Hold Still [1]
Frank/Jeph
One-shot
AU, written with xoverau & beatpropx. The Used boys & Frank are working as trendy punk hairdressers with tendencies towards perversion. Jeph suggests a few things to Frank, & Frank isn't sure he wants to accept the offer. Rated NC-17. Kink warnings - mostly BDSM stuff.
15,895 words
Written July 10, 2005
If there's one thing Frank loathes, it's coming in late. He knows everyone is willing to pick up the slack. He knows it can't be helped - he had to go three hours out last night, into a crappy little suburb, for some shit bands doing a festival for charity. They paid well, and he flirted more than he usually does in a week at the shop, but even so. No number of connections will make up for the fact that he is so fucking late. When he comes into the shop, he tries not to bang the door, but ends up doing it anyway. Nobody really notices. Dread is loud and overbooked and Branden has an ampallang scheduled for today, so Jeph is going to be preoccupied for hours.
Sure enough, when Frank glances around, he spots Jeph in the back by the piercing booth. He's making a sort of feeble, whimpering noise. Quinn is at his corner, singing loudly and off-key. Frank doesn't quite recognize it, but it sounds like some boy-band crap. N'Sync, maybe. He shakes his head and mumbles, "Fucking flamers," then yells, "Quinn, I'm back, you might want to tone it down a bit."
Quinn's head snaps up, and he tosses his scissors onto the counter. "One second," he tells the guy in the chair, and before Frank knows it Quinn is hugging him around the waist. "You're back!" he yelps. Jeph, by the piercing booth, looks up and waves, laughing.
"No shit, Captain Obvious." He grins and drapes an arm around Quinn's shoulders. "Hey, Jeph. He's not letting you back there, you know."
"I can try!" Jeph says this loudly, and leans forward a bit, nudging the curtain with his head. "Isn't that right, Branden?"
"He's been trying all morning." Quinn pouts. He lets go of Frank, then turns back to the guy whose Mohawk he's reshaping. "Seriously, the second he got in this morning, it was all he talked about. Fucking pervert."
"That's classic," Jeph yells, "coming from you, just fucking classic." They both laugh. Frank makes his way to the front counter; someone's left coffee and a pack of cigarettes for him. He hops onto the desk and starts drinking.
"Motherfucker," he says, wiping his mouth. There's no milk or creamer or anything - just straight black coffee. "Jepha, no making my coffee anymore, you asshole."
Jeph makes his way to the front. "Sorry, sorry." He grins and flops down in the chair, kicking his feet up on the desk next to Frank. "You know how bad soy milk tastes with coffee? Fucking terrible, that's how. And don't even get me started on the nut milk."
There's a long pause while Frank kind of squints at him. Quinn glances over his shoulder, stifles a chuckle, and turns back to his work. Finally, Branden gives in and calls out, "Did you just say nut milk?" He pauses. "I mean. Dude. Jepha, I know how you are, but... dude, I'm never touching your goddamn coffee again. Oh. Man." Jeph groans and rests his forehead in his hands.
"Don't even pull that shit," he says. Frank can tell he's trying not to laugh as he speaks. "If I really did that, you'd drink twice as much. Admit it." Branden lets out a strangled noise, and they see a hand reach out and pull the curtain farther closed. "He totally would," Jeph says, shaking his head and clicking his tongue.
Quinn sets his scissors down again, kisses his hand, and pats the guy's head. "All done," he says cheerfully, then spins around to face them. "So can I go back to bitching about today? Can I? Please?" Jeph rolls his eyes, but Frank just nods and takes out a cigarette. He doesn't have the energy to be particularly catty today. Quinn starts sweeping the floor as he speaks. "So like I said, Jepha and Branden were arguing all morning - "
"It's an ampallang, and besides, you didn't see the guy." Jeph runs his tongue over his lower lip, then winks at Frank. Branden chooses this moment to fling the curtain open, and the guy in question wobbles out of the booth. Unfazed, Jeph glances over his shoulder and gives the guy another look. He's tall and he's wearing a leather jacket with numerous zippers - exactly Jeph's type. Frank laughs and waves to him and Branden.
"Don't mind Jeph," he says, smiling. "He hasn't gotten laid since dinosaurs roamed the earth."
The guy acknowledges it with a nod and a strained smile, then makes his way out of the shop. He's walking with his legs sort of bowed out. Jeph just smirks and kind of arches his hips up a little - nothing blatant, but Frank recognizes it appreciatively. Jeph's a showoff about his own ampallang but Frank supposes he's earned the right. As much as he likes screwing around with his body, there's a strict ban on needles in places the sun doesn't reach; he has massive amounts of respect for Jeph.
"You know," Jeph says, yawning, "don't be jealous. Just because I get twice as much ass as you do..." He pauses, then repeats it, frowning a little. "As much ass as. Whoa. What the hell."
Frank blows smoke at him. Branden, who is already back in his booth with another customer, yells, "The ass doesn't count if it's Quinn's mom." Another moment of silence.
"Which is sicker?" Quinn finally asks, eyes wide. "The mom part, or the Jeph-and-a-chick part?" He seems genuinely concerned about the question; he's completely forgotten the broom in his hands.
"I'm only mostly gay, dickhead," Jeph says. "But. Your mom. I don't know, man, that's a little too close to incest for me."
"And fucking twins isn't?" Frank laughs, stubs out his cigarette, and hops off the desk. There's a girl with red-streaked black hair and bondage pants in the doorway; he nods to her and points to a chair. "Raven, right? What do you want today, sweetheart?" Raven is one of what they affectionately refer to as the "babygoths" - teenage, impressionable, heavily into Ville Valo and writing poetry with the word 'crimson'. Irritating on some days, but Frank's had his nicotine fix, so she's harmless enough. Raven wants her hair chopped short and messy, and dyed all black; someone's clearly changing her scene. Frank says nothing but smirks at Jeph in the mirror. Jeph mouths, be nice.
Quinn says, suddenly, "Oh! And one other thing happened. Besides them arguing." Frank raises one eyebrow. "Bert stopped by! But it was really early, so I sent him away, he seemed pretty out of it."
Behind them, Jeph moans very softly. Frank glances up. Jeph is making a chopping motion across his throat, glaring at Quinn. Frank pulls Raven's hair into a tight ponytail and tells her, "Say goodbye." She makes a mournful noise as he starts snipping it off. Jeph says in a rather pained voice, "He was not out of it." In the mirror, Frank can see Jeph's face grow tight and angry. He mouths, is it what I think? Jeph nods.
He says to Quinn, "I'm going for a lunch break." As he walks out, shoulders hunched, he mumbles to Frank, "Fuckin' meth." Frank feels a sharp dagger of sympathy in his gut.
Jeph doesn't get worked up about much - Frank has seen him burst out laughing in the middle of giving a hand job, and not even miss a stroke. (Well, not seen so much, but that's just details.) But Jeph does have his moments of angst and fear, and if there's one thing that always gets him, it's Bert, who hangs around the shop looking for odd jobs and companionship. Jeph gave Bert his first drink, his first tab of ecstasy, and now he has more guilt than anyone Frank knows. And Frank was raised Catholic, so that's something.
