{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:desfinado","title":"desfinado","subtitle":"desfinado","author":{"name":"desfinado"},"link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/data\/atom"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"service.feed","type":"application\/x.atom+xml","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/data\/atom","title":"desfinado"}}],"updated":"2018-01-29T03:15:37Z","entry":[{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:desfinado:72224","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/72224.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=72224"}}],"title":"desfinado @ 2012-02-13T19:53:00","published":"2012-02-14T03:54:46Z","updated":"2018-01-29T01:30:30Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"bandom"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"fic"}}],"content":"Title:<\/u> Counting Sheep But Running Out<\/b>
Author:<\/u> <\/a>desfinado<\/b><\/a><\/span>
Pairing:<\/u> Bob\/Brian
Rating:<\/u> NC-17
Word count:<\/u> 4350
Notes:<\/u> These characters don't belong to me and I'm not making a profit. Written for the 2012 <\/a>no_tags<\/b><\/a><\/span> challenge (story originally posted here<\/a>). Massive thanks to <\/a>anoneknewmoose<\/b><\/a><\/span> for the fantastic, speedy beta. And thanks also to <\/a>shiningartifact<\/b><\/a><\/span> for the prompt that inspired me to try something new :D Title from a Green Day song.
Prompt:<\/u> Bob\/Brian - Revenge-era, insomnia



On his first tour as a member of My Chem, Bob gets away with sleeping on the crew bus for exactly two nights. On the third, he comes in from the show to find his bunk stripped.

\"Someone finally wanted my slippers bad enough that they stole them?\" he asks, rubbing a hand over the back of his head.

\"Nope,\" Dewees says, shouldering past Bob in the narrow hallway.

Bob wedges his foot under the foam mattress and lifts it up, narrowing his eyes as he checks underneath it. \"Prank?\"

Dewees laughs. \"I don't think so. Dude, the crew wasn't kidding when they said you'd been on the road a long time.\"

\"Constant vigilance,\" Bob advises as he lets the mattress drop back into the frame. As Dewees gets settled in his own bed, the realization dawns on Bob: \"Band bus now, huh?\"

Dewees smirks at him, hair in his face. \"I wonder how many video cameras they've got rolling in there.\"

Bob lets his forehead thunk against the rim of Dewees' bunk. \"Aw, fuck<\/i>.\"

----<\/center>

He's watched the four of them working together before\u2014onstage and in the van\u2014but it's not until he's on the bus with them that Bob really notices how easily they move around each other. It's smooth and familiar, the way they trade iPods, pass styrofoam cups of coffee and grateful smiles, and maneuver through all the narrow spaces on the bus. Bob knows how to keep pace with them, but instead he finds himself trailing the crew most afternoons. He checks in at the soundboard, hauls gear, and hangs out by the trailers so he can shoot the shit with the guys there.

It's only at four in the morning when most everyone's asleep that Bob just lets himself be<\/i> on the band bus, Brian next to him on the couch as the highway hums under their feet. He works a hand at the muscles of his neck and the tension he's built up there while Brian sinks lower on the cushions and finishes bitching about some guy from the label that's been leaving him pissy voicemails.

Brian falls silent after a while and stretches his arms up above his head, yawning. \"So I know exactly how our sales are doing, our tour stats, and the state of our gear,\" he says. He rolls his head to the side along the back of the couch and lifts his eyebrows at Bob. \"How are you<\/i> doing, Bryar?\"

\"Fucking' peachy,\" Bob snorts. \"Why, you got a complaint to file?\"

Brian's gaze is steady on him, his blue eyes dark in the dim of the lounge. This kind of active listening bullshit usually makes Bob's skin crawl, but Brian knows when to shut up. And, yeah, sometimes it also means he knows when Bob<\/i> needs to shut up and listen: \"I saw you lugging amps yesterday, man. You don't have to prove anything to the crew, you know.\"

\"Hell no,\" Bob says. He pulls at the hem of his pants, riding up where he's crossed one leg over the other at the ankle. \"Just gotta prove myself to MTV and an army of fans, right? Easy as shit.\"

Brian grins when he sees Bob's lips quirked up. \"Damn straight. You helped me babysit these guys in Europe, you can keep a beat for them a couple of hours a day.\"

When Brian shoves at Bob's arm, Bob moves easily with it, pushing back with his shoulder and smiling. Brian doesn't ask him anything else, then.

Bob's been watching the way Frank and Ray play so smoothly around each other's parts onstage and the familiar smiles on Mikey and Gerard's faces when they duck their heads over the kitchen table to talk; he knows that feeling, has been moving easily in and out of Brian's life for years, now. They've sat in the backs of vans tracking freeways across state lines, cigarettes, bottles of Jack, poker cards, and headphones passing between them. Sometimes they talk, sometimes they don't.

Bob's breath catches when Brian tucks two inked fingers into the front pocket of Bob's jeans. He's got both eyebrows and the corner of his mouth lifted, lip ring catching the warm light from the kitchen.

Sometimes they do this, too.

\"You like to fuck the bands who pay your bills?\" Bob says into Brian's lips, smiling as Brian settles over him on the couch, warm and solid against Bob's chest and thighs.

\"You like to fuck the guy who keeps you employed?\" Brian grins into Bob's cheek. His breath is hot on Bob's skin as he mouths across the close-cropped beard at Bob's jaw and catches Bob's lip ring between his teeth, tugging hard right out of the gate.

Bob lets his eyes fall shut and mouth drop open. \"Shit<\/i>, Schetcher.\" He fists his hand in the hair at the nape of Brian's neck.

\"That's what I thought.\" Brian gets a knee between Bob's spread legs and braces his elbows on either side of Bob's head, bringing the smell of cigarette smoke and deodorant with him as he leans down to suck hard at Bob's neck. Bob slides a hand up the curl of Brian's spine under his t-shirt, fabric bunching under his wrist, and doesn't waste time tracing his other hand up the inseam of Brian's jeans to fit his fingers neatly alongside his fly, cupping his dick.

\"Gold digger,\" Bob says while Brian bares his teeth into the crook of his neck and bites down, working a hand under Bob's waistband.

\"Jesus Christ,\" Brian laughs, breathless, pushing his hips forward as Bob rubs his thumb firmly along the length of his cock though his jeans. \"Right, I'd be a millionaire. I've seen your wallet, Bryar, nothing but rubbers and a Taco Bell discount card.\"

\"Nah, he's got like five pesos too,\" Gerard mumbles from somewhere behind them. Bob's hands still. \"And, like\u2014\" Bob hears Gerard pause to yawn as Brian slides smoothly over to other side of the couch \"\u2014a gift card to Wal Mart. He's living large.\"

Bob blinks. Brian looks relaxed, rolling his shoulders as his t-shirt settles back into place over the flat of his belly and the dark hair there. Bob turns, but Gerard has both hands over his face and his eyes closed, scrubbing up and into his wild black hair as he shuffles into the lounge.

\"Fuck you, I'm Fortune 500,\" Bob says after a beat, discreetly hitching his hips up to slip his belt buckle back into place.

Brian huffs a laugh. Gerard bumps into the kitchen table and finally opens his red-rimmed eyes all the way. \"Now<\/i> you are.\" Gerard smiles, crooked and warm. \"You can buy all the tacos in the world, Bob.\"

\"Can't sleep?\" Brian asks. The side of his mouth quirks up when Bob meets his eyes.

\"Fuckin' never can,\" Gerard grumbles into the mini fridge, rummaging around.

Bob sighs and rearranges his jeans.

----<\/center>

It turns out that Gerard wasn't even being dramatic: he really can't<\/i> sleep. A few nights later, Brian and Bob finish a six-pack and stay up late talking about the stupid shit they did in their early twenties. Brian has just dropped to his knees on the floor, hands on Bob's thighs and a filthy smile spreading across his face, when Gerard wanders in and asks them which episode of Star Trek makes them the sleepiest.

Brian laughs at the ceiling and drops back on his ass, planting his hands on the carpet behind him. Bob sighs. \"No fucking clue,\" Brian says, \"let's start at the beginning and see?\"

Brian stays on the floor, sagging sleepily against the foot of the couch and looking up in the light of the TV to catch Bob's eyes every now and then. Bob waits for Gerard to pass out, but by the time the second set of credits roll, Gerard whispers, \"Just you and me, Bob,\" and passes the remote over. \"You wanna pick the next one?\"

Bob thinks about waking Brian up with a foot in his side, but he's not that<\/i> much of an asshole.

----<\/center>

Like with every tour, Bob hits a wall by the end of the first week and his adrenaline high crashes. He's left sleep-stupid and giggling with Frank while they elbow each other in the bathroom, brushing their teeth and falling face-first into their bunks at the end of the day. Bob clenches and unclenches his fists, cataloging the ache in his wrists, the overworked muscles in his arms, and barely manages to toe off his shoes before he's asleep.

There's a party on Face to Face's bus that weekend, and it feels good to slip back into the familiarity of a bus packed with hammered assholes arguing about lighting cues and guitar pick-ups. Bob's too busy matching Cortez one-for-one, stacking their beer cans on the kitchenette counter and trading tour stories, to pay attention to the time. It feels good being back on a crew bus, the chaos of gear everywhere, set-up schedules taped to the walls and spare cables spilling onto the floor. He waves off Ray and Mikey when they leave and stays until the beer in his bloodstream turns his limbs heavy and tired.

Bob finds Brian leaning against the side of their bus when he gets back, newsboy cap low over his face and the cherry of his cigarette glowing red between his thumb and forefinger. It's cool out this late, but Brian's only in his t-shirt from earlier, sunglasses tucked into the collar.

\"Guess who's just started a one-man game of Risk to bore himself to sleep?\" Brian asks after a minute of Bob's quiet company, pursing his lips and exhaling up into the dark night sky.

Bob laughs, loose and easy, and lets himself fall heavily against the bus. \"This rock star shit is too wild for me,\" he says, \"I don't know if I can keep up.\" He taps once, twice at Brian's nose, watching the tendons in Brian's neck strain as he inhales deeply. \"Gimme.\"

Brian passes the cigarette over and waits until Bob's taken a drag before crowding him against the bus. Bob's stomach jumps under Brian's cold fingers as he pushes a hand up under his shirt.

\"Hey,\" Brian says conversationally, \"so I'm kind of over getting cock blocked by your lead singer.\" His voice is low and rough at the edges. Bob's always thought his eyes looked really intense up close like this. \"I'm going to climb into my bunk and beat off.\"

\"Yeah?\" Bob asks, feeling kind of drunk and stupid. Slow. He licks his lips.

\"Yeah,\" Brian says, showing his teeth when he smiles. \"Promise I'll be quiet as a fucking mouse, though.\" He takes a step back, but Bob grabs the front of his shirt and hauls him back in.

\"You're gonna try<\/i>,\" Bob grunts. Brian's pulse is hammering as he stays still and tense against Bob's chest. Bob's always felt the promise of fucking in the way Brian holds himself up against Bob's body like this, humming with something ready to uncoil hard and fast.

Bob's already half-hard as he lets go and watches the muscles in Brian's back shift, flicking the cigarette away and pulling himself up the steps into the bus.

Once they've waved goodnight to Gerard and stepped out of their shoes and jeans, Brian skims his shirt over his head and hooks his boxers down over his narrow hips\u2014right there in the dim light of the hallway, only curtains separating them from Gerard in the lounge and the rest of the guys asleep in their bunks. Bob's fingers twitch. He wants to get his hands on Brian's ass, dig into the corded muscles of his arms under those tattoos, wrap his palm around Brian's hard dick. It sways up against Brian's pale stomach as he props a knee on his bunk and climbs in.

Bob strips down to his boxers, t-shirt and hoodie, and gets in behind him.

The sound of their harsh breathing and the shifting sheets in the bunk seems too loud and obvious to Bob as they shuffle around to find a way they can lay that doesn't involve Bob's knee in Brian's balls or one of their asses hanging out into the aisle. Bob ends up on his side along the outer edge, Brian on his back on the mattress.

\"So?\" Bob whispers. Brian grinds his fist into Bob's upper arm, mouthing Shut up<\/i>.

Bob rolls his eyes into the dim light and mouths fine<\/i>. He waves a hand at Brian's dick, laying hard and curved up to the right against the dark trail of hair leading down from his belly button, but waits until Brian has licked his hand and started jacking himself off before letting himself touch Brian's body. It's been a while\u2014Brian's lost some weight, put on some muscle, got some new ink. Bob's hand looks weird and pale against Brian's chest as he skates his palm up from Brian's stomach to the tattoos on his chest and out across his shoulder, moving up and down with slide of his hand on his dick. Brian's watching him.

Bob fits his thumb in the hollow of Brian's throat and feels his breath hitch. He smiles and presses in just a bit, enough to feel Brian's pulse.

Brian lets out a long measured breath through his nose and squirms a bit on the blankets. There's that energy\u2014Brian was never good at keeping still, the few times they messed around before. Bob likes the way it feels to get up on his elbow so he can press a hand to each of Brian's shoulders and hold him there, still, against the mattress.

Predictably, Brian just draws his shoulder blades together underneath him and bows his back, pushes his hips up into his hand. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, lip ring shining wetly in the center when it slips back out, and smiles, dirty and promising, up at Bob.

Bob digs his thumbs into Brian's collarbone, hard enough to feel the thin layer of skin shift and slide across bone with the shake in Brian's body as he jacks himself off. Brian makes a sound, sort of a \"Hah,\" and then swallows it quickly, eyes widening. Bob sweeps his right palm up the tense, corded line of Brian's neck, over the tattoo there, and across to cover his mouth.

Brian bites at the meat of Bob's palm while he squirms and fucks up into his own hand, and fuck<\/i>, he looks good. Sweat breaks out across Bob's back. He rolls into Brian's space, enough to push his hips into the side of Brian's thigh and get some pressure there. Brian chases his teeth with his tongue, slippery and wet on Bob's palm, and it makes Bob's throat constrict. His breath is coming faster now and he struggles to keep it measured and quiet.

\"I'm giving you,\" Gerard sings softly from the lounge, \"on the count of three...\"

Brian's hand on his dick stills and Bob drops his face into Brian's neck to breathe through the silent laughter that bubbles up in his chest. \"Is he singing Michael Jackson?\" he whispers into the shell of Brian's ear. \"This was not in my contract.\" Brian smells like aftershave and sweat.

\"Shh,\" Brian breathes, letting go of his dick and swatting at Bob with the back of his hand. Bob can feel the stifled laughter rumbling in Brian's chest too, pinned underneath him.

