Testosterone Boys and Harlequin Girls - 3
Title - Testosterone Boys and Harlequin Girls
Author - consistant
Rating - R/NC17
Pairing - Frank/Mikey (and other random pairings)
Status - Chapter 3
Summary - A twisted Moulin Rouge, a Glitterati crowd and a whore on a swing.
POV - 3rd person
Disclaimer - Don't own, don't know, don't sue. This is completely and totality fictional.
Author's Note - I know how to spell Michael, don't worry i'm not that stupid! Michel is Mikey's stage name, NOT Michael.
Chapters:
Chapter One
Chapter Two
_________________________________________________________________
Testosterone Boys and Harlequin Girls - Chapter Three
Frank sits nervously upon the satin couch, ringing his hands and trying not to get up and run from this blood red chamber. The Red Room, he thinks Gerard called it. The room is certainly well named, he’s sure about that. Everything in here is a bright lustrous crimson; in particular a large king sized bed whose sheets and pillows are rich shades of ruby.
It is quiet in the room, the relentless banging of the disco music blocked out by two layered metal doors that are set into the scarlet painted wall. Frank finds the silence eerie and doesn’t like it. He longs for noise, speech, laughter, and even a scream. Anything to break this never ending vacuum.
He keeps checking his hair, fixing it obsessively and trying to keep it a certain way so it hangs over his left eye. His polished fingers fiddle with his silver lip ring as he waits and waits and waits.
Is this a joke? Is Gerard ever gonna come back? He doesn’t want to doubt the man, but as the minutes continue to slug past he is beginning to question L’Elfe Noir.
Just as he is about to get up and leave, the shining metal doors swing open with a resounding clang, releasing the disco music so that it pours inside, filling the previously quiet room with a heavy techno beat. Gerard walks in, holding the hand of a rather breath taking young boy. He is so magnificently cute that the very sight of him makes Frank slump back onto the couch and stare in bewilderment.
He’s small and slight, even skinnier and shorter than Frank himself. His stomach is so tiny, you could comfortably fit the width of a girl’s hand across it and still curl your fingers over his hip. He’s wearing the trademark testosterone drabs, kitted out in constrictingly tight denim jeans, a pink belt with silver studs, and a black shirt that rides up to show his midriff and that clings to his torso in a rather complimenting way. His skin is possibly the creamiest white Frank has ever seen and the black nail polish and the jelly bracelets around his wrists compliment his complexion perfectly. His face is bordering on indecently pretty, pale and small with a pink mouth and wide dark eyes outlined in strawberry shadow. Frank sees that the boy’s lips are adorned with snakebites and draws his own bottom lip between his teeth as he imagines sucking on those silver rings. The boy’s hair is a shocking indigo tainted black and it surrounds his little face, falling slantwise over his eyes in a gentle vale. The black strands are corrupted pleasantly by bloody looking splashes of red dye, making it look like the kid’s just got his head smashed against a brick wall.
“This is Femme Fatale,” Gerard announces proudly, a smirk playing over his lips as he sees Frank gulp noticeably. “He’s yours, if you have the cash.” He adds slyly, eyeing Frank’s pockets as though to check for a wad of money that certainly isn’t there.
“I’ll pay anything.” Frank rasps, “Is credit card okay?”
“It most certainly is.” Gerard grins, giving Femme Fatale a small pat on the ass as he makes to leave, calling over his shoulder, “We’ll discuss the details when you’re through.” He gives Frank a wink as he exits, mouthing ‘have fun’ before drawing the heavy silver doors closed, the room collapsing into silence once again.
“Hello.” Frank says nervously, staring at the gorgeous boy who is still standing by the doors as though he’s unsure of what to do next. Frank remembers Gerard’s words from before and feels slightly sorry for the kid.
“He’s new, inexperienced and eager to please, he’ll fit you a treat.”
The boy raises his hand up from his side and waves, wiggling his fingers childishly. His smile is soft from behind the mop of black hair and Frank feels a surge of pleasure swoop through his stomach. That smile is sweeter than honey.
“Bonjour…” the boy says quietly, his voice no more than a purr. His strawberry outlined eyes glitter as he moves them to study over Frank curiously. “Je m’appelle Sonny…” he adds softly.
“Nice to meet you.” Frank smiles and gestures to the seat on the couch beside him. “Please, sit down. I’d like to get to know you better, yes?”
“Mais oui.” Sonny mutters, sliding gracefully onto the plush red cushions and staring attentively at Frank with an almost reverent expression.