He turns back to Raven, who now has her eyes screwed shut, as if she's afraid to look. He starts cutting - shorter here, longer there. Frank works best when he can just do whatever the fuck he wants, and apparently this is the look she's going for. It's a nice distraction. When he's nearly finished, he feels warm, solid hands on his hips. He arches back a little - it's Quinn, he can tell from the way the entire body moves forward, as opposed to just the hips.
"Heeey," Quinn whispers happily. He pushes his face into Frank's neck, making soft noises. "Jepha's gonna be okay, right?"
"Sure he is," Frank says, smiling. He mists Raven's hair lightly, and she giggles at the wetness. Quinn runs his hands up Frank's sides to his chest. "God, you're a touchwhore sometimes."
"I know!" Quinn laughs. "Isn't it fabulous?"
-----
Frank likes Jeph best when he walks the edge - when he's like this, kneeling so the curve of his back implies submission, but looking up with defiant eyes. Jeph wets his lips and says, almost casually, "You don't fucking scare me, you know."
Frank starts unbuttoning his shirt.
He can see the way Jeph's eyes follow the slow, deliberate movements of his fingers. He hopes the shaking isn't visible - he knows the rest of him looks every inch the master. The way he tries to keep his jaw lifted ever so slightly, so he looks down at an angle; the way he stands with his legs spaced apart. But those damn shaking hands might give him away.
He undoes the last button, but leaves the shirt on. Runs a hand back up the flat planes of his stomach and chest; slow and careful, with just the pads of his fingertips brushing his skin. Jeph whimpers. That's when Frank is sure his hands aren't shaking. That small sound... He forgets the fact that on Monday, he'll see Jeph at work again; forgets that this is the boy who still teases Frank about owning a stuffed rabbit. Jeph is kneeling with his hands tied together by a thin leather cord. And he's fucking whimpering, and Frank hasn't even touched him yet.
So he forgets everything. And he says, "You better be scared." He doesn't even pay attention to how faintly ridiculous he sounds. "You better be, because you're mine now, and I can make you do whatever... I... want." The last words get dragged out, heavy with his faster breathing.
Jeph doesn't say anything, but he bows his head forward slightly. A lock of hair falls in his eyes. Frank can see the naked edge of his back, and the muscles that end abruptly at the line of his tight jeans. Jeph closes his eyes.
Frank steps forward. He drops to one knee, running a thumb along the line of Jeph's cheekbone. He whispers, "Are you listening to me?" Jeph nods once. Fast. Frank smiles and lets his hand fall down, tracing over the tendons in Jeph's neck, the distinct line of his collarbone. The soft texture of his skin. "If you're listening, then I want you to tell me." It's all an excuse to get Jeph to talk again, to let Frank hear the low, thick sound of his voice - the way it gets throatier when he's turned on. Frank can see the tensing in his thighs, where his jeans stretch even tighter.
"Yes," Jeph says, and swallows hard. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm listening, sir." He shakes his head quickly.
Frank watches the movement. He brushes Jeph's hair out of his face - the same hair he cut last night. Maybe in preparation for this, maybe not. Jeph doesn't acknowledge his gratitude, but that's all right; Frank has all night to make him say thank you. He stands up again. Jeph is still watching him quietly - imagine that, Jeph Howard, quiet. Frank plays with the zipper of his jeans lightly, just drifting his hand over the tight denim.
"I like it when you call me sir," he says, trying to keep the words distinct. "You do... want to do things I like. Don't you?" He keeps his hand as steady as his voice, just smooth movements, his fingertips making slow circles.
Jeph nods. He doesn't look like he's lying.
Frank unzips his jeans, pushes them down off his hips slightly. He doesn't think Jeph's lying, either. "Okay," he says. "All right." He steps forward again, and places his hand at the back of Jeph's head. When he pushes down, Jeph bends willingly.
-----
Frank is pretty much used to Jeph staring at his ass by now, but it's noon, and it's very unlike Jeph to not do anything after all that time. At the very least, Frank's been expecting a quick grope as Jeph passes, and he hasn't even gotten that.
So when he spots Jeph glancing over and laughing as he heads out for lunch, it's the final straw. Frank turns around and yells, "God, if you want to touch it, just go ahead and do it." Quinn laughs so hard he nearly drops his blow-dryer; Jeph doesn't look up from the trim he's finishing.
"Since when have any of us hesitated to do that?" Quinn asks, scooping up the blow-dryer. "Besides Branden, but seriously, man. It's Jepha." Jeph nods at this. From somewhere in back, Branden yells something that sounds like, "Damn straight!"
"Well then," Frank sighs, letting the door close, "why does he keep staring?" Quinn opens his mouth, pauses, then closes it again. He looks completely bewildered. Frank laughs and nods firmly. "That's what I thought, fucker." Jeph rolls his eyes and sets his scissors down, then makes his way over to the door. He grabs Frank by the shoulders and turns him around.
Pointing to Frank's ass, he says loudly, "You cannot tell me this isn't hilarious." Frank twists around; he doesn't see anything funny. Nothing spilled.
Quinn squints a bit at it, then shrugs. "Don't see it," he says cheerfully, echoing Frank's thoughts. "I mean, I see it, and it's sexy as hell..." He thrusts his hips in Frank's direction, laughing, and bumps his hip into the man sitting in the chair. "Oops! Sorry, doll." He bends down and plants a kiss on the guy's head. Frank laughs and rolls his eyes.
"That's not what I mean," Jeph says. He snickers, then clears his throat. "What I mean is, Frankie, if you wanted kinky sex... There are better ways to get it."
"There definitely are!" Quinn chirps, switching the blow-dryer off. He pats the guy on the cheek, winking - it's a cheesy move, but Quinn can pull it off wonderfully. "Isn't that right?"
It probably says something about the Dread clientele that at least four men voice their agreement - and two women, though they have a sort of ironic smile on their face, as if they know how misguided they are. It definitely says something that nobody else in the shop even blinks at the exchange. Frank laughs in frustration and turns around again, slapping Jeph's cheek lightly. "You," he says, "are so weird sometimes. What's this about kinky sex, and why the hell don't I know about it?"
Jeph rubs his cheek, grinning. He takes Frank's wrist in one hand and swings it back and forth a little. "You mean it wasn't intentional?"
"What wasn't intentional?" Frank pulls his hand away, glancing over Jeph's shoulder. Quinn shrugs helplessly, still smiling widely. Frank groans and leans against the wall. Jeph reaches around his back, snaking a hand down towards his back pocket; Frank laughs and says to Quinn, "You see this? I told you, he just wanted an excuse - horny bastard." As he speaks, he moves his own hand down Jeph's side towards his leg; on the last word, he squeezes his thigh. Jeph laughs.
"Sorry, sugar," he says, rolling his eyes. "I appreciate it, but that's not what I'm talking about." From Frank's back pocket, he pulls a bandanna, waving it before Frank's nose with a flourish. One of the guys waiting, a big man in a leather jacket, lets out a choked laugh. Jeph says, "Black, left hand. S&M top."