They wait it out, chests rising and falling together, the air sweaty and humid in the small space of the bunk, until Gerard's humming dies out. Eventually Bob lifts up onto his hands so he can watch Brian's face as Bob eases himself down into the space between Brian's legs. He always tries to be conscious of how heavy he is, doesn't want to accidentally push a noise out of Brian, but Brian knocks Bob's hands out so he falls down onto his elbows, weight settled fully across Brian's body. He's hard in some places and bony in others, shifting under Bob and letting out a puff of hot air into Bob's face. Brian's eyes are shining in the dim light, like don't be delicate, I'm not a fucking princess<\/i>. Bob has to hold himself back from taking a dig at Brian in return.

Brian's too short to push Bob's boxers more than a couple of inches down his hips without sitting up, but Bob helps, gets them nearly down to his knees before settling in the warm hollow of Brian's hips.

\"Ah,\" Bob breathes into Brian's hair, lips pressed to his temple, as Brian gets their dicks lined up and a hand around them both. It's been a long-ass time for Bob and Brian isn't taking it easy\u2014he remembers how Bob likes it. They're both leaking into the hem of Bob's hoodie and the hair on both of their bellies where it's rucked up, Brian's knuckles bumping Bob's ribs on every upstroke.

He feels kind of stupid, lost for a bit, forgetting to hold himself up or do anything but pant uselessly into Brian's hairline and clutch at the pillow, squirming down into Brian's hand. It's hot, dark, and damp, and Bob isn't sure how long he'll last, but he's impressed that they're making it work: no sounds from the other bunks, nothing else from Gerard.

It takes Bob a beat to catch up when Brian's free hand closes over Bob's death-grip on the pillow and pulls his hand towards Brian's face. Bob twitches and spreads his fingers across Brian's mouth and chin, feels Brian's stubble under his fingertips and the wet of his tongue darting out.

\"Jesus,\" Brian huffs, more an exhalation than a word, and Bob remembers enough about him to know what he's asking.

Bob pushes up onto his elbow, canting his hips into Brian's fist moving between them, and meets Brian's eyes. They look huge and black in the dark, fixed on Bob. Bob rubs this thumb back and forth on Brian's bottom lip, catching on the ring there and pushing his lip down. Brian's jaw drops open easy as you please and Bob sucks in a breath, cock twitching between them. Brian takes three fingers in right away. He starts out by sucking at them and it feels like cheating, almost, with how badly it gets Bob going, but he's messy and the suction breaks with a wet noise that makes both of them freeze, waiting for any kind of movement outside the bunk.

Lie down<\/i>, Brian mouths after they're sure they haven't heard anything. He twists his head to the side so Bob's fingers slip out, smearing spit all down his neck. Bob's eyebrows draw together but he lets Brian rearrange him. He ends up on his back in the mess of blankets, chewing on his lip ring as he looks down at the hard lines and angles of Brian's naked body braced over him. He can't help skimming his palms down Brian's sides to grab roughly at his ass.

Brian dips his hips just enough that the hard tip of his cock bumps the hot length of Bob's and skids along it. He grins wickedly up at Bob and Bob has to tip his head back on the pillow and breathe through it to keep from swearing out loud.

He opens his eyes again when Brian's toes clip his nose, Brian's foot swinging over his head. Bob frowns and he tries to sit up, but he gets a faceful of Brian's ass.

Oh<\/i>.

Brian folds his warm hands over Bob's hips, digs hard into the softness there, before he tucks just one thumb above Bob's dick to hold it up off his belly and goes down on him.

Bob throws his own arm over his face as he drops back onto the pillow, grunting into the bunched fabric of his hoodie. There's no such thing as a bad blowjob, sure, but Bob knows when it's going to be a really fucking memorable one. It's been ages since he's done it like this and the angle makes it so his cock curves perfectly along the length of Brian's tongue and bumps the back of his throat. The first time Bob pushes his hips up Brian gags, pulling off, but goes right back down again. Bob scrubs both hands over his face to cup them over his mouth and nose because he's panting like he's running a fucking marathon in here and there are at least five dudes unconscious on the other side of the curtain.

He doesn't notice Brian's dropped a hand between them until he feels Brian's dick bump his chin, Brian's hand curled around it and pushing it back towards him. Bob grins. Yeah<\/i>.

He shuffles down a bit\u2014his dick slips out of Brian's mouth, but Brian's hand keeps working split-slippery up and down the base\u2014until he can fit his elbow inside Brian's bent leg tucked in against Bob's side and he can curl his hand properly around Brian's cock.

It's an awkward angle, and the first two times Bob tries to get his lips around the head and let go, Brian's dick bobs back up towards his stomach. But eventually he figures out how to hold it steady enough, straining to lift his neck off the bed, so he can start to suck. Brian's body shifts and rocks over him, mouth sliding back down around Bob's cock. Bob is sweating like a pig in his hoodie, and it smells pretty rank inside the bunk, but he feels fucking fantastic<\/i> about everything, right now.

Brian moves with it like a slow wave: his back bows and legs slip apart so he can push his cock further back into Bob's mouth, heavy against his tongue and so quick that Bob just barely has enough time to get his teeth out of the way. Then he curls his spine to brush the top of the bunk and his hips curl forwards once more, cock slipping wetly out of Bob's mouth again. Bob keeps a steady grip on Brian when it happens, pumping at the base and guiding the tip back to his mouth as quickly as he can. He can't see it but he can feel the duck and lift of Brian's body over his own cock, shoulders shifting and muscles working. His fingers are hot and bruising where he's gripping tightly at Bob's shifting hips.

It's\u2014a lot.

Bob hasn't come in weeks, he's sleep-drunk and still buzzed from the party, and he can barely keep up with what's going on. He feels strung out between the hot ring of Brian's hand and slippery suction of his mouth and the hard line of his lip ring on Bob's dick. Spit and precome is smeared slick all around Bob's beard and chin from every time he's lost the angle or Brian has jerked forwards, dick slipping out of Bob's mouth again.

Bob tries to think about how much noise they're making, what the heavy breathing through their noses and wet suction might sound like beyond their bunk, but then Brian goes down deeper than he has yet, Bob's dick sliding past the contracting ring of muscle in his throat, and Bob can't think any more. Brian's body jerk and Bob feels, with his hand around the base of Brian's dick, the steely hardening of Brian's stomach muscles against his gag reflex\u2014and just like that, Brian blows his load. Bob's gasps wetly as Brian's dick pops out of his mouth, come dripping from Bob's bottom lip and down his chin into the neck of his hoodie.

Mmmm<\/i>, Brian moans around Bob's dick, long and desperate, not as muffled as it probably should be. Bob struggles for air and blinks as Brian's hips circle above him, the last few weak pulses of come striping the front of Bob's hoodie.

\"Shit,\" Bob breathes out on a whisper, swiping the back of his hand across the wet mess on his mouth and beard. His thighs shake and his stomach quivers with trying not to come, but Brian doesn't stop: he works his hand up and down on the base of Bob's dick, not even sucking any more, just taking Bob as deep as he can. He doesn't gag when Bob's dick bumps the back of his throat this time.

Bob feel desperate, grateful and humming with electricity all at once. He fumbles blindly between them, brushes his fingers along the hard, tensed muscles of Brian's straining throat, imagines how it must look under the tattoo there, and twists his fingers into Brian's short hair. He sucks in a sharp breath through his nose and pulls his lip ring into this mouth, metallic and bitter with the taste of Brian's come. Bob fucks up into Brian's mouth until he's coming, shaking and sweating and shifting under Brian's hands holding his hips down, Brian's knees against his sides, Brian's hair in his grip.

Bob drifts, then, fists uncurling and body sinking into the mattress as he catches his breath. He can feel Brian's small, strong hands on him as Brian gets their underwear back on and eventually manages to herd Bob back into his own bunk.

\"Mmm,\" Bob mumbles into Brian's hair as Brian ducks to kiss, wet with tongue, along Bob's lower lip and up the curve of his jaw before heading back to his own bunk.

---<\/center>

The next morning, Bob catches Gerard looking at him over the leftover pizza they're all sharing in the lounge, and punches him in the arm when Gerard starts to sing, \"I'm bad, so bad, really really bad,<\/i>\" under his breath.

\"Next rest stop?\" Brian says, stepping easily around Frank's duffel bag on the floor and ducking into the spot next to Bob on the couch, fitting warm and familiar against his side like he'd been there all along. \"I'm buying out a pharmacy's worth of sleeping pills.\"

END<\/a>

"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:desfinado:67794","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/67794.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=67794"}}],"title":"desfinado @ 2011-11-19T18:36:00","published":"2011-11-20T02:41:38Z","updated":"2018-01-29T01:30:56Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"bandom"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"fic"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"#79"}}],"content":"Title:<\/u> Don't Fence Me In<\/b>
Author:<\/u> <\/a>desfinado<\/b><\/a><\/span>
Prompt:<\/u> #79
Pairing:<\/u> Frank\/Gerard
Rating:<\/u> NC-17
Word count:<\/u> 7100
Warnings:<\/u> none
Notes:<\/u> These characters don't belong to me and I am not making a profit. Written for the 2011 <\/a>yobrothatssick<\/b><\/a><\/span> challenge. Massive thanks to <\/a>anoneknewmoose<\/b><\/a><\/span> and <\/a>shiningartifact<\/b><\/a><\/span> for cleaning this up, cheerleading, putting up with my procrastination, and being so supportive. And thank you to all the mods for running this fantastic challenge! ♥
Summary:<\/u> \"We tried to have sex so great that no man should ever be able to experience it. These are the consequences.\"<\/i>



They spend the first night off tour grilling out in Ray's backyard. Frank's got a Corona in each fist and command of Ray's biggest lawn chair, sun setting over nearby rooftops while conversation and laughter rises and falls around him.

\"Stop looking so satisfied,\" Gerard says.

Frank holds up a bottle and uncurls his middle finger from around its neck. \"Fuck you. I deserve this after the shit you guys put me through yesterday.\"

Gerard snorts. \"Right. Because denying it until you collapsed onstage and couldn't get back up again, that was a smart plan.\"

\"How's it going?\" Cortez appears, hoisting an orange cooler from his hip down to the ground in front of them. Gerard crosses his legs so he can lean forward and fish out a can of Coke, ice and glass bottles clinking as they shift.

Frank holds up both of his beers at Cortez, grinning. \"Medicating right now, dude. Be back on the leg by tomorrow.\"

Gerard leans back on his hands in the dry, yellowed grass. \"Six weeks, Frank. Not hours.\" He takes a sip from his can. \"Thank fuck one of us went to that clinic with you or we'd never know the real diagnosis.\"

\"How did you break yourself this time, Iero?\" Cortez bats away a stray dart from the Nerf gun that some of the sound guys by the garage have been shooting.

Frank takes a swig from one of his beers and drops his head back on the law chair to squint up at the orange sky. \"Aerobics.\" He pats the thigh muscle the doctor claims he pulled. \"Workin' it to Ray's Richard Simmons tape; getting pumped up for the stage. You know how it is.\"

Cortez laughs and Frank can hear him lift the cooler back up to brace on his hip. \"Not what Mikey's been saying. Heard you two were boning in your bunk and tried some freaky Kama Sutra shit.\"

\"I have no idea what you're talking about,\" Gerard says from the grass.

\"You watch.\" Frank settles lower in the lawn chair, breathing deeply. He's missed the summer smell of barbecue and cut grass; there's not a lot of either on tour. \"I'll sleep on it tonight and be back in the game tomorrow.\"

\"My favourite walking injury lawsuit,\" Cortez says, patting Frank's head as he passes by.

\"Technically he can't walk,\" Gerard points out. He sounds like he's smiling.

\"Fuck you,\" Frank says. \"You are so not getting laid tonight.\"

---<\/center>

Not even twelve hours later, Frank has to admit that he really can't<\/i> walk. He knows this because he's stranded in the dry goods aisle at the grocery store with no way out.

\"Shit,\" he breathes, digging his fingernails into his palms. The elevator music plods away on the store's speakers and Frank can hear kids laughing in the next aisle over, the beep of the cashier scanning people through.

He takes a deep breath in and holds it while he flexes his toes in his sneakers, trying to edge his left leg forward slowly. \"Oh fuck me<\/i>,\" he groans when his thigh muscle seizes up again, stomach dropping away at the lurch of pain. He can't even hobble on his good leg because he doesn't have shit to lean his weight on\u2014he had refused to take the crutches that the clinic offered, because he pulls muscles all the time, it never takes six weeks to heal\u2014and now he's going to be stuck reading the labels on the lentil packages until the world ends. Or the store closes.

Frank had left Gerard sleeping; they got home pretty late, and have about two months' worth of it to catch up on. Since they had nothing but mayonnaise and orange juice in their fridge, he had decided that it was time for groceries. He may have had an ulterior motive (to show Gerard he was just fine on his own) but no one could prove anything. Frank had been sure he could drive with his leg busted, he's no fucking invalid. But he hadn't really thought about the fact that Gerard's stupid muscle car was a goddamn stick-shift<\/i>. He nearly drove the whole way to the store in second gear to avoid touching the clutch, pain flaring up his thigh every time he hit a red light and had to push his left foot to the floor.

He'd told himself to man up as he hobbled stiffly through the store. He'd ended up with three boxes of that whole-grain flaxseed pasta shit because the regular kind he liked was too far up to reach without pushing up onto his toes, but it was going to be fine. Maybe he'd need to sit in a hot bath for the next five hours, whatever. Then Frank had bent down to get some packets of instant ramen noodles and his thigh had seized up like a fucking charley horse but so<\/i> much worse. He couldn't do this.

It's his first day off in months, the sun is shining, Gerard is waiting for him in their bed, all sleep-soft and pale, and Frank's stranded in the fucking dry goods aisle with a leg made out of what feels like solid, immoveable stone. Stone that is, somehow, also on fire.

He has the shittiest luck.

\"Price check, register three,\" a bored-sounding woman says over the speaker system. There's a beat of silence before the soft high-hat of the easy-listening music starts up again.

\"Fuck me,\" Frank says again, digging his phone out of his pocket.

Frank calls Mikey, because Gerard has no way of getting there without his car, Bob is probably still on the highway back to Chicago, and Ray deserves to sleep in after the localized explosion of band and crew went off in his backyard the night before.

\"You better buy me breakfast,\" Mikey says when he shows up, massive sunglasses on and a red line from his pillow bisecting his face. He hoists Frank's arm around his shoulders and mostly carries him to the checkout.

