It Came From Within 3/3
In the time they’ve been roommates Mikey and Frank have arrived home together multiple times.
They’ve come home drunk and spent far too long trying to get their keys in the locks. Sober and carrying paper bags full of groceries that get left on the counter for days. Frank’s bodily hauled Mikey inside when he’s drank to excess and been bodily hauled back inside himself.
It’s what they do, have been doing for months now, except they’ve never come home like this. When Frank’s got a packet of photographs in his hand and enough mental images to fuel his fantasies for years.
He’s also got a problem, in that Frank doesn’t know where he stands. There’s no readily available etiquette for what to do when you’ve just had sort-of kinky sex with one of your best friends. It’s a gap in the market Frank thinks has to be filled, because right now he needs some guidance, a 101 of ‘So you’ve just jerked someone off on camera, what now?’ type of thing.
Frank suspects they should be having some kind of talk, because what they just did was big -- huge even -- but the idea of a talk is freaking him out. Inevitably he’ll end up admitting what he’s been doing, which will lead to how that’s evolved into actual feelings for Mikey, and Frank’s not sure he’s ready for that. Especially when Mikey is acting like nothing has changed, like Frank didn’t have hold of his dick only a few hours before.
Mikey takes his keys out of his pocket, unlocks the door, and pushes it open. Going inside he turns on the lights and takes off his coat, hanging it up on the nail as he says, “You need to stop thinking so hard.”
“You don’t know what I’m thinking,” Frank says, and pushes his way past Mikey, kicking the door shut with his foot. If he does so a little too hard then that’s all Mikey’s fault, for being some kind of mind-reading Professor X, just his thing is kinky sex and not championing mutant rights.
“You’re thinking of what we just did.” Mikey tugs off his hat and gloves, throwing them onto the radiator in a wet, messy pile. Leaving his scarf draped over his neck, Mikey takes hold of one end and nonchalantly wraps it around his wrist. “I know you liked it.”
“Of course I liked it.” That’s something that was never in doubt. Frank’s a young guy, even before this whole situation he enjoyed having sex, and that included the kind with his own hand. So having sex with Mikey was awesome, fucking awesome, and now that Frank’s tasted the reality he wants even more.
Much more in fact, hand jobs and blow jobs and frantic fucking, but also mornings spent in bed, with long, drawn out make-outs followed by hours making love.
Which, the fuck? Frank’s turning into some kind of sappy romantic, if he’s not careful he’s going to end up buying candy and flowers and that can’t happen. It’s not going to happen because Mikey’s gross, he cuts his nails in front of the TV and pops zits at the breakfast table and spends whole nights watching gory movies.
So yeah, no candy or flowers, but maybe a packet of gummy worms before lounging in bed for hours, or at most, a mug of coffee in bed in the mornings.
“I knew you’d like it.” Mikey starts unwinding the scarf, and itches at his wrist, nails scratching over the bruises. “You’re a natural at directing.”
His thoughts of lazy mornings in bed interrupted, Frank puts down the packet of photographs and takes off his coat, hanging it up next to Mikey’s. “It can be my back up career if the band doesn’t work out.”
“It’ll work out,” Mikey says instantly, and then, “You’d make a good porn director, you’ve got the right eye.”
Frank isn’t sure if having the right eye for porn is necessarily a compliment, but he takes it as one anyway. Considering, he takes off his own gloves and hat, spreading them out to dry and then does the same to Mikey’s. “We could make it a band thing, I’d direct, Gerard could be set dresser, Ray could film and Matt do sound.”
Mikey blows onto his cupped hands, mist from his breath flowing through his fingers as he asks, “And what would I be doing?”
“You’d be a fluffer.” Frank grins, pleased with his choices. “You’d be playing with dicks and not bass strings.”
“We could call ourselves, My Coitus Romance,” Mikey says, as if he’s giving the idea serious thought. “We should do tentacle porn, or something with robots. Or even....”
“Robots with tentacles,” Frank finishes Mikey’s sentence, knowing exactly where he was going. “A robotic tentacle or some kind of hybrid?”
Both sound amazing to Frank, and he’s picturing some kind of transformer complete with writhing metallic tentacles when Mikey says, “Hybrid I think, it would feel better going in, and could organically grow inside of you.”
Instantly Frank’s thrown from thoughts of My Coitus Romance to something much more immediate and personal. Wanting to groan, he curses his traitorous dick and picks up the packet of photographs, needing the privacy of his own room. “I need more layers, it’s fucking freezing in here.”
It’s an abrupt end to the conversation but Frank needs to make a tactical retreat, and a few steps later he’s safe in his room and preparing to regroup. Closing the door he stands still, listening to Mikey. His footsteps as he walks to the kitchen where he opens the fridge, no doubt drinking out of the juice carton, and then back to his room.
“This is fucking ridiculous,” Frank says softly, because really, now he’s getting turned on by robot tentacle porn? Or more specifically, the thought of Mikey being fucked by a tentacle, one that expands inside and fills him up until he’s groaning and clenching around it. It’s Mikey added to hard-core yaoi and Frank’s including his own details, a giant robotic hand holding Mikey down while thin tentacles encircle his neck, wrists, ankles and dick, his legs spread wide as the main tentacle works its way inside him.
The impulse to touch himself is immense, Frank wants to shove down his pants and jack off, fast and furious as he imagines Mikey being fucked by that robot. “Seriously, a sexual deviant,” Frank says to himself, and he wants to bang his head against the nearest hard object even as he’s rubbing his palm over his pants, creating just enough friction to stave off the need to fuck his own hand.
Not that Frank’s hard-on is going. He’s all too aware that Mikey’s only a room away, and Frank brings up his hand, sniffing his palm. By now any scent of Mikey has worn away, but the sense memory remains, enough that Frank’s heart is speeding up even more, thumping rapidly as he takes stumbling steps back and sits on the bed.
Landing heavily, Frank stares at the wall that separates his room from Mikey’s, and tries to work out his next step. The most important one being, to ask Mikey what just actually happened, and more than that, if it means something, because finally Frank’s admitting to himself he wants it to, very much so.
Telling himself to stop being a pussy and ask Mikey soon, Frank jumps when his door is suddenly pushed open, and Mikey appears, announcing, “It’s cold.”
“No shit,” Frank says. Reminded how cold it actually is he grabs a hoodie from off of the floor and pulls it on, glad that it falls over his lap.
In the few minutes he’s been gone Mikey’s changed, wearing old, frayed sleep pants and a hoodie that once was Gerard’s. Sitting next to Frank, Mikey picks up the packet of photographs and opens it up. “You looked at these yet?”
