YOURS + MINE©
YOURS + MINE©
Beta'd by
saint_sorrows , ilu, bb♥
by Agent Schnookums and Sextapus
My Chemical Romance. Frank/Gerard. NC-17.
“--yeah, then we went out to dinner at this bitchin’ restaurant and paid ridiculous amounts of money for a five ounce piece of steak.”
“Sweet, overpriced meat. Frank would love that,” Gerard shouts from the closet, almost tripping over knotted shoelaces and strangling himself with the hangers. He huffs and backtracks. To be quite honest, he can’t even remember what he was looking for in the first place.
“Yeah, then we totally ‘played scrabble’,“ Mikey crackles through the speakerphone, voice deadpanned. Gerard chuckles, wandering out of the closet and contemplating bringing his search to under the bed for whatever it is that he’s looking for.
“That’s funny. Frank and I ‘played scrabble’ yesterday, too,” he carols and pops his head parallel to the floor to have a look at the mess accumulating under the bed. Strangely enough, it’s sparse and… vacuumed? Frank must have cleaned.
“But you and Frank always ‘play scrabble’,” Mikey drawls. “I’m surprised you don’t need to wear manpons or something.” And at this, Gerard quirks up, brows draw because, uh, what?
“What the hell is that supposed to mean,” he snaps, affronted, because, seriously, why would Mikey even thing that? Where is he pulling these nonsensical ideas from? It’s just ridiculous. Why does Mikey automatically assume Gerard is the girl in his relationship? Actually, why does everybody always assume that? It’s pissing him off, especially hearing it from his own brother. He’s thoroughly offended, no, actually, he‘s very offended. Mikey snorts and Gerard bristles, biting his tongue to keep himself from being a complete douche. He can hear Mikey roll his eyes.
“Gerard. Dude, duh,” and an intense surge of irritation courses through him and suddenly feels like he needs something to keep himself from starting a pointless argument with his little brother that will undoubtedly segue into relentless teasing and laughs at his expense. So he flings himself back into his pointless search, throwing himself across the bed and totally rumpling up the crisp covers and deflating the pillows Frank fluffed that morning. He can hear Mikey laughing-- silently mind you-- but still, laughing at the idea of Gerard and his manpons; of Gerard as the girl, fuck.
So Gerard jerks open Frank’s bedside drawer, mumbling silently, cursing ‘manpons’, himself, the fact he’s more effeminate then he tries to be and feels a slight tick in his jaw. He’s not exactly sure why he decided to rifle through Frank’s things. But he needs a distraction before he cusses out his brother and says something he’ll regret in the morning and Frank’s nightstand is the only thing he hasn’t torn to pieces in their bedroom yet. He’s poking his nose where it doesn’t belong. Though, technically, Gerard reasons that his nose can belong wherever it wants in his apartment that he shares with his boyfriend, and, really, there are no secrets whatsoever between them.
Basically, Gerard can shove his nose wherever he damn well feels like it, Mikey or no Mikey.
However, what he didn’t expect to find hidden among the scattered magazines (Kerrang!, Men‘s Health, Entertainment Weekly and…Seventeen, at which Gerard rolls his eyes), stray Advil, vanilla scented oil (because even they can be romantic sometimes), and little itty bits that are just so Frank it’s ridiculous, is a package of KY’s YOURS + MINE© His and Hers lubricant.
Mikey is twittering somewhere behind him, probably making fun of him or droning on about something or other. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, since he’s still a bit pissy, his attention has successfully been diverted to the lubricant nestled in his boyfriend’s drawer. Forgetting about manpons, he grabs the phone off the cradle and grumbles out an impromptu farewell to Mikey and hangs up.
He holds the package up and stares at it for a minute. They don’t really ever use KY; it’s kind of expensive and impractical, and neither of them is really sold on the sensation aspect of KY advertising. Gerard turns the box around and reads the description on the back: “Whether you have a flame that needs rekindling or you’re looking to take your relationship to the next level, we’ve got the perfect adventure for you both. It’s simple. You apply the product to each other. The blue goes on him for an invigorating sensation. The purple goes on her for a thrilling sensation. And when combined, there’s an amazing reaction.”
Naturally, Gerard’s mind now jumps to the worst scenario imaginable: Frank must be fucking some skanky two-cent little hoe behind his back and spoiling her with stupid “warming sensation” lube so they could have Special Awesome YOURS + MINE© sex in the bed that he shares with Gerard. Maybe Frank is actually with her right now and they’re having hot Gerard-less sex in some back alley, or in Frank’s car, or on Frank’s desk!
Except, Gerard is a reasonable fellow, so he takes two steps back and clears his mind, because jumping to conclusions often blows up in your face - well, for him it does. So he brings to light some very legitimate points: first, it’s sitting right there in Frank’s bedside drawer. It’s not hidden beneath the mattress, or stuffed in the old shoebox with all Frank’s high school photos, buried in the back of the closet. It’s just sitting at the top of his magazine stack. If Frank is having an affair (and he better fucking not be, or there will be blood), Gerard thinks he’d actually take the time to, you know, make it not so obvious, because Frank is a smart man, and as wily as he is, he hates conflict of any kind with anybody.
Second, the lubricant for Her isn’t even open. It’s still sealed and looking pristine and untouched in its fancy violet vial. The lubricant for Him, however, is very much open and very much used. For a moment, Gerard indulges himself with a vivid fantasy of Frank secretly jacking off, thinking about Gerard, thinking about them together, completely wrapped up in each other and panting and sweating and fucking.
And, yeah, okay, now that Gerard has popped a tent he’s lost the ability to even loosely work his way to the bottom of the YOURS + MINE© lubricant mystery. He’s pretty sure that Frank is not having some lurid affair with some skank because Frank is clearly and inarguably in love with him, and Gerard is just the same. As far as he’s concerned, they don’t have sex with other people, like, ever. Actually, their sex life is pretty lively, very healthy and regular, thank you very much.
They have sex a lot, as a matter of fact. And Gerard knows the exact stops to pull out to make Frank tick, what buttons to push to have him begging on his knees. Gerard can jerk Frank like his own personal marionette, and Frank is more then happy to comply and reciprocate seeing as Gerard likes to be jerked about every once in a while himself.
Whatever the reason for the His and Hers lube, Gerard is confident Frank isn’t being a man-slut.
He rearranges himself slightly, then trails his fingers along the dark and rumpled sheets of their bed, eyeing the shiny violet vial in his hand. His gaze flickers to the digital clock on Frank’s nightstand, because if Gerard had control of the alarm, Frank would never make it to work on time.
3:30 PM. Two hours and some change in which Gerard will be all alone in their apartment and left to his own devices. He shrugs and figures why not and plans to have himself a little experiment.
- - -
What Gerard doesn’t expect is this: Frank arriving home, early.
Because he’s the boss and, to be quite honest, nothing was going down at Skeleton Crew that required his attention, so he just skedaddled out of there.
It’s five past four, and Frank is fucking starving and his feet hurt, and somehow he accidentally squirted soap into his eye while washing his hands, so his eyes hurt too. He kicks off his shoes at the front door and tinkers around in the kitchen before grabbing a can of cola and leaning against the doorjamb.
It’s oddly quiet, and if you live in a house with Gerard, you know it’s never quiet.
But this time it is, which is odd. Frank quirks a brow curiously and heads down the hallway, tentatively calling Gerard’s name. He briefly wonders if Gerard went on some shopping excursion or to a book club meeting or whatever he does when Frank’s not home -
Except, when he opens the door to their bedroom Gerard is sort of sprawled against the navy sheets, looking like sex and every beautiful boy Frank has ever seen in every gay porno, and some of the girls too. The afternoon sun is falling in stilted slants across the pale smooth of his skin, over the gentle slope of his shoulders, the soft round of his stomach and knobs of his knees.
His legs are spread, obscene and open, and Frank chokes on his tongue because Gerard is fucking himself with three of his fingers, head thrown back in abandon, bare and exposed and unselfconscious and gorgeous. A beam of sun strips across his face, illuminating his eyelashes with a white gold glow, touching the silk strands of his hair with silver.
There is a quiet shift, and then Gerard’s back arches slowly, arched sweetly and artfully and Frank knows he’s found it because Gerard mewls, groans, growls, whimpers all at once, and it goes straight to Frank’s dick. Then, like an eye drop of vermillion, Frank sees it, glinting hibiscus petal purple in the sunlight. It’s bright and secret and sexy.
Hers.
And that’s it. Frank knows the little fucker found it, finally. It only took him forever to be the freaking snoop Frank knows he is. He’s been waiting for this moment for three fucking weeks, and it’s sitting right in front of him, a confrontation he definitely wasn’t expecting but is more than happy to play along with.
