tells himself it’s only to hide. Just a few minutes for Frank to regain his composure and hopefully for Gerard and Mikey’s conversation to finish. Instead Frank’s barely through the door when he’s scrabbling with the button of his pants and belt buckle. As soon as they’re open Frank pushes them down to his ankles, and spits into his palms before grabbing hold of his dick, stifling a groan at that first touch.
Frank can see himself in the mirror that’s over the sink. His eyes wild and cheeks flushed, his mouth slightly parted as he starts to fist his own cock. Hyper aware of the sound of skin against skin, Frank increases his pace. He imagines fitting his hand over Mikey’s throat, fucking him hard while pushing down, cutting off his air.
It’s all too easy to imagine, but more than the sex, the way Mikey would feel beneath him, what Frank wants the most is that feeling of trust. He wants what Mikey’s giving so freely to strangers, and Frank takes stumbling, hobbled steps to the sink, needing support. His hand braced, he tightens his grip on his dick, working his hand and hips together, and with each shallow thrust the side of his ass impacts against the bowl of the sink.
Frank turns his head slightly, looking at himself in the mirror once more, and he’s should be embarrassed about how wrecked he looks, how desperate as he thinks of nothing but Mikey.
Mikey who’s on the other side of this wall. His wrists bruised and hair ridiculous, old stains on his t-shirt and a zit on his chin.
Frank wants him so much that it hurts, his chest tight as he looks away from the mirror and then down, watching as he fucks his own hand -- his dick red and hard, pre-come smearing Frank’s fingers.
Close, Frank lets go off the sink and brings his hand to his face, pressing the heel of his thumb against his mouth. His breathing ragged, he lists to the side, unsteady as climax pushes close, and then hits.
Frank bites down, his knees threatening to buckle as climax hits hard. Wet heat coating his fingers as Frank fights to stay upright and most important of all, silent, his whole body trembling as Frank takes a moment to just breathe.
~*~*~*~
Frank decides the only thing he can do is avoid Mikey. Not always, it’s not possible to do that, but as much as he can. It’s the only thing Frank can do and at first he thinks that it’s working. Almost a week and Frank’s down to two jerks off a day, and his dick’s feeling better, like it’s not attached to a Mikey-hair-trigger.
Of course, avoiding Mikey comes along with its own problems. Namely, Frank misses him like crazy. He’s used to them starting the day together and watching TV and putting the world to rights over coffee and takeout. Now they’re down to the basics, talking when it’s essential, but mostly Frank’s hiding inside of his room, or going out to see friends, thankful that it seems Mikey hasn’t noticed.
Until Frank realises how wrong that he is.
Sure that Mikey’s still sleeping, Frank slips from his room and heads for the kitchen. This early he expects it to be empty, but Mikey’s sitting at their small table, full mug in his hands and eating Fruit Loops from out of the box. When he sees Frank he says, “The coffee’s still fresh.”
“Okay,” Frank pours himself a mug, his back to Mikey, and all he wants to do is sit down and eat breakfast, the cereal box between them and taking turns to rummage inside it. It’s what they used to do before Frank turned into a raving sex maniac, and Frank misses that - a lot.
“If you tell me what I did I’ll try to fix it.” About to go back to his room, Frank freezes in place, gripping his mug hard when Mikey goes on, “If it’s the drain I’ll unclog it.”
Mikey’s voice is low and even but Frank can hear his confusion, and more than anything he wants to lie and say that it is the drain, or the fact the rice in the fridge seems to be reproducing tiny mold babies. They’re things that are minor irritations only, and Frank thinks Mikey will accept what he’s saying. Except, Frank’s tired of hiding away, and more than that, that he’s the cause of Mikey sounding so sad.
“It’s not the drain,” Frank’s still not looking at Mikey. He doesn’t think that he can, not now when he’s realising that he’s reached a point where the only thing he can do is spill all. “I kissed you.”
“And?” Mikey says, and just when Frank thinks that’s it, he adds, “We’ve kissed before. You didn’t ignore me afterwards then.”
“Those were different.” In multiple ways even, but Frank concentrates on the two most important. “Those were dares or kisses that just happened, this one wasn’t.”
Finally Frank turns around, and sees that Mikey’s staring right at him, as if trying to understand what Frank’s actually saying. “You planned it?”