Frank shakes his head. While he caught glimpses when Bean emerged from his darkroom, grinning as he flicked through the photos, Frank hasn’t examined them himself. There was no time to at the tail end of the party and he wasn’t about to look on the way home.
“We should look.” Still holding the packet, Mikey moves to the head of the bed, sitting so he’s resting against the wall, a pillow at the small of his back. Wiggling in place, he shoves his feet under the covers, pulling Frank’s blanket up over his legs.
“Comfortable?” Frank asks pointedly, but already he’s rolling over the bed, planning to sit next to Mikey. It’s not something they do often, the couch perfectly adequate for watching TV, but sometimes it’s too cold and even the space heaters struggle to cope. When that happens it’s cost efficient to stay in bed and save on the heating. It’s just something they do, something that feels natural as Frank elbows Mikey, making him shuffle over and give more room.
“How much room do you need?” Mikey grumbles, sliding over as Frank gets under the covers. “You’re a fucking space hog.”
Unrepentant, Frank spreads his legs as much as he can. “Suck it up, it’s my bed.”
Mikey rests his legs over Frank’s, so his calf is crossed over Frank’s ankle. “Your bed’s more comfortable.”
“That’s because my sheets don’t feel like cardboard. If you washed yours.....” Frank trails off, any thoughts about laundry gone when he sees the photographs that Mikey’s started to spread out. “Holy shit.”
Frank can hardly believe what he’s seeing. Apparently Bean didn’t stop taking pictures when Frank got involved, and now the bed’s covered in a series of pictures that start with Mikey but end with them both. It’s erotica spread out and there to be examined and Frank looks at himself, moments frozen in time where Frank’s every emotion has been captured and shared.
“I like this one.” Mikey’s finished spreading out the photos and he touches one that’s positioned close to his foot. It shows Mikey on his knees, and Frank crouched beside him, his hand resting against Mikey’s back. It’s a picture that’s all lines, shadows and contrasts, Mikey a compelling mixture of both strong and vulnerable where he’s positioned next to Frank, who remains fully clothed.
“This one is fucking awesome, too.” Mikey touches a new photo, and this one is closer, enough that Frank can easily see every detail. The look on Mikey’s face, his eyes squeezed shut and mouth open, caught in a gasp for breath, The sharp angles of his shoulders where they’re pulled back and then down to Frank’s hand, the head of Mikey’s dick peeking through the curl of Frank’s fingers. Compared to some of the photos it’s not that explicit, but what it does have is trust.
It’s rare that Frank sees Mikey so unguarded, his every shield pulled down and his trust in Frank implicit. It’s dizzying to see and as much as Frank’s turned on -- and he is, enough that one of the photos on his lap is tilted onto its side -- that’s secondary to the feeling of love. Not the bone deep romantic kind, but something that means just as much.
“You look amazing,” Mikey says, and his shoulder brushes against Frank’s as he adds, “I’m glad you joined in.”
“Me too,” Frank replies instantly, but doesn’t look up, still fixated on the photos. When he gets to one of the last, where Mikey’s grinning and Frank’s holding up his hand, come dripping from his fingers as he threatens to scrub them in Mikey’s face, Frank says, “You still showing these to Gerard?”
For a long time Mikey doesn’t reply, and finally Frank looks up, and finds Mikey’s staring directly at him. “Maybe the test shots, but not the others.”
Frank can’t help feeling relieved. These photographs are special, and he wants to keep them that way, “Probably for the best, I don’t want the fucker critiquing my hand job skills.”
Mikey leans back, laughing as he says, “You need to let that go, he was only trying to share tips.”
“I didn’t need tips,” Frank says, and settles so he’s leaning against Mikey. “Especially from Gerard.”
His laughter fading, Mikey’s mouth remains curled into a smile. “He’s a good kisser.”
“I don’t want to know,” Frank says, stopping this before it descends into yet more Way insanity. “Your family is fucking weird.”
“You’re weird,” Mikey counters, and then unexpectedly, “You really liked tonight?”
“Yeah.” It’s something Frank can say for sure. “I loved it.”
“Good,” Mikey says, and doesn’t smile at all.
~*~*~*~
When Frank wakes up his hoodie has worked its way up, bunched under his arms. He’s also still wearing his jeans and they seem to have shrunk overnight, digging in at the crotch. Groaning, he wipes sweat from his forehead and rolls out of bed.
His eyes still closed he unfastens his belt and peels off his pants and hoodie, throwing them to one side. Scratching at his balls and ass, he pulls his boxers out of his crack and then crawls back under the covers.
Where Mikey’s still sleeping, unmoving as Frank fits himself around him.
~~~~~
The second time Frank wakes he’s plastered against Mikey’s back, Frank’s face pressed against one of Mikey’s shoulders. Realising he’s been drooling, Frank rubs his mouth on a dry patch of hoodie and then lies still, basking within the warm blankets.
As mornings go it’s already a good one and Frank yawns, minutely moving his hips. It’s enough to drag his dick over skin, Frank’s boxers gaping open and Mikey’s hoodie and t-shirt hitched up.
Abruptly, Frank’s completely awake, his heart speeding up and his dick wanting attention, which it’s not going to get. As much as Frank wants to, he’s not about to rub one out against Mikey’s bare back, that would be all kinds of skeevy and even if Frank is a sex maniac, he does have some lines.
Not that those lines are helping right now. Hating his morning wood and his torturous brain that seems to think grinding against Mikey would be the best thing ever, Frank eases himself back. The plan being, Frank gets out of this bed and goes for a cold shower, or to tackle the mold monster, or anything that doesn’t involve lying here like a huge creeper.
Of course, planning and doing are two different things, and Frank can’t seem to make himself move. Hoping for sleep, or some kind of divine intervention, like Gerard unexpectedly calling or the roof falling in, Frank closes his eyes, and seconds later has hold of his dick.
It’s a compulsion Frank can’t seem to resist, and he gives an experimental rub, hissing in a breath at the resulting jolt of sensation.
Momentarily Frank examines his options, wondering if jerking off would be okay if he doesn’t actually touch Mikey at all. But Frank knows it isn’t, not really. It’s not like in the van, when privacy is unknown and rubbing one out a matter of stealth and pretending no one can hear, even if they’re mere inches away.
This would be Frank masturbating thinking about Mikey, when he’s right there sleeping, and that’s a huge difference. Enough that Frank’s about to roll out of bed when Mikey says, “I’m awake.”