\"How many donuts is it gonna take to buy your silence?\" Frank asks between clenched teeth as he shifts his weight onto his bad leg so he can ease his wallet out of his back pocket. The guy at the cash register narrows his eyes at them. \"I'm just trying to bring home the bacon, but I don't think your brother's gonna see it that way.\"

\"At least a dozen of the jelly kind,\" Mikey says. \"Also, I don't think that expression means what you think it means. You'll probably never bring him bacon. Ever.\"

Frank grunts as he hop-skips down the checkout to get his change from the guy at the till, leaning heavily on the counter. \"I would, if Gerard really wanted it. I don't want him two-timing me with some dude from the deli counter.\"

Mikey swats Frank's hand away and picks the grocery bags up in one hand, grabbing him around the waist with the other. \"Shut up, it's too early for meat jokes.\" Frank can feel Mikey recoil slightly from the blinding sunlight when the automatic doors open for them. \"Donuts, and then I expect not to see or hear from you guys for a least twenty-four hours. Post-tour detox.\"

\"You just wanna bang your wife,\" Frank says. He hisses when Mikey lets go of him before he's finished easing himself into the passenger seat. \"Fuck<\/i>. You don't have to throw me in, dude.\"

\"Thought you could handle yourself, sorry.\" Mikey's lips curve up as he folds into the driver's side.

Frank lets out a breath and drops his head back against the seat while they pull out of the lot. He rubs both hands up and down his thigh, the denim heating up under his hands, and wills his thigh to relax. \"I can. I just gotta man up.\"

---<\/center>

Mikey wakes Gerard up when they get back to the apartment, forcing him to get dressed so Mikey can drop him off at the grocery store and Gerard can drive the car back home.

\"No, no, noooo,\" Frank hears Gerard moan from the bedroom while he cranks the tap as hot as it'll go, sitting where Mikey left him on the edge of the bathtub.

\"Yes,\" Mikey says in a bored voice. Frank wonders if this is what they sounded like when they had to get up for school. \"Yes, yes, yesssssss. Otherwise you'll have no car because your stupid boyfriend tried to drive stick with a broken leg.\"

\"What?\" There's the noise of blankets rustling. \"Frank drove my car? Jesus christ.\"

\"It's not broken!\" Frank calls out, but they ignore him.

\"I'll take the bus and get the car later,\" Gerard finally says, \"fuck off.\"

\"No you won't, because the last time you took a bus in Jersey, you took it in the wrong direction and called me from the fucking end of the line by I-78. Put on your pants.\" Frank is always impressed when Mikey gives orders.

Frank watches Gerard emerge from the bedroom with his hair all over the place , squinting at the sunlight in their apartment. \"It's not my fault Frank went to the store.\" He bumps into one of the Umbrella Academy panels framed on the wall and paws at it until it's something resembling straight again before shuffling into the kitchen.

\"It's your fault you had fucking acrobatic sex with him and broke him,\" Mikey says, appearing in the bedroom doorway behind his brother and crossing his arms.

\"No regrets, man.\" Frank grins at him when he looks over, sloshing a hand back and forth in the water as the bathtub fills. Mikey curls his top lip and Frank decides not to mention the smear of leftover jelly on his chin.

\"Frank's the fucking gymnast, okay? My dick is not to blame.\" There are some noises from the kitchen and then Gerard returns to the hallway with the orange juice carton in hand. \"You<\/i> try to stop him, he's a fucking animal in the sack,\" Gerard says around the pop tart he's stuffed in his mouth. He points the orange juice carton at Frank, eyebrows raised.

\"Fucking right I am.\" Frank grins and points a finger back. \"Also, that orange juice is so expired I don't think it's a liquid anymore, dude. Put that shit down.\"

Mikey waves a hand around. \"Right. Gymnast, animal, pole fucking dancer, I don't need to hear about it, okay? All I know is I woke up way too goddamn early on my first day off tour so I could rescue Frank from the pasta aisle, and I have a bed full of animals and wife waiting at home.\"

\"I tried to restrain him,\" Gerard says as he bends down to tie his laces. Frank eyes the way his hoodie stretches across the width of his hunched shoulders and rides up to expose his lower back. Fuck, it's been so long since they've had more than a bunk curtain's worth of privacy; Frank's already looking forward to being naked and wet when Gerard gets back.

\"What?\" Gerard shoves Mikey when he narrows his eyes at him, scooping the keys up from the table. \"I did. I made sure I kept an arm over him all night so he couldn't escape.\"

Mikey snorts and crowds Gerard out the door when he gets it open, waving goodbye to Frank on their way out. \"You of all people should know nothing's gonna keep him down but fucking shackles and chains, dude.\"

Frank catches Gerard's eye over Mikey's shoulder just before the door closes, and bites his lip at Gerard's dirty smile. \"How did you know we had a set of those hidden under the bed?\" Frank hears him say.

\"Oh my god,\" Mikey moans as the door swings shut.

---<\/center>

When Gerard gets back, Frank is warm and loose from the bath. Maybe he had to unpack the groceries with most of his weight on his right foot, but the deep throb of pain is gone and Frank's sure this isn't gonna last forever. He's got Rage Against the Machine's Renegades<\/i> in the stereo, the window open, and he's making grilled cheese in his underwear.

\"A stove<\/i>,\" Frank says with a happy sigh, waving his spatula at Gerard when he comes in the door. Frank gestures: \"A real fridge<\/i>. A bathtub<\/i>. A couch that we know no one but us has fucked on.\"

Gerard pushes his sunglasses up his head and toes off his sneakers, giving Frank a smile that reaches all the way to his eyes. \"Total fuckin' freedom,\" he agrees. He plucks at the waistband of Frank's boxers and grabs at the soft skin around his middle. \"And there's this hot-ass dude bedridden in my apartment for the next month and a half.\"

Frank giggles under Gerard's fingers, hopping on his good leg to get out of the way. \"So that's why you wanted to try that kinky shit in my bunk: so you could keep me as your butt slave.\"

\"Say groove, sucka, groove,<\/i>\" Gerard sings along to Zach de la Rocha, nosing up into Frank's hair and doing a little shimmy against his ass. Frank laughs and pushes back against Gerard's jeans while he flips their sandwiches. \"A butt slave who makes things with melted cheese in them. Fuck, I've missed real food.\"

Frank eases into one of the kitchen chairs and they toss a list back and forth of all the things they want to do now that they're home. By the time Frank's done eating his sandwich, he gets too distracted watching Gerard lick crumbs off his fingers to notice what's coming out of his mouth.

\"Yeah, sure, I'll do it,\" Frank says. \"Why aren't you naked yet?\"

\"You want to call my bank?\" Gerard asks, confused, but Frank points him at the bedroom.

Gerard goes down laughing onto their bed, wiggling out of his jeans while Frank lowers himself carefully onto the mattress and proceeds to cover Gerard's entire body with his own, licking and biting at his lips, his earlobe, his neck.

\"Bunks are such bullshit. I missed this,\" Frank says with his nose pressed into Gerard's neck, breathing him in deep.

\"I swear the ceilings just keep getting lower.\" Gerard moans when Frank bites down hard into the meat of his shoulder. His legs fall open and his fingers dig into the flesh of Frank's ass. \"Fuck me already. Christ.<\/i>\"

It turns out that it's easier said than done.

Frank gets about two thrusts into Gerard's ass, head thrown back and teeth gritted while Gerard writhes around under his hands, before he swears and curls over in pain. \"Shit<\/i>,\" Gerard gasps, gripping Frank's sides as he hitches his hips up, \"come on<\/i>, Frank, I need\u2014\" He blinks his eyes open and frowns. \"Oh, fuck. Are you okay?\" His cheeks are pink and damp, eyes heavy and lips red; Frank just needs to fuck him<\/i> already.

\"No.\" Frank drops his head to Gerard's chest, thigh muscle burning so badly he's not even sure he can pull out. He sighs as he feels Gerard's breathing slow. \"There is no fucking way I can last six weeks without this.\"

---<\/center>

They spend the next two days doing laundry, catching up with some local friends who weren't on tour with them, retrieving bits of their gear that ended up in the wrong studio, and having sex that makes Frank feel like some kind of fragile virgin<\/i>.

Every time he tries to do anything to Gerard, his whole fucking body gets into it when he stops paying attention, and his thigh seizes up again. \"This is karma,\" Frank complains when he's done swearing and breathing carefully through his nose\u2014he'd attempted to go down on Gerard, but his thigh had tensed up. \"We tried to have sex so great that no man should ever be able to experience it. These are the consequences.\"

\"Bullshit,\" Gerard pants. His fingers have slipped back around his own dick, jacking himself while Frank lays his head on Gerard's chest and catches his breath. \"We'll figure it out.\" When he meets Frank's eyes across his chest, his hand slows and he uncurls his fingers, skating them down Frank's cheek. \"Shit, Frankie, I'm sorry. This sucks.\"

Frank pouts and bites at Gerard's thumb. \"Come on my face?\"

Gerard's eyes drop to half-mast and he grins. \"Always.\"

---<\/center>

They have to do the rounds of family time, that weekend. Frank's mom smacks him on the back of the head but sends him home with his old crutches from high school that she'd kept in the basement.

\"I was fucking fifteen,\" he complains while he watches her stuff them into the backseat of Gerard's car. \"They're not going to fit.\"

Gerard grins at him over the roof of the car, chin resting on his folded hands. \"I've seen pictures,\" he says, \"they'll fit.\" His smile is crooked and warm when Frank narrows his eyes at him. He doesn't even have the decency to stop looking so goddamn pretty when he takes Frank's mom's side.

\"You can always bring them back,\" his mom says as she helps Frank into the car, trying to lift his leg in for him like he's a fucking rag doll. He bats her hands away.

\"Yeah, yeah, you're all on cloud fucking nine now that I can't do anything for myself.\" Frank sighs but leans up so he can kiss her cheek when she bends down for it. \"You're gonna be sorry when you need someone to mow the lawn or run your junk to the dump and I'm stuck wetting my bedpan.\"

\"He's just as dramatic as he was when he was fifteen, too,\" his mom says over the top of the car.

\"Right? And he calls me a diva.\" Gerard laughs, waggling his fingers at her before climbing in.

---<\/center>

The Ways decide to come over to Gerard and Frank's place for dinner, because Donna is all up in arms about Frank getting in a car to come over. Frank thinks Mikey may have told her about the whole grocery store fiasco, which is bullshit because it's not like Frank wants to drive Gerard's stupid car again anyway.

The lasagna\u2014the only thing Frank is decent at cooking\u2014goes over well, and Frank likes having his house full of laughter and conversation like that. After their parents have left, Gerard and Mikey stay at the kitchen table, sinking lower in their chairs as they remember all the times they attempted to cook something more complicated than microwave popcorn when they lived at home.

Alicia looks sideways at Frank when she drops down next to him on the couch. \"Either you've got a serious hate on for Mr. Burns, or something's wrong.\"

Frank realizes he's frowning at the TV and sighs. He'd been thinking about the plate of brownies in the kitchen and how much work it was going to take to go get it. The crutches from his mom are still resting against the wall by door but there's no way he's touching them.

\"I'm sick of being fucking housebound all week.\" Alicia raises her eyebrows and Frank grinds his knuckles into his own thigh through his jeans. \"Sick of making Gerard pass me books and CDs and cups of coffee because I'm too fucking broken to get them myself. Sick of not being able to drive myself anywhere or do my own fucking laundry. There's a groove in this couch from where I have to plant my ass all goddamn day. Fuck, I'd be giving up the right to piss standing up if Gerard knew how much it hurt me, but there's no way I'm letting on.\"

Bart and Homer are wrestling for something on the screen. Frank looks over and Alicia smiles at him. \"Sick of being a whiny bitch?\"

\"God, yes,\" Frank moans, \"please shut me the fuck up already.\"

They both laugh. \"You know what your problem is, Iero?\" she asks as she scoops the plate of Donna's brownies up from the kitchen table. Fuck yeah, Mikey knows how to pick them.

Frank grins and reaches for one but Alicia slaps his hand away, sitting back down on the couch. He bounces slightly. \"What? My house, my brownies.\"

\"Your problem is,\" Alicia continues, tucking her hair behind her ears and setting the plate down just out of Frank's reach on the coffee table, \"you have terrible self-discipline.\"

\"Two cups of baking soda!\" Gerard wheezes from the kitchen, making all the dirty dishes on the table clatter when he slams his hands down. Mikey is hunched over the table laughing with him.

\"I've got self-discipline coming out of my ass, okay?\" Frank turns his gaze back to Alicia and catches her watching the brothers fondly too. \"I practice all the fucking time. We've barely been off tour a week but I've still been playing.\" Frank braces himself on his good leg and leans forward to grab at the plate, but Alicia blocks him with her arm.

\"Sure, because you love doing it. But I've seen you; you run yourself into the ground all the time on tour even when you're sick, you have to be physically removed from your boyfriend or you'll scar everyone by jumping him in the bus lounge\u2014\" Frank makes a pffft<\/i> sound, waving his hand around, \"\u2014you forget to sleep because you let your band mates convince you it's time to watch all of Kubrick's film collection in one sitting... you want me to keep going?\"

Frank makes a grab at the brownie Alicia takes a bite out of, but she holds it back out of reach. \"So I know how to have a good time. I embrace life.\" Frank grins as he plants an elbow on the back of the couch and a hand on the cushion. \"And if you don't think I'm willing to injure myself to get your brownie, you clearly don't know me,\" he says, making a move for it.

\"Fine! Fuck, fine.\" Alicia laughs and shoves him away when he tries to body check her. \"Sit down before you break yourself again.\"

\"Frank,\" Gerard says from the kitchen. \"Don't use your leg.\"

\"Fuck you, it's my leg. Alicia's withholding dessert because she's trying to teach me some lesson about how it's bad to like Kubrick more than sleep.\"

Alicia carefully puts her brownie back down on the plate. \"Okay,\" she says slowly, looking like she's enjoying herself way too much. \"I dare you to stay still, in this exact spot, until your very considerate boyfriend who just wants to take care of you tells you that you can move.\"

The chairs in the kitchen scrape on the linoleum as Gerard and Mikey get up. Frank narrows his eyes at Alicia. \"And this is supposed to prove my self-discipline?\"

\"What, not man enough to do it?\" Alicia asks. Mikey folds himself down over the back of the couch, wrapping his long arms around her neck. She leans back into him, not taking her eyes off of Frank.

\"You're asking me to trust Gerard to tell me when to move,\" Frank confirms. Gerard sits down on the coffee table in front of him, their knees knocking. \"You'd probably go out for a coffee and get distracted by a book store or a pigeon or some shit and leave me here to starve on the couch.\"

Mikey and Alicia huff a laugh and Gerard leans forward, gently rubbing Frank's thighs with his hands. \"Or,\" he says, teeth in the side of his bottom lip and eyes on Frank's, \"I could make it worth your while.\"

Frank raises his eyebrows.

Mikey stands up to dig his car keys out of his pocket. \"And on that note...\"

---<\/center>

Gerard makes Frank strip down and stay in his spot on the couch while Gerard cleans up the kitchen\u2014\"To test your self-discipline,\" Gerard says over his shoulder while he stacks all the dishes and fills the sink with water. Trust the one time Frank agrees to obey Gerard's every command to be the time he decides to clean up after himself.