Frank just stares. Branden makes some horrified whimpering sound in the back room. Out of the corner of his eye, Frank can see Quinn doubled over, gasping with laughter; when he can catch his breath, he says, "You are so not subtle, it fucking hurts. I mean - oh, god, no pun intended - " This sends him, and more than a couple customers, off again. Jeph smirks and flicks the bandanna at Frank's chest, then goes back to his chair, letting his hips swish the slightest bit as he walks.
"What the fuck is going on?" Frank keeps repeating this, glancing around in confusion. The big leather-clad guy blows him a kiss, grinning. Frank stalks over to Jeph and tugs at the end of the bandanna slightly. "S&M - what the fuck, Jepha? Stop projecting."
Jeph smiles and tips his head back, blowing on Frank's neck. Despite the situation at hand, it makes the hair on his arms stand up. "You're the worst gay man I've ever met. Learn your history, son, it'll do you good." When Frank groans in frustration, Jeph laughs and relents, turning around. He slings his arms around Frank's waist. "Hankie code," he drawls, punctuating his sentences with bites at Frank's ear. "Easiest way to find very kinky sex. And this - " He taps Frank's hand, the one that's still pulling on the bandanna. "This color happens to mean you like it rough."
Frank rolls his hips forward a little, then steps back, shaking his head. "Why didn't I know about this? Fucker." He undoes the bandanna, shoves it back into his pocket, giving Jeph a look - daring him to say anything.
Jeph says nothing, but a couple kids with bright blue liberty spikes say, "Because you're a fucking moron." They high-five each other. Quinn gives them a thumbs up. Frank flips them off, laughing.
"One more word," he says, "and you two get kicked out on your scrawny asses." They pretend to zip their lips up, smiling; stopping by at Dread isn't quite complete without either an insult, or full-body contact from an employee. The regulars usually get both. Frank turns back to Jeph, who is still just smirking at him. "And you," he says. "You may be completely right about my sexual predilections, but - " He jabs his finger in the air. "You will never know firsthand! Sucker."
Jeph kind of whines, but Frank's already on his way out, shaking his head. He can hear Quinn talking about the code thing - he's going on about a boy he saw at some club, with strips of cloth tied to glowsticks in his back pockets. "Like twenty!" he says, and Frank can hear the big leather guy choking on his own laughter again. "Total ho, I'm telling you. Just your type." Jeph makes some vaguely insulted noise. Frank thinks it serves him right; he's not annoyed, but sometimes Jeph can be so damn smug. Which is sexy, yes, but also... well, it makes Frank want to punch him sometimes.
When he gets back from lunch, the shop has calmed down a bit; there are only a couple people waiting. Frank has stopped by the local pretentious coffee shop, so he's a bit calmer as well. Something about asking for "straight black coffee" discombobulates the workers immensely. That amusement, plus the caffeine fix, has him set for the rest of the afternoon; he's even pretty cheerful about the music Branden's cranked up.
Branden is sitting on the desk reading a magazine; he waves with two fingers when Frank walks in, but doesn't look up. Jeph is working on streaking another babygoth's hair. He doesn't glance up either, but says, "Can you work the phone? Quinn ran out, and I'm pretty busy."
"Yeah, no problem." He sits down and rests his feet on top of Branden's knees. "Where'd he go?"
Jeph shakes his head. "He met a guy at the fucking grocery store. How do you do that?" He nods toward the back door. "He's out in the alley right now." Suddenly, the loud, thumping music makes sense. Frank laughs and shifts a little.
"Easy," he says, grinning. "They probably bonded in the meat section." Branden snorts.
"That's below the belt," Jeph says. "You know what's sexy? Vegetarian bacon. Goddamn, I would fuck anyone who fed me that stuff." He sort of moans, rolling his hips a bit. The babygoth blushes fiercely red, but doesn't take her eyes off his reflection. Frank has the bizarre desire to pinch her cheeks.
"Not fair," he says. "Using sex to sell your evil vegan propaganda."
"But you're - "
"I know, it's the principle of the thing."
The door swings open, and Frank glances up. It's Bert. He looks tired and strung-out, like he's made of thin ropes of seaweed; his hair is in his face as usual. Frank and Branden wave. Jeph doesn't. "Hey," Bert says, and his voice is a bit raspy. He coughs.
"Hey," Frank says. "Uh... what's up?"
Bert shrugs. He kicks at the floor a bit. His shoes are the same ragged, threadbare black Converses he was wearing the first day he stopped by; Frank thinks they might have been red originally, but it's hard to tell. Bert is just kind of shifting a bit, not looking up too much; Frank would bet good money he's coming down off something. "Not too much," he says, coughing again. "Anything going on? Where's Quinn?"
"Not here," Jeph sighs. "No. Nothing's going on, Bert." Frank winces inwardly. Jeph means well, he really does, but his version of "meaning well" can be limited to "not losing his temper and punching somebody in the nose."
"Hey," he says, sitting up. "We've got some deals going next week, you mind running these around town?" He shuffles through the papers on the desk, then pulls out a stack of flyers. Next week, Warped Tour is stopping by; about half the audience ends up stopping by Dread for new hairstyles, or just to check up on their mosh buddies. Get schedules together. Frank thinks that doing styles half-price next week is ridiculous, but they end up making extra every year, and he'd feel guilty charging regular price. Some kids here this week will be in again next week - not out of need, just loyalty.
Bert just nods, takes the flyers. He offers a tiny smile to Jeph. There's no response. Branden claps him on the shoulder and mumbles, "He's pretty busy right now, man." Bert nods again. He has this compulsion - Frank has never seen him disagree with anyone. If it were anyone else, it'd even be sweet.
"Thanks," he whispers, then kicks the floor again. "I'll come back for more later." Then he's gone, dodging a pair of skinny boys in tight jeans.
"Fucking addict," Branden says. It comes out a lot more affectionately than he probably meant. "Asshole's never gonna do shit in his life. I swear."
Jeph throws a bottle of dye in the sink, a bit harder than he needs to. "Not true," he says. "He's a kid. He can get off it, we both know that. Don't just... don't just dismiss him." He pauses. There's a bit of time where it's just Branden's CD blaring. "I did it," Jeph continues, as if he expects everyone to follow his train of thought. "And he's just as fucking tough as I am. So."
Branden shrugs. Frank watches him work for awhile; the babygoth is still staring at Jeph's hips, kind of in awe. Frank tries not to laugh. "Hey, Bran," he says, "you got any ampallangs coming up soon?" Branden laughs and flips him off.
Jeph turns around, smiles a bit. He nods at Frank. "Real subtle," he says. "Cheer Jeph up with sex."
"Like you're complaining." Frank blows him a kiss, then lisps, "You love it, sweetheart."
"Fuck yes, I do." Jeph laughs. He's still slamming the faucets on and off a bit harder than he needs to, but his voice sounds looser. "It's because of that fucking bandanna, asshole."
"You do not get to tie me up!" Frank sits up and tugs at Branden's sleeve a bit. "Tell him," he says. "Tell him he doesn't get to." Branden bats at his hand, not glancing up from his magazine.
"Don't worry," Jeph says, grinning. He tells the babygoth to wait a second, then strides over to Frank. "I told you, left side means you're a top. You'd be tying me up." He places a quick kiss on the top of Frank's head and, ignoring Frank's look of shock, makes his way back to the chair. He's definitely swishing his hips more than he should.