Or at least, mutters it, the actual words barely distinguishable, enough that Frank’s not sure if Mikey’s awake at all. For all Frank knows he’s talking in his sleep and having some kind of dream conversation about waking. Which would make sense because Mikey doesn’t willingly wake this early, especially when they’ve got nothing planned to do.
Frank moves in closer, angling his body so he’s not spearing Mikey’s back but is able to look at his face. “Your eyes are closed.”
“Still awake,” Mikey says, and while his words remain unclear, his action says everything when he rolls so his ass is nestled against Frank’s crotch. “I don’t mind.”
Frank can barely believe what’s just happened. His dick nestled against Mikey’s ass is like the perfect combination. If he were a better person Frank would be asking if Mikey’s sure of what he’s offering, but Frank’s only human, and Mikey’s ass is just there.
Not that Frank’s about to fuck him, that would be going too fast, but some dry humping sounds awesome right now. But first, Frank needs less sweat pants and more skin, though actually stating that feels awkward, like Frank’s fifteen again and asking Amanda Kirkwood if it’s okay if he touches her tits.
“Can I?” Frank hooks his fingers over Mikey’s waistband and pulls, hoping to ask what he wants without words.
“Yeah,” Mikey says, and he sounds sleepy, pliant as Frank tugs and arranges until he’s got his dick just where he wants it. And this is new, different to the night before which was all about impulse and show. This is Frank pushing up close to Mikey, intimate in ways that are leaving him shaky, sweat beading at his forehead and at the nape of his neck. Frank places his hand on Mikey’s sharp hipbone, using it for balance as he slides his hips forward, his dick dragging against skin.
A drag that’s almost too much at first, but Frank’s too turned on to stop, being careful until pre-come and sweat smear together and he curls his fingers, digging them in as he holds on. He needs the contact, because this should be ridiculous with Mikey mostly dressed, and Frank rucking against him, but it’s not at all. Frank’s so turned on he knows he’s not going to last and that makes his thrusts awkward, his dick slipping and Frank’s better than this, except when he isn’t and it feels like he’s over-heating, his boxers clinging as he presses his forehead against Mikey’s back, breathing him in.
Which is all Frank needs to push him over the edge, any thoughts about giving a warning washed away when he comes, abruptly and hard.
Panting, Frank lets his body drop forward, his dick trapped between his body and Mikey’s. He can feel wet heat against his stomach and Frank’s whole body is tingling, his breath hitching as he reaches over Mikey, reaching for his cock.
“Let me help,” Frank says, realising that Mikey’s been jerking himself off. Frank wraps his hand over Mikey’s, their fingers fitting together easily, Mikey’s strokes languid in counterpart to Frank’s frantic rutting of before.
It feels good to do this together and Frank loves the breathy sounds Mikey’s is making, the way his breathing stutters as he starts to get close. Frank keeps up the pace, matching any change easily as they work together, Frank tucking his head against Mikey’s neck, feeling the throb of his pulse, the hitch in his breathing as Mikey comes without making a sound.
For a long moment they keep their fingers linked together, until Mikey rolls back slightly and grabs a handful of sheet, rubbing it over his stomach and hand.
“I’d have gone for a towel,” Frank says, but can’t bring himself to actually care, not when he’s feeling so relaxed and right with the world.
“Now you don’t need to.” Mikey keeps moving, spooning against Frank and apparently unconcerned that his back is still covered in Frank’s come. “It’s too fucking early.”
Frank drapes an arm over Mikey, holding him close as he closes his eyes and says, “Yeah, it is.”
~~~~~
As after-sex naps go this one was perfect, even though Frank has to peel himself away from Mikey when he finally wakes up. It’s not exactly pleasant, even if they haven’t stuck together Frank’s been left with a belly and dick that feels slimy, and he’s covered in sweat, both his own and Mikey’s.
As much as he’s tempted to stay lying in bed, Frank needs to get up, his bladder on the verge of bursting and his stomach growling. Giving into impulse, because apparently he is a sappy romantic, Frank presses a kiss against Mikey’s shoulder and then crawls out of bed.
A few minutes and he’s standing over the toilet, directing his stream of piss at the disinfecting rim block that’s been empty as long as they’ve lived there. When he’s finally done -- which takes a fucking long time -- Frank washes his hands and heads for the kitchen.
It’s the usual disaster. Dirty dishes stacked on the counter and for some reason, a plastic Batman standing holding a spork. Eyeing Batman, Frank debates trying to fit more dishes into the sink, but quickly realises it’s not going to happen. Already it’s full, scummy water close to the edge and Frank grimaces as he plunges his hand into the water, feeling for the plug.
Finally finding the chain, Frank pulls, watching as the water slowly drains away and exposes greasy plates and what looks like the contents of their cutlery drawer. It leaves Frank with two choices, he can either leave this for Mikey and it’ll never get done, or Frank can make the effort and wash things up now. Neither are appealing options, but Frank’s too cheerful this morning to focus on the small things, and he dries his hands before turning on the space heaters, sets the coffeemaker going and slowly approaches the sink.
It’s Frank versus the dishes and he makes the first move by squeezing on a blast of detergent. Leaving the hot water running, he fishes out the sponge from the slime in the bottom and rinses it under the tap. As hygiene practices go it’s not ideal, and Frank would hate to see what germs are breeding inside of this sponge, but it’s all that he’s got, and, dressed only in boxers and his t-shirt he goes into battle.
Ultimately, it’s a battle Frank wins, but not without casualties. He’s got a scratch on his knuckle from the tine of a fork and his hands are all gross and puffy, feeling waterlogged as he stacks the last plate. As stacks go it’s impressive, and Frank knows he should dry and put them away but already the front of his t-shirt is soaked and he smells like stagnant water with a top tone of lemon.
All Frank wants is to go and get showered, and at least the kitchen looks better, if not actually clean. Throwing the sponge into the sink, he makes for the bathroom, looking in the mirror while waiting for the shower to heat up.
Frank doesn’t know what he’s expecting to see, some sign that he got laid or that things are coming together. What he does see is someone who, despite the smell and puffy hands and matted pubes that keep catching, looks happy.
As opposed to Mikey, who’s appeared in the doorway, and looks more dead than alive.
“Hey,” Frank says, but makes no other attempt at conversation. There’s no point when Mikey’s still operating on a non-verbal level and is making his way to the toilet on what has to be instinct alone.
Frank steps to the side, not wanting to be caught in a miss aim and hesitates a moment before starting to take off his clothes. He has to admit, it still feels a little weird, but he’s got dried spunk on his belly and has had his hand on Mikey’s dick twice in the last day, that has to mean Frank’s allowed to get naked while they’re both in close quarters.