Frank feels sort of weird about watching Conan with his dick out\u2014he's hugged<\/i> the guy, there's something kind of sleazy about that\u2014but unless Gerard is planning to give him a sponge bath or something, there isn't any scenario Frank can think of that starts with nudity on the couch and doesn't<\/i> end in sex, so he can wait. Well, other than the time Dewees passed out naked on their couch after that one party with the beer bong, and that was only because no one wanted to dress him themselves.

Frank grimaces and shifts his bare ass around gingerly on the cushion, wishing he could remember what part of Dewees had been on this half of the couch.

After Gerard's finished cleaning and letting Frank narrate exactly what's happening on the TV to him, he wanders over and starts rubbing Frank's shoulders from behind.

\"Mmmm.\" Frank sighs, eventually rolling his head forward and letting his eyes slip shut. He feels warm and relaxed. \"Alicia didn't tell me this was gonna be self-discipline in a fucking massage chair. This I can do.\"

Gerard hums to himself. The crowd on TV laughs at something. \"I like you like this.\"

\"Naked?\" Frank asks, angling his head to one side as Gerard's hands bracket his neck and his thumbs dig in. Fuck, Frank loves Gerard's hands. \"Injured? Immobile?\"

\"Staying still like this. For me.\" Gerard's fingers aren't gentle, working out the tight muscles of Frank's shoulders, and it feels incredible. It's like all the strings connecting his limbs are being cut one by one until he's completely limp on the cushions. Frank moans a little and can't remember what he was going to say; he loses track of time there, under Gerard's hands.

Gerard eventually stops and leans over him, smelling of sweat and deodorant and cigarettes. Frank's fingers twitch at his sides, dick already halfway hard, but Gerard just grabs the remote from the cushion next to him and turns the TV off. \"Sorry, Coco,\" Gerard says, low and not apologetic at all, in Frank's ear.

\"Get over here,\" Frank murmurs. He turns his face up to mouth along Gerard's jaw. He'd shaved just before dinner, and it feels good. Frank aims for his lips but Gerard pulls back just before he can get to them.

\"Sorry?\" Gerard asks. He lifts a hand to push his hair out of his face, eyebrows raised.

Frank doesn't break his gaze. He loves seeing the yellow flecks of colour in Gerard's eyes, up close like this. \"I said,\" Frank says, and lifts his chin as his lips pull up into the smile that usually gets Gerard to pay attention in bed, \"get over here, sweetheart.\"

Gerard stands up and walks slowly around to the front of the couch, pushing the coffee table out of the way. His long-sleeved t-shirt has a few patches of water on it from doing the dishes, the sleeves rolled up his arms, his thin wrists bare.

Frank bites his lip. \"Sit on my dick,\" he says, voice low. Gerard's cheekbones stand out like they always do when he's trying not to show his smile. He doesn't move.

\"Fine,\" Frank says and punctuates it by spitting in his own palm. He starts to jack himself off, eyes on Gerard.

\"I'm pretty sure the deal was that you would stay put,\" Gerard starts, fingers on the hem of his shirt, \"and let me<\/i> take care of you.\"

Frank grunts, speeding his hand up on his cock as he smiles, showing all of his teeth. \"I'm taking pretty good care of myself right now.\" But when he skates the slippery palm of his hand over the tip of his dick and his hips buck up reflexively, he swears, \"Motherfucker<\/i>,\" and slams his head back against the couch. He slaps both hands over his thigh where the pain bursts, hot and sharp.

Gerard is looking at him, bare-chested with his shirt in hand, when the pain ebbs and Frank opens his eyes again.

\"Fuck off,\" Frank says, the frustration at being so goddamn useless sweeping through him again, and then sighs. He lets go of his leg to settle his palms on the cushion on either side of him. \"Take care of me?\"

Gerard grins.

It's not long before Frank is whispering, \"Fuck, fuck, fuck,\" with his cock heavy on Gerard's tongue. It's only then that he remembers\u2014even though they've been home a whole week\u2014that there isn't anyone microwaving burritos or playing Call of Duty ten feet away. He adds, \"Jesus fuck<\/i>, Gerard,\" in a louder voice, and then moans at how good it feels to hear himself like that.

Gerard's fingers tighten on his sides in response and Frank lifts his gaze, eyelids heavy, to watch the way Gerard's bare back twists and dips as he bobs up and down Frank's cock. Gerard's naked on his knees on the carpet, one on either side of Frank's feet\u2014Frank's got his legs tucked close together because it helps keep him from using his thigh muscles\u2014as Gerard's dark hair hangs forward, obscuring his face.

\"You're fuckin'\u2014jesus<\/i>\u2014yeah, harder,\" Frank moans, and his fingers twitch on the cushion, where Gerard told him to leave them. \"God, you fuckin' love<\/i> this shit, don't you.\"

\"Mmmm,\" Gerard moans loudly. He likes to use his mouth and hands on Frank's dick when they're both lying down\u2014it gets Frank off fast and hard\u2014but right now he's braced over Frank's lap instead. His elbows dig into the cushions and fingers dimple the flesh of Frank's hip tattoos while he ducks up and down like he's doing goddamn push-ups<\/i>, muscles straining.

\"Ah, shit<\/i>, fuckin' look at you,\" Frank swears, mouth open and chin on his collarbone. His stomach muscles tense as he looks down his own heaving chest. Gerard makes another noise around Frank's dick and the vibrations, the thought that Gerard's mouth is too stuffed full of Frank's cock<\/i> to talk, make Frank's breath catch. Gerard's messy suction breaks for a second, spit sliding down Frank's balls, as he gasps in a breath. Frank's dick slaps back against his belly before Gerard chases it down, ducking his nose to Frank's stomach, forehead sweaty on Frank's skin as he gets his lips back around the tip of Frank's cock and slides all the way down again.

\"Fuck<\/i>,\" Frank chokes out. He has to ball his hands into fists to keep himself from grabbing Gerard's head. The way Gerard looks when he does that kills him: eyes closed and sweaty hair stuck to his forehead, groping greedily for Frank's cock with his red, wet mouth, moaning like he just wants Frank to choke those noises back down his throat.

This is usually about as long as Frank lasts before the pull of want drives him crazy and he has to slam Gerard back down onto the bed, bruising grip on his wrists as he holds them together over his head. He'd sit heavily enough on Gerard's chest that his breaths would come even more shallow and ragged while Frank fucked his mouth messily, slipping out to slide across Gerard's cheek before Frank would angle his hips right and Gerard would open his mouth wider and Frank's dick would slide home again.

But\u2014fuck. Self-discipline.<\/i>

\"Wanna fuck your mouth so fucking bad,\" Frank moans, head dropping back on the couch and unfocused gaze directed at the ceiling. \"Wanna\u2014shit<\/i>. Just flip you over and slide inside, go until you're fucking shaking for it, begging, and then keep going some more.\" He doesn't even hear himself, just feels the way Gerard moans around him in response.

Frank swears under his breath when his thighs twitch together reflexively. He tries to ignore it, just breathe through it, but Gerard must feel his body tense. He pulls off with a wet noise, his breath warm and fast against Frank's damp cock as he looks up through his hair. \"You okay? Is it your leg?\" God, his voice is wrecked.

Frank gnaws at his lip ring and frowns. \"Yeah, fuck that shit, whatever. I'm fine. C'mon.\"

Gerard squints at him, balancing on one shaky arm as he pushes hair out of his face with the back of a hand. \"You sure? Dr. Robertson said no strenuous activity and I dunno if this\u2014\"

Frank makes a noise like a growl, fighting the urge to shove his hips forward, and Gerard shuts up. He wants to fit his hand in the dip between Gerard's shifting shoulder blades, hold him down by force. He wants to fuck up into Gerard's mouth, flip him over and hold him in place with a heavy hand at his base of his spine and another at the base of his neck; he wants to fuck Gerard so hard the pale skin of his ass will still be red an hour later when he crawls off to find his underwear.

\"Gonna pull another muscle if you don't let me come, motherfucker,\" Frank swears. Gerard's eyes have started to drift down from Frank's face, distracted, skating across his tattoos and settling on his dick.

\"Oh, for fuck's\u2014\" Frank grips a hard handful of Gerard's hair and pulls him down, but Gerard responds so quickly it makes Frank's breath catch.

\"Stay still<\/i>,\" Gerard grits out, grabbing Frank's wrist and pinning his hand to the couch.

They stare at each other for a moment, breathing hard. Frank can feel his mouth hanging open in surprise. Gerard's eyebrows are drawn together, lips set in a fierce line, pieces of hair stuck to his face. His fingers haven't let up on Frank's wrist. He looks like a force of fucking nature.

\"Yeah,\" Frank breathes, and tilts his head back to bare his neck. His dick feels impossibly hard, wet and curving up between them.

Gerard straddles Frank, then, but instead of sitting on Frank's cock, he fists a hand in the hair at the base of Frank's neck and looks down his chest at him. Frank's jaw drops and his mouth starts watering the minute Gerard grabs his hair, like always.

\"Just wanna take care of you, Frankie,\" Gerard says in a low voice. He rubs the thumb of his free hand down Frank's cheek and across his bottom lip. Frank knows there was something he wanted to say, something about sitting in Frank's lap to make him feel better, but his eyes are on Gerard's dick as it sways in front of his chest while Gerard balances on the cushion. \"You gonna let me do that?\" Gerard asks.

Frank has no clue what Gerard is asking, anymore, but\u2014\"Yeah,\" he whispers. His eyes water as he tries to pull out of Gerard's grip and bend down to get his lips on his cock. \"Fuck, c'mon, please<\/i>.\"

It feels like Frank barely gets a chance to blink before Gerard pulls his head down and he's spluttering around Gerard's dick, lips too dry, struggling to get air in through his nose. \"Mmmph,\" Frank moans.

He sucks as best he can, but he has to curl his shoulders down and slump a little lower on the cushions. Gerard is doing most of the work anyway, fucking up into his mouth. \"Oh shit<\/i>, you look... fuck<\/i>, Frankie,\" Gerard pants above him.

Frank never knows what it is about getting his throat fucked that wipes his brain completely empty. Maybe it's the bruising grip of Gerard's hands in his hair, knuckles digging into his scalp; the jerky way Gerard always loses his rhythm so Frank can't predict exactly when he's going to slam forward again\u2014it always seems to catch him off guard; or maybe he's just not getting enough air to think properly.

\"Look how much you love this shit. It's\u2014ungh\u2014so hot<\/i>.\" Gerard's voice is stilted, shaking with the force of his own thrusts. Frank feels his dick leaking sticky against his stomach, hands limp at his sides, but can't even imagine moving them right now. It's as if every time the head of Gerard's cock bumps the back of his throat and Frank fights down the urge to gag, feels his own spit escape the suction of his lips and drip down his chin, his body comes a little bit more undone.

It's just then that Gerard rips Frank's head back and pulls out, gasping, \"Christ<\/i>, fuck, fuck, fuck<\/i>,\" as he pants and sways back and forth. Frank blinks up at him, lips numb and throat raw. Gerard's head rolls back on his shoulders, skin pink all down his face and neck, spreading across his chest. His dick looks huge and flushed dark and perfect<\/i>. Frank pulls at Gerard's grip and tries to get his mouth back around it.

\"No, I\u2014oh, oh<\/i>\u2014\" Gerard swallows a high noise as Frank rips out of the hold Gerard's got on his hair and mouths up the side of his dick again, so needy for it he's getting sloppy. \"I'm gonna, Frank\u2014ungh\u2014don't\u2014\" Gerard says weakly, and makes like he's going to push Frank away but just pets down the side of his face instead.

Frank pulls back, panting. \"What?\" He feels like he's underwater, slow-moving.

\"Just...\" Frank notices the way Gerard's hips are circling in the air. \"Wanna fuck first. Come on.\"

Frank sighs. \"Can't. My fucking leg.\"

\"I know,\" Gerard says. He fits a thumb under Frank's jaw and tilts it up, pulling Frank's gaze from his cock to his face. He looks pretty fucking wrecked. \"I'm gonna make sure I don't touch your legs.\"

Frank's breath catches. \"Oh.\"

And somehow, Gerard pulls it off. Frank sits there, stunned into silence, hands limp at his sides, and watches.

Gerard rides his dick with a slow roll of his hips, catching himself just as he gets to the base of Frank's cock and canting his hips to slide up him again, like a fucking porn star. But the way Gerard pauses to moan, \"Oh, yeah<\/i>. Feel so fucking full<\/i>,\" head tipping back to show the slow bob of his Adam's apple, is way better than any porn Frank has seen.

Frank feels so strung out that he's barely making words, just moaning and panting through it. It's so much sensation, but at the same time so much less than he's used to: instead of the feeling of skin on skin all along his body, it's just the impossibly tight heat of Gerard sliding up and down on Frank's dick. Gerard's thighs shake whenever he lowers himself and lifts again, his fingers squeezing and relaxing on Frank's shoulders. Little \"Ah<\/i>\"s spill from Gerard's mouth every time he lowers his hips, catching himself right before he bottoms out. Frank never knew Gerard had muscles like this, holy shit<\/i>.

\"Frank,\" Gerard whispers, urgent, his dick hard and bobbing slightly with his slow rise and fall, face twisted up and mouth open. \"Frank, Frank.\"

\"I got you,\" Frank murmurs. He doesn't think twice before he licks his palm and curls it around Gerard's cock, can't remember why he wasn't supposed to use his hands.

Gerard moans and Frank moans back when he feels Gerard tighten around him. Gerard carefully takes one hand and then the other off of Frank's shoulders to reach back and curl around his own ankles. It makes his spine arch and shoulders drop back, skin and sweat and muscles shifting, the soft flesh of his belly jumping with the tensing of his muscles as he lifts and lowers himself with his arms.

It's just\u2014that<\/i>, then. Just the two of them in rhythm: Gerard's hips lifting and lowering, Frank's hand moving on his cock, eyes on each other, the wet sound of their fucking and the way they both breathe out, \"Hah, hah,\" on each exhale. Then it's Gerard swallowing Frank's noises, tongue sweeping his mouth and hips stuttering up into Frank's hand while Frank shakes and comes apart and Gerard follows a few strokes later.

Gerard is trembling but careful as he lifts himself off of Frank's dick and pivots to avoid his bad leg, slumping gracelessly onto his side on the cushions. It takes all of Frank's strength to roll his head along the back of the couch and look over. He feels incredible<\/i>.

\"Fuck, you're hot,\" Frank mumbles, smiling. Gerard's stomach droops a little when he lies on his side like that and his pale toes dig into Frank's right leg, and Frank wants every inch of him.

