FIC - It Holds a Place in Time (1/1) - Bandom
TITLE: It Holds a Place in Time
AUTHOR: Laura Smith
RATING: R
WARNINGS: None
DISCLAIMER:Gerard Way and Frank Iero and the assorted members of My Chemical Romance and any other bands that happen along for the ride belong only to themselves. I don't claim them, I don't claim to know them and no harm is intended. I make no profit from this, I just like playing with them.
SUMMARY: If you sleep through the first day of summer, does that mean you get an extra day at the end?
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Written for mrsronweasley who was having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day of woe and >:(. Hopefully this will make her feel better.
It’s called a daylight basement, which usually makes Frank giggle like a demented chipmunk, because if there’s one thing the basement’s never seen, it’s daylight. Still, he wiggles in through the window and lands with a hard thump on Gerard’s bed and, given the harshly expelled breath, Gerard.
“Gee.” He whispers loudly, scrambling to untangle himself from his so-old-it’s-gray black hoodie and the fabric softener and sweaty boy smell of Gerard’s Star Wars sheets. “Gee. Wake up.”
“G’way.” Gerard slaps at him, half-hearted and half asleep, completely ineffective at deterring Frank or even discouraging him.
“Gee. C’mon. Wake up.” He bounces a little, knowing he’s probably close to getting tossed off the bed by Gerard flailing at him in a desperate effort to stay asleep, but it’s a chance Frank’s willing to take. It’s the first night of summer and the sun’s almost ready to sink behind the skyline and Frank’s got a six pack of cheap beer and three joints hidden behind the swamp azalea that Mikey had persuaded their mom to buy when he was six and thought it might turn into Swamp Thing. “Wake uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.”
“G’ th’ fuck off me.” He rolls over angrily, flapping the sheets like bat wings and sends Frank tumbling to the floor. He lands face down on a stack of comics and porn magazines, and Frank has to think for a minute about which ones Gerard would most likely be jerking off to before he can right himself. His hood covers his face, hooking on his nose and he spits and paws at it until he gets it off his head and looks over at Gerard, who’s on his side and looking at Frank with blank confusion. “Frankie?”
His voice breaks and he yawns, stretching so he looks a couple feet taller and a couple pounds thinner and all…muscle-y, which confuses the fuck out of Frank when he thinks about it, because Gerard isn’t muscle or sleek or any of those things, but he kind of looks it as the sheet slides down his chest and his Spiderman shirt to the span of skin left bared between the hem and the serious fucking wood that Gerard’s sporting, his boxers tented up like it’s a fucking May Day. Frank knows he shouldn’t stare, but he can’t quite help it, because he doesn’t think about Gerard having a cock - not that Gerard doesn’t get laid a disproportionate amount considering he’s a basement-dwelling geek - but usually when they’re talking about dicks, Frank’s pretty concentrated on his own.
But this is kind of hard to ignore, especially the way the fabric is kind of clinging to it, like maybe the tip is wet, but Frank’s more a briefs guy and Gerard is all boxers and baggy clothes and so it…molds to him different and Frank can’t actually look away. Well, he probably could if he tried, but trying seems like a lot of effort. “Hey. I came.”
“Did you.”
It takes a minute to process what he said and what Gerard said and then his brain kicks in and he’s giggling again. “Dude, like you have room to talk. I bet you jerk off to Justice League.”
“Justice League? Oh, fuck you, Iero.” Gerard kicks his foot out at him and Frank wraps his arms around it, tugging the sheet back to tickle the sole. Gerard shrieks like a ten-year-old girl infected with cooties and tries to jerk away from him, but Frank is relentless, braving the unwashed socks smell to look back over his shoulder to watch Gerard flail on the bed, wriggling and slapping the mattress and laughing so hard he’s red faced and not making a sound, and his fucking dick is even harder and finally Frank has to stop.
“Dude.”
“What?” Gerard’s gasping, his voice high and squeaky.