Boxers kicked onto the clothes pile, Frank’s half hard as he sticks his hand in the spray and checks the temperature. It’s tempting to pay attention to his dick, a short stroke to say good morning, but Frank suspects that’s too forward. Mikey could think that Frank’s hinting, and even though he wouldn’t say no to more sex, he doesn’t actually need it right now. Especially when Mikey’s got his eyes closed and is so still and morning-pale it would be more like necrophilia.
So no, hand jobs or blow jobs aren’t going to happen just yet, but that doesn’t mean they won’t later.
With that awesome thought in his head, Frank waits for Mikey to flush then steps into the shower.
~~~~~~
“It needs to go, I think it’s grown again.” Frank peers into the fridge, the door held in one hand in case he needs to slam it shut fast. Inside the mold has gained in size, Frank’s sure of it, and he suspects the tomatoes he has in there are doomed.
“We should ask Ray.” Mikey’s sitting at the kitchen table and eating cereal from the box. Putting an O on the end of his finger he flicks it toward Frank, missing him completely. “He’s good at that shit.”
It’s not a bad idea, Ray’s proved handy at unblocking drains and helping Frank put up curtains, but he suspects Ray will draw the line at actual cleaning. Still, they could offer a bribe, Frank’s got a packet of gummy worms stashed in his room, and he’s sure Mikey’s got chocolate in his.
“Gee wants to meet up anyway,” Mikey says, cereal crunching as he scoops out another handful. “We could tell them to come here.”
“A sneak attack, I like it.” Frank slams the door shut and considers the plan. “Ray’s badass, he’ll take it down.”
Mikey nods, his faith in Ray immediate as always. “Fucking badass, and Otter can provide extra muscle.”
Frank holds up his hand and slaps at Mikey’s, catapulting little Os all over the table. “It’s a plan. You should call them and tell them to come here.”
“Already have.” Mikey holds up his phone and Frank sees that somehow he’s been eating while texting with his left hand. Which should be impossible and Frank plucks the phone from Mikey, checking to see if he actually has been sending a message.
It seems that he has, and Frank gives the phone back and says, “What if I’d said no?”
“You wouldn’t have.” Mikey sounds completely confident of that and holds the cereal box toward Frank. “You should eat breakfast, Jerry’s coming on soon.”
“Or I could eat while watching Jerry.” Frank grabs hold of the box and heads for the couch. “We’re rock stars, I can eat watching TV.”
“You’re rock and roll,” Mikey says, and brings up his hands in the shape of two horns. “You should throw the TV out of the window.”
Frank considers, but says, “I’d have to check outside first, I don’t want to hit anyone on the head.”
“And you’d have to wait until after Jerry,” Mikey says, staring at the TV. “And there’s a monster marathon on tonight. Maybe do it after that.”
Frank throws himself down on the couch, taking the side without spring. “So I’m doing it tomorrow.”
“As long as there’s no-one walking by at the time,” Mikey says. Sitting, he brings up his legs and pushes his feet next to Frank’s thigh. Frank reaches down, nipping at Mikey’s toes that show through his holed socks.
“These are disgusting.” It’s something Frank says often and he fits his fingers into the hole, tugging at the few hairs he can feel. “Hairy-toed freak.”
“It’s you that’s the hobbit,” Mikey says easily, and grabs the remote, turning on the TV. “Short, hairy feet, eating a second breakfast.”
“I don’t have hairy feet,” Frank protests. Taking an O out of the cereal box he holds it in the air and says, long and drawn out, “My precious.”
A moment and then Mikey’s laughing, falling against Frank who can only maintains his serious hobbity expression for only a few seconds before he’s laughing too.
~~~~~~
As days go they’ve done nothing special. They’ve watched TV and eaten take out and wandered down to the store to buy some essentials. Now there’s food in the cupboards, beer in the fridge and Frank’s back on the couch, his belly full and feeling content with the world as he listens to Mikey move around in his room.
Frank isn’t sure what he’s actually doing, but when he’s finished Frank’s thinking some making out would be good. It seems like the perfect thing to do right now, while they’re still figuring out what they’re doing and Frank’s working out how to breach that gap of going from friends to something more. So yeah, some watching TV alongside some kissing will be an awesome end to this day.
Hearing Mikey come out of his room, Frank shuffles over, then stops moving when Mikey says, “I’ll see you later.”
Frank stares, trying to understand what he’s seeing, where Mikey’s obviously dressed to go out. “You’re going out?”
Mikey takes his coat off the nail and starts to wrap up, covering his tight t-shirt and carefully pulling a hat over his styled hair. “I’m meeting up with Jenna, she’s the one that likes to use cuffs.”
“You’re going to another party? I thought.....” Frank trails off, because he obviously thought wrong, and this is already bad enough, the last thing he wants is to prove how much of an idiot he actually is.
“It’s not a party, I’m going to her house.” Mikey picks up his scarf and starts to wind it around his neck. When it’s positioned just right, he pulls on his glove, taking a moment to run his fingers over the bruising that still circles his wrist. Suddenly, he looks over at Frank, as if struck by some thought. “Do you want to come? I’d have to ask but I’m sure she won’t mind. You’ll like what she does, she’s good to watch.”
Frank wants to sink into the cushions, unable to believe that he’s got things so wrong. It feels like there’s something lodged deep in his chest and the last thing he wants is to watch Mikey get it on with someone else. Frank shakes his head and holds up the remote and uses it to point at the huge bowl of popcorn that he’s put on the floor. “I’ve a date with the TV tonight.”
Mikey pulls on his second glove and grins. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“Yeah, like that leaves a lot,” Frank says, and can do nothing but watch as Mikey leaves the apartment.
~*~*~*~
Frank tries not to sleep on the couch too often. While it’s possible to do so it’s just a little too short to stretch out, but last night it was just easier to stay there, to fall asleep to the sound of the TV. It feels like he’s only been sleeping for all of a few hours when Frank hears something crash close by, he wakes abruptly and groans, his legs aching and heart thumping as he starts to get up.
“Mikey?” Frank shivers as he stands, the heating barely touching the plunging temperature of early morning. Scrubbing his hands against his eyes, Frank steps over the still full bowl of popcorn and walks into the kitchen, and sees Mikey filling a glass of water, the stack of clean dishes filling the sink.
Drinking the water down in one gulp, Mikey looks over at Frank, smiling as he says, “I’ve had the best night.”
Frank doesn’t want to know. He can tell by the way Mikey’s standing that he’s been drinking and the last thing Frank wants is a rambling tale of how Mikey’s been tied up or fisted, or one of the many other things he’s been trying without thinking.