It’s the metallic clink of his belt and the clean slide of leather that finally breaks his fantasy. Gerard’s eyes instantly fly open, honey yellow through the strip of sunlight, and he cranes his head back, wide-eyed and looking like he just got caught stealing the cookies from the cookie jar.
“Frank!”
Frank gives a toothy smirk and pounces. Then he’s wrapped around Gerard trying to kiss the shit out of him, but Gerard is talking and ruining Frank’s fantasy and shut up shut up shut up.
“What - when - How long have you been standing there?” Gerard splutters around Frank’s tongue. And, well, if he can’t kiss his lips then Frank will just kiss other places. Tattooed fingers skate the length of Gerard’s chest, his lips ghost the smooth curve of his jaw, licking wet sweeps across his throat, his collarbones, biting at his shoulder.
“Long enough.”
“Frank!”
Then Gerard has to shut up because Frank literally just shoved two fingers in his mouth and is biting the sharp of Gerard’s hip. Gerard kind of wriggles awkwardly, but sucks once, twice, and Frank groans in approval. He fumbles for the little violet vial with on hand before leaving a loud, wet kiss beneath Gerard’s navel.
“Fucking finally,” he breathes, teething Gerard’s ear and running the pads of his fingers against Gerard’s pallet. Gerard chokes and tries not to laugh.
“fhuchkng phinari huwut?” And he stares up curiously at Frank, biting lightly on his fingers. Frank grins against his neck and chortles gently.
“I have been waiting for you to find this, you douche,” and he holds up the purple vial. Gerard stares at it, glowing neon in the light, before scowling and nipping at Frank’s fingers. Hard. Frank hisses and rears back, leering at Gerard. “What?”
“You’ve been waiting for me to find Hers?” Indignant. What exactly did Frank do wrong here? Frank blinks for a second and shifts upward, still painfully hard in his jeans.
“Uh…yeah?” Then Gerard sits up too and makes the bitch face reserved only for Frank.
“Well, I don’t see why I have to use Hers.”
“Gerard, what - you - I… fuck you,” like maybe Gerard hasn’t been here, under Frank, for the last three and a half years. Gerard glares and awkwardly fumbles to his feet, dragging the sheet with him because he’s still modest and blushing even after all the years they’ve been together, after all the lecherous shit they’ve done.
“Well - so? Why can’t I use His?”
“Gerard, you can, I mean, Jesus, It doesn’t really matter. I just thought by default, we’d, you know, follow the directions?”
Gerard is not appeased.
“Alright. How about I just use His, and you use Hers, and I can fuck you?” He’s making that pinched face that Frank secretly finds adorable, and he’s all snooty and rebelling against their natural order (the order in which Frank fucks Gerard 99.9% of the time, and Frank was pretty sure they were both happy with that, but apparently not), just because Frank assumed Gerard would use Her’s. And, yeah, okay, it’s not like Frank actually thinks Gerard is the girl in their relationship or anything, and it’s not that he’s not willing to bottom for Gerard. He was just assuming that’d they’d, you know, do what they usually do. Except Gerard is going on about breaking the stereotypes and fucking labels and blah, blah, blah, and why did they have to call it His and Hers, fuck it.
“Uh…Gerard, c’mon, man. Titles don’t really matter, right? We’re talking lube here.” Frank can be the bigger man.
“But - what if - No, I really think you’re trying to say something here.” Frank is fucked.
“Gerard, baby - I mean, dude, I’m not saying anything,” he begins, surging forward. His arms automatically wind around Gerard’s waist and he recalculates their course of direction to around Gerard’s shoulders instead because Gerard is being a little bitch and will probably think Frank is trying to be all manly when he’s really, really not. “I just really want to have sex, okay? You can use the His, I really don’t care. I don’t.”
When Gerard doesn’t return Frank’s embrace, he knows he’s officially fucked. Honestly, Frank really just wanted to have sex; instead, Gerard backs out of Frank’s arms and crosses his own over his chest, eyeing the violet vial clasped in Frank’s hand.
“How about this, Frank. How about we don’t use anything? How about you don’t fuck me and see how long you can last, huh? That’d be fun, I think. It’ll be like a game. I’ll see how long you can last without sex of any kind from me, and when you finally crack, I can fuck you for a change, okay?”
And Frank, well, Frank just kind of stands there gawking at Gerard because what the fuck? Where did that come from? He’s half tempted to shake Gerard and shout at him, “I DON’T THINK YOU’RE THE GIRL,” but Gerard’s bitch face is clearly not having any reasonable or logical thought penetrate his brain. Apparently, Gerard finds it completely necessary to assert his manly pride, or dominance, or non-womanliness, or whatever.
The thing is, Frank never thought of Gerard as a girl. It’s just always been this way: Gerard loves to take, and Frank is pretty fucking eager to give. And, yeah, okay, maybe they’ve done some kinky shit with revealing costumes and nurses outfits and such, and maybe Frank has let one or two derogatory comments slip out while he’s in the middle of pounding Gerard into the mattress or counter or wherever, but it’s like -- meaningless. He thinks Gerard is overreacting and whatnot, but Gerard has clearly parked himself in this strange mindset, and Frank can only play along.
So he straightens to his full height --which isn’t very tall, but Gerard isn’t exactly Paul Bunyan either-- and lifts his chin, setting his lips firmly.
“Alright,” he says. “Fine. I’ll play your game. But just remember, I’ll be waiting for you to bend over when you finally give, alright, Gee?” And Gerard gawks at him as he heads for the door.
In a fit of childishness, he zips back to the nightstand and yanks His out of the sexy black box, brandishing it in the air and mockingly tilting his head with a smug little smile.
“And this is mine.”
Then he slams the door and tromps into the kitchen.
- - -
To be perfectly honest, it is the worst three weeks of Frank’s life. It’s awkward as hell, and Gerard won’t drop his bitch face, and Frank is dying because sex, sex, no sex, fucking damn it. And Gerard is just there, acting like nothing is going on, like he’s not drilling a hole through his pants or suffering from blue balls, and it’s awful.
But neither of them is giving in to the other. It’s really sad and annoying as hell.
And the thing is, Frank can tell that Gerard wants to have sex. To clarify, Gerard is pretty much one of the most sexual people Frank has ever met, boyfriend aside, even without knowing it. It’s like second nature to Gerard, and Frank totally takes advantage of it because it’s goddamned sexy.
The first time they had sex it was like fireworks and explosions and the little Woohoo cutscene that they always giggle at in The Sims 2. It was pretty unreal, and Frank kind of died and went to heaven and then died again because Gerard was gorgeous and bossy and he fucking rocked it. That first meeting is undoubtedly one of the highlights of Frank’s life.
The thing Frank can’t understand is that Gerard always wanted it, always. Frank is positive that Gerard was fine and dandy always taking it; he fucking reveled in it for god’s sake, begged for it, ordered Frank to do it, tied Frank up and did it himself. You didn’t have to ask Gerard if he was pitching or catching, he’d just suit up and brace himself for it. It’s one of the hottest things Frank has ever seen.
When Frank met Gerard, he had been floored. Every other guy Frank had dated was bitchy and whiny, more so when it came to sex. As soon as sex was even mentioned they’d start spewing shit about topping and bottoming and not being the bitch and blah blah blah, and Frank, honestly, Frank really could give a damn. If he’s honest --which Frank always is-- he definitely prefers top, but it’s not like it’s beneath him to bottom. This whole argument is really bullshit for Frank. He wants to have sex, fuck.
So Gerard was pretty much everything he could have ever asked for wrapped up into one conveniently smoking little package. Low maintenance, hilarious, and, oh, hi, ready to take and not make a fuss.
Frank was pleased. They got along brilliantly before getting together, and when the sex started happening it was clear they were just made for each other. Except for now, because Gerard is finally being a little bitch about taking it all the time and Frank didn’t even do anything. And, hi, when Frank found Gerard fucking writhing around three weeks ago, he was fucking himself with Hers -- what the fuck? Gerard can’t even argue when he totally set himself up for the whole situation. Frank was willing to be very reasonable three weeks ago; now, in hindsight, not so much.
Well. Frank isn’t going to let Mr. Hers personal lubricant get to him, he decides as he falls off the couch and tries to wake up fully a mere 22 days into his pitifully sex-less existence. Nope. No way, no how, he thinks. He hears Gerard stumbling around in the kitchen and hopes his boyfriend is feeling generous enough to share the coffee for once.
Probably not, Frank’s brain says, but a guy can dream.