\"Shit,\" Gerard breathes into his own arm, grinning stupidly. \"That was a serious fucking workout. How's your leg?\"

Frank's eyes drift down Gerard's back and he gets distracted by the way the soft skin of his ass and thighs shine wet with Frank's come. \"What?\"

Gerard hums and pulls one knee up towards his stomach so Frank can get a better view. Frank moans and slides a hand up the inside of Gerard's thigh to dip the tips of his fingers inside of him, hot and sticky, the muscle clenching and releasing. \"Ah<\/i>\u2014stop it. Come on. Your leg?\"

\"I don't know these 'legs' you speak of,\" Frank says with a grin, wiping his fingers off on Gerard's calf. \"They don't work anymore. Don't need 'em.\"

\"Uh huh?\" Gerard tilts his head and scoots closer to the edge of the couch until Frank gets the hint and carefully arranges himself on his side along Gerard's back, sliding his right arm under Gerard's neck where he's lifted it up for him. \"So you gonna let me take care of you?\" Gerard asks, lips moving against the inside of Frank's arm.

\"Don't remember this being part of the prescription,\" Frank mumbles into Gerard's sweaty back, walking his fingers up Gerard's ribcage, \"but I'll take it.\"

Gerard presses back, sticky and warm all along Frank's body, and laughs softly. \"You will<\/i>.\"

And Frank does.


END
<\/a>

"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:desfinado:64321","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/64321.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=64321"}}],"title":"desfinado @ 2011-10-03T16:21:00","published":"2011-10-03T23:21:34Z","updated":"2018-01-29T01:32:28Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"bandom"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"fic"}}],"content":"Title<\/u>: A Delicate Art<\/b>
Author<\/u>: <\/a>desfinado<\/b><\/a><\/span>
Pairing<\/u>: Frank\/Gerard\/Mikey\/Ray
Rating<\/u>: NC-17
Warnings<\/u>: (indirect) incest, voyeurism
Word count<\/u>: 7055
Disclaimer<\/u>: They don't belong to me; not making a profit.
Summary<\/u>: Frank's band knows all about revenge plots.
Notes<\/u>: Set roughly during the summer of 2003. Written for the amazing 2011 <\/a>moldypitsandall<\/b><\/a><\/span> challenge. Thank you so<\/i> much to <\/a>shiningartifact<\/b><\/a><\/span> and <\/a>anoneknewmoose<\/b><\/a><\/span> for short-notice, fantastic beta help! THIS FIC IS SO ABSURD. Thank you for humouring me. ♥

Fantastic podfic<\/a> of this story by <\/a>xojemmaxo<\/b><\/a><\/span>!



\"You can just take a pair of mine,\" Gerard says.

\"No.\" Frank is holding the very edge of the sock between his fingers, top lip curled. He shakes it at Gerard. \"No, okay? This is the third fucking time someone has used my socks<\/i> to wipe up their nasty-ass jizz and I am putting my fucking foot down.\"

Frank does, in fact, put his foot down. A potato chip crunches under his bare toes.

\"Are you sure it's\u2014\" Gerard asks, reaching for the sock.

\"Yes,\" Frank says, pulling it away from him and nearly hitting his own face with it. \"Dude, I know what a fucking jerk-off sock looks like, okay?\" He wrinkles his nose and drops it into Gerard's lap. \"You know what? You are totally<\/i> welcome to look at it, dude.\"

No one else says anything while Gerard squints at the sock, stretching it out and sniffing it as Sabbath plays on the van's stereo.

Frank smacks the back of the bench seat. \"Guys, I am motherfucking serious, this is not cool<\/i>. Who keeps doing it?\"

\"Mmph,\" Ray says around a pepperoni stick before he lifts a hand from the steering wheel to wave the stick in the air. \"I haven't jerked off since we started the tour, Frankie. Sorry.\"

\"Freakish monk,\" Frank says. \"Otter?\"

\"He's asleep,\" Mikey sighs from behind them, \"and I know this because he's crushing my legs and I can't make him move.\"

\"Well was it you?\" Frank twists as far around as he can with the seatbelt digging in to his chest.

Mikey blinks behind his glasses. \"No offense, but socks don't really do it for me, man.\"

Frank narrows his eyes. \"I know all about your\u2014uagh!\" He throws both his arms in the air when he feels something move under his bare foot. \"Jesus Christ!\" He rams Gerard with an elbow as he hugs his legs to his chest reflexively.

\"Um,\" Gerard says.

\"Shut up.\" Frank lets out a slow breath through his nose, trying not to shudder. \"Something moved down there.\"

\"I changed lanes,\" Ray suggests.

\"I saw this thing about rats on TV,\" Gerard starts, \"where it said just touching them can give you this disease that makes\u2014\"

\"So I have to choose between rats eating my toes and playing a show with someone's spunk all over them?\" Frank sighs into his knees, bare where his jeans have ripped open. \"Awesome.\"

---<\/center>

The soccer game in the parking lot gets rained out, so Frank finds himself wedged between Mike and Dave from Senses Fail on one of the couches in the dressing room, three hours to kill before sound check.

\"That's impossible,\" Mike says, \"I have never<\/i> seen stiletto heels in a pit.\"

\"She was wearing them!\" Dave taps Frank's thigh. \"Dude, do you remember her? Two nights ago, pink hair, kind of on the left side of the crowd?\"

\"Sorry, man, I get kinda out of it when I play.\" Frank tries to cross one ankle over his thigh without nailing Dave in the balls.

\"Dude,\" Dave says, gesturing with his beer can at Frank's knobbly bare ankle, \"you know that makes your shoes reek, right? Like, Buddy wore shoes without socks for a month on tour and we had to take them away in a biohazard bag in the middle of the night, that shit was so bad.\"

\"It's my goddamn band<\/i>.\" Frank sighs, tilting his head back on the couch. \"Someone's been fucking jacking it into my socks and now I don't have any left. And the assholes are all denying it, too! I have evidence. Like, DNA<\/i> evidence.\"

Dave lowers the beer he was about to take a swig from, grimacing.

\"It was Otter,\" Mike says simply.

\"How do you know?\" Frank can't see Otter anywhere in the room, but then again he can't see much beyond Ray and the techs he's laughing with, standing in front of them.

\"Oh, man.\" Mike rubs at his face. \"That fucking kid. We lived together, and it was only when we moved out that I found all these nasty spunk-socks under his bed. And I know<\/i> they were mine because I got the fancy ones for Christmas that year with the fuzzy shit inside.\"

\"Were they still fuzzy?\" Dave asks.

\"In a... different way,\" Mike says.

\"Otter<\/i>,\" Frank hisses, planting both feet on the floor and wiggling his cold, bare toes inside his shoes. \"Excuse me gentlemen, I need to go stuff a sock down someone's throat.\"

Frank closes his fingers around Ray's elbow and pulls him over to the rider table where it looks like Gerard and Mikey are carefully dividing a mixed bowl of chips into each flavour. He doesn't ask.

\"Guys,\" Frank says between clenched teeth, \"I just got inside information that our rogue splooge artist is Otter.\"

\"How do you know?\" Gerard squints at him.

\"He's a repeat offender!\" Frank runs a hand across his buzzed hair. \"He ruined Mike's socks too, when they were roommates.\"

\"Man,\" Ray says, frowning and stealing an orange-coloured chip, \"repeat offender. Shit. Is that a kinky kind of thing? Would that be considered a foot fetish?\"

\"I think it would be if he was, like, blowing his load on Frank's toes while he slept,\" Mikey says. He's stacking Doritos on top of each other now. Frank sometimes wonders if the rock star life has passed them by.

\"No one is blowing their load on my toes,\" Frank says.

\"That you know of,\" Gerard points out.

\"Fuck you, just because you sleep through sex doesn't mean everyone else does.\" Frank kind of wonders if his band would be more helpful if this had unfolded before<\/i> the cases of beer arrived in the dressing room.

\"Is coming on someone's toes considered sex?\" Ray's eyebrows are drawn together as he leans in, like they're in a fucking football huddle.

\"Guys, focus.\" Frank snaps his fingers, looking each of them in the eye. Mikey's glasses are crooked and Gerard's gaze is kind of unfocused and Ray has that far-away look like he's still thinking about foot fetishes, but it's the best Frank's going to get. \"We need to plan some serious motherfucking revenge<\/i>. It could be your socks next!\"

\"Ooh, should we send him a message?\" Gerard throws an arm around Mikey and Frank's shoulders, smiling wide.

\"Like Godfather<\/i> send-him-a-message?\" Ray grins.

\"Yes,\" Gerard says, \"exactly like The Godfather<\/i>, only instead of his bed it'll be his favourite clothes and instead of a horse's head it'll be our motherfucking jizz<\/i>.\"

They stand there in a swaying huddle, considering it. Someone's breath smells like fake cheddar.

\"I kind of love you guys,\" Frank says.

---<\/center>

They decide to take turns doing it, since they've got some time to kill before sound check and all the vans have already been unloaded. Gerard gets all worked up about going first because it was his idea, so Frank hangs back, eating chips with Mikey and Ray while he waits for Gerard's half-hour to end.

It's been forty-five minutes when Frank tells them he's going out there to make sure Gerard hasn't been arrested for public exposure or fallen asleep with his dick out again.

The rain is still beating down, heavy and warm, as Frank jogs across the nearly-empty lot towards the white van. His t-shirt's damp and sticking to his shoulders by the time he wrenches the handle and slides the door open.

\"Shit!\" Gerard hisses from somewhere in the back. \"What the fuck, who is it?\"

\"Where are you?\" Frank asks. \"Are you rubbing one out down there with the rats?\" He pulls the door closed behind him and climbs up to kneel on the front bench seat. Gerard is lying across the middle seat, hands mostly covering his dick, jeans around his thighs and hoodie pushed up so his pale stomach is showing.

\"If you came out here to cheer me on, you better do it from a safe distance,\" Gerard says. Frank thinks his pissed-off face is way less scary with his balls out like that. \"What are you looking at?\"

\"Your balls,\" Frank says as he turns to sit down properly, facing the front. \"Seriously though, dude. We had a schedule. You got half an hour, and now you're just eating into my one-on-one time with Otter's favourite skate shoes.\"

\"His shoes?\" Frank can hear the smile in Gerard's voice. \"Nice one.\"

\"Otter's not the only splooge artist,\" Frank says. \"Okay, Ray's coming to switch out with me in ten. Are you gonna bust a nut or what, old man?\"

\"Fuck you, I was just getting into the groove when you interrupted. Worst cheerleader ever, by the way. You didn't even bring pom-poms.\"

\"Are we actually having a conversation while you hold your dick?\"

\"Yes. Boner-killer.\" Gerard sighs, shifting around on the bench seat.

\"Okay,\" Frank says decisively. He tucks one of Otter's shoes under his armpit before getting a knee up on the console and hauling himself forward between the two front seats. \"I'm gonna\u2014ow<\/i>, motherfucking armrest\u2014park my ass here where I can't see you and you can't see me. You're gonna do your thing back there and I'm gonna come in this motherfucking shoe. Okay?\"

It's quiet for a moment, just the sound of rain on the roof of the van and Frank's breathing.

\"Maybe you're<\/i> the one with the foot fetish,\" Gerard mutters.

Frank says, \"Can you hear this?\" He unzips his jeans, banging his knee on the dash as he wiggles them down his thighs, along with his underwear. \"This is the sound of me getting my dick out. So shut up and jack off already.\"

\"Nice pillow talk. You must be a prince in the bedroom.\"

\"Shut uuuuuuuuup,\" Frank groans, spitting in his palm and squeezing his eyes shut. \"If you keep talking, I'm gonna pretend you're a sexy chick in a porno.\"

Frank hears Gerard move around a bit, but he doesn't say anything else. Finally<\/i>.

The fabric of the driver's seat is kind of prickly under his bare ass and he keeps knocking his elbow into the armrest, but it still feels good slipping the tight wet ring of his thumb and forefinger up and down his cock as it hardens in his hand.

Frank doesn't usually think about much when he jacks off. He's kind of the same about fucking: likes it just fast and rough enough that he can't think, likes the way the world narrows down to nerve endings and the tight heat in his belly. He breathes out hard through his nose as he rubs the crown of his head back and forth on the seat. Right about now he'd usually be squirming around in his sheets or pressing his face and chest into the slippery cool of the shower tiles, restless. Locked in a van, all he can do is circle his hips. Frank's eyes are closed but he knows the shade of his own cock, imagines it pink against the pale of his knuckles and the black chipped polish on his nails.

Gerard makes a choked sound, like he's trying to hold his breath and failing.

\"Jesus Christ.\" Frank opens his eyes and plants both hands on the steering wheel. Raindrops track down the windshield in front of him, the blurry shapes of cars in the parking lot swimming in and out of focus.

\"Sorry,\" Gerard says as he lets out a heavy breath. \"It's hard. I'm kinda\u2014um. Loud when I do this.\"

\"Of course you fucking are,\" Frank says, closing his eyes again. He busies himself with running his tongue along his palm and up the length of each finger, getting them slippery. \"Just try, okay?\" His breath hitches a bit as he gets his hand on his dick again, twisting around the head and rubbing his palm back and forth.

Gerard says, \"'kay,\" in a low voice as Frank squeezes his other hand around the base of his cock. Frank gasps\u2014quietly, he hopes\u2014and is just getting into it again, toes flexing and curling in his shoes under the pedals, when the side door slides open.

\"Oh my fucking god<\/i>,\" Gerard groans just as Frank swears, pulling his legs up to his chest. His hard-on feels ridiculous, trapped heavy and damp between his t-shirt and thighs.

\"We came to make sure you guys didn't get murdered or something,\" Frank hears Mikey say.

\"Or have buttsex,\" Ray adds. The air they bring in with them is humid and smells of wet asphalt.

\"We're trying<\/i> to send a message, remember?\" Frank says, looking over his shoulder and trying not to flash them.

\"You're all the biggest fucking cockblocks ever,\" Gerard moans from somewhere behind him.

Frank can feel the damp spot spreading on his t-shirt where the head of his cock is touching. Ray leans in the doorframe with his arms braced above him on the roof while Mikey peers in around him, hair stuck wetly to his face. They're both grinning.

\"My dick is out,\" Frank says miserably. \"I'm looking you in the eye right now and my dick is out<\/i>. Can you please fuck off and let me finish?\"

\"Sound check's in less than an hour,\" Ray says, cheek pressed to the inside of his arm as he makes a show of trying to see Frank's lap. Frank narrows his eyes and pulls his legs tighter into himself.

\"Well then fuck off or get in,\" Frank says. \"I haven't jacked it in weeks and I was right in the middle and I have Otter's shoe<\/i>, okay?\" He clenches his jaw, feeling the muscles shift.