But it’s not like Frank can ignore him completely either, and he says, “good,” hoping to get out of here before Mikey starts talking. Of course Frank isn’t that lucky. As always Mikey’s in the mood to tell all and when he fills another glass Frank sees that his neck is covered in love bites, the hickies dark and clustered together.
One part of Frank wants to tell him it looks cheap, the mean part that’s still smarting from Mikey leaving to go out, but Frank says nothing, just tells himself to stand still and listen.
“Jenna asked if I wanted different restraints, and she took me into this room and there was this swing....”
“Do you even know what you're doing?” Frank didn’t mean to cut in, but he doesn’t want to hear about Mikey giving himself away when Frank’s back with nothing. No matter how much he tells himself to shut up, Frank can’t, and the words keep coming. “She could have done anything to you back there.”
“That’s kind of the point,” Mikey says, his grin fading as he takes in Frank’s reaction. “I told you before, I can look after myself.”
Frustrated, Frank tries to separate out genuine concern from his lingering anger that Mikey’s so blind. “Not if you’re tied up in a sex swing you can’t. She could have hurt you, and if you say that’s the point again I’ll fucking punch you myself.”
Mikey’s quiet, the silence stretching until he eventually says, “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
And that’s the whole problem, because Frank doesn’t either. Mikey’s not about to break out any declarations of love, and Frank wouldn’t want them, and he’s obviously not about to stop what he’s been doing. All Frank can do is try for a reset, before this whole fucked up attraction kicked in.
For that he needs distance. Thankful that he’s still dressed, Frank abruptly walks away and pulls on his coat and sneakers. He doesn’t look back as he says, “I’m going out for a while, see you later.”
Mikey makes no attempt to stop him.
~*~*~*~
“I bought you some muffins,” Frank says, and shoves the bag into Ray’s hands while pushing past him into the apartment.
Wordlessly, Ray shuts the door, clutching the bag against his chest and watching as Frank takes off his wet coat and hangs it up on the hook. Frank toes off his shoes, then rubs his hands and then stands over the radiator, trying to warm up. It feels like a losing battle right now, Frank’s fingers are numb and he can barely feel his toes, while the tips of his ears are aching.
“Not that I’m not grateful for breakfast, but what the fuck are you doing here so early?” Ray’s gone into the kitchen, bare feet padding on the floor as he fills the machine for coffee and then takes off his bath robe, wrapping it around Frank. “Are you locked out of your place again? Did you call Mikey?”
Frank pulls the robe shut at the front, his hands up inside the sleeve as he relaxes into the warmth left behind by Ray’s body. “I’m not locked out.”
Ray seems to get that it’s all Frank wants to say, and busies himself making coffee and putting muffins onto the plate. Filling two large mugs he balances the plates on top, carrying everything over to the sofa where he sits and waits.
This early Ray still looks sleepy, his hair a tangled mess and face stubbled. He’s also wearing striped yellow pajama bottoms Frank would mock if he was feeling more cheerful. As it is all he feels is stupid for seeing something that never existed.
“These are good.” Ray’s taken a bite of muffin, swallowing as he peels back more of the paper case. “Did you get them from the bakery on Willow Avenue?”
“Yeah,” Frank says, and the scent of coffee and Ray’s casual conversation draws him away from the radiator and toward the couch. Sitting at the opposite end from Ray, Frank pulls at the robe so he’s still fully covered and then picks up a mug. “They’re fresh from the oven. I got there before they went in.”
“Late night?” Ray asks.
It’s not an unfounded question. Frank’s often stayed out overnight, coming home and eating breakfast as the sun is rising and then sleeping the day away. It’s something they’ve all done, individually and together. Just the week before Frank had shared breakfast with Mikey at their favourite diner before walking home together.
It’s one memory out of countless times and Frank says, “I did something stupid.”
“Did you swap Mikey’s hairspray for spray tan again? You know he hates that shit.” Ray’s staring at Frank, and when he doesn’t reply his tone changes, becoming more serious. “So not that kind of stupid.”
Frank isn’t even sure how to start this, and in the end all he can manage is, “It is about Mikey.”
“I figured.” To his credit Ray doesn’t sigh, but he does look resigned as he takes a long drink of his coffee and then says, “Tell me everything.”
‘Everything’ is a big ask, and Frank’s sure Ray doesn’t want a rehash of the whole addicted to jerking off situation. In the end he settles on saying, “What you said before. About liking Mikey or what he was doing. I found out my answer.”
“So it was Mikey all along,” Ray says, looking amused at Frank’s surprise that he’s guessed in an instant. “It’s not a big leap to get there, you’ve been all but dating for a while.”
Frank frowns, because what Ray’s saying is bullshit. “I think I’d have known if we were dating and if we were dating he wouldn’t let me jerk him off twice then go and get laid by some woman who likes to tie him up.”
“You need to back up a few steps,” Ray says, calmly, seemingly unsurprised at what Frank has just said. “You’ve had sex with Mikey?”
“No,” and that’s the frustrating thing because Frank didn’t even get that. He got hand jobs and some grinding, which was fucking awesome, and pictures that are going to keep his fantasies fueled for years, but no actual sex. “I didn’t even get to fuck him.”
“Jesus.” Ray rubs at his face. “Can we agree to talk about this without any actual details?”
For the first time in hours Frank wants to smile. “So you don’t want to know that I want my dick in his ass?”
Ray peers past his fingers at Frank. “I try not to think of your dick.”
“Your loss,” Frank says, glad of this moment of levity that’s allowed him the emotional detachment to tell more. “I jerked him off, on camera and in bed, the pictures are fucking amazing.”
“I’m assuming you’re both smart enough to get copies and negatives,” Ray says. “And that you both had a good time. So I don’t get the problem. Why the dramatic banging on my door in the middle of the night?”
Pointedly, Frank looks at his watch. “It’s nearly six, and it wasn’t dramatic. I was bringing you muffins.”
“While it was still dark and sub zero out there,” Ray says, and then, “Did Mikey do something?”
“Mikey’s a cock teasing bastard,” Frank yells, and immediately feels bad, because even if that’s how it feels right now it’s not actually true. Mikey never promised anything, or ever hinted he wanted something more serious. Frank pulls in a deep breath and then lets it out slowly. “I didn’t mean that.”
“I know,” Ray says. Breaking off a piece of muffin, he eats it, lost in some thought. It’s one that’s lasting a while, and Frank feels uncomfortable, as if Ray’s judging him somehow and finding him wanting. “It’s really him and not what he’s been doing?”
It’s not what Frank was expecting Ray to say, but Frank can honestly reply, “Yeah, it’s him.”