Frank is trying really hard not to think about what Jeph looks like with his arms tied above his head, but fucking hell, Jeph makes it hard sometimes. He nudges Branden's leg with his toe. "Tell him," he whines. "Tell him he isn't allowed to do this to me. Unlike some people, I don't have half an hour for skanky alley sex, hint hint - does anyone want to do that with me? Yes, no? Damn you, Jepha Howard!" The rant is half melodrama and half confused, honest lust.
Jeph, of course, completely ignores him. He's whistling as he strips the tinfoil off the babygoth's hair. Branden says mildly, "I'm not saying shit until you move your feet. No feet in my crotch, motherfucker." Frank groans and kicks Branden a bit harder.
"I hate you," he says. "Just so you know. I really do. Hey, Jepha, did you know I'm really hard right now? That's all. Not a big deal." Branden claps his hands over his ears.
That's when the back door bangs open and Quinn enters, shirt half-buttoned. "Hey!" he says, giggling. He's wiping at his mouth and smiling brightly. Chunks of blonde hair are sticking up, but he just turns to the mirror, smooths them down with one hand. "I miss anything good?"
-----
Frank is trying so damn hard not to give in already. Five minutes, and he's already on edge - a feeling he's used to, but not around Jeph, never like this. Normally, it takes a long night to get him like this, or a good steady fifteen minutes of tattooing - something constant. Not just Jeph, not even Jeph with his hands behind his back, making him sit straighter to keep his balance.
It's harder for him to do this without his hands. Frank toys with the idea of untying him, but that means telling Jeph to pull back; he doesn't think he could bear that. Jeph's mouth is warmly wet, and his tongue is working slow, in wide strokes. Frank can just barely keep his hips still. He wants to make this easier and he wants to keep Jeph how he is, and he's torn apart by all the desire, so he just stays still. Tips his head back and lets the tight pressure of Jeph's lips sweep over him.
"Fuck," he says. Jeph makes some noncommittal noise. It comes out as a hum, making the nerve endings in Frank's skin vibrate with pleasure. He repeats himself - "Oh, fuck, yeah - oh god." Jeph's forehead is resting low against his stomach. Frank knows he should be saying something, making this more about the pain and less this sheer, crazy pleasure - less about Jeph's mouth and the cool metal of his piercings - but he can't manage it. When he moans, it sounds lower than he's used to. "Shit," he says. Jeph pulls back, his mouth coming away slowly. Frank can see a thin strand of some fluid hanging between his skin and Jeph's mouth. It's obscene and pornographic and it makes Frank want to throw him down and fuck him until neither of them can move.
When he licks his lips, it breaks. Frank steps backward, as much as he wants to do otherwise. "Fuck," he says. Jeph is panting with his mouth hanging open. "You... oh, jesus. Don't do that." Frank swallows hard. "I didn't say you could do that."
Jeph acknowledges it with a nod. He doesn't look regretful. Frank steps forward and slides his hand under the hard bone of Jeph's chin; he pulls, so Jeph has to look up at him. "Hey," he says. "I thought you were fucking listening to me."
"I am."
"Obviously not," Frank says. His voice sounds faraway. The way it sounds is the way Jeph's mouth looks - heavy and wet and that same word. Obscene. "If you were, you'd do what I ask."
Jeph shrugs. When he exhales, Frank can feel the warm air over his cock, and it makes his entire body shiver. He says, "If that's how you want to be..." His fingertips trail over the texture of Jeph's skin, the roughness from him shaving every day. Frank lets his thumb move across Jeph's lower lip. "If that's really how you want it."
"Yeah," Jeph says, keeping his eyes fixed to Frank's. He's still got that fucking smirk on his face. "I think I do." He leans forward, and just breathes, and Frank knows this is the part that has been keeping him up nights - the part where he backs away and finds the whip, finds whatever it is he needs to make Jeph scream and twist. But he waits a moment. He has to, because he wants a moment of this perfection. This moment where Jeph is breathing faster on purpose, and when he speaks, his lips brush the sensitive inner skin of Frank's thigh. "I want it like this." He's still smirking as he says the next part. "Sir."
-----
When Frank comes into the shop the next day, Quinn is sitting on the counter, swinging his legs back and forth. "Hey!" he exclaims, hopping down. "Morning hug?" Frank laughs and obliges him. "Much better," he says, stretching with his arms over his head. "Man. Way more awake now."
"Yeah, yeah," Frank says, leaning past him for the communal cigarette pack. "You just want an excuse to touch this."
"Mmhm, you go on thinking that," Quinn says, but he pats Frank's ass anyway. Frank laughs and takes Quinn's lighter from his shirt pocket, ignoring his loud, "That's mine!" He makes his way to the back room, lighting the cigarette carefully.
When he gets inside, he nearly drops it entirely.
Jeph is standing in front of the lost and found clothing box, bent over, and he's not wearing any pants. "Motherfucker," Frank yelps, trying not to swallow the cigarette. Jeph doesn't even twitch, just goes on pulling out different items of clothing. He tosses aside neon T-shirts and miniskirts, before pulling out a pair of jeans. Frank breathes in, then takes a slow drag off his cigarette, trying not to be fazed. It's early to get Jeph started.
Jeph turns around, smirking. "Forgot to get my laundry done yesterday," he explains, shimmying into the jeans. "Check these out. Diesel, I think some misguided scene chick left 'em."
"Come on, you know it was definitely a guy."
Jeph considers Frank's words, then nods, laughing. "Sounds about right. Man, these are gonna cut off circulation or something." He looks over his own shoulder, and Frank wonders briefly if he's actually become cocky enough to start checking out his own ass. "Hey," Jeph says, "is there something on the back? I think there is, but I can't tell."
"Thinly veiled excuse to get me to touch your ass?"
"Yep." He laughs and spins around, arms raised above his head. His T-shirt raises up a little. Just enough for Frank to see thin stripes of color tattooed across his skin. Frank smiles and pulls him close by the hips, sliding a hand down, careful to keep the other - with the cigarette - away from his clothes. He kisses the place where Jeph's neck meets his shoulder lightly.
"You get a little bit extra, for honesty," he mumbles. Then he lets go. Jeph practically bounces past him into the front, and Frank rolls his eyes. He starts putting the clothes back into the box. He hears Branden come in and start talking about some show he went to yesterday; when he comes back outside as well, he spots a patch of gauze on Branden's hand. "New tattoo?" he asks, putting out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray.
"Mmhm." He grins. "It's a star, red and black, fuckin' fantastic. Didn't even sleep last night. Went and got this instead."
Jeph rolls his eyes. "Careful you don't pass out while you're working," he says. "Fall face-first into someone's PA... oh, wait, nevermind." He leers at Branden, and Branden just laughs and pokes his nose.
"You wish," he says. "Nah, I brought candy!" Branden has a fixation on marijuana lollipops; he maintains they give him energy and cheer him up. If he's in a really good mood, he'll even humor them and start describing how they increase his libido. Branden might not be gay, but he's learned to get along at Dread; it works out pretty well. He gets the majority of the girls. They get a piercer who doesn't mind Frank's tendency towards erections when he's getting work done. In the end, Frank thinks it balances out very nicely.