“First off,” Frank says, feeling a total twit for asking but feeling he should just in case. “Do you speak English?”
“Yes.” Sonny says, his voice lilted with a lustrous French accent all the same. “I speak English fluently, but I am originally from France. I only moved to America a few months ago, Gerard took me in and here I am. I work here among you Americans everyday but still the language is not quite what I…” he trails off and bites his lip in what appears punishment. Frank raises an eyebrow questioning and Sonny shrugs. “I apologise, I tend to ramble when I’m nervous…”
“Why are you nervous?” Frank asks, tilting his head and frowning.
“I’m still not used to this job. Sure, my stage name may be Femme Fatale, but there are times I don’t feel as seductive as I should. Right now I don’t feel attractive or perfect and certainly not good enough for the likes of you.” Sonny’s expression floods with shame and he looks away sadly. “I’m not worth your money.”
“You are.” Frank says gently, resting a cautious hand upon Sonny’s knee and giving it a squeeze that makes the testosterone boy glance up with what appears to be surprise. “You’re very beautiful Sonny, and you’re worth more than I bet Gerard’s selling you for.”
“Merci beaucoup…” Sonny blushes deeply.
“Femme Fatale is a very sexy name.” Frank goes on, not removing his hand but keeping it resting there coyly. “Suits you.”
“French is such a romantic language don’t you think?” Sonny says, scooting closer to Frank and allowing his customer’s hand to rise further. “So strong, so elegant, so…seductive in it’s…how you say…charm?”
“I agree.” Frank murmurs, his fingers rubbing a little on the boy’s denim clad thigh. “And the French themselves, they are indeed the sexiest of all, especially the boys…”
“You Americans are the children of the movies, we French are the children of love.” Sonny murmurs, smirking slightly. “The French are glad to die for love… Then French are the romantics. Are you a romantic?”
“I like to think so.” Frank smiles, letting his hand slip down between the boy’s legs, enjoying the friction of denim on skin. He likes the rough caress of it and delights as a small whimper escapes Sonny’s rosy lips.
“Monsieur!” Sonny gasps, faking effrontery, yet the giddy grin on his lips gives the game away.
“Oh Sonny you know you love it.” Frank purrs, beginning to stroke the boy slowly through his tight girl’s jeans.
“I cannot deny the truth…as I cannot deny you…” Sonny says quietly.
“You can deny me anything, Sonny, you only have to say.” Frank says quickly, the movements of his hand stilling. “Just because I’m paying you doesn’t mean you don’t have a right to say what goes and what doesn’t.”
“I understand.” Sonny smiles. “Now let me show you how much of a romantic I am…”
Frank gasps with surprise as Sonny shifts over, swinging his legs round to straddle Frank’s hips, his tight backside settling tantalisingly in Frank’s lap. He drapes his skinny arms around Frank’s neck and grins playfully, weaving his fingers with Frank’s raven hair and tugging slightly so Frank’s head tips back a fraction. Sonny smiles a devine smile as he lets his rosy lips brush teasingly over Frank’s eager mouth. The sting of his cold lip rings make Frank shudder with anticipation.
“Sonny…” Frank pleads pathetically, bringing his hands down to slide over the boy’s backside, his fingers slipping into the tight denim pockets. “Please…”
The boy’s body is hot against his and the weight is comforting in his lap. The breath that ghosts across his skin is light and warm and all Frank wants is the sweet contact of mouth on mouth. This he soon gets.
At first the kiss is tentative, slow and gentle, but soon the heat builds up and tongues slip out to meet in a silent battle. Frank's hand slides up under Sonny’s clinging shirt, running over the boy’s smooth alabaster skin. Their lip piercings clink together, as their lips grow fierce and needy.
“Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?” Sonny manages to murmur, his breath quickened and heated as he runs the tip of his tongue against Frank’s jaw.
“Pardon?” Frank asks, puzzled as he looks up into Sonny’s dilated, wide eyes that look so lustful it’s almost shocking.
“It means…” Sonny giggles softly, lowering his warm lips to Frank’s crimson ear. “Would you like to sleep with me tonight?”
Frank licks his lips nervously, his heart beating a drum roll against his chest as he feels Sonny grind down against him encouragingly. He groans, his hands gripping the testosterone boy's hips as his mouth becomes agape as he tries to summon up a coherent answer.
“Oui…” he breathes, his eyes slipping closed as Sonny’s gentle lips begin to caress his throat.