“You’re like…hard.” Frank reaches over and pokes Gerard’s dick, watching it move with a perverse sort of interest. Gerard swats his hand away, but Frank keeps trying to touch it. Gerard swats at him again a couple of times until he nearly smacks himself and then he starts kicking. Frank grabs both of Gerard’s knees and pins them down to the bed, leaning in. “It’s bigger than I thought it would be.”
“Why are you thinking about my dick?”
“I wasn’t.” Frank tilts his head and peers closer at it, his eyebrows going up slightly as it seems to respond to the scrutiny. “Well, until it was like right there. I mean, that’s like morning wood gone straight on until evening, and that’s like…a lot of wood.” He reaches out again to touch it and Gerard doesn’t try to stop him. Frank stops himself, hand just shy of touching Gerard’s dick, which is even fucking bigger and harder and it takes him a moment to realize why. “Holy fuck, Gee. Am I turning you on?”
“Fuck you.” Gerard’s voice doesn’t sound like Gerard at all, and Frank looks up at him. Gerard’s eyes are wide and a little scared, and Frank shakes his head.
“You’re not afraid of me.”
“No.” He swallows hard and shakes his head as well, his look falling short of defiant and more somewhere between confused and wanting. The last hits Frank like a sucker punch and he moves his hand, letting his fingers hover over where the head of Gerard’s dick is covered with the faded cotton.
“Am I, Gee?” He lets his hand settle then, fingers brushing lightly down the slope, feeling the hint of dampness on the cloth. “Am I turning you on?”
“Frankie.” Gerard’s voice is a hoarse whisper and his hands fist into the sheets, which doesn’t do anything about the way his hips roll upward, making Frank’s fingers slide down the length of him. Frank catches his breath in his throat as Gerard gives up talking for moaning, a hushed, reverent sound.
“Oh fuck,” Frank breathes, his fingers sliding down further, tracing the curve of Gerard’s balls. His own cock jerks in time with Gerard’s and he blinks a few times before moving up on the bed and kneeling between Gerard’s sprawled legs. “Am I?”
“Yes.” It’s a long, sibilant hiss, desperate and embarrassed and really hot and Frank doesn’t have much choice after that. He wraps his mouth around Gerard’s dick, tasting the dry taste of cotton against his tongue until his saliva soaks through and then there’s wet and heat and the thrust of Gerard beneath it all. Gerard’s hips roll upward, awkwardly insistent and Frank takes him as deep as the fabric will let him, his hands sliding over Gerard’s thighs, rasping against the dark hair that covered his pale skin. “Frank. Fuck. Fuck, Frankie.”
Frank hums around Gerard then pulls back, reaching for Gerard’s boxers and tugging them down, reaching inside with one hand to free his dick from the wet material. Gerard makes a noise that Frank’s fairly certain is either illegal or just really fucking hot and then Frank swallows him down again. He’s done this before - the fucking star quarterback, just because he could, and a couple of scene guys in disgusting bathrooms when he was drunker than he was high and in alleys when he was higher than he was drunk - but this is different. This is his best fucking friend and it’s Gerard, so it’s like ten times better than it’s ever been just because of that. And then there’s the fact that Gerard’s skin is soft and smooth over the hard pulse of blood and he’s slick with pre-come and he’s making these fucking noises over and over that have Frank convinced that his ears are connected directly to his dick.
He sucks, tongue and roof of his mouth, lips covering the sharp edge of his teeth even though they only blunt the pressure of them and Gerard is squirming on the bed, thrusting and wriggling like he did when Frank was tickling him, but now he’s trying to get closer, deeper instead of away and Frank takes him down, sucking and swallowing, mouth and lips and Gerard’s dick slick with saliva. He feels the wetness against his hand, curved around the base of Gerard, feels it in the wiry hair and the slick stretch of skin that leads from Gerard’s cock to his balls. He presses his thumb there and feels Gerard jerk and he can’t help the low hum of want that curls up from the heat at the base of his own dick to his throat.