Jeph, uninterested in the prospect of lollipops when he's had more than enough real pot, turns to Quinn. "Morning hug?" he asks, grinning. Quinn laughs and pulls him into a kiss, hands twisted in his hair. Frank just rolls his eyes and starts setting up his corner. He didn't sleep much last night either; most days, he'd be all for the obscene display on the counter, but right now he has other things to focus on.
Besides, Jeph can be a bit much. He's the most intense person Frank knows - something he didn't catch onto for the first couple weeks. Jeph showed up with an application and resume written in blue crayon, and gauges in his ear big enough to see through. He called Frank "sweetheart" and explained, rather cheerfully, how he was also considering a job as a prostitute, so he wasn't positive he wanted the Dread job. "Whichever will give me more life experience," he said, nodding firmly. Frank was determined to have him work there - he seemed like such a fucking character, and the perfect complement to Quinn. But he also seemed like he'd never do any actual work.
And then, a couple weeks after he was hired, Frank saw Jeph sitting in his corner after they'd closed up. He was sketching away, biting his lip, and when Frank came over, Jeph held up a rough sketch of a pair of shears. "What do you think?" he'd asked, laughing. "Logo, for the shop."
Frank, who was more than a bit stoned at the time, glanced over it and immediately started clapping and trying to whistle. Branden and Quinn made their way over and looked at it, and they had the same reaction; they sat down to touch it up together, and by the end of the night, they were all fairly high. At Jeph's suggestion, they even decided to add a few drops of blood. In the morning, Frank thought it looked fucking ridiculous, but he said nothing - they had all been stoned. And the original, the shears, were fucking fantastic.
And then he realized that, without him even noticing, Jeph had realized he'd been working on coming up with a logo. And he'd sketched his own idea, and it had been good. All without Frank even being aware. So he decided hiring Jeph was a good idea, and he's never really changed his opinion that. But Christ, the amount of energy in the store can really drain him sometimes.
Sure enough, as he's refilling the water mister, he feels a pair of hands rest on his shoulders. "Hi, Jeph," he says.
"Hey. Sooo, you changed your mind yet?" Jeph's hips arch forward, and Frank can't help falling backward against him a little. Jeph is comfortable.
"About...?"
"About having your cruel, violent way with a certain someone." Jeph rests his head on Frank's shoulder. In the mirror, they look good. They have similar hair colors, and Jeph's skin tone is just dark enough to make Frank look paler. Smaller. He smiles a bit.
"If this is about that S&M thing, you can go fuck yourself." He keeps smiling, tipping his head back against Jeph's. "I'm not tying you up." Jeph whimpers, slides a hand down Frank's chest.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure!" Even though his tone is irritated, he lets himself sink against the solid warmth of Jeph's chest and stomach. Jeph drums out patterns on his shoulder. Frank lifts his own hand to rest on Jeph's, watches the way their hands look, twined together against his shirt. He can hear Quinn wolf-whistling in the background, but he tunes it out.
Jeph asks, his voice low, "Why not?"
Frank just looks at their reflection. It's Jeph, who steals his Milk Duds when they see movies together, and who refuses to let anyone else do Frank's hair. "Because, " he says, "you're not really serious." He laughs and pulls away. Jeph follows him back to the counter, still kind of whimpering.
"Hey," he says, "wasn't I serious in the alley that one time?"
"Yes, well - "
"And in the bathroom of that restaurant, and in Branden's chair - " Branden lets out a noise of outrage, but Jeph plows on, ignoring it. "And when we went to that crappy horror B-movie, and when you found that nice store with the big dressing rooms, and in the alley that other time. Oh yeah, and that time when we stayed after and cleaned up the desk." There's a pause. Jeph seems completely oblivious, but Branden and Quinn are both staring with a mixture of confusion and horror. Frank just sighs and starts rearranging the stuff on the counter.
"My chair," Branden says, at the same time Quinn says, "That's a lot of times."
Jeph shrugs and makes his way to the back, grinning madly. Quinn looks back over to Frank. "Wait, he really - dude! You fucked him all those times? I didn't fuck you all those times!"
"Obviously not," Frank says dryly. "I think three in a bathroom would get crowded."
"No, but - wait! I didn't fuck him all those times, either! Goddamn. I'm getting screwed over here." Quinn flings his arms around Branden's neck. "You gotta help me even it out here, seriously, I'm losing pretty badly." Branden swats at him half-heartedly.
"You know," Frank says, "you do tend to suck a lot more than you fuck. That has something to do with it. Just saying." Jeph nods enthusiastically. Quinn glances between them, still frowning.
"Are you sure - I just, oh, okay, maybe you have a point. But I fuck too! I totally fuck. Jeph, tell him how much I do that."
Jeph shrugs helplessly, then turns back to Frank. "Think about it!" He nods, smiling. "I look really good when I'm in handcuffs, swear to god. You'd like it." Frank kicks the wall. Jeph is a pain in the ass and never serious about anything and is going to laugh hysterically if he ever says yes. But goddamn, Jeph in handcuffs. Someday he's going to die of stress, just from trying to understand him.
Branden, meanwhile, is still standing in the middle of the three. He glances around. "Hello?" he asks, a bit forlornly. "My chair?"
-----
It takes a moment for Frank to step back and get the whip; he knows he has to, but it makes him hurt to look away from Jeph, for even a second. Sometimes he forgets how incredibly fucking beautiful Jeph is. His messy eyeliner, the wet shine of his lips, the muscles that begin low on his stomach and meet at the base of his cock. Frank thinks it's terrible that he should know how these look. But he steps back, pulls his jeans back up, finds the whip on the dresser where Jeph left it when he came in. He runs it over his fingers. The leather is clean and supple.
He undoes the cord around Jeph's wrists, struggling a bit with the tight knots. "Pants off," he says. Jeph nods - he can't tell if the faintest trace of sarcasm is there, or not - and removes them. Frank kind of doesn't want to do this; he likes seeing the places where the denim gets stretched thin and tight. The bulge Jeph makes no attempt to hide.
Jeph isn't wearing anything under his jeans. Frank nods briefly, running the whip against his hand again. He whispers, "Slut," and watches Jeph tense up a little. It's not a bad kind of tensing. More like he's shivering just under his skin, and Frank wants all of a sudden to make him do that again. He takes Jeph's wrist and pulls him to the bed. He can feel the bones; at the same time, Jeph's leg brushes his, and the solidness of it makes Frank dizzy. The contrast. He throws Jeph forward onto the bed before he can think about it too much.
"Hold still," he says.
Jeph nods and shifts, lying on his stomach. Frank can see his erection pressing into the thick blankets. The same ugly, deep green blankets he sleeps under at night; the same bed he bought from Ikea because he didn't know where else to get furniture. This ugly fucking thing, but Jeph's lying on it, his tattoos making bright patterns against the sheets. Jeph has his hands laced behind his head. Like he's waiting. Frank swallows hard. His mouth feels dry, but he pushes that aside, steps forward and trails the end of the whip down Jeph's spine.