\"Okay.\" Frank blinks as Mikey props a foot on the van floor and hoists himself inside. \"I call his favourite jeans.\"

\"What the fuck, Mikey?\" Gerard sits upright, pulling the hoodie he had grabbed from Otter's duffle bag over his lap. Frank can see how pink his cheeks are from here. \"Get your own fucking van.\"

\"Yeah, like you never rubbed one out when we shared a room.\" Mikey climbs into the back, behind Gerard. \"I already know all about your dying-animal sex noises.\"

\"Jesus Christ, Mikey,\" Gerard says. Frank twists in the seat to see them; there's water beaded on the lens of Mikey's glasses and his lips are red as he grins. His shoulders are shifting in a way that makes Frank think he's opening his pants already.

\"Oh god, my eyes!\" Gerard slaps both hands over his face and whirls back to face forward.

\"Well, why were you watching?\" Mikey asks.

\"You just gonna stand there, Toro?\" Frank asks. \"Gerard made a rule: if you're cheerleading, you need pom-poms.\"

Ray's arms flex as he sways forward and back in the doorframe, skin shining wet from the rain. \"I dunno...\"

\"You can come on Otter's Yankees hat?\"

It only takes Ray a second to think about it before he says, \"I do hate the Yankees.\" He climbs in and slides the door shut behind him.

After all the rustling fabric and zipper sounds have passed, Frank finally lets himself lower his feet back to the van floor. It's harder to pretend he's alone, now, but there's a low buzz of arousal in Frank's limbs and he's still half-hard as he starts to fist himself.

\"This is like a letter to Penthouse,\" Mikey says conversationally from the back. He's probably happily touching his dick while he says it, the exhibitionist.

\"Shut up,\" Frank says, \"you're worse than Gerard.\"

Someone\u2014Ray, probably, because he's so close it feels like he's breathing down Frank's neck\u2014lets out a long breath. \"Frank, I can see your elbow around the seat,\" he complains. \"Your elbow's watching me.\"

\"I can see my brother's head,\" Mikey says. \"And yours. And<\/i> Frank's elbow.\"

\"You win,\" Ray agrees. \"Or does that mean you lose?\"

\"Okay, seriously,\" Gerard says, sounding kind of tight. \"I've been jacking off for, like, more than an hour now. Can we just do this already?\"

\"Hey, I've been doing it for the last five minutes,\" Mikey says.

Frank groans and pulls his elbow in against his side. \"Shut up, shut up, shut up<\/i>.\"

Surprisingly, the guys listen. The sound of the rain isn't loud enough to drown out the three dudes breathing behind him or the occasional ambiguously wet noise, but with Frank's eyes squeezed shut and a hand curled around his cock, he can just imagine they're sex noises. Like he's got a porno playing in the background or whatever.

Frank tongues at his lip ring as he gets a good rhythm going, one hand moving tight on the base of his dick as the other slips back and forth over the head, just the right combination of slick and friction when the skin catches. He can feel the muscles in his calves tense and relax as he breathes heavily through his nose, the familiar warmth spreading out through his limbs, tingling like pricks of heat up the base of his skull and across his scalp.

Someone grunts behind him. Frank touches his tongue to the corner of his open mouth and thinks could be anybody, just a porno noise<\/i> and decides that, whatever, it's kind of hot. Like he's jerking off for a chick or something. Frank shifts around, rubbing his shoulders against the seat, shoving his hips up into his hand. Yeah<\/i>. Like she's up against the headboard with her legs open and fingers pushing into herself, noises rising deep from her belly as she watches him with heavy eyes.

Frank arches his back under the imaginary gaze, one side of his mouth tugging up in a smirk as he presses his cheek into the seat, baring the line of his throat, the scorpion inked there.

\"Jesus, Gerard, you're like a fucking freight train,\" Mikey says, laughter bleeding into his voice, \"have you always gone at it so fast?\" Frank's eyes fly open again and he swears.

Gerard groans loudly and smacks the seat. \"Mikey<\/i>. I was getting\u2014fuck<\/i>,\" he pants. Frank's eyes flick up to the rear-view mirror instinctively and he sees Gerard's face in it, flushed and twisted up in frustration, eyes shut tight and hands still in his lap.

\"Is this how you two always do it?\" Ray asks. Frank can't see his reflection, but he can hear him shifting around on the seat.

\"Seriously,\" Gerard grits out. There's a tone to his voice that Frank's never heard before. \"I just want to fucking get this over with and I need you to be quiet<\/i>. How many ways is there to say 'shut up'?\"

\"How about 'shove a sock in it'?\" Ray suggests.

The four of them pause before bursting out laughing. Frank slaps one hand over his forehead and the other down on the armrest, giggling so hard he bashes his knee into the steering wheel. \"Fuck<\/i>!\"

\"Dork,\" Mikey says between dry gulps of laughter. Frank can see his head tilted back, wide smile on his face as Gerard shakes his head, hands over his face but obviously grinning.

Frank's dick twitches, spit cooling on his skin. He groans and gets a hand back around it. \"This is the weirdest fucking boner I've ever had,\" he says, another giggle bubbling up in his throat.

\"I'm sorry, Gee,\" Mikey says. Frank watches as he pats awkwardly at the top of Gerard's head. \"I know this is... oh. That hand was just on my dick. Sorry. I'll stop touching you with it, now.\"

Gerard makes a horrified noise and Ray bursts out laughing again, falling sideways onto the seat. That sets Gerard off laughing too. The smile that spreads across Ray's face is the kind that Frank always thinks is infectious, the way it softens Ray's eyes at the corners.

Franks smiles at the mirror and then looks down. He's started moving his fist up and down on his cock again. He looks back into the mirror, at Mikey's wet hair plastered to his forehead and Gerard's eyelashes dark on his face and Ray's red, red lips, at his band mates smiling big and happy. Frank shifts over discreetly so he can get a better look in the mirror. That's actually kind of\u2014

He squeezes his dick.

Huh.

\"Come on, guys,\" Ray says, laughter still in his voice. He drops to one elbow, lying on his side on the seat, appearing in the bottom of the rear-view mirror. He looks down his own chest to where one of his hands dangles over his stomach, pulling at the fabric of his t-shirt. \"We've only got, like, a half-hour left. Priorities.\"

Frank blinks as he follows the path of Ray's hand in the mirror, digging his feet into the floor so he can sit up higher and see when Ray's hand slides down his own dick, holding it away from his body before letting go so it slaps back against the hem of his t-shirt.

Frank's breath catches. Damn<\/i>.

\"Sorry,\" Mikey says from the back. \"I'll try to ignore Gerard's speedy jack-off tactics.\" Frank is only half paying attention because\u2014shit<\/i>. He always knew Toro was hung, but his dick even looks huge under the slide of his own big, tanned hand, pressing it to his stomach and sliding his fingers up and down its length. Frank doesn't even realize he's started imitating Ray, unable to look away, until he gasps at the sensation of cotton under his own sensitive skin and the drag of his too-dry palm.

\"Sorry,\" Frank whispers to the van at large.

\"Ungh,\" someone says from behind Ray. No one yells or complains, so Frank thinks maybe there's just going to be some noise and there's not much they can do about it. He watches Ray lick his own palm and tip his head back, can see where he hasn't shaved in a few days. Ray's throat bobs, swallowing a deep noise, when he curls his wet fist back around his cock.

\"Fuck,\" Frank says, and then, \"shit,\" when he realizes he said that aloud, but when he darts his gaze to Mikey and Gerard in the mirror, they don't even have their eyes open. It's kind of weird that he can't see below their armpits. They could just be sitting there like normal, like it's Frank's turn behind the wheel and it's the wrong side of three in the morning, everyone in the van snoring behind him.

Frank rubs a hand over his cheek, chest rising and falling more quickly now, his skin hot. It's different, though. Gerard's shoulder is shaking hard and fast, pieces of black hair swinging back and forth in front of his face. Mikey's shoulder rolls more slowly, like he's working out a crick in his neck, but it's calculated and surprisingly smooth for Mikey. It looks like it feels good.

\"Oh,\" Ray sighs. Frank pushes his toes into the footwell so he can crane up and see Ray's face in the mirror, pressed into the arm he's got spread out on the seat beside him, mouth wet and open and eyes shut as he rolls his hips into his hand. The head of his cock is flushed red, a darker colour than Frank's and wider too, as it slips out of the ring of his fingers and back in, over and over again.

\"Christ, Toro,\" Frank breathes before he can stop himself. Ray blinks his eyes open, meeting Frank's in the mirror immediately, and it makes Frank's stomach flip over, hand stilling on his dick.

\"What?\" Ray's cheeks heat up and Frank forces a smile, tries not to look too creepy. Ray hasn't taken his hand off his dick, though.

\"What?\" Mikey repeats, sounding breathless.

\"Toro's fucking packing,\" Frank says, meeting Mikey's eyes in the mirror. He hopes they can't see his dick in it; objects may seem smaller than they appear, and all that shit\u2014especially compared to Ray's. \"You should see this.\"

\"Yeah?\" Mikey bites at the corner of his lip. In the seat in front of him, Gerard's head is hanging and he's breathing heavily behind the screen of hair, shoulders shaking fast. He's panting so loudly it sounds like he's running a goddamn marathon.

\"Whatever. It's all about how you use it,\" Ray says. It sounds sort of like he's handing out advice and sort of like he's making a really dirty promise. Ray's gaze meets Frank's in the mirror, eyes half-closed. He's fucking up into his own hand with a slow, driving roll of his hips; it makes the skin at Frank's neck prickle.

Frank has to close his eyes and breathe, spitting blindly into his palm and dropping a quiet, \"Ah, fuck<\/i>,\" at how good the slide feels when he rubs it up the length of his dick. Shit, this is kind of messed up.

\"Oh, uh, I'm\u2014\" Gerard chokes out. Frank has no shame anymore; he speeds his hand on his dick as he looks up at the mirror again. Gerard's hunched so far forward that his head's touching the back of Ray's bench seat, shoulders shaking. \"Fuck,\" Gerard gasps at his lap, words slurred, \"the hoodie, I was supposed to\u2014oh god, I'm close, Frank, where is it? Shit<\/i>.\"

\"I don't know,\" Frank says breathlessly, \"I thought you had it?\"

Gerard's other hand curls tight around the seat-back next to his head, fingers digging in. \"Fuck, I wanna...\"

\"It's there,\" Mikey says quickly, \"it's okay Gee, you just dropped it, look, it's down\u2014\"

\"Ah\u2014ah<\/i>\u2014\" Gerard gasps, high and desperate, and Frank feels his cheeks heat up; it's such a vulnerable, personal sort of sound and he's making right it here<\/i>, in front of all of them.

\"Oh, okay, I'll...\" Mikey disappears from view behind the seat-back. \"Fuck, I can't reach it from here.\"

\"Please, please, I'm gonna\u2014\" Gerard's hand claws at the seat as he begs, voice tight and needy, \"I can't, please\u2014\"

Mikey fumbles and gets himself around the edge of the bench seat, his eyes on Gerard as he shuffles in next to him and bends down\u2014fuck, Frank can't see what he's doing behind the seat, he can't see<\/i>. Frank doesn't even give a shit anymore; he gets a knee up on his seat and turns around to watch, his dick pressed hard against the fabric. Gerard's panting is loud and ragged, filling the van.

Mikey sits upright again with the missing hoodie in his hand. The way his eyes drift from his brother's bowed head down the line of his spine to the dark space behind the seat that Frank can't see makes Frank groan, loud and embarrassing, into the side of the seat where his face is pressed.

\"Shut up,\" Frank says tightly when Ray raises both eyebrows at him, \"Mikey, you're\u2014\"

\"Shit<\/i>,\" Gerard swears, loud and almost violent, \"shit, you guys, oh my fucking\u2014fucking\u2014\" His voice hitches even higher. It's impossible not to watch; even Ray rolls onto his back to look up at him. Frank's heavy breath makes the upholstered seat hot and moist against his face as he pushes his cock into the fabric.

\"Gerard<\/i>,\" Mikey whispers like it's surprised out of him. His eyebrows are drawn together, the lines of his body tense. Gerard gasps, his shoulders hitching.

\"Gerard,\" Ray repeats, low and sure.

\"Don't\u2014fuck, you guys, I can't<\/i>\u2014\" Gerard begs. He pushes his face sideways against the seat-back, hair all over the place.

\"Gerard,\" Frank manages, throat suddenly dry. Gerard gasps and tilts his head to look over, meeting Frank's eyes. He looks wild and overwhelmed and like he's both far away and completely present at once.

\"Motherfuckers<\/i>,\" Gerard grits out before squeezing his eyes shut and shaking apart under his own hand. Frank can't help watching Mikey's face while it happens, the colour high in his cheeks, the dumb sort of way his mouth hangs open and his hair sits limply on his forehead.

The van seems warmer than it was when they got in; Frank can feel the heat radiating from his own skin, from the hard line of his dick pressed against the fabric of the driver's seat. All of them are breathing heavily, watching Gerard.

\"Check it out,\" Gerard mumbles as he sits upright, holding Otter's black hoodie. There's a wide, white stain across the very middle.

Ray grins and Frank says, \"Thank god you got that art degree.\"

\"Gross,\" Mikey says, wrinkling his nose. Gerard's gaze slips to Mikey's lap and then quickly out the side window.

\"Ten minutes,\" Ray says, eyes widening, when he looks at his watch. \"Shit, you guys. Ten minutes<\/i>, and I gotta come on this hat.\"

\"This is the weirdest circle jerk I've ever been to,\" Mikey says, leaning back against the seat and closing his eyes, hand disappearing into his lap again.

Ray snorts, rubbing both his hands over his face and back through his hair, fanned out on the seat around his head as he looks up at the van ceiling. \"How many circle jerks have you been to?\"

\"Is this even a circle jerk?\" Frank asks. He figures he should sit back down, get going again, but there's something about watching his band: the hard line of Ray's dick curving up against the black of his t-shirt, shifting as his stomach rises and falls with his breath; the boneless way Gerard leans against the window; Mikey chewing on his lip. Eating and sleeping and breathing with these dudes is a lot, but it really hasn't prepared him for their sex faces.

\"I think we'd have to be, like...\" Gerard carefully lays the hoodie out on the back of the seat between himself and Mikey, looking anywhere but his brother, \"jerking each other off?\"

\"And we're not in a circle,\" Ray points out. \"Shit<\/i>,\" he whispers as he drops one shoulder to cup his balls and wraps the other hand back around his dick, pulling in long, slow strokes that lift it up off his belly.

Frank feels too far away and too close, somehow. He's drooling on the back of the seat where his cheek is pressed in as he palms his own balls, tugging lightly and starting to jack himself off with his other hand.

\"You like it dry, Toro?\" he asks.

