possession
Gerard/Bert
Standalone
R (swearing, BDSM)
written February 2008
for bert_and_gerard's Secret Slashy Sweetheart challenge, and slashfic25 prompt 23: challenge.
When Gerard suggests he wear it to work, Bert is terrified. Sure, the thing's uncomfortable, and that won't be fun, but what worries him the most is the fact that he'll have to spend the whole fucking day explaining it -- once he comes up with a decent explanation, that is. The truth won't cut it, not by a long shot, because the truth is just fucking disturbing ... or, at least, it will be to his co-workers.
It's bad enough that they think Bert's a crazy motherfucker (which he doesn't deny). It had taken the company a while to adjust to the boyfriend thing (Gerard had considered going to the Christmas party in drag as "Geraldine", but the fishnet stockings and satin lingerie were damaged beyond repair after an action-packed weekend and they couldn't afford any more ... But the main reason they changed their mind was because Gerard looks like a tramp in drag). As it is, some of the older people in the office still look at him as if he's a freak. Bert doesn't give a shit what people think of him -- not really -- but he doesn't want to lose his fucking job over it. Not when they've just put the down-payment on the apartment and Gerard wants to spend a few weeks in Europe this summer. They need all the money they can get. Gerard's working fifty hours a week at the ad agency, trying desperately to get promoted to head of the graphic design department, and Bert would feel like a total fucking tool if he got fired because of ... because of this.
He clears his throat. The leather is tight around his neck, pressing at his Adam's apple, and he's not sure whether to swallow or retch. He takes a deep breath and swallows, feeling the strap tighten, then ease. Slightly. He's sure the skin around it is red and swollen, probably chafed. By the end of the day it'll be raw.
If anyone asks, it's a new type of necklace. Some trendy shit for metrosexual men. A birthday present from his sister.
***
Gerard had purred like a fucking cat when Bert emerged from the bedroom in the morning, wearing the thin, tight leather collar with his usual work attire -- an open-necked shirt, jeans and Chucks. Gerard had licked his lips and ran his hands through his hair, then dropped to his knees in the middle of the fucking kitchen to blow Bert for being "such a good boy". When he was done (and Bert was leaning against the dishwasher, panting like the crumpled, post-orgasmic mess he was), Gerard stood up, dusted off his pants and offered to make Bert a cup of coffee. Bert, still breathing heavily, nodded weakly and made an effort to button his jeans while Gerard bustled around the kitchen like a housewife, filling the jug, rinsing out a mug, going to the fridge for the milk ... It occurred to Bert that he should probably offer to reciprocate.
"Don't even think about it," Gerard said as he handed the steaming mug to Bert. "You won't be able to deep-throat with that thing on."
"Good point," he said with a laugh.
Gerard reached out to run his fingers along Bert's throat and tilt his face upwards. "I don't want to hurt you, baby ... I just want to own you."
"You do."
"Are you sure?"
Bert nodded, eyes wide, and set his coffee on the counter. Gerard stared back at him for a moment before his mouth stretched into a smile.
"Whose are you?" he asked, hooking his fingers under Bert's collar, voice soft, caressing. Bert closed his eyes and pressed his palms against the cupboards behind him. His head was spinning.
"Yours," he whispered, throat constricted. "All yours."
Gerard kissed him then, kissed him with the mingled taste of coffee and come on his breath, tongue teasing the corners of Bert's mouth, teeth nipping at his lips. Bert sighed and tilted his head back, allowing himself to be devoured, and his legs nearly buckled underneath him. He let out a long, shaky breath.
"I believe you," Gerard said. "You're mine. All mine. And you're gonna wear this to work to prove it, yeah?"
"Yes." Bert was fully hard again and mentally cursed himself. He didn't want to be one of those creepy guys on the subway trying to hide his boner. Then Gerard kissed him again and he forgot all about it as he kissed back, lifting his arms and sliding them around Gerard's waist, pulling him closer ...
"We don't have enough time," Gerard mumbled.
"I know." Bert sighed and dropped his arms. "Fuck, I wish I could call in sick today."
"Me too," Gerard said with a grin. "I blame you, you know."
He raised an eyebrow.
"For being so hot. I may be the dom, but you're not the only fuckin' slave."
Bert laughed and reached for his coffee again. "I love you too."