“No,” Frank says immediately, then amends that to, “Sort of. I didn’t plan it but there was a reason.” And this is the big moment, when Frank has to reveal he’s been obsessed with what Mikey’s been doing. It’s jumping from kissing to sex and Frank’s stomach churns as he changes something that can never go back. “All that kinky shit you’ve been doing, I liked listening to it. A lot.”
Mikey makes some complicated gesture with his hand which either stands for sex or the dance of a dying swan. “And by like it you mean....”
“I mean it fucking turns me on,” Frank blurts out, and then hesitates a moment, waiting for a reaction. But Mikey’s a master of the non-reaction, and all the words Frank’s been pushing back spill out in a gush. “Like, a lot. My dick about fell off these last weeks, and I’ve used so much fucking lube I should have shares in the company, and it’s all your fault with your stories and your pictures and I didn’t even know I liked that shit so much.”
“That’s all?” Mikey says, his expression never changing and sounding as if Frank telling him he finds Mikey sexually attractive means nothing. “You should have said something.”
Most of the time Frank loves that Mikey’s so calm and hard to rile up. It’s one of the reasons they get on so well, but sometimes it’s all kinds of frustrating. Like now, when Frank’s dropped his big reveal and Mikey’s sitting there looking like Frank’s told him they’re getting a different brand of cereal.
It’s obvious he’s not getting how big a deal this actually is, and Frank starts pacing, the soles of his feet peeling from the sticky floor with each step. When he’s paced the small space five times he stops next to Mikey and demands, “What was I supposed to say? ‘Hi Mikey, the thought of you getting spanked turns me the fuck on.’ Or that those pictures you showed me were some of the hottest things that I’ve seen.”
Frank’s expecting Mikey to ask why. Probably along with an eye roll that suggests that Frank not declaring sexual attraction was dumb. What he doesn’t expect is Mikey to say, “Those turned you on?”
Mikey sounds thoughtful, like Frank finding them hot wasn’t something he’d considered. And of course it wouldn’t be, because sometimes Mikey just doesn’t think. He decides to try new things and just goes out and does it, and then tells Frank the details. From a new bass that he’s thinking of buying or the friends he seems to make always and especially every part of his sex life, including things Frank never wanted to know.
Telling Frank is just part of the process, and it’s not Mikey’s fault that Frank latched onto these details. Needing more and building up his own fantasies like the creeper he is. Frank nods, and simply says, “Yes.”
Mikey puts his hand in the cereal box, pulling out a handful of O’s. Eating them individually, he crunches through two while looking at Frank. “You should come with me.”
“To your kinky sex club?” Frank makes it a question even though he’s already sure of the answer. Pulling out a chair he sits and takes an O from Mikey’s hand. “They’d let me in?”
Mikey curls up his fingers, hiding the rest of the O’s. “It’s not an official thing, just knowing the right people to talk to. So yeah you’d get in.”
Frank isn’t sure what to say. On the one hand, his traitorous dick is already showing that attending would be awesome, but on the other, it’s yet another jump, and Frank doesn’t know if he’s ready.
“It wouldn’t be weird me seeing you have sex?”
Mikey shrugs, looking unconcerned. “I don’t always have sex, and you’ve seen that before.”
“By mistake,” Frank says, remembering catching Mikey eating out some girl, his face wet as he looked up from between her spread legs and caught Frank watching. “This isn’t the same.”
“No it’s not,” Mikey agrees, and opens his hand, presenting the O’s to Frank. “But I think you’d like it, and it would stop you being all repressed and shit.”
Frank picks up an O and flicks it at Mikey, pleased when it lands in his hair. “I’m not repressed.”
“Whatever,” Mikey leans back in his chair, his legs outstretched and feet against Frank’s. “You’ve been avoiding me because of a kiss.”
That’s not exactly true, and Frank would protest that, but the facts are, he has missed Mikey this week, and now he knows how Frank feels, there’s no reason they shouldn’t go out.
It’s why Frank says, “Okay. I’ll go.”
~*~*~*~
It turns out that Mikey’s kinky sex club is an ordinary house on the outskirts of the city. It’s like every house party Frank’s attended before, people spilling out onto the street while inside the rooms are packed, the music just that little too loud and the air hazy with smoke.
Easing his way inside, Mikey waves and says hello to a fuckload of people, telling Frank names that he forgets in an instant.