\"What?\" Ray's voice is throatier than usual and Frank gasps when Ray's eyes meet his just as the head of Frank's dick rubs against the rough upholstery. It's more intense when it's not through a mirror.

\"Oh, fuck<\/i>,\" Frank moans loudly into the seat, shoving his forehead into it so Ray can't see his face. \"Ignore me. I don't even know what I'm\u2014ungh.\" Frank can't hear anything but his own breath and the slap of skin. His skin. Other people's skin. This is insane<\/i>.

\"If it's hard enough,\" Ray says quietly. \"I mean, I like it when\u2014but people don't usually do it. Um.\"

\"Girls never believe me when I want it harder,\" Mikey says. His voice shakes with the movement of his hand, breathless. \"You know?\"

\"Shit, yeah,\" Frank mumbles down at his lap, rolling his forehead back and forth on the edge of the seat. The rough drag of the fabric every time his dick brushes it is just a little too much; exactly the kind of too much<\/i> that Frank likes. \"If it hurts, that's\u2014fuck<\/i>\u2014not always a bad thing.\"

\"Christ,\" Gerard says, loud enough that Frank looks up at him. He notices Mikey do the same. Ray pushes up on one elbow but doesn't let go of his cock with the other, struggling to crane his neck and see over the seat. \"This is a lot more awkward now that my dick is back in my pants. I\u2014I'll just wait for you guys outside?\"

This is creepy. Frank is getting way too used to watching his band mates talk while he pulls at his own cock. He keeps forgetting to listen and just zones out, watching their lips move.

\"\u2014raining really fucking hard,\" Mikey is telling him, frowning, \"and you'd have to climb over me.\"

\"Oh. Right. Where you're...\" Gerard waves a hand at Mikey's lap and Mikey raises his eyebrows before Gerard spins, wide-eyed, to look out the opposite window. Frank squeezes his dick a little harder and makes an embarrassing noise that he hopes gets lost in the upholstery he's started gnawing at.

\"Five minutes,\" Ray groans when he checks his watch again, flopping back onto the seat and throwing his arm over his eyes. \"Shit. The pressure is killing me, guys, this is why I never do this on tour.\"

\"Okay,\" Mikey says firmly, \"let's fucking do this. I'm gonna do what I... need to do. And you guys\u2014yeah. This is important, remember. We're making a statement<\/i>.\"

\"Thanks for the pep talk,\" Ray says and then stuffs his own forearm in his mouth, eyes squeezed shut. Frank somehow feels less creepy watching the way his hand speeds up on his dick, pushing his t-shirt up his belly, when Ray can't see him. This is kind of worrying, because it should be more<\/i> creepy.

Right. Okay. Five minutes. Frank spits on his hand and decides he's going to do it as hard and fast as he can, even though the muscles in his right arm are starting to burn.

\"God,\" he moans, eyes rolling back in his head, because... shit. He forgot how close he already was.

\"God,\" someone says in response, and then someone else<\/i>\u2014who sounds very much like Gerard\u2014says, \"God!\" in an alarmed sort of way.

The van is starting to smell like sweat and all Frank can hear is harsh breathing and wet slapping sounds and the sensory overload is a sweet one, just what he needs. Frank's thighs tremble as he hits a good pace, rolling his shoulders and feeling it turn his body liquid and hot all over.

\"Oh,\" someone breathes in surprise. Frank has to fight to open his eyes, bracing a hand awkwardly on the dashboard behind him as he leans back. Ray's got both hands on his dick now, one over the other, fucking up hard into his grip. \"Oh, shit<\/i>,\" he says, and Frank hears him swear all the time but there's something so fucking dirty about the way Ray's lips, wide and red and shining wet, curve around the syllables.

\"Yeah,\" Mikey groans. He's slumped lower now, head tipped back on the seat behind him. His throat looks thick and the tendons stand out in sharp relief as he groans and rolls his head side to side on the seat, shoulders shaking.

\"It's\u2014this is\u2014\" Ray breathes, rhythm faltering as he fucks up into his hands, then pulls at himself, and then fucks up again, hips circling. His fingers flex and curl and, god, it's\u2014

\"Fuck, oh, motherfucker<\/i>,\" Frank moans as he wobbles back on his knees, braced on a shaking arm. Because\u2014how did he not see this before? The set of Ray's shoulders, the crease between his eyebrows, the curl of his biceps, raised veins in his forearms... it's like he's fucking playing<\/i>. It's like when he plays that bridge in Enter Sandman<\/i>, the progression that builds hard and fast and heavy. Ray told Frank once that he sometimes doesn't feel like one of the guys, living less for bar fights and smooth pick-up lines than for late nights in the studio and big hugs. But when he plays that progression? He feels like a fucking man<\/i>.

Frank groans and bites his lip, elbow nearly buckling before he straightens it again, fisting himself as fast as he can.

\"This is so weird,\" Gerard says quietly, pressed up against the window like he wants to climb out of it but also kind of like he wants to feel it up or something.

\"Your face<\/i> is so weird,\" Mikey says, voice tight.

\"Don't fucking\u2014Mikes!\" Gerard sounds scandalized. \"Don't talk<\/i> to me while you're\u2014\"

\"Pruuuuude,\" Frank sings, and then chokes out, \"oh, god,\" as Mikey grins and bats his eyelashes at his brother, mouth hanging open and cheeks flushed. His glasses slip down his nose a fraction as he shakes with the movement of his arm.

\"Stop it!\" Gerard says, voice high, waving a hand at Mikey like he wants to slap him but he's afraid to touch. \"Don't... stop it! Stop looking at me!\"

Mikey's eyes fall shut, then, and he jams a knuckle into his mouth, moaning around it. He jerks hard on the seat and Gerard swears and Ray groans low and long, back arching as\u2014oh, shit<\/i>\u2014he comes, striping his chest, mouth hanging open and cheeks pink. Frank's so close, moaning out loud, when his arm finally gives out and he falls back against the steering wheel.

\"BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT,\" goes the horn.

\"Fuck!<\/i>\" goes Ray, throwing both arms out and bolting upright.

\"I didn't look!\" Gerard says, slapping his hands over his eyes.

\"Oh, shit,\" Frank chokes out, and the horn stutters a few more short honks as he attempts to get up and falls back again because he's so close<\/i> and his hand is at just the right angle and he can feel<\/i> the guys watching him, watching him fist his cock and arch his back, and\u2014\"Oh, shit, I'm... fuuuuuck<\/i>.\" Frank comes all over the back of the driver's seat, giggling and groaning at the same time.

\"Christ, Frank,\" Ray moans, pushing hair out of his face with his clean forearm as he looks down at the mess on his t-shirt and hands, dick curved and soft against his stomach, \"always gotta be louder than everyone else.\"

Frank can't help laughing, trying to clean up the seat-back with his hand but doing little more than spreading it around. He's boneless and smiling stupidly and just wants to slide down onto the floor and fall asleep, rats or no rats. \"Come on. You know that's why you asked me to join your band, Toro.\"

\"Nice,\" Mikey says to himself, sounding pleased, and Frank looks up from wiping at the seat. He's holding Otter's jeans up. There's a spectacular and very incriminating mess across the front of the crotch.

\"Dammit,\" Frank mutters, remembering the shoe. It's still sitting on the seat next to him.

\"Oh, crap,\" Ray says. Frank scrapes what he can off of his palm into the heel of the shoe and looks up to see Ray running a finger down his own chest, wrinkling his nose as he wipes it off gingerly along the outside of Otter's baseball cap.

Mikey grins and then balls the jeans up, bending down to shove them back into Otter's bag. \"A lesson he'll never forget.\"

\"Man, we're a spunk machine<\/i>,\" Frank says. \"I don't think I've ever been surrounded by so much semen before.\" He maneuvers himself around in the seat so that he can get his underwear and jeans done up.

\"It was kinda weird,\" Gerard says. \"I shouldn't have blown my load so early. I could see and hear everything<\/i>.\"

\"Then maybe you shouldn't have taken up everybody else's turn,\" Mikey tells him.

\"Like you didn't love it, you big perv.\" Frank grins as he climbs back over the console.

\"My shirt,\" Ray says sadly, looking down at his chest. \"I Otter'd myself, and I don't have any clean shirts left.\"

\"You've got shitty aim, dude,\" Mikey says, smiling crookedly. He wrenches the door handle and slides it open. The muggy New England air seems crisp and clear compared to the smell in the van. Frank shoves Otter's shoe back with the other one under the seat. He feels the kind of warm, happy vindication that only comes from pulling a really good joke. He's already excited for Otter's reaction tonight.

\"It's a delicate art,\" Gerard says, climbing out behind his brother. He shakes his head in the rain and squints up at the sky, taking a deep breath. \"I tried to go for, like, an abstract sort of design with mine.\" Ray snorts.

\"Just turn your ruined shirt inside-out,\" Frank suggests.

\"Oh my god,\" Ray says, shoving at Frank's side so he can get past him to the door. Frank pushes back easily with his hip. \"Is that<\/i> why you wear all your shirts inside-out?\"

Frank climbs out of the van after him, tapping his nose. \"I'm taking that one to the grave, dude.\" Ray slides the door closed behind them and Gerard fishes the key from his pocket, fighting with the jiggly lock.

Mikey's already halfway across the parking lot, jeans low on his hips and bony elbows in the air as he tries to protect his hair from the rain. \"Thanks,\" Frank says quickly, and then scrunches his nose up at himself. \"For, like, helping with the whole\u2014vengeance. Thing.\"

\"We've got each other's backs in this band,\" Gerard says with one of those stupid smiles that means if Frank asked him, he could go on for an hour about his feelings. \"Familia<\/i>, right?\"

\"Ri-ight,\" Frank says. His legs are still a bit loose and wobbly, and he weaves between Ray and Gerard like a ping-pong ball as they near the venue's back door. \"Because your idea of family bonding time is so wholesome. I saw you two being creepy in the back.\"

\"What? No! Ew.\" Gerard smacks hard at Frank's shoulder, his cheeks red. Frank and Ray share a grin.

\"Jesus Christ,\" the sound tech swears as soon as they reach the stage. Mikey's already pulling the strap of his bass over his head and smiling at them. \"Where did you guys disappear to?\"

Otter points a drum stick at them. \"Painting each other's nails?\" Gerard flips him off as they find their spots onstage. Frank darts over quickly to pat Otter's back with his still-clammy palms, rubbing them into his shirt until Otter pushes Frank away. Ray, Gerard, and Mikey double over laughing.

\"What? What<\/i>?\" Otter asks.

When Frank looks up at his band he feels good, all the way from his fingers curling around the neck of his guitar down to his toes.

They wiggle, bare and happy, in his shoes.

END<\/a>

"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:desfinado:60660","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/60660.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=60660"}}],"title":"desfinado @ 2011-08-23T00:32:00","published":"2011-08-23T07:42:56Z","updated":"2018-01-29T01:31:30Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"bandom"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"fic"}}],"content":"Title: Heart On<\/b>
Author:<\/b> <\/a>desfinado<\/b><\/a><\/span>
Band(s):<\/b> My Chemical Romance (The Bled, The Used, and other bands on tour with them)
Pairing(s):<\/b> Frank\/Gerard, Frank\/Gerard\/Pedicone
Word Count:<\/b> 13,372
Rating:<\/b> NC-17
Warnings:<\/b> An author who took some liberties with canon and dudes making some silly decisions during sex.
Notes:<\/b> Written for <\/a>bandombigbang<\/b><\/a><\/span> 2011, wave two. The title is borrowed from The Eagles of Death Metal's song and album of the same name. My endless love and thanks go to <\/a>anoneknewmoose<\/b><\/a><\/span> and <\/a>shiningartifact<\/b><\/a><\/span> for devoting so much of their time to talking about and editing this story. Thank you for bearing with all its drafts, my late-night questions, and for wanting to help me make it the best it could be. I love you both a STUPID amount ♥ Also a big thanks to the mods for making this such an incredible challenge to be a part of!

Summary:<\/b> From early days touring in vans to Projekt Revolution, the tour crew swears that they\u2019re not homophobic, they just don\u2019t want to see that shit. Frank takes it as a personal challenge.

\"Okay,\" Cortez says on a Saturday night, sitting Frank and Gerard down on a picnic bench between the buses where some crew and band members are drinking from a keg. \"Are you or are you not fucking?\"

The guys around them laugh and Frank purses his lips to keep from smiling, looking to Gerard for an answer.

\"A lady doesn't kiss and tell,\" Gerard finally says, making a kissy face. Frank notices that he's still got his sheriff's badge on; Mikey says it makes Gerard approximately 78% more gay.

\"Yes she does,\" Bob says around the rim of his beer, \"because her bandmates will make her sleep in the gear trailer if she's been having secret sex with her guitarist <\/i>on our bus.\"

\"If you can't tell whether we're having secret sex,\" Frank says, grabbing the beer Ray offers him and settling back against the bench, \"then haven't you already proved that it doesn't matter?\"<\/i><\/blockquote>

Heart On<\/a>
Epilogue<\/a><\/center>

Bonus Tracks\/Enhanced Content<\/b>

Fanart:<\/b>
Pedicone, Frank and Gerard<\/a> by <\/a>mrsronweasley<\/b><\/a><\/span>

Fanmix(es):<\/b>
Stumbling down the street holding hands<\/a> by <\/a>schneestern<\/b><\/a><\/span>"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:desfinado:55722","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/55722.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=55722"}}],"title":"desfinado @ 2011-07-22T08:40:00","published":"2011-07-22T15:40:48Z","updated":"2018-01-29T01:34:12Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"bandom"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"fic"}}],"content":"Title<\/u>: Proof<\/b>
Author<\/u>: <\/a>desfinado<\/b><\/a><\/span>
Reader<\/u>: <\/a>shiningartifact<\/b><\/a><\/span> (posted here<\/a> at her journal)
Pairing<\/u>: Gerard\/Frank (Lindsey\/Gerard, Jamia\/Frank)
Rating<\/u>: NC-17
Word count<\/u>: 6,400
Runtime:<\/u> 40m 00s
Disclaimer<\/u>: They don't belong to me; not making a profit.
Summary<\/u>: Frank won't stop taking pictures in the studio while the band records their new album.
Notes<\/u>: Completed for the 2011 <\/a>pod_together<\/b><\/a><\/span> challenge! Set in the spring of 2010 while MCR began to record Danger Days<\/i>. Since this was a collaborative project, we are posting both the fic and the podfic together. We encourage you to read and listen to both pieces.