Coffee, however, is the last thing on Frank’s mind when he finally wanders into the kitchen that morning. In fact, Frank’s pretty sure he hasn’t popped a boner this fast since the first day of his eighth grade gym class.
Gerard is standing - no, fucking bending over to grab the coffee filters off the floor - in the kitchen, wearing one of Frank’s striped button-downs and navy blue boxer-briefs. Nothing else. Frank can literally feel the moisture leave his mouth completely as his jaw drops and a warm flush pulses down his head into his chest and legs and…His resolve to ignore Gerard breaks completely. He doesn’t care if he bottoms for the rest of his natural life; he has to jump Gerard’s bones right fucking now.
- - -
Gerard barely remembers his own name, let alone how he managed to make himself get out of bed and into the bathroom, apparently intent on taking a much-needed shower. It’s only when he realizes he’s been staring at the bath faucet for the last five minutes without moving that he thinks that maybe, just maybe, it’s not safe for him to be under water without having some kind of caffeine in his system.
He’s come up with worse excuses not to shower, really.
As such, he absently pulls on whatever clothes are necessary to cover up the important bits and wanders into the kitchen to brew some liquid life. Peripherally, he knows Frank is in the living room and probably awake and wanting coffee, too. Gerard’s feeling generous this morning and pours enough water into the reservoir for two people.
His fingers refuse to cooperate when it comes to the filters, though, and they flutter out of his hands down onto the linoleum flooring. “Fucking…ugh,” Gerard mutters, and he bends over at the waist to grab them but straightens up when he hears a stifled groan from behind him. He whirls around. “Frank? What the fuck?”
The last of Gerard’s sleepiness washes away, and he has to admit, he’s sort of freaked out by the way Frank is just staring at him, all creeper-like, but then he takes a quick look down. He doesn’t bother containing the little smirk at the current state of Frank’s sex-deprived dick.
“Gerard,” Frank moans.
Gerard leans back against the counter and crosses his legs in front of him, smirk still in place. He makes sure the tails of Frank’s shirt are open enough for his underwear to be fully exposed to his boyfriend’s blatant stare. “Yes, baby?” he replies, emphasizing the endearment Frank let slip during their original argument. “You feeling alright there, Frank?” Gerard drags his tongue across his lips, followed by a barely-there bite of teeth. “Need something?”
Frank actually whines. “Gerard, you’re wearing my fucking shirt.”
Gerard taps one pointer finger against his lips before slowly sucking it into his mouth. He lets it free with an audible pop after a moment. “Well, I could give it back to you,” he says, “but you haven’t washed this one in a while, and it smells so good. Like you, baby.” Gerard can tell he’s nearly won when Frank’s eyes blow up after that little nugget of information. “Want to give up the game, Frank?”
Frank’s mouth opens, and Gerard can feel the victory in his bones, but then Frank shuts his jaw without saying anything. He visibly attempts to rein himself in; Gerard wants to curse.
“No,” Frank lets out, voice all strained and scratchy. “You fucker.”
Gerard sniffs and turns back to the coffeemaker. “Fine,” he says, “whatever.” He hears Frank stomp off in the direction of the bathroom and pouts as he separates the delicate paper filters. He knows he’ll get Frank eventually; he’s just underestimated how powerful his boyfriend’s willpower can be.
- - -
Over the next four days, Frank racks his brain for a possible plan of retaliation with absolutely no luck, damn it. Gerard’s little stunt in the kitchen upped the ante, and Frank has nothing.
Well. Nothing but the sweet, sweet memory of Gerard’s ass in those boxer-briefs and his own shirt… and Frank stops right there, because fantasizing is exactly what made him almost lose the whole thing in the first place. It’s not to say Frank hasn’t beat off since that horrible afternoon (26 days ago now, fuck you very much), but he’s very proud to say that the Kitchen Incident is the only anomalous situation.
Seriously.
Regardless, Frank thinks glumly as he’s walking home early from Skeleton Crew HQ on the 26th day, Gerard knows that Frank’s buttons are easy to push - Gerard knows goddamn well that Frank’s about an inch of exposed skin away from getting on his knees and forfeiting the game. And, really, Frank doesn’t even know why he’s bothering with the game at this point.
If only he had some proof of Gerard feeling the same way. He’s caught him staring once or twice, biting his lips and trailing his eyes down Frank’s body, but there’s never been a tell-all for Gerard like there has for Frank since the first argument.
“This fucking sucks,” Frank says to the yapping dachshund passing by him on the walkway. Its owner, an elderly gentleman, glares at him. “You’d be angry too if your boyfriend withheld sex from you for almost a month!” he snarls at the man. The man snorts and continues walking.
“The wife once made me sleep on the couch for six months, son,” Frank hears him mutter. “Right after the honeymoon, too…”
Frank stops in the middle of the sidewalk for a minute and sighs loudly.
- - -
The apartment is kind of silent when Frank finally makes it inside. He and Gerard haven’t really talked in a while, so he’s not sure if Gerard is out with a client, or with Mikey or Bob or Ray (or a combination of those three), or shopping, or…Frank hears a low sound coming from the bedroom. He doesn’t bother calling out to see if it’s Gerard; he has a feeling he knows exactly what’s going on behind the door.
Frank thanks whatever deity is currently listening that he remembered to WD-40 the door hinges last weekend because it glides open without a sound. Frank’s stomach jumps into his throat.
Gerard is lying on the bed. Naked. Sweating a little bit. The violet tube of Hers lubricant is uncapped. The navy tube is right next to it. Gerard’s positioning a slicked-up dildo at his ass and gasping. The rubber tip works past the resistance, and Gerard lets out a little whimper, the best sound Frank has ever heard in his entire life…
“Frank,” Gerard pants, lifting his hips almost involuntarily and shifting the fake cock a little deeper. “Ngh. Frank.”
And, well, fucking hell, Frank isn't exactly sure what happens after that. One moment he’s ready to topple over from the instant rush of every ounce of blood in his body coursing straight to his dick and the next he's winding a fist into Gerard's long hair, curling his fingers around the ebony strands and yanking back hard. Gerard's head snaps up, strained and uncomfortable, the muscles flexing in his neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing with every dry swallow and delicious pant. Slim white fingers come up and claw at Frank's shoulders, scratch up his stubble and dig into his jaw and Gerard tugs him down into a kiss that nearly makes Frank bust his load right in his pants, holy shit, three and a half weeks, fucking damn.
It's messy and sloppy and raw and Frank loves it, revels in it. He gives a quick jerk to Gerard's hair, their foreheads grinding together, Gerard reaching, chasing Frank's mouth greedily, breathing his breath and eagerly scratching at the back of Frank's scalp. Then he's arching up, sudden, his eyes widening with surprise and a pained bark ripping from his throat as Frank curls his hand around the dildo and just fucking goes for it.
An overwhelming feeling pools in his stomach; it blossoms and spreads and bursts out, need, need, control. It grips Frank tight, and in turn he grits his teeth and pushes Gerard to the very edge and then some, roughly fucking him with the toy. He can't get enough of Gerard's face, his mouth a perfect O, eyes clenched tight; can’t get enough of the fingers scrabbling at his neck, down his back, tugging at the fist in his hair. And the whimpers, god, it's just not enough, it's not nearly enough. He wants - he fucking wants Gerard to need it too. He wants him to say it.
He surges forward, tightens his fist, shoves his tongue into Gerard's mouth like his life depends on it, like it's the last thing he'll ever do. Then he rears back, jerking Gerard forward and leaving him completely empty. The reaction is instantaneous. He's like a starving man, Gerard is, eyes hungry and pleading and begging, begging, but Frank wants him to need it.
"Frank, Frank, please, please -" Frank tugs and he whimpers, Gerard's hand sliding up to pry at Frank's fingers. Frank sneers and leans forward, bites Gerard's ear, licks a strip of warm wet up the curve of his jaw.
"Please what? Gerard, what do you want?" Condescending. Gerard mewls, leaning into the touch. Frank snaps him back. Say it, say it, I want you to say it.
"Please, inside, I want you - inside - I - Frank," and it's not quite what Frank was looking for, but it's damn close. Close enough for him to flip Gerard over onto his stomach, taking his place behind him and fisting the hand in his hair tighter. Then he's leaning back, slowly, leisurely, painfully pulling Gerard along, like a marionette.
He gets Gerard onto his knees, quaking and pleading and needing him, needing Frank. But it's not enough. Frank wants him to need it, to say it outright and lucid. Frank wants to hear it. He's curved over Gerard's back, arched like a bow, his breath in Gerard's ear, the hand that's not fisted in his hair is smoothing over the curves of his ass, his lower back, teasing the part in his cheeks. Gerard quivers.