“And somehow you ended up jerking him off twice and taking sex pictures,” Ray says, stating the facts that he’s been told. “What happened then, did Mikey not want to be with you for more than that?”
Frank waits to reply, even though he knows exactly what he has to say. Eventually, when it’s obvious that Frank’s stalling he says quietly, “I don’t know. I never asked him.”
“You never asked him?” Ray puts his muffin on the coffee table, next to his half drunk mug of coffee. Turning in his seat, he stares directly at Frank. “You’re not some teen on their first date, if you’re old enough to have your hand on his dick you’re old enough to talk about what you actually want.”
Which is fantastic in theory, but what Ray doesn’t seem to get is that it isn’t so easy. “I can’t just tell him I’ve been jerking off thinking about him, or that I want to bring him gummy worms in bed and spend hours making out.”
“Why not?” Ray says simply. “You know he likes you, enough that you had sex. Twice.”
Frank could protest and repeat it wasn’t actual sex, but he suspects Ray won’t appreciate the distinction. Plus, there’s another point that Ray’s overlooking. “Mikey likes sex. He’d probably sleep with you if you asked.”
For the first time since Frank arrived Ray looks annoyed. “No he wouldn’t, and if you think that you are stupid.”
It’s a chastisement Frank deserves, especially as all he’s doing is lashing out still, the memory of Mikey grinning as he talked about Jenna all too clear in his mind. “I didn’t mean that either,” Frank says, and waits a moment, thinking of things he can’t have. “She bit his neck, a lot. It looks like he made out with Dracula.”
“This is last night?” Ray asks, and Frank nods, his stomach aching as suddenly he’s propelled back in time.
“We’d spent all day together and we watched shitty TV and argued over what groceries to get. The same fucking things as always, except it felt different because he slept in my bed and we woke up together.” His hands clenched, Frank admits, “I thought it was the start of something.”
Again it seems like Ray’s working that through, carefully considering what Frank has just said. “And Mikey thought it was just sex?”
“I think he thought he was helping me out.” Frank thinks back over everything that’s happened over the last few days, and keeps coming back to the same thing. “I think he thinks that I’ve got some kind of voyeurism fetish. He was going to help me out with that, and the shit with him just happened.”
“That’s a lot of thinks,” Ray says, and this time he doesn’t need any thinking time of his own. “You need to man up and actually talk to him, and stop with this assuming bullshit.”
As statements go it’s fair. They do have to talk, but Frank would rather stick a hot needle in his eye than start any conversation about his feelings with Mikey.
“I think you’ll be surprised what he says.” Pushing himself up off the couch, Ray picks up the muffin paper and his mug. Draining his coffee he says, “Mikey may like sex, but he comes home to you.”
Frank scowls at Ray, unable to understand how being reminded Mikey gives away sex is any help in the slightest. “Is that supposed to help?”
“It’s supposed to remind you who’s important to him,” Ray says, and then, “I’m going to shower. You know where everything is.”
“Yeah,” Frank says, and turns on the TV.
~~~~~~
Frank always enjoys hanging at Ray’s. Not just for the warmth and entertainment options, but for Ray himself. Showered and dressed now, he’s happy to talk about anything from guitar parts to the merits of time travel in a DeLorean with added bursts of tech geekery that Frank tries to keep up with.
Ray doesn’t mention Mikey, which is something Frank appreciates, because he’s still working things out in his head, and that means he’s ignoring all his texts, his phone shoved under a cushion.
It’s a system that’s working, until Gerard arrives.
When Ray lets him in Gerard’s coated in snow. It’s melting into his hair and the shoulders of his coat are covered. His nose bright red and face wet he looks miserable, standing still as Ray grabs a towel and scrubs it over Gerard’s hair.
“Seriously, what is it with visitors today?” Ray says, his question holding no heat. He dries Gerard’s face, then throws the towel to one side before taking his coat, hanging it up to dry next to Frank’s. “Have you got muffins too?”
“Was I supposed to bring some?” Gerard looks confused, his hands held out as if to show the lack of muffins. “I can go buy some if you want them.”
“How about you stay in where it’s warm?” Ray says, ushering Gerard not-so-subtly toward the couch where Frank’s busy kicking Ray’s ass at Donkey Kong. “I’ll get drinks, and there’s left over pizza.”
If Frank wasn’t suspicious before he is now. Ray never abandons a video game in progress, especially when he’s the one getting beat. Which means only one thing. Ray’s a backstabbing bastard traitor and Frank glares, unrelenting even as Ray says, “I only said you were here.”
“Mikey called,” Gerard says, and of course he did because it’s not possible that Frank has issues that don’t involve the whole band. Frank’s expecting Otter to turn up any moment, and won’t that be just awesome?
Eyes on the TV Frank keeps jumping barrels, not dignifying the comment with a reply. It’s not as if Mikey doesn’t call Gerard daily anyway, and as far as Frank knows he could have been to complain about the price of soda or to tell Gerard what he was having for breakfast. There’s no reason it has to have been about Frank, except, Frank already knows that it is.
“He’s an idiot sometimes.”
This time Frank does look up, pausing the game because he didn’t expect that at all. Gerard saying anything negative about Mikey feels all kinds of wrong, and Frank’s waiting for Gerard to laugh or to say that he’s joking.
He does neither, just sits and says, “Mikey’s looking for what he wants in the wrong places.”
Frank can’t agree. “He’s getting exactly what he wants.”
“He’s getting the sex, yeah. And the other shit,” Gerard says, and he’s leaning forward, encroaching on Frank’s space. “But it’s not all about the pain thing or wanting to be tied up, Those are just extras.”
“The fact that you’re even having this conversation is weird,” Frank says, making the point even though pointing out the Ways weirdness is like commenting on how water is wet. “And we don’t need to talk about it, it’s got nothing to do with me.”
“We talk about shit, and I was making sure he was safe,” Gerard says and runs his fingers through his hair, slicking it back from his forehead. “And it’s got everything to do with you.”
“No. It really doesn’t.” It’s not often that Frank gets angry with Gerard, but he’s getting that way now, when Gerard’s suggesting things he knows nothing about. “Mikey can go out and do what the hell he wants. I’m not his keeper.”
“I know you’re not,” Gerard says, not reacting to Frank’s irritation at all. “But you want more than you’ve got now, have-done for a while.”
Frustrated and operating on too little sleep, Frank grips hold of the controller and tries to keep control of his temper. “You can’t know that. I didn’t even know that. This isn’t some shitty movie where I’ve been repressing my feelings for Mikey. I didn’t even have any feelings for him until lately.”