“Frank,” Gerard whines helplessly, hips jerking hard, nearly choking Frank as he comes. Frank swallows and coughs, pulling off, his hand covering the head of Gerard’s dick so the last spurts of come hit his palm and smear against Gerard’s skin. The thick taste is there at the back of his throat like an itch or a burn of cheap alcohol, and his mouth feels swollen and numb but Gerard’s looking at him like he just discovered a cure for cancer. “Jesus fucking Christ, Frankie.”
“Yeah.” Frank agrees, shifting back onto his knees and undoing his jeans, pulling his own dick out. His palm is still slick from Gerard’s come and it slicks up against Frank’s skin better than his own spit as he starts stroking himself. He’s close, fucking close, and Gerard is watching him and then Gerard is sitting up, hot eyes and hot mouth on Frank’s as he pushes Frank’s hand away and starts stroking him. Frank does something that’s half-growl and half-whimper and the muscles of this thighs are shaking as Gerard jerks him, tight and fast and hard and his tongue fucking licks the taste of his own come out of Frank’s mouth, muttering and biting and Frank comes before he even knows he’s going to.
He sways toward Gerard and ends up with their foreheads pressed together, both of them sweaty and gasping roughly. Gerard hums deep in his throat and Frank nods.
“Dude. I want to wake up like that every day.”
“I was the one who was asleep,” Gerard reminds him.
“Lazy bastard.” Frank pulls away and stands up on the mattress, kicking off his Chucks and his jeans and tugging his briefs back up, wrinkling his nose at the wetness. He balances on Gerard’s headboard and reaches out the window, grabbing the six pack. “I brought refreshments.”
“You know,” Gerard grabs a cigarette from his ever-present pack and lights up, watching Frank as he climbs back down, settling on Gerard’s pillow and wiping the last of his come up with his t-shirt. “If you’re trying to get me drunk and take advantage of me, you did it kind of ass backwards.”
“Fuck,” Frank drawls, popping the top of two beers at once. “You just got a blowjob and you already want my ass?”
AUTHOR: Laura Smith
RATING: R
WARNINGS: None
DISCLAIMER:Gerard Way and Frank Iero and the assorted members of My Chemical Romance and any other bands that happen along for the ride belong only to themselves. I don't claim them, I don't claim to know them and no harm is intended. I make no profit from this, I just like playing with them.
SUMMARY: If you sleep through the first day of summer, does that mean you get an extra day at the end?
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Written for mrsronweasley who was having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day of woe and >:(. Hopefully this will make her feel better.
It’s called a daylight basement, which usually makes Frank giggle like a demented chipmunk, because if there’s one thing the basement’s never seen, it’s daylight. Still, he wiggles in through the window and lands with a hard thump on Gerard’s bed and, given the harshly expelled breath, Gerard.
“Gee.” He whispers loudly, scrambling to untangle himself from his so-old-it’s-gray black hoodie and the fabric softener and sweaty boy smell of Gerard’s Star Wars sheets. “Gee. Wake up.”
“G’way.” Gerard slaps at him, half-hearted and half asleep, completely ineffective at deterring Frank or even discouraging him.
“Gee. C’mon. Wake up.” He bounces a little, knowing he’s probably close to getting tossed off the bed by Gerard flailing at him in a desperate effort to stay asleep, but it’s a chance Frank’s willing to take. It’s the first night of summer and the sun’s almost ready to sink behind the skyline and Frank’s got a six pack of cheap beer and three joints hidden behind the swamp azalea that Mikey had persuaded their mom to buy when he was six and thought it might turn into Swamp Thing. “Wake uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.”
“G’ th’ fuck off me.” He rolls over angrily, flapping the sheets like bat wings and sends Frank tumbling to the floor. He lands face down on a stack of comics and porn magazines, and Frank has to think for a minute about which ones Gerard would most likely be jerking off to before he can right himself. His hood covers his face, hooking on his nose and he spits and paws at it until he gets it off his head and looks over at Gerard, who’s on his side and looking at Frank with blank confusion. “Frankie?”