"Hey," Jeph whispers, smirking faintly. "You going to do it, sir?" But it doesn't come out sarcastic. In fact, he arches back a little at the touch of the whip; he sounds almost... needy.
So Frank closes his eyes, and draws the whip away, and then he does it. Just brings it down as hard as he can, and it makes that oh-so-familiar cracking sound - skin on skin, amplified - and Jeph throws his head back, moaning. He grinds his hips down against the mattress. There's a thick red line forming on his back. Not blood, just a mark. Frank tries not to notice the tension in Jeph's arms, or the way his blood pounds, draining into his cock. He notices it anyway.
Before he brings it down again, he says, "Tell me how much you want it."
Jeph looks up at him. His eyelashes are long and heavy, and his lower lip is red from biting it. "I do want it," he says, voice ragged. "So fucking much, just - please." Frank nods sharply. For the next blow, he puts all his strength into it, watching Jeph's face closely for any sign of that twisted joy. He isn't disappointed.
-----
When Frank feels Quinn collapse onto him, he's a bit surprised anyone is even still around; it's late. Very late. Frank has a habit of staying around past midnight sometimes, just to get things in order. He's the one who runs the shop, in a way; he doesn't own it, but he's been given free reign from the owner, so it amounts to the same thing in the end. He isn't used to having anyone there with him while he does it.
"Hey," he says, wrapping his arms around Quinn's waist. "I thought you went home?"
"Mmm, well." Quinn yawns and shifts back, grinding against Frank's lap. "I came back! What're you doing here so late?"
"I do this a lot." Frank shrugs and rests his chin on Quinn's shoulder, peering past him at the stack of papers. He reaches forward and starts attempting to finish the work he was doing. Quinn sighs dramatically.
"You shouldn't be. This looks horrifically boring, y'know. Let's go out!"
Frank just laughs. He's been out the past four nights, alternating between bright, jazzy raves and more low-key indie rock shows. He's not really much for either scene but the boys there can be fantastic. He hasn't found anyone to his taste recently. Not that that's a problem - any frustration can be dismissed in minutes with a quick blowjob. It's not like Frank has a problem finding that sort of thing. He says, "Maybe tomorrow."
Quinn pouts and stands up, breaking through Frank's linked hands. "I am so fucking worked up. You don't even know, man, I really wanna do something right now."
"Yeah?" Frank arches one eyebrow. Quinn doesn't smell like alcohol, and he's not visibly stoned on anything. Though he supposes he doesn't have to be - Quinn isn't like Jeph, he doesn't get so intense, but he has to be doing things. Frank watches him settle for toying with a wind-up nun. The decor around Dread can lean towards the childish, but it keeps Quinn amused, which is all that matters sometimes.
After a moment, he watches the nun walk off the desk and fall, then sighs. "Frankie! I mean it, let's do something." Frank shrugs. Quinn pulls on his wrists, frowning, "C'mon!"
"Where we going?" Frank lets himself be pulled up, not even glancing back at the stacks of papers. It's easier to get this all done in one blow than deal with it all the time, but that doesn't mean he likes it.
Quinn swings him around, grinning. He twirls Frank over to the wall. Frank's laughing, pretending to try and get away, just to make him smile. "Hey," he says, "never told me you could dance."
"I can't!" Quinn chuckles, then pushes him into the wall, still smiling. Frank's heart stops and skips a beat, then kicks up again. Quinn kisses him. Not that this is anything strange, or that he's unused to Quinn's tongue in his mouth and hips against his, just that... well, he likes it. So it makes him a little nervous. Quinn's holding him to the wall by his wrists, pressing them above their heads.
They just stay like that for awhile, kissing deep and slow, not doing much else except sometimes pressing closer together. Frank knows, sometimes, why Quinn loves being touched so often - there's something deeply pleasurable about just feeling someone, being completely flat against them. He plays with Quinn's hair and runs his hands over the angles of his shoulderblades. Every now and then, Quinn shifts a bit to the side, until his thigh is right up between Frank's legs. "Fuck," Frank says every now and then, between kisses. He bites at Quinn's lower lip until Quinn starts groaning.
After awhile, Quinn releases one of his wrists and slides his hand down. As he's undoing Frank's zipper, he mumbles, "You don't mind if I - "
"Nah, nah - " Frank sighs deeply and links his hands behind his head, leaning back against the wall. Quinn sinks to his knees. Frank tries not to look at the way his head is bent over; if he looks too long, he'll end up pushing Quinn's head down, a habit he can't stand. Quinn and Jeph always make fun of him for it; he can't help it. He just likes the resistance. The tension between their movements and his.
Then he loses track of his thoughts. Quinn isn't doing much, just licking him slowly and carefully, but Frank finds himself panting anyway. His hips rise forward, and Quinn just goes with it, humming softly. His hands are warm and callused. Familiar. Frank sighs again.
And then Quinn pulls away, and stands up, kissing Frank solidly. He tastes like salt and sweat. "Whoa, what?" Frank mumbles, pressing his hips against Quinn's. "C'mon."
Quinn steps back a few feet, and he's laughing. Frank just looks at him. "Sorry," Quinn says, shaking his head wildly, "Jeph said to tell you hi!"
"What the fuck?" Frank laughs too despite himself. Quinn shrugs and spins around, smiling brightly.
"He said to tell you that..." Quinn scrunches up his nose, trying to remember the exact words. "Oh yeah! That, quote-unquote, he really does look good in handcuffs, honest to Christ. I bet he's telling the truth too, man, he's got a really fucking nice stomach - and man, you know I don't say that lightly - " He crosses his arms behind his head, nodding.
Frank bangs the back of his head against the wall. "That kid," he says rather mildly, "is a complete and utter prick. Are you seriously not going to - oh, motherfucker, I am so horny. You don't even know."
"I do so!" Quinn shrugs and heads towards the door, waving. "But I got twenty bucks for doing this, I'm gonna see if I can pick someone up at Dorsia - " He's still talking as he leaves, but Frank doesn't really notice much. He pulls up his jeans and collapses back into the chair.
"Motherfucker," he growls, massaging his temples. Jeph is his friend and he likes to tease Frank about anything and everything personal, which means kinky sex with him is a bad idea. Also, sado-masochism feels so... committed. So safe. Pretty much every guy Frank knows has flirted with bondage, or says they would; doing something like that with Jeph is too homey.
On the other hand, he's still got his pants unzipped, and he's hard. And Jeph is just playing dirty now. He sighs and picks up the phone, dialing Jeph's number.
He answers on the first ring. "You," Frank says, "are a complete bastard."
Jeph whoops with laughter. "Guess Quinn showed up! Aw, man, don't be sore about it. All fun. Totally."
"You know, I'd be more inclined to agree if my balls weren't blue like a summer sky. I mean it. Total asshole."
"Come on. A guy's not allowed to screw around to get his way once in awhile?" He can practically hear the mock-pout in Jeph's voice; it makes him grind his teeth together.
He says, "Look, Jepha - why the hell do you want me to, uh. To tie you up?" The words feel cliched in his mouth. Boring and tired, like every middle-aged man's sex fantasy, and if it weren't Jeph on the other end he'd just hang the fuck up right now.