“Doesn’t mean they weren’t there,” Gerard says, and before Frank can protest he adds, “For both of you.”
One of the things Frank loves most about Gerard is his mind, the way he looks at things and sees the big picture, but along with that comes a downside. That sometimes Frank just wants Gerard to come out and say what he means. “Are you telling me that Mikey has feelings for me, too?”
Said like that it sounds ridiculous, and Frank feels like he actually has been dropped into some chick flick, or else should be dotting his I’s with a heart. A feeling Gerard helps maintain when he says, “I’m saying that sometimes he thinks he can’t get what he wants, and that you two need to talk.”
“Seems to be the advice of the day,” Frank says, thinking over what Gerard has just said.
“Because it’s the right advice,” Ray says, making no attempt to hide that he’s been listening in. “Especially if it means I get to sleep.”
Frank frowns in Ray’s direction. “I’ve woken you up once, and I brought you muffins.”
“You never bring me muffins,” Gerard says, his mouth turned down at the corners. “I like muffins.”
“You’re Mikey’s brother, I wasn’t going to discuss sex stuff with you.” Before Gerard even opens his mouth, Frank holds up his hand and keeps talking. “And I know you don’t care, but I do. Dealing with Mikey is enough, I don’t want your sex stories, too.”
“And yet you tell me.” Ray sighs, long and tragic. “I should add it to my skill set.”
“You could have it on your business cards,” Gerard says, smiling in the way that means he’s imaging something artistic. “Ray Toro, rock God and sex therapist.”
“I’d take one,” Frank says, and then, “Okay, fine. I’ll talk. But later.”
Ray smiles, and says, “Good.”
~~~~~
A few hours later and Frank leaves to go home.
By now he’s had multiple texts from Mikey, and Frank knows he can’t put off the talk any longer. Not when both Gerard and Ray look at him with each ignored text.
It’s why Frank eventually stands up and says, “Fine. I’m going.”
~*~*~*~
Unlocking the front door of their apartment, Frank goes inside, and immediately smells bleach. It’s almost overpowering, Frank’s eyes watering as he takes off the hat and gloves Ray insisted he borrow. Balling them up, Frank shoves them into his pocket then takes off his coat, hanging it on the empty nail by the door.
The only thing Frank can think of is Mikey’s dying his hair, which would be typical if Mikey’s been primping while Frank’s off having his own mini crisis. Still, Frank heads for the bathroom, knowing they need to talk before Frank loses his nerve, even if that does mean a conversation where Mikey’s stinking of bleach. Not that it’s something he’s looking forward to, and Frank’s steps slow, until he suddenly stops dead when he sees that Mikey’s not in the bathroom at all.
In fact, Mikey’s in the kitchen, where he’s wearing a pair of bright yellow rubber gloves and holding a mop in both hands. Staring into the open fridge, Mikey’s stance is defensive, like he’s looking into some inter-dimensional space portal where aliens are about to burst free.
It’s the first time Frank’s actually seen Mikey with a mop in his hand, and that’s enough that Frank gets closer, blinking against bleach fumes as he stands in the doorway. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m trying to clean the fridge.” Mikey turns, and behind his glasses his eyes look red and watery. “I think I used too much bleach.”
There’s a bucket at Mikey’s feet, and when Frank looks inside the contents are milky. “Did you even dilute that?”
“There’s water in it,” Mikey says, and dips the mop into the bucket, swirling it around. “And a full bottle of bleach.”
Which explains Frank’s immediate headache, and he forces open the small window over the sink, letting in fresh air. “You need ventilation, what the fuck were you thinking?”
“That I needed to clean the fridge.” Mikey lets the mop drop, the handle swinging around in the bucket before coming to a rest against a cupboard. “I opened the door and the mold fucking moved. I needed to kill it.”
“You nearly killed yourself instead,” Frank says, and it would be all too easy to use this for a distraction. If Frank’s disposing of bleach or battling the mold monster there’ll be no time for serious talking. It’s a thought that’s appealing right now, but Frank knows he can’t do it. Gathering courage, he looks directly at Mikey. “We need to talk.”
“I know.” Mikey takes a step closer, and he looks ridiculous in his yellow gloves, like some kind of scene king come cleaner, but also one that looks serious, like he’s got things to say too. “I thought you wanted to hear my stories.”
“Not here.” This is a talk Frank doesn’t want to have anyway, to have it in this kitchen that’s stinking of bleach just adds another element of no. Not that the rest of the apartment will be much better, but at least they won’t be standing here and staring at one another, like they’re two strangers and not best friends. Frank turns and goes to the couch, unsurprised to see his bowl of popcorn is still there.
Frank takes the side without a spring, about to start talking when Mikey sits down beside him and says, “You should have told me you didn’t want to hear what I was doing.”
“I liked hearing your stories.” That’s a truth that Frank’s not about to deny, but there’s more truths that go alongside that. The problem is, those are the ones that come complete with an admission of feelings. It’s like Frank’s about to take yet another jump, but this time he knows there’s no stopping. “At least, I did at first. At the end I got jealous.”
Mikey blinks, seemingly thrown. “Of what?”
Often, Frank’s aware of what Mikey is thinking, but right now it feels like he doesn’t know him at all, because apparently Mikey really can be that clueless, “Of them, for having you.”
“They never had me,” Mikey says, sounding surprised, like that thought had never crossed his mind. “It was only sex.”
“Maybe,” Frank allows, but the fact is, Frank was still jealous, even if it took him a while to understand that. It’s why, now he’s had time to think his initial anger has faded, because how can Mikey be expected to know what Frank wanted when Frank didn’t even know himself? “What we did, I thought it was the start of something.”
For a long time Mikey remains silent, looking away and worrying at a hangnail on his thumb. It’s enough that it’s awkward and that’s something that’s never happened before. Even from the first meeting they’ve talked about everything, and even when they didn’t the quiet was companionable. Not like this, when everything feels brittle, like Frank’s walking on egg shells.
All it’s doing is showing that Frank’s said the wrong thing, and should never have admitted wanting more than he was offered.
“I thought you wanted into the scene,” Mikey says suddenly, like he’s making his own admissions. “You sounded interested, so I thought I’d help you out, introduce you to some people.”
It’s a reply that’s classically Mikey, because that’s just what he does, use his network of contacts to help if he can. Frank just wishes he’d tried in some other way, like getting Frank into the audience of some TV show and not deciding that Frank was some voyeur who wanted to watch people having sex.
Not that Frank can blame him completely for that, and really, if you think about it the whole situation is insane. Enough that Frank would laugh, if he didn’t know that once he started he’d never stop. “I’m not into voyeurism, at least, not in a big way. I don’t want to watch strangers have sex.”