"What, Gerard? What do you want inside?" Gerard whimpers and rocks himself back, rocks himself into the blatant hardness in Franks pants. Unappeased, Frank growls loudly and rips Gerard up, back to chest, winding a hand around his torso, scratching his nails to the jut of Gerard's hip bone. "Why don't you say it, Gerard, huh?"
A kiss to Gerard’s jaw, his cheek, the soft of his eye. Their lips connect and Frank is pushing his tongue in and out of Gerard's mouth, and Gerard is rocking urgently against him, panting excitedly. Then Frank breaks the kiss. He opens his eyes, glazed, hungry, needing, and meets Gerard's. Something passes between them, something silent and intense. Gerard shivers and groans softly. Their lips coast, gently, blindly, like static, barely there, then not there at all. Frank is breathing into his mouth, whispering into his lips, "Why don't you just admit that you've lost?"
And it's like an explosion, and Frank has to keep his grip firm in Gerard's hair when Gerard rears back and fucking grinds himself against Frank for all he's worth, hissing and writhing about. His nails scratch along Frank's forearm, leaving a trail of red welts, of heat, white hot. He twists, bends, jerks forward until Frank gets the hint and lets Gerard fall back onto his hands, lets Gerard arch his back and cant his head.
"I lost, you motherfucker, I fucking lost! Now shut the fuck up and fuck me before I make you," he spits, body thrumming with fury and humiliation, but heat and lust most of all and Frank, well, that's exactly what Frank wanted. Doesn't mean he isn't going to rub it in first.
“Make me, huh?” Frank whispers into Gerard’s ear, massaging three fingers slowly inside Gerard, then four, relishing the sharp intake of breath as he simultaneously finger-fucks him and tugs his head back against his shoulder to bite at the white column of neck. “If I remember correctly,” he breathes, “you couldn’t make me do much except wish I could have you this way. And look where we are now.” Gerard swallows and gasps when Frank viciously twists his hair. “Yeah, that’s right. Complain all you want about me calling you a bitch, baby. You fucking know it’s the truth.”
He lets go of Gerard’s hair and grabs the His lube before letting his boyfriend completely fall to the mattress. Frank pulls his shirt out of his pants and remembers to grab a condom from his wallet; he unzips and pulls his cock out, winces painfully at the latex sliding down. He has to pause for a second after slicking himself up, willing himself with everything he’s got left not to lose it so close to the end. Gerard, thankfully, hasn’t noticed any of this; he’s grinding down into the duvet cover, pleading over and over again for Frank to hurry up already, near sobbing out the words. Then his hands roughly curl around Gerard’s hips, jerking him up, back, tipping his pelvis up. Gerard is ready, completely, pink and raw and glistening, waiting.
Frank squeezes his eyes shut as he plunges forward and sinks into Gerard’s body, into the molten heat, and fuck, he forgot how incredible it is. He doesn’t bother waiting for Gerard to adjust, just pulls back and grips his boyfriend’s hips tightly before pushing back in. He sets a rhythm that isn’t gentle or nice or romantic. It‘s brutal and unrelenting and fucking primal but Frank can‘t really think anything past heat, tight, fuck, fuck, fuck. Gerard is shoving himself back at this point, cursing at Frank and clenching tight around him, trying to make him do something, Frank’s not sure, because god knows Frank’s never fucked this hard before, ever.
Then Gerard shoves himself back viciously onto his cock and Frank lets loose a throaty groan, bucking forward hard, faster, yes. Gerard’s still playing with him, trying to win a minor battle as if it’ll make a difference in the end. “Oh, you bitch,” he bites out, and Frank reaches around to fist at Gerard’s dick to distract him, almost spitefully. Gerard cries out sharply and comes in Frank’s hand, his own fingers twisting the duvet.
Frank doesn’t even think about stopping, just keeps grinding into Gerard’s ass as hard as he humanly can without hurting his boyfriend too badly. Gerard is still spasming around him, clenching and unclenching, fucking strangling Frank’s cock and whimpering pitifully as he rocks back, back, again, again. When Frank looks down he thrusts harder, urged forward by the obscene sight of his cock sinking, rising, slicking in and out of Gerard; propelled by the sharp slap of his balls against the curve of Gerard’s ass. Gerard keens and rolls back, his whole body pulsing and shaking.
“Baby, baby,” Gerard’s whispering to him, “oh my fucking god, keep going, I think,” and Frank can’t believe Gerard is even remotely hard after coming like that, but the evidence is in his fucking hand. He keeps stroking and thrusting until Gerard lunges forward, rubbing his face into the mattress wildly, gripping the sheets and comes again, a loud bell-like cry ripping from his throat, tapering off into a whimper, broken by the rhythmic jerk of Frank’s thrusts.
Frank’s seeing double at that point and knows he’s pretty damn close to coming. In a split second, he changes his mind about the position they’re in; he pulls out, strips the condom off, and urges Gerard off the bed and into a kneeling position on the floor. He grabs the back of his head with his left hand, tilts him back so that Gerard is blearily peering up into his face, and rubs the tip of his cock around Gerard’s lips.
“Open up, baby,” he says.
Frank bites back a groan when Gerard obeys immediately, parting his lips and sinking forward onto Frank's cock like he's starving for it. It's too much, too fucking much, and Frank can barely see straight he's so hard and so ready, can't hold back the torrent of babble, praise, fucking dirty, dirty phrases like, "awuh, yeah, baby. Such a good boy, yeah?“ Gerard hums lazily, his throat vibrating and fluttering around Frank's cock. Frank chokes a little, pressing forward, harder, harder. His fingers tighten in Gerard's hair and he cranes his head back, opens his eyes and blinks hard at the ceiling. There are black splotches in his peripheral vision, and it's fucking earth shattering. Frank is pretty sure it's never, ever been like this. He reigns himself it, fights with himself, tries so hard not to let go, to hold on and keep fucking Gerard's mouth and he wants to come, he really does, but it's just so good, and he wants it to last forever.
Gerard is eagerly bobbing along his cock, groaning and whimpering around him, scratching his nails roughly over Frank's pelvis, the flat of his stomach, creating raised welts that sting and produce little beads of blood. Frank stutters and tugs Gerard's head roughly, whispering, "Fuck, Gerard. Tell me you love it -" Frank pants. "Tell me you love taking my cock, ah? Don't you, Gerard?" Then Gerard nods eagerly, moans heavily, peering up at Frank with big eyes, his mouth stretched obscenely around Frank. When Gerard swallows around him, once, twice, Frank twitches uncontrollably and snaps his head down. Instantly, he unravels, his orgasm tearing through him and ripping him out like a violent tide. His eyes widen and he's stuck, zeroed in, locked down to the image of his cock appearing and disappearing, gliding in and out of Gerard's mouth; he’s stuck on the spit collecting in the corners, the beat, beat fan of his eyelashes against white skin, like butterfly wings. It's too much.
Gerard chokes, splutters, but gracefully catches himself and whimpers around Frank's cock, sucks and licks and swallows until Frank’s completely limp in his mouth. Frank waits for Gerard to let him go before falling to his own knees, wrapping his arms around Gerard and smoothing out the tangled hair as best he can.
“Holy shit,” he breathes. “Gerard?”
“Hmmm?” Gerard is rubbing his face in Frank’s neck gently.
“You okay, baby? I, uhh…”
“If you start apologizing,” Gerard says, the sound muffled by Frank’s sweaty skin, “you will be out of this apartment on your naked ass before you could say ‘condom.’ That was fucking rad, Frank.”
Frank will let the eighties slang go for now. Relieved, he tugs Gerard down onto the carpet beside him and tries to burrow into his skin, not feeling bad about it because he feels Gerard try the same thing. Frank’s mouth moves across Gerard’s cheek, ghosting breath along white, until their lips meet for the briefest moment. He loses track of time after that, falling into the sensation of holding his Gerard for the first time in almost a month and not wanting to ever leave again.
“Frank.”
“Yeah?”
“You cheated.”
Frank moves back suddenly and glares at Gerard.
“Excuse me?” Gerard gives him a smug little smile.
“I was under duress,” Gerard claims loftily. “Your caveman routine influenced my decision. You lose.”
He stares at Gerard, mind completely blank for a moment. A sudden flash of inspiration strikes him, however; Frank reaches up the mattress above them and feels around for one of the lubes. He smirks at Gerard and dangles the His lubricant in front of his face.
“Oh really?” Frank nudges at Gerard with his nose. “Care to up the stakes, bitch?”