Standalone
R (swearing, BDSM)
written February 2008
for bert_and_gerard's Secret Slashy Sweetheart challenge, and slashfic25 prompt 23: challenge.
When Gerard suggests he wear it to work, Bert is terrified. Sure, the thing's uncomfortable, and that won't be fun, but what worries him the most is the fact that he'll have to spend the whole fucking day explaining it -- once he comes up with a decent explanation, that is. The truth won't cut it, not by a long shot, because the truth is just fucking disturbing ... or, at least, it will be to his co-workers.
It's bad enough that they think Bert's a crazy motherfucker (which he doesn't deny). It had taken the company a while to adjust to the boyfriend thing (Gerard had considered going to the Christmas party in drag as "Geraldine", but the fishnet stockings and satin lingerie were damaged beyond repair after an action-packed weekend and they couldn't afford any more ... But the main reason they changed their mind was because Gerard looks like a tramp in drag). As it is, some of the older people in the office still look at him as if he's a freak. Bert doesn't give a shit what people think of him -- not really -- but he doesn't want to lose his fucking job over it. Not when they've just put the down-payment on the apartment and Gerard wants to spend a few weeks in Europe this summer. They need all the money they can get. Gerard's working fifty hours a week at the ad agency, trying desperately to get promoted to head of the graphic design department, and Bert would feel like a total fucking tool if he got fired because of ... because of this.
He clears his throat. The leather is tight around his neck, pressing at his Adam's apple, and he's not sure whether to swallow or retch. He takes a deep breath and swallows, feeling the strap tighten, then ease. Slightly. He's sure the skin around it is red and swollen, probably chafed. By the end of the day it'll be raw.
If anyone asks, it's a new type of necklace. Some trendy shit for metrosexual men. A birthday present from his sister.
***
Gerard had purred like a fucking cat when Bert emerged from the bedroom in the morning, wearing the thin, tight leather collar with his usual work attire -- an open-necked shirt, jeans and Chucks. Gerard had licked his lips and ran his hands through his hair, then dropped to his knees in the middle of the fucking kitchen to blow Bert for being "such a good boy". When he was done (and Bert was leaning against the dishwasher, panting like the crumpled, post-orgasmic mess he was), Gerard stood up, dusted off his pants and offered to make Bert a cup of coffee. Bert, still breathing heavily, nodded weakly and made an effort to button his jeans while Gerard bustled around the kitchen like a housewife, filling the jug, rinsing out a mug, going to the fridge for the milk ... It occurred to Bert that he should probably offer to reciprocate.
"Don't even think about it," Gerard said as he handed the steaming mug to Bert. "You won't be able to deep-throat with that thing on."
"Good point," he said with a laugh.
Gerard reached out to run his fingers along Bert's throat and tilt his face upwards. "I don't want to hurt you, baby ... I just want to own you."
"You do."
"Are you sure?"
Bert nodded, eyes wide, and set his coffee on the counter. Gerard stared back at him for a moment before his mouth stretched into a smile.
"Whose are you?" he asked, hooking his fingers under Bert's collar, voice soft, caressing. Bert closed his eyes and pressed his palms against the cupboards behind him. His head was spinning.
"Yours," he whispered, throat constricted. "All yours."
Gerard kissed him then, kissed him with the mingled taste of coffee and come on his breath, tongue teasing the corners of Bert's mouth, teeth nipping at his lips. Bert sighed and tilted his head back, allowing himself to be devoured, and his legs nearly buckled underneath him. He let out a long, shaky breath.
"I believe you," Gerard said. "You're mine. All mine. And you're gonna wear this to work to prove it, yeah?"
"Yes." Bert was fully hard again and mentally cursed himself. He didn't want to be one of those creepy guys on the subway trying to hide his boner. Then Gerard kissed him again and he forgot all about it as he kissed back, lifting his arms and sliding them around Gerard's waist, pulling him closer ...
"We don't have enough time," Gerard mumbled.
"I know." Bert sighed and dropped his arms. "Fuck, I wish I could call in sick today."
"Me too," Gerard said with a grin. "I blame you, you know."
He raised an eyebrow.
"For being so hot. I may be the dom, but you're not the only fuckin' slave."
Bert laughed and reached for his coffee again. "I love you too."