"Well, for one, I also want you to hurt me." The words don't sound silly from Jeph, honestly. They sound casual and debauched and seductive, long words that feel like the smooth skin of Jeph's stomach. Frank's hand is inching back towards his pants without him even realizing it. "And I guess because you don't want to."
"You don't know that." Frank slips his hand into his pants again, not moving it, just kind of brushing it against his thigh. "How do you know that?"
"Because if you wanted to, we'd have done it already."
Frank doesn't want to admit that he has a point. Of course he wants to, but he doesn't... want to. He thinks it'll feel ridiculous and childish and it'll be a miserable failure, and he doesn't want that. So he says, "I always took you as more of a top."
"Yeah? Me too." Jeph snickers. "No, really, I'm all about the pain. Not even fucking kidding. And you know why I want you?" Frank mentally pushes aside the flutters that that sets off in his stomach.
"Why?"
"Little guys are the angriest." Frank bursts out laughing at this, in a pissed-off sort of way. "No, I mean it! They make it hurt worst. That's what I want."
"Playing off my insecurities, huh? You want me to get pissed and beat the crap out of you." Frank shakes his head.
"Exactly."
"Motherfucker," he says. Jeph seems dead serious. And Frank is really fucking hard, and still brushing a hand over his erection, and in some ways he's never grown out of being a desperate, frantic teenager. He sighs and holds his breath for a minute before he says, "Fine, you win, you fucking win."
"Fuck, yes!" Jeph yells. "You will totally not regret this. Swear to god, I'll shoot myself in the head if you do."
"Can I get that in writing?"
Jeph only laughs, still sounding ecstatic. "I'm giving Quinn another twenty for this, oh, man. Fucking fabulous." Frank sighs and slams his head against the back of the chair. He's being a fucking moron. He definitely is.
"In case you don't mind," he says, "I think I have to go jerk off now. Is that a problem? I hope that's not a problem, because I'm actually stroking myself right..." He pauses, giving himself a second to work up a rhythm. "Now."
"Oh, not a problem at all, man. See you tomorrow!" Jeph makes a kissing noise and hangs up, still laughing. Frank winces and throws the phone at the cradle. He misses, and makes a mental note to pick it up later. Right now he has to focus on Jeph in handcuffs, Jeph with his head thrown back and moaning - all that. He has to focus on it so he can jerk off and finish this work and get home.
After all, the sooner he gets this done, the sooner he can start wanting to stab himself in the face.
-----
Frank keeps promising himself that he'll stop after the next lash, but he can't make himself do it quite yet. Every time the whip comes down Jeph moans. His fingers are tangled in his own hair, pulling, and when Frank strikes especially hard, he squeezes his eyes shut. There are red marks crisscrossing his back. In a few spots, Frank has hit repeatedly and cut the skin open. There's blood smeared over his back. Not mass quantities, not enough to be dangerous, but enough to shine in the low light. Enough to make Frank want to bend down and lick it away. Make the wounds sting.
After one particularly hard blow, Jeph arches his back up, mouth open wordlessly. His lower lip shines as if it's been bloodied too. Frank catches a quick glimpse of metal - that fucking piercing, and it almost makes him laugh. But it doesn't. Mostly because he's had that piercing against the back of his throat, and it makes Jeph taste like blood and copper. He wants to taste that again. That's what makes him stop in the end - the knowledge that he's still aching to just fuck something, and if he doesn't touch Jeph now he's going to explode with it.
When he sets the whip down, he realizes he's panting. Jeph is too. He tries to slow his breathing, massages his wrist. It's a little sore. He whispers, "Are you going to listen now?"
Jeph blinks, as if he's almost forgotten there was even a reason for this. "Mmhm," he hums, not taking his eyes away from Frank. He's trembling; Frank can see it in his fingertips and the tautness of his calves. He strips off his clothes quickly - shirt on the bedpost, jeans and boxers tossed aside - and sits at the edge of the bed, bending down to run his fingertips along Jeph's back. Blood collects in his fingertips. He licks it off, and when he realizes Jeph's still watching, he makes a show of it - sucking the blood off slowly.
"Turn over," he says. Jeph is going to get blood on the sheets but he doesn't really care.
Jeph obliges, nodding very faintly. He winces at the fabric on his skin, but at the same time, he stifles a moan, so Frank isn't worried. He traces his sticky fingers over Jeph's chest. When he brushes against a nipple, Jeph shifts towards him, eyes widening slightly. Frank smirks and pinches it; he's rewarded with a small whimper. "You like that?" He moves his hand to the other nipple, repeating the movement even before hr can nod.
"Yes..." Jeph swallows, then repeats, "Yes, sir." The way he looks up makes Frank dizzy - the realization that his eyes are wide because he needs this, he's rocking his hips up because he wants Frank to touch him. That, miraculously, he is the one in charge here. It's him. He touches Jeph's hand. Lifts it, feeling the rough texture of his knuckles.
When he places Jeph's hand against his thigh, he almost collapses from how good it feels - just the sudden touch, after standing alone by the bed. Without being asked, Jeph begins to stroke him, slow and deliberate. Frank can't help letting his eyes close. He thrusts forward, a little, just enough to meet Jeph's hand. He rests his own hand against Jeph's side, squeezing hard. It seems like just another way for Frank to cause him that bit of pain, but Frank knows the truth - it's just as much to keep him from falling over.
-----
When Frank gets into the shop in the morning, he can tell it's going to be a long day. Jeph is sitting cross-legged on the desk, drinking his usual lemongrass tea; not a bad sign, but sitting in one of the chairs, staring at him, is Bert. Frank does not want to deal with this.
"Hey, guys," he says. "Uh... what's up?"
Jeph shrugs. Bert spins around in the chair, grinning, and waves. "Heeeeeey, it's my favorite Frankie! Veggie-dog man isn't out yet, I'm depressed." Frank sighs. A few weeks back, he sold some kid bad acid, and the kid broke three mirrors and someone's arm. They make Bert hang out across the street now, by the little cart with the vegetable hot dogs; he still deals from there sometimes, when he can. But he keeps coming back to the damn shop.
"I'm the only Frank you know, Bert." He rolls his eyes. "Flattery does nothing."
"Well, I can try, can't I?" He giggles and bounces off the chair, heading towards the back. "Quinn here? Is he sleeping - aw, damnit!" He sticks his head out from the room with the tanning bed. Quinn likes to sleep there when he doesn't feel like going all the way home. "I wanted to poke him."
"Motherfucker," Jeph says mildly, holding up one hand. "Not using me as a substitute. Fair?"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah - " Bert pouts and disappears into the back again, laughing madly.
Frank sighs and takes a seat next to Jeph, taking the cup of tea from him. It tastes a little sweet - Jeph adds sugar to pretty much everything he drinks. Jeph swats at his arm halfheartedly. "So," Frank says under his breath. "What's your bet?"
"Mm... minor amounts of coke."