Beta'd by
saint_sorrows , ilu, bb♥
by Agent Schnookums and Sextapus
My Chemical Romance. Frank/Gerard. NC-17.
“--yeah, then we went out to dinner at this bitchin’ restaurant and paid ridiculous amounts of money for a five ounce piece of steak.”
“Sweet, overpriced meat. Frank would love that,” Gerard shouts from the closet, almost tripping over knotted shoelaces and strangling himself with the hangers. He huffs and backtracks. To be quite honest, he can’t even remember what he was looking for in the first place.
“Yeah, then we totally ‘played scrabble’,“ Mikey crackles through the speakerphone, voice deadpanned. Gerard chuckles, wandering out of the closet and contemplating bringing his search to under the bed for whatever it is that he’s looking for.
“That’s funny. Frank and I ‘played scrabble’ yesterday, too,” he carols and pops his head parallel to the floor to have a look at the mess accumulating under the bed. Strangely enough, it’s sparse and… vacuumed? Frank must have cleaned.
“But you and Frank always ‘play scrabble’,” Mikey drawls. “I’m surprised you don’t need to wear manpons or something.” And at this, Gerard quirks up, brows draw because, uh, what?
“What the hell is that supposed to mean,” he snaps, affronted, because, seriously, why would Mikey even thing that? Where is he pulling these nonsensical ideas from? It’s just ridiculous. Why does Mikey automatically assume Gerard is the girl in his relationship? Actually, why does everybody always assume that? It’s pissing him off, especially hearing it from his own brother. He’s thoroughly offended, no, actually, he‘s very offended. Mikey snorts and Gerard bristles, biting his tongue to keep himself from being a complete douche. He can hear Mikey roll his eyes.
“Gerard. Dude, duh,” and an intense surge of irritation courses through him and suddenly feels like he needs something to keep himself from starting a pointless argument with his little brother that will undoubtedly segue into relentless teasing and laughs at his expense. So he flings himself back into his pointless search, throwing himself across the bed and totally rumpling up the crisp covers and deflating the pillows Frank fluffed that morning. He can hear Mikey laughing-- silently mind you-- but still, laughing at the idea of Gerard and his manpons; of Gerard as the girl, fuck.
So Gerard jerks open Frank’s bedside drawer, mumbling silently, cursing ‘manpons’, himself, the fact he’s more effeminate then he tries to be and feels a slight tick in his jaw. He’s not exactly sure why he decided to rifle through Frank’s things. But he needs a distraction before he cusses out his brother and says something he’ll regret in the morning and Frank’s nightstand is the only thing he hasn’t torn to pieces in their bedroom yet. He’s poking his nose where it doesn’t belong. Though, technically, Gerard reasons that his nose can belong wherever it wants in his apartment that he shares with his boyfriend, and, really, there are no secrets whatsoever between them.
Basically, Gerard can shove his nose wherever he damn well feels like it, Mikey or no Mikey.
However, what he didn’t expect to find hidden among the scattered magazines (Kerrang!, Men‘s Health, Entertainment Weekly and…Seventeen, at which Gerard rolls his eyes), stray Advil, vanilla scented oil (because even they can be romantic sometimes), and little itty bits that are just so Frank it’s ridiculous, is a package of KY’s YOURS + MINE© His and Hers lubricant.
Mikey is twittering somewhere behind him, probably making fun of him or droning on about something or other. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, since he’s still a bit pissy, his attention has successfully been diverted to the lubricant nestled in his boyfriend’s drawer. Forgetting about manpons, he grabs the phone off the cradle and grumbles out an impromptu farewell to Mikey and hangs up.
He holds the package up and stares at it for a minute. They don’t really ever use KY; it’s kind of expensive and impractical, and neither of them is really sold on the sensation aspect of KY advertising. Gerard turns the box around and reads the description on the back: “Whether you have a flame that needs rekindling or you’re looking to take your relationship to the next level, we’ve got the perfect adventure for you both. It’s simple. You apply the product to each other. The blue goes on him for an invigorating sensation. The purple goes on her for a thrilling sensation. And when combined, there’s an amazing reaction.”
Naturally, Gerard’s mind now jumps to the worst scenario imaginable: Frank must be fucking some skanky two-cent little hoe behind his back and spoiling her with stupid “warming sensation” lube so they could have Special Awesome YOURS + MINE© sex in the bed that he shares with Gerard. Maybe Frank is actually with her right now and they’re having hot Gerard-less sex in some back alley, or in Frank’s car, or on Frank’s desk!
Except, Gerard is a reasonable fellow, so he takes two steps back and clears his mind, because jumping to conclusions often blows up in your face - well, for him it does. So he brings to light some very legitimate points: first, it’s sitting right there in Frank’s bedside drawer. It’s not hidden beneath the mattress, or stuffed in the old shoebox with all Frank’s high school photos, buried in the back of the closet. It’s just sitting at the top of his magazine stack. If Frank is having an affair (and he better fucking not be, or there will be blood), Gerard thinks he’d actually take the time to, you know, make it not so obvious, because Frank is a smart man, and as wily as he is, he hates conflict of any kind with anybody.
Second, the lubricant for Her isn’t even open. It’s still sealed and looking pristine and untouched in its fancy violet vial. The lubricant for Him, however, is very much open and very much used. For a moment, Gerard indulges himself with a vivid fantasy of Frank secretly jacking off, thinking about Gerard, thinking about them together, completely wrapped up in each other and panting and sweating and fucking.
And, yeah, okay, now that Gerard has popped a tent he’s lost the ability to even loosely work his way to the bottom of the YOURS + MINE© lubricant mystery. He’s pretty sure that Frank is not having some lurid affair with some skank because Frank is clearly and inarguably in love with him, and Gerard is just the same. As far as he’s concerned, they don’t have sex with other people, like, ever. Actually, their sex life is pretty lively, very healthy and regular, thank you very much.
They have sex a lot, as a matter of fact. And Gerard knows the exact stops to pull out to make Frank tick, what buttons to push to have him begging on his knees. Gerard can jerk Frank like his own personal marionette, and Frank is more then happy to comply and reciprocate seeing as Gerard likes to be jerked about every once in a while himself.
Whatever the reason for the His and Hers lube, Gerard is confident Frank isn’t being a man-slut.
He rearranges himself slightly, then trails his fingers along the dark and rumpled sheets of their bed, eyeing the shiny violet vial in his hand. His gaze flickers to the digital clock on Frank’s nightstand, because if Gerard had control of the alarm, Frank would never make it to work on time.
3:30 PM. Two hours and some change in which Gerard will be all alone in their apartment and left to his own devices. He shrugs and figures why not and plans to have himself a little experiment.
- - -
What Gerard doesn’t expect is this: Frank arriving home, early.
Because he’s the boss and, to be quite honest, nothing was going down at Skeleton Crew that required his attention, so he just skedaddled out of there.
It’s five past four, and Frank is fucking starving and his feet hurt, and somehow he accidentally squirted soap into his eye while washing his hands, so his eyes hurt too. He kicks off his shoes at the front door and tinkers around in the kitchen before grabbing a can of cola and leaning against the doorjamb.
It’s oddly quiet, and if you live in a house with Gerard, you know it’s never quiet.
But this time it is, which is odd. Frank quirks a brow curiously and heads down the hallway, tentatively calling Gerard’s name. He briefly wonders if Gerard went on some shopping excursion or to a book club meeting or whatever he does when Frank’s not home -
Except, when he opens the door to their bedroom Gerard is sort of sprawled against the navy sheets, looking like sex and every beautiful boy Frank has ever seen in every gay porno, and some of the girls too. The afternoon sun is falling in stilted slants across the pale smooth of his skin, over the gentle slope of his shoulders, the soft round of his stomach and knobs of his knees.
His legs are spread, obscene and open, and Frank chokes on his tongue because Gerard is fucking himself with three of his fingers, head thrown back in abandon, bare and exposed and unselfconscious and gorgeous. A beam of sun strips across his face, illuminating his eyelashes with a white gold glow, touching the silk strands of his hair with silver.
There is a quiet shift, and then Gerard’s back arches slowly, arched sweetly and artfully and Frank knows he’s found it because Gerard mewls, groans, growls, whimpers all at once, and it goes straight to Frank’s dick. Then, like an eye drop of vermillion, Frank sees it, glinting hibiscus petal purple in the sunlight. It’s bright and secret and sexy.
Hers.
And that’s it. Frank knows the little fucker found it, finally. It only took him forever to be the freaking snoop Frank knows he is. He’s been waiting for this moment for three fucking weeks, and it’s sitting right in front of him, a confrontation he definitely wasn’t expecting but is more than happy to play along with.