“That’s Becka.” Mikey indicates a woman who’s sitting at the foot of the stairs, talking to the group who’re clustered around her. When she sees Mikey she blows him a kiss and Mikey grins in reply. “She’s the one that used her fingers and dildo.”
It’s the first reminder that this isn’t actually a normal house party, and Frank tries to get a good look at Becka, seeing if there’s anything about her that screams dildo-wielding-expert. Of course there’s not, and Frank’s being pulled forward by Mikey, his hand wrapped around Frank’s arm, keeping him close.
When they reach a patch of open space in the hallway, Mikey leans in close, says, “You thinking of trying it?”
Frank can feel his asshole tighten at the thought of anyone coming at it with something so big. Not that it means he’s not interested, just it’s something he’d watch and not take part in.
“Frank,” Mikey prompts, and Frank realises he hasn’t answered his question.
“Not that. I’d watch though.”
Mikey grins and keeps pulling Frank forward, somehow magically finding a way through the crowd in the doorway of the kitchen. When they’re through, Mikey grabs two beers from a cooler and hands one to Frank. “If you want to try voyeurism I know who to ask.”
“Fuck, no.” Frank doesn’t want that at all, and the thought of watching strangers have sex is leaving him cold. Spotting an opener, he takes the top off his bottle and swaps it for Mikey’s, doing the same for his.
“Thanks,” Mikey says, and takes a long drink, standing so close that they’re touching at arm and hip. “Whatever you want to try I can probably hook you up.”
Frank can’t think of a thing that he wants. The reality of this situation is nothing like his fantasies, and it’s concreting the fact that while Frank loved hearing the stories and found the details hot, the common element was always Mikey.
“Or if you want to watch me that’s good too.” Mikey takes another drink, scanning the room. “I usually play it by ear, see what I’m in the mood for.”
The thought of watching Mikey provokes some reaction. Not much, more the start of a slow burn of desire than any hot rush of fire. It’s enough that Frank scans the room, trying to work out how people actually hook up at all.
“How do you even know?” Frank asks, watching as a group of people head for outside. “About, you know?”
Mikey takes a drink of his beer, his head tilted back and his throat exposed as he swallows. “Word of mouth mainly,”
“It’s that easy?” Truthfully Frank’s been expecting the hanky code or walking into a place with people on leashes or steel rings attached to the walls. Not this kind of party he’s attended multiple times before. “I’m not going to see someone in a gimp suit or wearing a tail?”
“Not unless you go looking.” Mikey pushes himself up on tiptoes, looking into the hallway. “And it depends what kind of tail. I know where to go for a pony.”
Frank picks through the words, trying to work out just what Mikey is saying. “You’ve tried pony play?” It doesn’t sound like something Mikey would do, but then again, until recently Frank wouldn’t have said Mikey would do erotic photography or get off on being spanked.
Mikey shakes his head. “Not my thing, but I’d stick around if you wanted to try.”
“What?” Frank knows his mouth is still open, but he can’t seem to shut it as he stares at Mikey, wondering how they got from Frank mentioning tails to him becoming a pony. “I don’t want a tail shoved in my ass or to play being a pony.”
“You’d make an awesome Shetland pony,” Mikey says, his mouth curled up at one side. “I’d ride you.”
And that’s something that does get a reaction. Not the Shetland pony thing, which is just wrong and never going to happen. But the thought of Mikey riding Frank’s dick. It’s a mental image that hits hard and Frank takes a drink, hoping that Mikey hasn’t seen just how much Frank loves that idea.
“Huh?” Mikey says, and he’s blatantly staring at Frank’s crotch. “You really do like the pony thing. Want me to hook you up?”
“Fuck. No.” This is going too far too fast and Frank’s being reminded of the disadvantages that come along with having a best friend who’s accepting always, and apparently thinks there’s no kink too weird. “No ponies, no nothing like that. I’m just here to watch.”
“Okay, no ponies,” Mikey agrees, and for a moment he’s still, taking in the people who’re walking past and grabbing drinks from the coolers and ice-filled sink. “I know what you’ll like!” Frank’s heart jumps and he almost spills his beer when Mikey suddenly jumps into life, nearly hitting Frank in the face with his hand. “I saw Bean out there.”
His heart still racing, Frank stares at Mikey. “If you tell me that someone role plays as a coffee bean.....”
“No,” Mikey cuts in, and he’s grinning as he says, “Though that would be fucking awesome. He’s the guy who took those photos. Remember?”