His voice breaks and he yawns, stretching so he looks a couple feet taller and a couple pounds thinner and all…muscle-y, which confuses the fuck out of Frank when he thinks about it, because Gerard isn’t muscle or sleek or any of those things, but he kind of looks it as the sheet slides down his chest and his Spiderman shirt to the span of skin left bared between the hem and the serious fucking wood that Gerard’s sporting, his boxers tented up like it’s a fucking May Day. Frank knows he shouldn’t stare, but he can’t quite help it, because he doesn’t think about Gerard having a cock - not that Gerard doesn’t get laid a disproportionate amount considering he’s a basement-dwelling geek - but usually when they’re talking about dicks, Frank’s pretty concentrated on his own.
But this is kind of hard to ignore, especially the way the fabric is kind of clinging to it, like maybe the tip is wet, but Frank’s more a briefs guy and Gerard is all boxers and baggy clothes and so it…molds to him different and Frank can’t actually look away. Well, he probably could if he tried, but trying seems like a lot of effort. “Hey. I came.”
“Did you.”
It takes a minute to process what he said and what Gerard said and then his brain kicks in and he’s giggling again. “Dude, like you have room to talk. I bet you jerk off to Justice League.”
“Justice League? Oh, fuck you, Iero.” Gerard kicks his foot out at him and Frank wraps his arms around it, tugging the sheet back to tickle the sole. Gerard shrieks like a ten-year-old girl infected with cooties and tries to jerk away from him, but Frank is relentless, braving the unwashed socks smell to look back over his shoulder to watch Gerard flail on the bed, wriggling and slapping the mattress and laughing so hard he’s red faced and not making a sound, and his fucking dick is even harder and finally Frank has to stop.
“Dude.”
“What?” Gerard’s gasping, his voice high and squeaky.
“You’re like…hard.” Frank reaches over and pokes Gerard’s dick, watching it move with a perverse sort of interest. Gerard swats his hand away, but Frank keeps trying to touch it. Gerard swats at him again a couple of times until he nearly smacks himself and then he starts kicking. Frank grabs both of Gerard’s knees and pins them down to the bed, leaning in. “It’s bigger than I thought it would be.”
“Why are you thinking about my dick?”
“I wasn’t.” Frank tilts his head and peers closer at it, his eyebrows going up slightly as it seems to respond to the scrutiny. “Well, until it was like right there. I mean, that’s like morning wood gone straight on until evening, and that’s like…a lot of wood.” He reaches out again to touch it and Gerard doesn’t try to stop him. Frank stops himself, hand just shy of touching Gerard’s dick, which is even fucking bigger and harder and it takes him a moment to realize why. “Holy fuck, Gee. Am I turning you on?”
“Fuck you.” Gerard’s voice doesn’t sound like Gerard at all, and Frank looks up at him. Gerard’s eyes are wide and a little scared, and Frank shakes his head.
“You’re not afraid of me.”
“No.” He swallows hard and shakes his head as well, his look falling short of defiant and more somewhere between confused and wanting. The last hits Frank like a sucker punch and he moves his hand, letting his fingers hover over where the head of Gerard’s dick is covered with the faded cotton.
“Am I, Gee?” He lets his hand settle then, fingers brushing lightly down the slope, feeling the hint of dampness on the cloth. “Am I turning you on?”
“Frankie.” Gerard’s voice is a hoarse whisper and his hands fist into the sheets, which doesn’t do anything about the way his hips roll upward, making Frank’s fingers slide down the length of him. Frank catches his breath in his throat as Gerard gives up talking for moaning, a hushed, reverent sound.
“Oh fuck,” Frank breathes, his fingers sliding down further, tracing the curve of Gerard’s balls. His own cock jerks in time with Gerard’s and he blinks a few times before moving up on the bed and kneeling between Gerard’s sprawled legs. “Am I?”