It’s the metallic clink of his belt and the clean slide of leather that finally breaks his fantasy. Gerard’s eyes instantly fly open, honey yellow through the strip of sunlight, and he cranes his head back, wide-eyed and looking like he just got caught stealing the cookies from the cookie jar.
“Frank!”
Frank gives a toothy smirk and pounces. Then he’s wrapped around Gerard trying to kiss the shit out of him, but Gerard is talking and ruining Frank’s fantasy and shut up shut up shut up.
“What - when - How long have you been standing there?” Gerard splutters around Frank’s tongue. And, well, if he can’t kiss his lips then Frank will just kiss other places. Tattooed fingers skate the length of Gerard’s chest, his lips ghost the smooth curve of his jaw, licking wet sweeps across his throat, his collarbones, biting at his shoulder.
“Long enough.”
“Frank!”
Then Gerard has to shut up because Frank literally just shoved two fingers in his mouth and is biting the sharp of Gerard’s hip. Gerard kind of wriggles awkwardly, but sucks once, twice, and Frank groans in approval. He fumbles for the little violet vial with on hand before leaving a loud, wet kiss beneath Gerard’s navel.
“Fucking finally,” he breathes, teething Gerard’s ear and running the pads of his fingers against Gerard’s pallet. Gerard chokes and tries not to laugh.
“fhuchkng phinari huwut?” And he stares up curiously at Frank, biting lightly on his fingers. Frank grins against his neck and chortles gently.
“I have been waiting for you to find this, you douche,” and he holds up the purple vial. Gerard stares at it, glowing neon in the light, before scowling and nipping at Frank’s fingers. Hard. Frank hisses and rears back, leering at Gerard. “What?”
“You’ve been waiting for me to find Hers?” Indignant. What exactly did Frank do wrong here? Frank blinks for a second and shifts upward, still painfully hard in his jeans.
“Uh…yeah?” Then Gerard sits up too and makes the bitch face reserved only for Frank.
“Well, I don’t see why I have to use Hers.”
“Gerard, what - you - I… fuck you,” like maybe Gerard hasn’t been here, under Frank, for the last three and a half years. Gerard glares and awkwardly fumbles to his feet, dragging the sheet with him because he’s still modest and blushing even after all the years they’ve been together, after all the lecherous shit they’ve done.
“Well - so? Why can’t I use His?”
“Gerard, you can, I mean, Jesus, It doesn’t really matter. I just thought by default, we’d, you know, follow the directions?”
Gerard is not appeased.
“Alright. How about I just use His, and you use Hers, and I can fuck you?” He’s making that pinched face that Frank secretly finds adorable, and he’s all snooty and rebelling against their natural order (the order in which Frank fucks Gerard 99.9% of the time, and Frank was pretty sure they were both happy with that, but apparently not), just because Frank assumed Gerard would use Her’s. And, yeah, okay, it’s not like Frank actually thinks Gerard is the girl in their relationship or anything, and it’s not that he’s not willing to bottom for Gerard. He was just assuming that’d they’d, you know, do what they usually do. Except Gerard is going on about breaking the stereotypes and fucking labels and blah, blah, blah, and why did they have to call it His and Hers, fuck it.
“Uh…Gerard, c’mon, man. Titles don’t really matter, right? We’re talking lube here.” Frank can be the bigger man.
“But - what if - No, I really think you’re trying to say something here.” Frank is fucked.
“Gerard, baby - I mean, dude, I’m not saying anything,” he begins, surging forward. His arms automatically wind around Gerard’s waist and he recalculates their course of direction to around Gerard’s shoulders instead because Gerard is being a little bitch and will probably think Frank is trying to be all manly when he’s really, really not. “I just really want to have sex, okay? You can use the His, I really don’t care. I don’t.”
When Gerard doesn’t return Frank’s embrace, he knows he’s officially fucked. Honestly, Frank really just wanted to have sex; instead, Gerard backs out of Frank’s arms and crosses his own over his chest, eyeing the violet vial clasped in Frank’s hand.
“How about this, Frank. How about we don’t use anything? How about you don’t fuck me and see how long you can last, huh? That’d be fun, I think. It’ll be like a game. I’ll see how long you can last without sex of any kind from me, and when you finally crack, I can fuck you for a change, okay?”
And Frank, well, Frank just kind of stands there gawking at Gerard because what the fuck? Where did that come from? He’s half tempted to shake Gerard and shout at him, “I DON’T THINK YOU’RE THE GIRL,” but Gerard’s bitch face is clearly not having any reasonable or logical thought penetrate his brain. Apparently, Gerard finds it completely necessary to assert his manly pride, or dominance, or non-womanliness, or whatever.
The thing is, Frank never thought of Gerard as a girl. It’s just always been this way: Gerard loves to take, and Frank is pretty fucking eager to give. And, yeah, okay, maybe they’ve done some kinky shit with revealing costumes and nurses outfits and such, and maybe Frank has let one or two derogatory comments slip out while he’s in the middle of pounding Gerard into the mattress or counter or wherever, but it’s like -- meaningless. He thinks Gerard is overreacting and whatnot, but Gerard has clearly parked himself in this strange mindset, and Frank can only play along.
So he straightens to his full height --which isn’t very tall, but Gerard isn’t exactly Paul Bunyan either-- and lifts his chin, setting his lips firmly.
“Alright,” he says. “Fine. I’ll play your game. But just remember, I’ll be waiting for you to bend over when you finally give, alright, Gee?” And Gerard gawks at him as he heads for the door.
In a fit of childishness, he zips back to the nightstand and yanks His out of the sexy black box, brandishing it in the air and mockingly tilting his head with a smug little smile.
“And this is mine.”
Then he slams the door and tromps into the kitchen.
- - -
To be perfectly honest, it is the worst three weeks of Frank’s life. It’s awkward as hell, and Gerard won’t drop his bitch face, and Frank is dying because sex, sex, no sex, fucking damn it. And Gerard is just there, acting like nothing is going on, like he’s not drilling a hole through his pants or suffering from blue balls, and it’s awful.
But neither of them is giving in to the other. It’s really sad and annoying as hell.
And the thing is, Frank can tell that Gerard wants to have sex. To clarify, Gerard is pretty much one of the most sexual people Frank has ever met, boyfriend aside, even without knowing it. It’s like second nature to Gerard, and Frank totally takes advantage of it because it’s goddamned sexy.
The first time they had sex it was like fireworks and explosions and the little Woohoo cutscene that they always giggle at in The Sims 2. It was pretty unreal, and Frank kind of died and went to heaven and then died again because Gerard was gorgeous and bossy and he fucking rocked it. That first meeting is undoubtedly one of the highlights of Frank’s life.
The thing Frank can’t understand is that Gerard always wanted it, always. Frank is positive that Gerard was fine and dandy always taking it; he fucking reveled in it for god’s sake, begged for it, ordered Frank to do it, tied Frank up and did it himself. You didn’t have to ask Gerard if he was pitching or catching, he’d just suit up and brace himself for it. It’s one of the hottest things Frank has ever seen.
When Frank met Gerard, he had been floored. Every other guy Frank had dated was bitchy and whiny, more so when it came to sex. As soon as sex was even mentioned they’d start spewing shit about topping and bottoming and not being the bitch and blah blah blah, and Frank, honestly, Frank really could give a damn. If he’s honest --which Frank always is-- he definitely prefers top, but it’s not like it’s beneath him to bottom. This whole argument is really bullshit for Frank. He wants to have sex, fuck.
So Gerard was pretty much everything he could have ever asked for wrapped up into one conveniently smoking little package. Low maintenance, hilarious, and, oh, hi, ready to take and not make a fuss.
Frank was pleased. They got along brilliantly before getting together, and when the sex started happening it was clear they were just made for each other. Except for now, because Gerard is finally being a little bitch about taking it all the time and Frank didn’t even do anything. And, hi, when Frank found Gerard fucking writhing around three weeks ago, he was fucking himself with Hers -- what the fuck? Gerard can’t even argue when he totally set himself up for the whole situation. Frank was willing to be very reasonable three weeks ago; now, in hindsight, not so much.
Well. Frank isn’t going to let Mr. Hers personal lubricant get to him, he decides as he falls off the couch and tries to wake up fully a mere 22 days into his pitifully sex-less existence. Nope. No way, no how, he thinks. He hears Gerard stumbling around in the kitchen and hopes his boyfriend is feeling generous enough to share the coffee for once.
Probably not, Frank’s brain says, but a guy can dream.