"Yeah? I was going with a few drinks, maybe a bit of weed." Frank shrugs. "Coke works. I can see that." It isn't that he dislikes Bert - it's just that it's pretty rare he shows up sober. And most days, that isn't worth dealing with. Of course, he'd rather have Bert around right now than deal with Jeph gloating over the fact that he's won. Whatever it is he's won, anyway - Frank still doesn't get why the hell Jeph is so set on this thing.
After a few minutes of quiet, guilty discussion over the drug du jour, Bert comes back out, a thick leather band around his entire upper arm. "Check it out!" He flourishes it, still snickering.
"Where the fuck did you get that?" Jeph squints at it. There are ragged marks along one side, and a chunk missing. Bert practically claps with glee.
"Shorts! Lost and found box, cut 'em the fuck up - how badass do I look?" He flings his arm out. Frank groans and takes out a cigarette. He really needs nicotine. As in, now.
Jeph frowns, making an anguished noise. "Leather shorts? And I didn't see them? Fuck!"
Frank pats his shoulder sympathetically. "There'll be more leather shorts," he says. "And Quinn would've gotten them first anyway." Bert kind of jumps at this, looking at them with his eyes far too wide, so they look white and huge.
"Nah." Jeph shakes his head. "He goes more for the fishnet stuff, you know that. Swear to god. Someday he's gonna get picked up for prostitution, we'll all be like, 'He was such a good kid. Never saw it coming.'" Frank laughs and blows smoke at him. Bert just kind of shifts awkwardly, picking frantically at the edge of the leather.
Frank turns back to him, trying not to sigh. He really wants Bert to stay around. He does. But they're opening pretty soon, and he really doesn't need another strung-out, freaky kid in the shop, especially if he's not paying. And especially with that fucking hair. Bert makes Frank want to grab him and wash his hair by force. Soak it in some kind of acid until the grime comes away. He says, "Hey, Bert - yeah. That's, uh, that's a nice use of... the leather." Jeph coughs. "Look, hey, I think the veggie dog guy's here... uh, yeah."
Bert just nods, his hair bouncing around his face. "Yeah! Yeah, yeah, totally - I'm gonna go say hi. Man, see you later - yeah!" He leaps over the desk, leaving a skid mark on the floor from his shoes, and takes off. Jeph lifts the cigarette from Frank's fingers and takes a deep drag off it. "Fuck," he says.
"Agreed."
"Eh, whatever - " Jeph stubs out the cigarette, then grins widely. "So, it's good to see you. Sleep well?"
"Aw, I knew this was coming." Frank laughs and hops off the desk. "I slept fine. How about you, bastard?"
"Just wonderfully! Any good dreams? Wink wink, nudge nudge."
"Look, Jepha - " He sighs and takes out another cigarette. "It's perfectly lovely that you're so enthusiastic about this. If you keep being an asshole..." He points the lighter at Jeph, clicking it on. "Bang. I will shoot you dead, motherfucker."
He laughs, clutching at his heart. "You got me. Ow. Damn, but you're cute when you're homicidal."
Frank throws his arms up. "Cute! You have a death wish, you really do. No sane man who would dare say such a thing to Frank Iero." He lifts the cigarette to his lips, inhaling deeply. He's sure he never smoked this much before he found Dread. It's not at all possible. It's very punk rock to die young, but if he does, it'll be from a heart attack. From the smoking, from this fucking shop. God, he loves it.
Jeph points to Frank with his tea. "You know," he says, "we're going to need a safe word."
"The fuck?" Frank sighs dramatically. This is getting way too domestic for him. "Tell me why we need a safe word."
"You never know! You might be crazy and end up breaking my legs, or like... rupturing my internal organs, and then it'd get infected and I'd die." Jeph nods firmly. "And you wouldn't listen if I yelled, because, you know. Duh."
"We are not doing this."
"If you don't, I won't let you tie me up or anything." Jeph yawns. Frank does, in fact, pick up on the phrase "let you"; he chooses to ignore it. Whether or not he wants to admit it... this sounds fun. At least, if he can get over how fucking ridiculous Jeph makes him feel sometimes. Like a complete horse's ass. He sighs.
"Fine. You pick the word."
Jeph beams, then takes a deep breath. "Hmm... well, what's something neither of us is going to say while we're getting fucked?" They both consider it for a moment, Frank putting out his cigarette after a moment. He looks around the shop for ideas. After a moment, Jeph says, "Penguin? Nobody's going to say penguin."
"Fuck no, it's not penguin!" Frank tries to imagine Jeph yelling 'penguin' in the middle of sex. It's ridiculous. Frank would fall off him laughing, and he'd probably break another two of Jeph's bones in the process, and then they'd be truly fucked. Besides which, penguin? It just removes everything serious. Again - horse's ass. No chance in hell.
"Well..." Jeph sighs dramatically. "If you say so, princess." As they consider other words, the door creaks open; Jeph glances up. "Branden! Hey! Question, man, what would you never say during sex?"
Branden blinks at them, rubbing his eyes. "Should I be scared? Uh. Damn. I don't know, Frank. That's what I'd never say." Jeph bursts out laughing.
Frank thinks he should be offended, but he just laughs as well. "Nice. Real nice... That's it! Branden." Branden looks up in confusion. "No, not you, asshole - Jeph, that's a good word. Branden." Jeph snorts and offers up his hand for a high-five.
"Fucking fabulous. Guess what, Bran!" He smirks. "You're part of our kinky sex now!"
"Why do I even fucking come into work?" Branden shakes his head, but he doesn't sound pissed, just thoroughly confused. "I should sleep in. I really should. If anyone needs me, I'll be on the tanning bed, pretending none of this ever happened."
Once he's in the back, Frank looks at Jeph contemplatively. "Hey, man? When's the last time we checked on Branden?" Jeph snickers and considers it for a moment.
"Aw, man. Not for a couple weeks now. Who gets the honors?"
Checking on Branden is a favorite hobby of theirs; it can't occur too often, but whenever they remember, they try to make sure he's still straight. Usually it's just a tap on the ass or a quick grope, but if nothing's going on, Frank can go to great lengths to make sure. He doesn't know why Branden hasn't told them to fuck off yet. Whatever the reason is, he's immensely glad, because it's fun.
"I dunno," he says, thinking. "Is it Quinn's turn?"
Quinn, being the bizarre psychic he is, chooses this moment to walk into the shop. "I'm here, I'm here! Sorry if I'm late - Branden here yet?"
"Mmhm." Jeph drags him over, then whispers in the shell of his ear, "Time to check again." Quinn breaks into a huge smile.
"Aw, fuck yes! Umm... whose turn? Oh, dude, Jepha. Totally yours. In honor of your good luck." He nods toward Frank, wiggling his eyebrows. Frank thinks that maybe if Quinn didn't have such an excellent smile, he'd punch him a lot more. Jeph, of course, doesn't ask twice; he hops up and makes his way towards the back room, whistling softly.
"I hate you," Frank says. "Just so you know. A lot. And I hate Jepha."
There's a yelp from the back room, followed by Branden screaming, "I was sleeping!" Quinn laughs and throws his arm around Frank's shoulders. "I know you hate us," he says, sounding not at all worried about the idea. He plants a kiss on Frank's cheek. "And we hate you too. More than anyone." Frank smiles.
"Yeah? I'm glad."
-----
to part two.