“Did you even want to do anything?” Mikey asks, but before Frank gets a chance to reply he goes on, “Oh my god, I non-con sex partied you.”
“Yeah, you really didn’t.” That’s one thing Frank knows for sure, because out of this whole mixed up situation one thing remains clear, anything that Frank did was his choice. “I enjoyed the party, I’d even do it again.”
“You mean with me, right?” Mikey says, his brows pulled together. “Because if you mean Bean....”
“Fuck Bean, and because we’ve been so stellar at communication lately, I don’t mean literally.” Frank sits forward, and this whole conversation is frustrating, like they’re both circling the same point. “I’d do it again with you. I’d do it with you at something like that or somewhere else. Hell, at this point I’d do it in the middle of a band meeting with them all looking on.”
Mikey’s mouth curls up at one corner. “I don’t think Ray and Otter would like that. Gee probably wouldn’t mind.”
Mikey’s not wrong, but still, Frank has to say, “You realise that talking about your brother isn’t the best thing to do when I’m trying to make a move.”
“That’s what’s happening here?” Mikey raises one eyebrow, his expression neutral. “You need to step up your game, you’re shooting at fifty percent right now. Maybe less.”
“Fuck off, I’m the seduction master,” Frank says, and this is more familiar ground, the push and pull between them that feels right. “I don’t even know why I want you.”
“Because I’m awesome,” Mikey says instantly. “And I make good coffee and let you share my cereal.”
“Well the last one is true.” Frank grins, enjoying the teasing and that familiarity lets him lead into a much more serious comment. “I don’t know what I’m doing. You’re not some casual pick-up, I shouldn’t even want this.”
“I didn’t even know that you did,” Mikey says, and then, “What we had at the party, that wasn’t just you enjoying that scene?”
“No.” That’s something Frank can say for sure, that what they had then was Frank enjoying being with Mikey, where what they were doing was awesome, but was nothing but trappings. “That was me wanting you.”
“That’s... good,” Mikey says, and he turns, so his foot is against Frank’s. “How long?.”
“Truthfully?” Frank asks, and at Mikey’s nod says, “A few weeks.”
“Okay.” Mikey considers a moment, staring down at his stupid yellow gloves. “That’s not long, it could be a crush.”
It’s a fair point, but Frank still has to protest. “I’m not a thirteen year old girl, and before you even say it, I know boys can get crushes too.”
Mikey peels off one of the gloves, turning it inside out and dropping it onto the floor, then does the same to the other. “You don’t know I was going to say that, I’m not Gerard.”
“But you were still thinking it.” And that’s something Frank knows for sure, the same way he knows countless other things about Mikey. What he likes and thinks and all the other details Frank holds onto. It’s part of their friendship, and also why Frank can admit to himself that while some of his feelings for Mikey are new, they’re built on others that have been there since the start. “It’s not a crush.”
“Good,” Mikey says, and seems genuinely relieved, even as he says, “I really thought you wanted in on the kink scene.”
“You thought that I kissed you, that I got you off on camera, because I was exploring being kinky?” It’s what Frank had expected, but still, hearing it out loud is a shock. “You’d let me use you like that?”
Mikey shrugs and says, “I liked it, it’s not like I’d have got nothing from it.”
“That’s not the point,” Frank says, and he needs to put an end to this right now. “Yet again, because apparently you’re stupid about things like this. I’ve got no interest in kink, not unless it involves you. I don’t want to make like a pony or get fucked by someone’s hand. I do like watching, but not strangers, and spanking sounds awesome, but again, only with you.”
“I could go for that,” Mikey says, and then, “To clarify, when you say you want me, you mean what?”
“That I don’t want you sleeping with anyone else, or doing stuff with anyone else,” Frank says instantly, and he knows for Mikey they could be a deal breaker, but Frank can’t share, not even for Mikey. “I want to have sex with you, but also share breakfast and watch shitty TV and argue over doing the dishes.”
“Apart from the sex we do that anyway,” Mikey points out, and for a long moment Frank thinks despite his previous signals, Mikey’s going to say no, and that friendship is all they can have. Until Mikey says, “Okay.”
“Okay? That’s all you’re saying?” After all the miscommunication and secrecy, Frank can’t believe it’s this easy. Yet at the same time, what’s between them should be easy, it’s how it’s always been.
“What do you want me to say?” Mikey waits a moment, and then suddenly grins before schooling his expression. He takes hold of Frank’s hand, says, “You like me because I'm a scoundrel. There aren't enough scoundrels in your life.”
Frank bites back a grin, because if he needed reassurance, he’s getting it right now. That Mikey’s Mikey, someone who remains a huge geek, no matter what happens. It’s something Frank loves about him, and he continues the scene, saying, “I happen to like nice men.”
Mikey moves in even closer, looking directly at Frank, “I’m a nice man.”
“No you’re not,” Frank says, and they’re inches apart, moments away from kissing for real. “You’re Mikey.”
It’s not the right end to the scene, but Frank doesn’t care. It’s the right ending for them, and he cups his hand around the back of Mikey’s head, pulling him close.
It’s not their first kiss, not even close, but it’s the first that feels special. Frank keeps his fingers tangled in Mikey’s hair, holding him still and it feels like he’s sealing a deal as he licks into Mikey’s mouth, their tongues touching for a brief moment.
“Just so you know,” Frank says, when he pulls back a little and strokes his thumb over the nape of Mikey’s neck. “I’m not always going to be Leia.”
“Wouldn’t want you to be.” Mikey’s got one of his hands on Frank’s side, like he needs to keep touching as he says, “We’re really doing this?”
“I hope so,” Frank says, even as it occurs to him that through everything, he’s never heard Mikey say that he wants this too. “You do want it, right? You never actually said, and you’re on your big sexual journey of adventure.”
Mikey gives Frank a look, like he’s the biggest moron alive. “I didn’t think I had to say, but yes. Yes I do.”
Frank grabs hold of Mikey’s hair and tugs, his own form of emphasis. “Because we’ve been so amazing at communication before this. I nearly rubbed my dick off and you inhaled a bottle of bleach.”
“I told you, the mold moved,” Mikey says, his eyes gleaming and mouth quirked into a smile. “You nearly rubbed your dick off?”
Dignity pulled around him, Frank says, “I was sexually frustrated and you’re a cock teasing bastard.”
Mikey grins, wide and sly. “Not always.”
“Yeah?” Frank’s grinning too, and he knows there’s still things to work out, but for now all he says is, “Prove it.”
Masterpost
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