Coffee, however, is the last thing on Frank’s mind when he finally wanders into the kitchen that morning. In fact, Frank’s pretty sure he hasn’t popped a boner this fast since the first day of his eighth grade gym class.
Gerard is standing - no, fucking bending over to grab the coffee filters off the floor - in the kitchen, wearing one of Frank’s striped button-downs and navy blue boxer-briefs. Nothing else. Frank can literally feel the moisture leave his mouth completely as his jaw drops and a warm flush pulses down his head into his chest and legs and…His resolve to ignore Gerard breaks completely. He doesn’t care if he bottoms for the rest of his natural life; he has to jump Gerard’s bones right fucking now.
- - -
Gerard barely remembers his own name, let alone how he managed to make himself get out of bed and into the bathroom, apparently intent on taking a much-needed shower. It’s only when he realizes he’s been staring at the bath faucet for the last five minutes without moving that he thinks that maybe, just maybe, it’s not safe for him to be under water without having some kind of caffeine in his system.
He’s come up with worse excuses not to shower, really.
As such, he absently pulls on whatever clothes are necessary to cover up the important bits and wanders into the kitchen to brew some liquid life. Peripherally, he knows Frank is in the living room and probably awake and wanting coffee, too. Gerard’s feeling generous this morning and pours enough water into the reservoir for two people.
His fingers refuse to cooperate when it comes to the filters, though, and they flutter out of his hands down onto the linoleum flooring. “Fucking…ugh,” Gerard mutters, and he bends over at the waist to grab them but straightens up when he hears a stifled groan from behind him. He whirls around. “Frank? What the fuck?”
The last of Gerard’s sleepiness washes away, and he has to admit, he’s sort of freaked out by the way Frank is just staring at him, all creeper-like, but then he takes a quick look down. He doesn’t bother containing the little smirk at the current state of Frank’s sex-deprived dick.
“Gerard,” Frank moans.
Gerard leans back against the counter and crosses his legs in front of him, smirk still in place. He makes sure the tails of Frank’s shirt are open enough for his underwear to be fully exposed to his boyfriend’s blatant stare. “Yes, baby?” he replies, emphasizing the endearment Frank let slip during their original argument. “You feeling alright there, Frank?” Gerard drags his tongue across his lips, followed by a barely-there bite of teeth. “Need something?”
Frank actually whines. “Gerard, you’re wearing my fucking shirt.”
Gerard taps one pointer finger against his lips before slowly sucking it into his mouth. He lets it free with an audible pop after a moment. “Well, I could give it back to you,” he says, “but you haven’t washed this one in a while, and it smells so good. Like you, baby.” Gerard can tell he’s nearly won when Frank’s eyes blow up after that little nugget of information. “Want to give up the game, Frank?”
Frank’s mouth opens, and Gerard can feel the victory in his bones, but then Frank shuts his jaw without saying anything. He visibly attempts to rein himself in; Gerard wants to curse.
“No,” Frank lets out, voice all strained and scratchy. “You fucker.”
Gerard sniffs and turns back to the coffeemaker. “Fine,” he says, “whatever.” He hears Frank stomp off in the direction of the bathroom and pouts as he separates the delicate paper filters. He knows he’ll get Frank eventually; he’s just underestimated how powerful his boyfriend’s willpower can be.
- - -
Over the next four days, Frank racks his brain for a possible plan of retaliation with absolutely no luck, damn it. Gerard’s little stunt in the kitchen upped the ante, and Frank has nothing.
Well. Nothing but the sweet, sweet memory of Gerard’s ass in those boxer-briefs and his own shirt… and Frank stops right there, because fantasizing is exactly what made him almost lose the whole thing in the first place. It’s not to say Frank hasn’t beat off since that horrible afternoon (26 days ago now, fuck you very much), but he’s very proud to say that the Kitchen Incident is the only anomalous situation.
Seriously.
Regardless, Frank thinks glumly as he’s walking home early from Skeleton Crew HQ on the 26th day, Gerard knows that Frank’s buttons are easy to push - Gerard knows goddamn well that Frank’s about an inch of exposed skin away from getting on his knees and forfeiting the game. And, really, Frank doesn’t even know why he’s bothering with the game at this point.
If only he had some proof of Gerard feeling the same way. He’s caught him staring once or twice, biting his lips and trailing his eyes down Frank’s body, but there’s never been a tell-all for Gerard like there has for Frank since the first argument.
“This fucking sucks,” Frank says to the yapping dachshund passing by him on the walkway. Its owner, an elderly gentleman, glares at him. “You’d be angry too if your boyfriend withheld sex from you for almost a month!” he snarls at the man. The man snorts and continues walking.
“The wife once made me sleep on the couch for six months, son,” Frank hears him mutter. “Right after the honeymoon, too…”
Frank stops in the middle of the sidewalk for a minute and sighs loudly.
- - -
The apartment is kind of silent when Frank finally makes it inside. He and Gerard haven’t really talked in a while, so he’s not sure if Gerard is out with a client, or with Mikey or Bob or Ray (or a combination of those three), or shopping, or…Frank hears a low sound coming from the bedroom. He doesn’t bother calling out to see if it’s Gerard; he has a feeling he knows exactly what’s going on behind the door.
Frank thanks whatever deity is currently listening that he remembered to WD-40 the door hinges last weekend because it glides open without a sound. Frank’s stomach jumps into his throat.
Gerard is lying on the bed. Naked. Sweating a little bit. The violet tube of Hers lubricant is uncapped. The navy tube is right next to it. Gerard’s positioning a slicked-up dildo at his ass and gasping. The rubber tip works past the resistance, and Gerard lets out a little whimper, the best sound Frank has ever heard in his entire life…
“Frank,” Gerard pants, lifting his hips almost involuntarily and shifting the fake cock a little deeper. “Ngh. Frank.”
And, well, fucking hell, Frank isn't exactly sure what happens after that. One moment he’s ready to topple over from the instant rush of every ounce of blood in his body coursing straight to his dick and the next he's winding a fist into Gerard's long hair, curling his fingers around the ebony strands and yanking back hard. Gerard's head snaps up, strained and uncomfortable, the muscles flexing in his neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing with every dry swallow and delicious pant. Slim white fingers come up and claw at Frank's shoulders, scratch up his stubble and dig into his jaw and Gerard tugs him down into a kiss that nearly makes Frank bust his load right in his pants, holy shit, three and a half weeks, fucking damn.
It's messy and sloppy and raw and Frank loves it, revels in it. He gives a quick jerk to Gerard's hair, their foreheads grinding together, Gerard reaching, chasing Frank's mouth greedily, breathing his breath and eagerly scratching at the back of Frank's scalp. Then he's arching up, sudden, his eyes widening with surprise and a pained bark ripping from his throat as Frank curls his hand around the dildo and just fucking goes for it.
An overwhelming feeling pools in his stomach; it blossoms and spreads and bursts out, need, need, control. It grips Frank tight, and in turn he grits his teeth and pushes Gerard to the very edge and then some, roughly fucking him with the toy. He can't get enough of Gerard's face, his mouth a perfect O, eyes clenched tight; can’t get enough of the fingers scrabbling at his neck, down his back, tugging at the fist in his hair. And the whimpers, god, it's just not enough, it's not nearly enough. He wants - he fucking wants Gerard to need it too. He wants him to say it.
He surges forward, tightens his fist, shoves his tongue into Gerard's mouth like his life depends on it, like it's the last thing he'll ever do. Then he rears back, jerking Gerard forward and leaving him completely empty. The reaction is instantaneous. He's like a starving man, Gerard is, eyes hungry and pleading and begging, begging, but Frank wants him to need it.
"Frank, Frank, please, please -" Frank tugs and he whimpers, Gerard's hand sliding up to pry at Frank's fingers. Frank sneers and leans forward, bites Gerard's ear, licks a strip of warm wet up the curve of his jaw.
"Please what? Gerard, what do you want?" Condescending. Gerard mewls, leaning into the touch. Frank snaps him back. Say it, say it, I want you to say it.
"Please, inside, I want you - inside - I - Frank," and it's not quite what Frank was looking for, but it's damn close. Close enough for him to flip Gerard over onto his stomach, taking his place behind him and fisting the hand in his hair tighter. Then he's leaning back, slowly, leisurely, painfully pulling Gerard along, like a marionette.
He gets Gerard onto his knees, quaking and pleading and needing him, needing Frank. But it's not enough. Frank wants him to need it, to say it outright and lucid. Frank wants to hear it. He's curved over Gerard's back, arched like a bow, his breath in Gerard's ear, the hand that's not fisted in his hair is smoothing over the curves of his ass, his lower back, teasing the part in his cheeks. Gerard quivers.