Of course Frank remembers, but he’s not about to tell Mikey that each one is seared into Frank’s mind. “I thought you said you didn’t want to do that any more?”
Mikey pushes himself up from the counter and sets down his bottle, pushed back so it’s against a bright yellow toaster. “It’s nothing I need but I think you’d like it, and Gerard wanted more to keep.”
“You know that’s weird, right?” Frank has to make that point, even though by now he’s immune to any and all weird Way behaviour. “What’s he going to do, put them in the family album?”
“Mom wouldn’t care.” Already Mikey’s making his way out of the kitchen, and Frank’s got no option but to follow. “You’ll like Bean. He’s fun.”
Frank’s sure that he is. All of Mikey’s friends tend to be fun, but right now Frank can’t help wondering what he’s getting himself in to. Still, he keeps moving forward, weaving through the crowd after Mikey, who’s heading toward a man who’s claimed almost half of the couch.
“Bean, hey.” Mikey leans over the back of the couch, his head close to Bean’s. “You up to some photos tonight?”
Bean reaches up, his hand against Mikey’s cheek and kisses him square on the mouth. “You know I’m always ready for you, baby.”
Frank wants to throw up in his mouth, or punch Bean square in the face, especially when Mikey smiles, in the way that normally he keeps for close friends.
Mikey indicates Frank with a tilt of his head. “It’s okay if Frank comes and hangs? He wants to watch.”
For a long moment Bean studies Frank, then turns his attention to Mikey. “The Frank? He can even join in if he wants.”
“Frankie’s just watching tonight,” Mikey says, flashing a grin at Frank. “The usual place?”
Bean nods. “I’ll be there in ten, get yourself comfortable.”
Mikey stands and grabs hold of Frank’s wrist, holding on and heading toward the front of the house. At first Frank thinks that they’re going outside, but Mikey stops at a door and pushes it open. Stepping through, he flips a light-switch, revealing a steep set of stairs that creak when he puts his weight on the first step. “Bean’s studio is in the basement.”
Unsure what he’s walking into, Frank carefully heads down the stairs, gripping on hard to the banister. Half excepting red painted walls and shag carpet, Frank’s surprised when getting to the bottom shows nothing but an ordinary basement, one that’s set up with camera equipment and screens and a bed pushed into one corner. It’s the only thing that hints at anything sexual at all and Frank says, “So much for bow chica wow wow.”
“You were expecting horny plumbers coming to inspect leaks?” Mikey says, sounding amused. “Bean’s a professional, just he specialises in erotica and plays with that too.”
“And by plays you mean?” Frank asks, needing to prepare himself if he’s going to end up watching Mikey have sex with someone Frank’s seen for all of a few minutes.
Mikey walks further into the room, and more lights switch on further into the basement, including ones set up over a small kitchen and a series of blown-up black and white pictures, all featuring naked people, their faces hidden and bodies presented to the camera.
“This is what he does for fun.” Mikey’s stepped in front of one of the pictures that’s hanging behind one of the giant white screens. In it a woman is down on her knees, her head forward and hands tied behind her back, vulnerable except for the tilt of her jaw, something that suggests that she’s fully in control of the pose. “This is one of my favourites.”
Frank can understand why, and he stares at the picture, taking in details. Except, in his head Frank’s looking at Mikey. Imagining him mimicking the pose, the slope of his back and muscles pulled tight.
“Could you do that?” Frank asks, rushing out the words before embarrassment sets in. “For your picture.”
“I can try,” Mikey says, not hesitating at all. “It won’t look as good though.”
Frank can’t believe that at all, in fact, already he knows it’ll be better. “It’ll look amazing.”
“Every picture I take is amazing.” Bean’s voice comes from the stairs, and then Bean himself appears, striding across the studio and standing behind Frank and Mikey. Draping his arms over their shoulders he says, “What will look amazing?”
It’s Mikey who answers, saying, “Frank wants me to try and copy this pose.”
“Then Frank has exquisite taste.” Unexpectedly Bean presses a kiss against Frank’s cheek. “The camera loves Mikey, he just doesn’t understand that yet, but I suspect you do, yes?”
Thrown, Frank isn’t sure what to say, then goes for a version of truth, flashing a grin as he says, “He’s okay, not as hot as me though.”