*Comments are <3*
Author - consistant
Rating - R/NC17
Pairing - Frank/Mikey (and other random pairings)
Status - Chapter 3
Summary - A twisted Moulin Rouge, a Glitterati crowd and a whore on a swing.
POV - 3rd person
Disclaimer - Don't own, don't know, don't sue. This is completely and totality fictional.
Author's Note - I know how to spell Michael, don't worry i'm not that stupid! Michel is Mikey's stage name, NOT Michael.
Chapters:
Chapter One
Chapter Two
_________________________________________________________________
Testosterone Boys and Harlequin Girls - Chapter Three
Frank sits nervously upon the satin couch, ringing his hands and trying not to get up and run from this blood red chamber. The Red Room, he thinks Gerard called it. The room is certainly well named, he’s sure about that. Everything in here is a bright lustrous crimson; in particular a large king sized bed whose sheets and pillows are rich shades of ruby.
It is quiet in the room, the relentless banging of the disco music blocked out by two layered metal doors that are set into the scarlet painted wall. Frank finds the silence eerie and doesn’t like it. He longs for noise, speech, laughter, and even a scream. Anything to break this never ending vacuum.
He keeps checking his hair, fixing it obsessively and trying to keep it a certain way so it hangs over his left eye. His polished fingers fiddle with his silver lip ring as he waits and waits and waits.
Is this a joke? Is Gerard ever gonna come back? He doesn’t want to doubt the man, but as the minutes continue to slug past he is beginning to question L’Elfe Noir.
Just as he is about to get up and leave, the shining metal doors swing open with a resounding clang, releasing the disco music so that it pours inside, filling the previously quiet room with a heavy techno beat. Gerard walks in, holding the hand of a rather breath taking young boy. He is so magnificently cute that the very sight of him makes Frank slump back onto the couch and stare in bewilderment.
He’s small and slight, even skinnier and shorter than Frank himself. His stomach is so tiny, you could comfortably fit the width of a girl’s hand across it and still curl your fingers over his hip. He’s wearing the trademark testosterone drabs, kitted out in constrictingly tight denim jeans, a pink belt with silver studs, and a black shirt that rides up to show his midriff and that clings to his torso in a rather complimenting way. His skin is possibly the creamiest white Frank has ever seen and the black nail polish and the jelly bracelets around his wrists compliment his complexion perfectly. His face is bordering on indecently pretty, pale and small with a pink mouth and wide dark eyes outlined in strawberry shadow. Frank sees that the boy’s lips are adorned with snakebites and draws his own bottom lip between his teeth as he imagines sucking on those silver rings. The boy’s hair is a shocking indigo tainted black and it surrounds his little face, falling slantwise over his eyes in a gentle vale. The black strands are corrupted pleasantly by bloody looking splashes of red dye, making it look like the kid’s just got his head smashed against a brick wall.
“This is Femme Fatale,” Gerard announces proudly, a smirk playing over his lips as he sees Frank gulp noticeably. “He’s yours, if you have the cash.” He adds slyly, eyeing Frank’s pockets as though to check for a wad of money that certainly isn’t there.
“I’ll pay anything.” Frank rasps, “Is credit card okay?”
“It most certainly is.” Gerard grins, giving Femme Fatale a small pat on the ass as he makes to leave, calling over his shoulder, “We’ll discuss the details when you’re through.” He gives Frank a wink as he exits, mouthing ‘have fun’ before drawing the heavy silver doors closed, the room collapsing into silence once again.
“Hello.” Frank says nervously, staring at the gorgeous boy who is still standing by the doors as though he’s unsure of what to do next. Frank remembers Gerard’s words from before and feels slightly sorry for the kid.
“He’s new, inexperienced and eager to please, he’ll fit you a treat.”
The boy raises his hand up from his side and waves, wiggling his fingers childishly. His smile is soft from behind the mop of black hair and Frank feels a surge of pleasure swoop through his stomach. That smile is sweeter than honey.
“Bonjour…” the boy says quietly, his voice no more than a purr. His strawberry outlined eyes glitter as he moves them to study over Frank curiously. “Je m’appelle Sonny…” he adds softly.
“Nice to meet you.” Frank smiles and gestures to the seat on the couch beside him. “Please, sit down. I’d like to get to know you better, yes?”
“Mais oui.” Sonny mutters, sliding gracefully onto the plush red cushions and staring attentively at Frank with an almost reverent expression.