"What, Gerard? What do you want inside?" Gerard whimpers and rocks himself back, rocks himself into the blatant hardness in Franks pants. Unappeased, Frank growls loudly and rips Gerard up, back to chest, winding a hand around his torso, scratching his nails to the jut of Gerard's hip bone. "Why don't you say it, Gerard, huh?"
A kiss to Gerard’s jaw, his cheek, the soft of his eye. Their lips connect and Frank is pushing his tongue in and out of Gerard's mouth, and Gerard is rocking urgently against him, panting excitedly. Then Frank breaks the kiss. He opens his eyes, glazed, hungry, needing, and meets Gerard's. Something passes between them, something silent and intense. Gerard shivers and groans softly. Their lips coast, gently, blindly, like static, barely there, then not there at all. Frank is breathing into his mouth, whispering into his lips, "Why don't you just admit that you've lost?"
And it's like an explosion, and Frank has to keep his grip firm in Gerard's hair when Gerard rears back and fucking grinds himself against Frank for all he's worth, hissing and writhing about. His nails scratch along Frank's forearm, leaving a trail of red welts, of heat, white hot. He twists, bends, jerks forward until Frank gets the hint and lets Gerard fall back onto his hands, lets Gerard arch his back and cant his head.
"I lost, you motherfucker, I fucking lost! Now shut the fuck up and fuck me before I make you," he spits, body thrumming with fury and humiliation, but heat and lust most of all and Frank, well, that's exactly what Frank wanted. Doesn't mean he isn't going to rub it in first.
“Make me, huh?” Frank whispers into Gerard’s ear, massaging three fingers slowly inside Gerard, then four, relishing the sharp intake of breath as he simultaneously finger-fucks him and tugs his head back against his shoulder to bite at the white column of neck. “If I remember correctly,” he breathes, “you couldn’t make me do much except wish I could have you this way. And look where we are now.” Gerard swallows and gasps when Frank viciously twists his hair. “Yeah, that’s right. Complain all you want about me calling you a bitch, baby. You fucking know it’s the truth.”
He lets go of Gerard’s hair and grabs the His lube before letting his boyfriend completely fall to the mattress. Frank pulls his shirt out of his pants and remembers to grab a condom from his wallet; he unzips and pulls his cock out, winces painfully at the latex sliding down. He has to pause for a second after slicking himself up, willing himself with everything he’s got left not to lose it so close to the end. Gerard, thankfully, hasn’t noticed any of this; he’s grinding down into the duvet cover, pleading over and over again for Frank to hurry up already, near sobbing out the words. Then his hands roughly curl around Gerard’s hips, jerking him up, back, tipping his pelvis up. Gerard is ready, completely, pink and raw and glistening, waiting.
Frank squeezes his eyes shut as he plunges forward and sinks into Gerard’s body, into the molten heat, and fuck, he forgot how incredible it is. He doesn’t bother waiting for Gerard to adjust, just pulls back and grips his boyfriend’s hips tightly before pushing back in. He sets a rhythm that isn’t gentle or nice or romantic. It‘s brutal and unrelenting and fucking primal but Frank can‘t really think anything past heat, tight, fuck, fuck, fuck. Gerard is shoving himself back at this point, cursing at Frank and clenching tight around him, trying to make him do something, Frank’s not sure, because god knows Frank’s never fucked this hard before, ever.
Then Gerard shoves himself back viciously onto his cock and Frank lets loose a throaty groan, bucking forward hard, faster, yes. Gerard’s still playing with him, trying to win a minor battle as if it’ll make a difference in the end. “Oh, you bitch,” he bites out, and Frank reaches around to fist at Gerard’s dick to distract him, almost spitefully. Gerard cries out sharply and comes in Frank’s hand, his own fingers twisting the duvet.
Frank doesn’t even think about stopping, just keeps grinding into Gerard’s ass as hard as he humanly can without hurting his boyfriend too badly. Gerard is still spasming around him, clenching and unclenching, fucking strangling Frank’s cock and whimpering pitifully as he rocks back, back, again, again. When Frank looks down he thrusts harder, urged forward by the obscene sight of his cock sinking, rising, slicking in and out of Gerard; propelled by the sharp slap of his balls against the curve of Gerard’s ass. Gerard keens and rolls back, his whole body pulsing and shaking.
“Baby, baby,” Gerard’s whispering to him, “oh my fucking god, keep going, I think,” and Frank can’t believe Gerard is even remotely hard after coming like that, but the evidence is in his fucking hand. He keeps stroking and thrusting until Gerard lunges forward, rubbing his face into the mattress wildly, gripping the sheets and comes again, a loud bell-like cry ripping from his throat, tapering off into a whimper, broken by the rhythmic jerk of Frank’s thrusts.
Frank’s seeing double at that point and knows he’s pretty damn close to coming. In a split second, he changes his mind about the position they’re in; he pulls out, strips the condom off, and urges Gerard off the bed and into a kneeling position on the floor. He grabs the back of his head with his left hand, tilts him back so that Gerard is blearily peering up into his face, and rubs the tip of his cock around Gerard’s lips.
“Open up, baby,” he says.
Frank bites back a groan when Gerard obeys immediately, parting his lips and sinking forward onto Frank's cock like he's starving for it. It's too much, too fucking much, and Frank can barely see straight he's so hard and so ready, can't hold back the torrent of babble, praise, fucking dirty, dirty phrases like, "awuh, yeah, baby. Such a good boy, yeah?“ Gerard hums lazily, his throat vibrating and fluttering around Frank's cock. Frank chokes a little, pressing forward, harder, harder. His fingers tighten in Gerard's hair and he cranes his head back, opens his eyes and blinks hard at the ceiling. There are black splotches in his peripheral vision, and it's fucking earth shattering. Frank is pretty sure it's never, ever been like this. He reigns himself it, fights with himself, tries so hard not to let go, to hold on and keep fucking Gerard's mouth and he wants to come, he really does, but it's just so good, and he wants it to last forever.
Gerard is eagerly bobbing along his cock, groaning and whimpering around him, scratching his nails roughly over Frank's pelvis, the flat of his stomach, creating raised welts that sting and produce little beads of blood. Frank stutters and tugs Gerard's head roughly, whispering, "Fuck, Gerard. Tell me you love it -" Frank pants. "Tell me you love taking my cock, ah? Don't you, Gerard?" Then Gerard nods eagerly, moans heavily, peering up at Frank with big eyes, his mouth stretched obscenely around Frank. When Gerard swallows around him, once, twice, Frank twitches uncontrollably and snaps his head down. Instantly, he unravels, his orgasm tearing through him and ripping him out like a violent tide. His eyes widen and he's stuck, zeroed in, locked down to the image of his cock appearing and disappearing, gliding in and out of Gerard's mouth; he’s stuck on the spit collecting in the corners, the beat, beat fan of his eyelashes against white skin, like butterfly wings. It's too much.
Gerard chokes, splutters, but gracefully catches himself and whimpers around Frank's cock, sucks and licks and swallows until Frank’s completely limp in his mouth. Frank waits for Gerard to let him go before falling to his own knees, wrapping his arms around Gerard and smoothing out the tangled hair as best he can.
“Holy shit,” he breathes. “Gerard?”
“Hmmm?” Gerard is rubbing his face in Frank’s neck gently.
“You okay, baby? I, uhh…”
“If you start apologizing,” Gerard says, the sound muffled by Frank’s sweaty skin, “you will be out of this apartment on your naked ass before you could say ‘condom.’ That was fucking rad, Frank.”
Frank will let the eighties slang go for now. Relieved, he tugs Gerard down onto the carpet beside him and tries to burrow into his skin, not feeling bad about it because he feels Gerard try the same thing. Frank’s mouth moves across Gerard’s cheek, ghosting breath along white, until their lips meet for the briefest moment. He loses track of time after that, falling into the sensation of holding his Gerard for the first time in almost a month and not wanting to ever leave again.
“Frank.”
“Yeah?”
“You cheated.”
Frank moves back suddenly and glares at Gerard.
“Excuse me?” Gerard gives him a smug little smile.
“I was under duress,” Gerard claims loftily. “Your caveman routine influenced my decision. You lose.”
He stares at Gerard, mind completely blank for a moment. A sudden flash of inspiration strikes him, however; Frank reaches up the mattress above them and feels around for one of the lubes. He smirks at Gerard and dangles the His lubricant in front of his face.
“Oh really?” Frank nudges at Gerard with his nose. “Care to up the stakes, bitch?”