“Narcissistic bastard,” Mikey says fondly, and Bean’s smiling as he claps them both on the shoulder and then straightens, heading for a series of shelves, each one holding a camera.
“Mikey, the robe’s in the same place, Frank, you can sit over there.”
Bean’s pointing to a chair that’s close to the bed, and for the first time since they came down here Frank’s feeling uneasy, suddenly reminded that he’s actually going to see Mikey naked, and in a situation that’s new and suddenly feels awkward.
Slowly, Frank walks to the chair, wondering what he’s supposed to actually do. Like, is he expected to sit here and jerk off while watching and what happens if he can’t even get a boner? Which would be ironic in the Alanis Morissette way when Frank’s spent the last few weeks getting hard at the touch of a breeze.
Not that Frank has much time to worry. It feels like only seconds have passed when Mikey wanders over in a short robe, and this Frank knows. Mikey with his weird knees and in-turned feet and the sleeves of the robe too short so his bony wrists are exposed, the bruising around them still dark but starting to yellow.
Frank concentrates on Mikey, who outwardly looks confident, but beneath that there’re hints of uncertainty. It reminds Frank of before their shows, where Mikey battles with his fear of the crowd, except here it’s just Frank, Bean and the camera who’ll be watching, so Mikey’s fear is dampened, but still apparent to anyone who knows him.
And Frank does, it’s why he says, “We can still go.”
“It’s okay, I want to do it,” Mikey says, and despite his nerves he sounds sure. “It just takes a while to get into the right mindset.”
Reassured, Frank looks past Mikey, to where Bean’s pulling a plain grey screen forward, so it’s hiding the bed. “You’re doing it there?”
“He looks good against a darker background.” It’s Bean who answers, each movement assured as he adjusts the screen, positions lights and lines up his cameras on a table. “If you want we can swap it up later, Mikey’s very accommodating to requests.”
Frank frowns, not liking the reminder that Mikey’s done this before, which is stupid because Frank knows all too well that he has. He has the jizz splattered evidence to show that hidden in his bedroom.
Mikey rests his hand on Frank’s shoulder. “If you want me to do something specific just say.”
Frank nods but he knows he won’t be asking. This has gone back to being too weird, and nothing like he was expecting at all. It’s too clinical and too structured and Frank’s wishing he’d refused to come here at all.
“Mikey, I’m ready.”
But of course it’s too late to run now. Frank sits frozen, unable to look away as Mikey slips off the robe and his glasses, putting them both on the chair next to Frank. And it’s not that Frank hasn’t seen Mikey naked before, he has, many times, but it feels different now. It feels strange and wrong and Frank wants to gather up the robe and cover Mikey up, hiding him from Bean who’s indicating a spot on the floor.
“Stand there, I’ll take some test shots.” Bean holds up his camera, and when he’s satisfied with Mikey’s position he starts to take a series of pictures, close-ups and longer shots as Mikey stands still, his hands clenched at his sides and back ramrod straight.
It’s a position that screams tension, and Frank’s on the edge of his seat, about to end this when Bean stops shooting and puts down the camera and says, “You look fucking beautiful as always.”
As a statement it sounds sincere, and Mikey relaxes, his shoulders dropping and hands uncurling. “And you’re a charmer as always.”
Bean grins, blowing Mikey a kiss. “Never said that I wasn’t,” then he turns to Frank and says, “Doesn’t your boy look pretty?”
Protective impulses dying down, Frank takes a moment to just look, taking in how Mikey’s standing and staring back at Frank, as if waiting for his answer. Which is one Frank’s unsure about giving, because even if Mikey does look good -- looks pretty even -- it’s not something Frank goes around saying, or admits to thinking.
In Frank’s world insults are a sign of deep friendship, but instinctively he knows that right now isn’t a moment for insults, and Frank opens his mouth and says, “Yeah, he looks pretty,” pleased when Mikey smiles in response.
“Okay people, I need to break up this moment.” Bean steps up to Mikey, fluffing up his hair at one side and then looks over to Frank. “You want him on his knees, yeah?”
Frank’s stomach clenches and his dick twitches and in his head he’s flipping off Alanis as he says, “Yeah.”
Without prompting, Mikey drops to his knees, always looking at Frank as if he’s checking for his reaction. Which isn’t how it’s supposed to be, this is Bean’s shoot, all Frank is supposed to be doing is watching.