“Yes.” It’s a long, sibilant hiss, desperate and embarrassed and really hot and Frank doesn’t have much choice after that. He wraps his mouth around Gerard’s dick, tasting the dry taste of cotton against his tongue until his saliva soaks through and then there’s wet and heat and the thrust of Gerard beneath it all. Gerard’s hips roll upward, awkwardly insistent and Frank takes him as deep as the fabric will let him, his hands sliding over Gerard’s thighs, rasping against the dark hair that covered his pale skin. “Frank. Fuck. Fuck, Frankie.”
Frank hums around Gerard then pulls back, reaching for Gerard’s boxers and tugging them down, reaching inside with one hand to free his dick from the wet material. Gerard makes a noise that Frank’s fairly certain is either illegal or just really fucking hot and then Frank swallows him down again. He’s done this before - the fucking star quarterback, just because he could, and a couple of scene guys in disgusting bathrooms when he was drunker than he was high and in alleys when he was higher than he was drunk - but this is different. This is his best fucking friend and it’s Gerard, so it’s like ten times better than it’s ever been just because of that. And then there’s the fact that Gerard’s skin is soft and smooth over the hard pulse of blood and he’s slick with pre-come and he’s making these fucking noises over and over that have Frank convinced that his ears are connected directly to his dick.
He sucks, tongue and roof of his mouth, lips covering the sharp edge of his teeth even though they only blunt the pressure of them and Gerard is squirming on the bed, thrusting and wriggling like he did when Frank was tickling him, but now he’s trying to get closer, deeper instead of away and Frank takes him down, sucking and swallowing, mouth and lips and Gerard’s dick slick with saliva. He feels the wetness against his hand, curved around the base of Gerard, feels it in the wiry hair and the slick stretch of skin that leads from Gerard’s cock to his balls. He presses his thumb there and feels Gerard jerk and he can’t help the low hum of want that curls up from the heat at the base of his own dick to his throat.
“Frank,” Gerard whines helplessly, hips jerking hard, nearly choking Frank as he comes. Frank swallows and coughs, pulling off, his hand covering the head of Gerard’s dick so the last spurts of come hit his palm and smear against Gerard’s skin. The thick taste is there at the back of his throat like an itch or a burn of cheap alcohol, and his mouth feels swollen and numb but Gerard’s looking at him like he just discovered a cure for cancer. “Jesus fucking Christ, Frankie.”
“Yeah.” Frank agrees, shifting back onto his knees and undoing his jeans, pulling his own dick out. His palm is still slick from Gerard’s come and it slicks up against Frank’s skin better than his own spit as he starts stroking himself. He’s close, fucking close, and Gerard is watching him and then Gerard is sitting up, hot eyes and hot mouth on Frank’s as he pushes Frank’s hand away and starts stroking him. Frank does something that’s half-growl and half-whimper and the muscles of this thighs are shaking as Gerard jerks him, tight and fast and hard and his tongue fucking licks the taste of his own come out of Frank’s mouth, muttering and biting and Frank comes before he even knows he’s going to.
He sways toward Gerard and ends up with their foreheads pressed together, both of them sweaty and gasping roughly. Gerard hums deep in his throat and Frank nods.
“Dude. I want to wake up like that every day.”
“I was the one who was asleep,” Gerard reminds him.
“Lazy bastard.” Frank pulls away and stands up on the mattress, kicking off his Chucks and his jeans and tugging his briefs back up, wrinkling his nose at the wetness. He balances on Gerard’s headboard and reaches out the window, grabbing the six pack. “I brought refreshments.”
“You know,” Gerard grabs a cigarette from his ever-present pack and lights up, watching Frank as he climbs back down, settling on Gerard’s pillow and wiping the last of his come up with his t-shirt. “If you’re trying to get me drunk and take advantage of me, you did it kind of ass backwards.”
“Fuck,” Frank drawls, popping the top of two beers at once. “You just got a blowjob and you already want my ass?”