“First off,” Frank says, feeling a total twit for asking but feeling he should just in case. “Do you speak English?”
“Yes.” Sonny says, his voice lilted with a lustrous French accent all the same. “I speak English fluently, but I am originally from France. I only moved to America a few months ago, Gerard took me in and here I am. I work here among you Americans everyday but still the language is not quite what I…” he trails off and bites his lip in what appears punishment. Frank raises an eyebrow questioning and Sonny shrugs. “I apologise, I tend to ramble when I’m nervous…”
“Why are you nervous?” Frank asks, tilting his head and frowning.
“I’m still not used to this job. Sure, my stage name may be Femme Fatale, but there are times I don’t feel as seductive as I should. Right now I don’t feel attractive or perfect and certainly not good enough for the likes of you.” Sonny’s expression floods with shame and he looks away sadly. “I’m not worth your money.”
“You are.” Frank says gently, resting a cautious hand upon Sonny’s knee and giving it a squeeze that makes the testosterone boy glance up with what appears to be surprise. “You’re very beautiful Sonny, and you’re worth more than I bet Gerard’s selling you for.”
“Merci beaucoup…” Sonny blushes deeply.
“Femme Fatale is a very sexy name.” Frank goes on, not removing his hand but keeping it resting there coyly. “Suits you.”
“French is such a romantic language don’t you think?” Sonny says, scooting closer to Frank and allowing his customer’s hand to rise further. “So strong, so elegant, so…seductive in it’s…how you say…charm?”
“I agree.” Frank murmurs, his fingers rubbing a little on the boy’s denim clad thigh. “And the French themselves, they are indeed the sexiest of all, especially the boys…”
“You Americans are the children of the movies, we French are the children of love.” Sonny murmurs, smirking slightly. “The French are glad to die for love… Then French are the romantics. Are you a romantic?”
“I like to think so.” Frank smiles, letting his hand slip down between the boy’s legs, enjoying the friction of denim on skin. He likes the rough caress of it and delights as a small whimper escapes Sonny’s rosy lips.
“Monsieur!” Sonny gasps, faking effrontery, yet the giddy grin on his lips gives the game away.
“Oh Sonny you know you love it.” Frank purrs, beginning to stroke the boy slowly through his tight girl’s jeans.
“I cannot deny the truth…as I cannot deny you…” Sonny says quietly.
“You can deny me anything, Sonny, you only have to say.” Frank says quickly, the movements of his hand stilling. “Just because I’m paying you doesn’t mean you don’t have a right to say what goes and what doesn’t.”
“I understand.” Sonny smiles. “Now let me show you how much of a romantic I am…”
Frank gasps with surprise as Sonny shifts over, swinging his legs round to straddle Frank’s hips, his tight backside settling tantalisingly in Frank’s lap. He drapes his skinny arms around Frank’s neck and grins playfully, weaving his fingers with Frank’s raven hair and tugging slightly so Frank’s head tips back a fraction. Sonny smiles a devine smile as he lets his rosy lips brush teasingly over Frank’s eager mouth. The sting of his cold lip rings make Frank shudder with anticipation.
“Sonny…” Frank pleads pathetically, bringing his hands down to slide over the boy’s backside, his fingers slipping into the tight denim pockets. “Please…”
The boy’s body is hot against his and the weight is comforting in his lap. The breath that ghosts across his skin is light and warm and all Frank wants is the sweet contact of mouth on mouth. This he soon gets.
At first the kiss is tentative, slow and gentle, but soon the heat builds up and tongues slip out to meet in a silent battle. Frank's hand slides up under Sonny’s clinging shirt, running over the boy’s smooth alabaster skin. Their lip piercings clink together, as their lips grow fierce and needy.
“Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?” Sonny manages to murmur, his breath quickened and heated as he runs the tip of his tongue against Frank’s jaw.
“Pardon?” Frank asks, puzzled as he looks up into Sonny’s dilated, wide eyes that look so lustful it’s almost shocking.
“It means…” Sonny giggles softly, lowering his warm lips to Frank’s crimson ear. “Would you like to sleep with me tonight?”
Frank licks his lips nervously, his heart beating a drum roll against his chest as he feels Sonny grind down against him encouragingly. He groans, his hands gripping the testosterone boy's hips as his mouth becomes agape as he tries to summon up a coherent answer.
“Oui…” he breathes, his eyes slipping closed as Sonny’s gentle lips begin to caress his throat.
*Comments are <3*