“Well go on, he obviously wants your direction,” Bean sounds amused, his camera held at his side and somehow Frank finds himself standing, walking to Mikey.
A last look at Bean, checking he really is okay with Frank getting involved, and Frank rests his hand on Mikey’s back, gently urging him down. “Can you go lower? So your chin’s close to your knees.”
“Yeah,” Mikey says, and moves under Frank’s hand, folding himself forward until his back arcs, and his face is close to the floor.
It has to be an uncomfortable position, but it also presents Frank with the expanse of Mikey’s back, and he can’t resist touching pale skin, running his hand along the curve of Mikey’s spine, feeling the bumps. Stilling his hand, his fingertips over Mikey’s tailbone, Frank reminds himself he’s supposed to be duplicating the picture and says, “Your hands, clasp them behind your back.”
Instantly Mikey reaches behind himself, gripping his hands together, and Frank can see the strain on his joints, his shoulders pulled back and his whole body taut as Mikey tries to keep himself balanced.
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s it,” Frank says under his breath, and he drops to his knees, needing more access. Wrapping his hand around Mikey’s wrists, Frank pulls slightly, adding to the strain. “That okay?”
“Fine,” Mikey says, and he turns his head to the side slightly. “You can pull harder if you want.”
At first Frank isn’t sure why he’d want to, or even if he should be doing this at all as momentarily doubts push in, that this is Mikey, naked and down on his knees. It’s something Frank’s been imagining, and the reality is breath-taking, almost surreal as Frank starts to think how Mikey would look under his control, his hands held tight and unable to struggle. It’s not something Frank ever imagined wanting, but right now it seems right, and he pulls, watching Mikey’s reaction as Frank eases him up so Mikey’s kneeling upright and then tugged back so he’s leaning against Frank.
“Mikey,” Frank says, and Mikey’s body is heavy against Frank’s, his back arched and wrists held tight. Using his free hand, Frank drags his thumb over Mikey’s spine, going down and then stops, flattening out his hand so he can rest the flat of his palm over Mikey’s hip, and then over his stomach, holding him in place so he’s trapped between Frank’s hands and unable to move.
It’s control that could easily be broken, but Mikey’s making no attempt. Frank can feel him breathing, can hear the soft sounds that he makes as Frank slides his hand down, his fingertips brushing against coarse hair.
“Mikey,” Frank says again, and he’s so fucking hard, his dick aching where it’s trapped against his pants as Mikey turns his head from where he’s got it resting on Frank’s shoulder, and moves in for a kiss.
Responding eagerly, Frank pushes his tongue into Mikey’s mouth and Frank feels hot, his skin too tight and itching and all he wants to do is grind against Mikey. But all he can do is stay still, their position too precarious for much movement.
Taking what Mikey is offering, Frank deepens the kiss. He licks into his mouth and it’s like the control of their bodies is offset by this kiss which feels raw and untamed. Frank wants to taste, Mikey’s spit in his mouth and their lips jammed together, Frank tightening his grip on Mikey’s wrists, knowing his fingers have to be digging into the bruises, making Mikey gasp, his whole body shuddering and Frank takes the sound into his own mouth.
“Jesus Christ.” Bean’s voice cuts in and Frank’s reminded that they’re not alone. It’s something that should make him pull back, but all Frank does is open his eyes, looking challengingly at the camera. Bean keeps taking pictures as Frank slides his hand down and wraps his hand around Mikey’s cock.
And this is new, the feel of Mikey’s dick in his hand, hard and hot, and Frank loves the way Mikey’s breathing is ragged, groaning as Frank releases his hold and brings his hand close to his face, and spits into his palm.
Making a fist, Frank rubs his fingers together, coating his hand and then takes hold once again. And this is good, this is fucking good. Frank’s able to slide his hand over Mikey’s dick, jacking him slowly at first, and then faster when Mikey makes a sound deep in his throat, his breath hot against Frank’s cheek.
It’s encouragement to speed up, and Frank tucks his head against Mikey’s shoulder, bracing himself as he strokes harder, feeling strung out, his whole body trembling as he feels Mikey tense, and Frank knows that he’s close, and it’s Frank that’s going to push him over.
Relentless, Frank keeps up his pace as he pulls on Mikey’s wrists, timing perfect so when Mikey cries out, Frank bites, sinking his teeth into the join of his neck and shoulder. Mikey spilling over his hand, and pulling Frank right after.
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Masterpost