Valeria made us some incredible<\/i> art for this story, which you should definitely go check out here<\/a>! Thanks so much, girl! ♥

<\/a>desfinado<\/b><\/a><\/span> - This was written with invaluable support and input from <\/a>shiningartifact<\/b><\/a><\/span> - my absolute favourite podfic author, who I've been so<\/i> fortunate to get to work with on this. It was such<\/i> an honour to be get see the podfic planning and recording process for this; she puts so much care and attention into her work that it blows my mind, and I think it really shows. Also, major thanks to <\/a>anoneknewmoose<\/b><\/a><\/span> for a thorough beta that has made this story so much more than it was.

<\/a>shiningartifact<\/b><\/a><\/span>: This project was such a fascinating and fun experience. Thanks so much to the mods for their wonderful idea and all of the hard work that went into running this challenge! I'm beyond grateful to <\/a>desfinado<\/b><\/a><\/span> for all of the things that come out of her fabulous brain and for being so enthusiastic about our collaboration. She let me in on the brainstorming for the story, which was so much fucking fun, and was so supportive and helpful throughout the recording and editing process as well. It was a dream<\/i> to work with her and I hope that I get to do it again soon.


To download the podfic mp3, click HERE<\/a><\/b> and then click to download the file.

To download the audiobook, click HERE<\/a><\/b> and then click to download the file.





Gerard and Mikey are hunched over a keyboard, arguing about a note that Mikey says is \"too sad,\" when Ray falls into the drum kit.

\"Wow, it really doesn't<\/i> just happen in cartoons,\" Gerard says after the spectacular display of noise has died out, a drumstick rolling to a stop at his shoe.

Ray swears and tries to rescue the donut he had been holding, now crushed under a cymbal. \"What the fucking fuck was that?\" He pushes a high hat out of the way and frowns. \"I thought I left Bauer on his leash!\"

Frank ignores the urge to rub at the spot where Ray's leg slammed into his hip \u2013 photographers can't let themselves get distracted \u2013 and tilts the camera, snapping a few shots of the carnage on the sound room rug. \"I think I'll call it a god has fallen<\/i>,\" he says from where he's crouched in the doorway.

\"Jesus Christ, Frank,\" Ray says while Mikey helps him up. \"Why are you in the way?\" He waves a hand at the kit. \"This shit is expensive!\"

Frank finally stands up, letting the camera hang from the strap around his neck. \"Aw, I can't take pictures when you guys are looking<\/i> at me.\" He waggles his fingers in the air and adds, \"I'm invisible when I'm being a photog, remember?\"

\"You're not allowed to say photog<\/i> anymore,\" Gerard tells him. He plunks out a few notes on the keyboard and goes back to arguing: \"Come on, Mikes, it's not sad, it's dissonant<\/i>. Like, it's a note that makes you think<\/i>.\"

Frank carefully lifts the camera over his head and places it in its foam-lined plastic case, running his fingers over the little knobs and buttons in satisfaction before snapping the case shut.

\"You okay?\" he asks Ray quietly, feeling kind of bad. Ray sighs but nods. Frank smiles at him and turns his attention to the Ways. \"Mikey, your brother is talking out of his ass, and Gerard, you're just being a bitch because I don't want to photograph you while you're posing and sprawling all over the soundboard or whatever.\"

Ray laughs, adjusting the snares, and Gerard opens his mouth so Frank quickly adds, \"\u2014or you think I'm gonna give you a double chin.\"

\"You promised you would delete that photo and stop taking pictures of me from that angle,\" Gerard says. Frank may be imagining things, but he seems to be hitting that key in a menacing sort of way. As menacing as part of an A-minor chord can be.

\"See, sad!\" Mikey says. He raises his eyebrows and points a finger at Ray. \"Come on, tell me that isn't sad.\"

\"Well technically,\" Ray starts, \"it's only sad when it comes after a minor progression<\/i>, like this.\" He joins them at the keyboard to demonstrate.

Frank watches his bandmates talk while he starts tuning his guitar. It's that time of day after the pizza's been delivered but before a Starbucks run, when Gerard's just finished saying goodnight to Bandit over his phone. The warm, softly lit space of the studio makes it feel like it could be night or day, like time could stretch on forever.

They've hit a killer pace this week, writing two tracks in as many days. Last Friday, they spent all night sprawled out on the studio carpet with Chinese takeout, every ray gun in Los Angeles and half an art store on the floor around them. They recited lines from Goodfellas<\/i> and aimed painted technicolour plastic barrels at each other while they tested out the sounds.

Frank grins down at the neck of his guitar. His job is pretty fucking sweet sometimes.



\"I like this one,\" Ray says later that night, hunched over the viewfinder of Frank's camera while he flips through the day's pictures.

Mikey's in the booth tracking, so they're half listening, half dicking around until it's their turn. Frank wheels his chair to Ray's side and looks over his arm at a shot of some amp cables, curling and winding around the floor like a preschooler had gone at it with a crayon.

\"It's got sort of a...\" Ray pauses to think. Frank appreciates how, despite all the shit they give him, his band has treated him like a real artist about this photography thing, like he actually knows what he's doing \u2013 which is only partly true. \"It's as if they were all laid down perfectly like that, just to fit the frame,\" Ray says.

Frank tucks his hair behind his ears and sits back in his seat. \"How do you know I didn't spend hours tangling them artfully?\"

Ray laughs softly and flips to the next photo. \"I know you, man. You wouldn't stage that shit. You like to, I dunno, show things the way they are. But kind of bring them out more, you know?\"

\"Thanks, dude.\" Frank can't help smiling; he's never going to pretend that praise, especially from Ray, doesn't get him jazzed. \"It's hard. There are all these settings to fuck with, y'know?\" He waves a hand at the back of the camera and adds, \"it's like operating a goddamn space craft.\"

\"Yeah, shit. And the more money they cost, the less sense they make,\" Ray says, wrinkling his nose.

They laugh together when they flip past a photo of a studio tech flipping the camera off while he works the board. A shot of Bauer poking his nose into an overturned kick drum, fur in sharp focus but tail a wagging blur, makes Ray grin. Frank decides to make him a print of it the next chance he gets.

Ray pauses on a picture of himself and Gerard. They're talking in the vocals booth, Gerard's hair in his face and both of their smiles bright. Their hands are just streaks of colour and they look like they\u2019re having too much fun to sit still. Frank says \"Yeah, that one,\" because it's his favourite so far. He remembers having to bite his lip to keep from moving, too, so he wouldn't jolt the camera when he took the picture.

\"We look happy,\" Ray says softly. Happy<\/i> seems simple, but Frank knows what he means: how big that word is for them right now, after what they've been through, how long they've been at this; how it feels like relief but at the same time feels like striking out into uncharted territory, shit-scared and too excited to sleep.

\"Yeah,\" Frank agrees. \"And the lighting is pretty rad too.\"



They call it a night around three. Frank realizes he hasn't talked to Jamia in hours, so he texts her to see if she's up \u2013 her sleep schedule is almost as fucked as his these days. She calls back almost immediately, as he's unlocking his rental car. It's a warm night, so he shuts the door and leans against the hood while they talk, smoking two cigarettes down to the filter and absently waving goodbye to the guys as they leave the studio.

He asks her how she's doing without him there to kiss her stomach and make fun of her walk and tries not to talk her ear off about the new bridge they're working on. J tells him about her night, and they're both cracking up over her pitch-perfect retelling of the latest Real Housewives episode when he starts yawning.

\"You need sleep,\" Jamia says. \"And I need to go make my first breakfast. This pregnant chick is really fucking hungry.\" They say goodbye and Frank flips his phone shut, looking out at the surrounding city.

The view isn't much from the parking lot, but Frank knows what's beyond it: the hills of twinkling lights, the black shadows of palm-tree-lined streets, the orange glow of Los Angeles reflected on the low-hanging clouds. Frank's not used to seeing the stars or anything, but there's something about being in California that makes it feel weird that he can't, with the ocean on one side of them and the desert on the other.

Frank's too keyed up to go straight back to the hotel right now. He misses Jamia; a couple phone calls a day is never fucking enough. He thinks about taking a walk but remembers a shot he'd been meaning to take of the studio, empty of people. Maybe he'll just turn one light on, angle it at something and play with the shadows.

It's always like entering a vacuum of sound when he steps into the studio building. It amazes Frank how the noise of everything \u2013 crickets outside, his sneakers on the floor \u2013 gets muted so completely. He gets all the way to their studio and then nearly falls over his own feet at the sound of Gerard\u2019s voice spilling out of the half-closed door.

He's wailing out the long, building notes of the chorus of the song they tracked today. Frank grins to himself; Gerard used to do this thing on the early albums where he would let the notes fill out in his mouth, his jaw too loose \u2013 Rob says it sounds like a howling cat. Gerard's been trying to keep the notes in his diaphragm more, but it's funny how easily he slips back when he's not paying attention. Frank notices the difference, but he kind of likes how much it reminds him of Revenge<\/i>, of how Gerard was so caught up in the emotions behind the songs back then that they seemed to tear right through the words he sang.

Gerard pauses for the guitar riff that isn't there, then lets out a \"Whoa-oh!\" and ba-bum<\/i>s through the bass line that follows. Frank remembers the camera hanging at his chest and lifts it to this eye, staying in the shadows of the hallway but angling it around the doorframe.

Gerard's plaid button-down shirt bleeds deep purples and reds as Frank fiddles with the saturation before he wraps his fingers around the zoom. Gerard is up on one of the high studio stools in the centre of the room, boots hooked on the rung below him, one hand on the hanging mic and the other spread wide on his thigh. Frank takes a few silent photos while Gerard hums and bobs his head to himself, his eyes closed while his fingers tap out a rhythm on his jeans.

Frank likes how black Gerard's hair looks through the camera's settings. He takes a couple of pictures where Gerard's hand on the mic is in focus, then a few where it's just his face, eyelashes dark on his cheeks and a slight crease in his brow.

Frank is careful with his breath as he keeps snapping shots. He's still out in the hallway but he has to step into the light of the studio to get the right angle. Gerard isn't facing him, but all he'd have to do is open his eyes and look to his right and he'd see him. Frank knows how Gerard can be about getting his photo taken; he tries so hard to look like he's not trying at all that it totally ruins the authenticity of the shot. This isn't a photoshoot face; this is just Gerard.

Frank crouches as Gerard hums and sings a few more words. He likes the way Gerard's boots look on the bottom rung of the stool, one tilted down and the other up, the scuffs on the leather and the fraying hem of Gerard's jeans. Frank tries a few different points of focus, hears Gerard heave a big sigh, and sees his feet shift to hook behind the vertical bars of the stool, knees spread and thighs wide.

Frank looks down to adjust the light levels, lip between his teeth, and nearly bites through the skin when he looks back up. Gerard is thumbing open his jeans.<\/i> What the fuck<\/i>?

Once they're open, he curls his other hand back around the hanging mic. His eyes are still closed and his body seems relaxed. Frank feels like he should be embarrassed, either for himself or for Gerard, but all he can think is how often does Gerard <\/i>do this?<\/i> and also when was the last time Rob got this rug steam cleaned?<\/i>. Trust Gerard to find the sound of his own voice ringing through the empty studio sexy.

Gerard drags the zipper down and shoves until the denim is stretched tight between his spread thighs. Frank decides then that if Gerard is going to bust a nut in their shared space<\/i> \u2013 shared space that Frank has laid face-first down on more than once \u2013 well. Frank is morally entitled to take a few PG-rated blackmail photos before he gets the hell out of there.

\"Mmm,\" Gerard hums, a little pleased sort of noise that cants down at the end, like when Frank offers him a cigarette right before Gerard was about to ask for one.

There's nothing much to see, with Gerard in profile like that, but the curl and spread of his knuckles as he rubs himself, the play of shadow and light, makes Frank's scalp prickle. He takes a few shots but he feels pretty weird when he thinks too hard about what he's doing, so he doesn't take any more.

Frank turns quietly on his heel to slip off down the hallway but he's misjudged how far forward he'd moved and he slams hard into the doorframe. It startles him enough that he can't help yelping, \"Fuck<\/i>\", as he slaps a hand over his shoulder where the pain blooms sharp and hot.

\"What the shit<\/i>, Frankie?\" Gerard's hands fly up and his eyes open wide, thighs snapping together like it makes it any less obvious that his pants are hanging open. He folds his hands over his lap a beat later, twisting on the stool to face the door. \"Gave me a motherfucking heart attack.\"

\"I was \u2013 um. You...\" Frank still has his goddamn camera in front of his face. He lowers it quickly, but for some reason it seems even weirder to be looking Gerard in the eye than to be looking at him through a fifteen-hundred-dollar lens.

He really doesn't know what to say that doesn't sound creepy. All the jokes he was planning for when he showed Gerard the blackmail photos seem to have skipped his mind.

\"Frank\u2014\" Gerard twists his mouth up to the side, biting his lip. He jerks forward to stand up, but hunches his shoulders and stops, like he's just remembered his fly's still down. He lets out a heavy breath and pulls his eyebrows up, looking apologetic. \"Fuck. I don't usually...\" Gerard smiles down at his thighs. \"...I must look like a tool, huh.\"

Frank feels ridiculous too, the heat of embarrassment at getting caught still radiating from his cheeks. \"Maybe a little,\" he agrees. He glances down at the LCD screen of his camera where it's showing the last shot he took of Gerard's boots. He adds, \"But the colours were pretty sweet, you know. I can make anything look good.\" He laughs a little and hears Gerard echo it.

There's a pause, but Frank can't look up; it just feels too weird. \"So I'll just\u2014\" he starts.

\"Really?\" Gerard interrupts.

Frank's gaze flicks to Gerard's without thinking, and his stomach bottoms out when he meets Gerard's dark, heavy eyes. \"What?\" he asks. He has no fucking clue what Gerard is talking about anymore.

Gerard tilts his chin up, angling his head to the side, and the corner of his mouth tugs up as he looks over the line of his nose at Frank, tendons in his neck in shadow. He clenches and unclenches his hands on his knees. \"You can make it look good?\"

Frank looks down at the camera and holds it tight to keep his hands from shaking. He knows what it sounds like when Gerard is hoping for something. Frank's first thought \u2013 dude, I'm not directing a fucking porno, here<\/i> \u2013 doesn't feel right to say. He licks his lips and lifts the camera again, leaning as casually as he can against the door frame. His palms are sweating enough he feels like he's going to drop the fucking thing, but he raises his eyebrows at Gerard and puts the camera to his face.

Gerard keeps his head tilted away but his smile grows, reaches his eyes. \"Yeah?\" he asks. It should be ridiculous, how fucking slinky he looks and sounds like this, but there's no crowd to play to now. Just Frank.

Frank doesn't notice he's licked his lips until he feels his own breath ghost across them. His heart starts pounding when Gerard slides a hand up to his lap. He presses the heel of his palm down on a breathy exhale and Frank presses his fingertip down a beat later to take a picture.

It's unreal, Frank thinks, when he takes his fifth shot and looks down at the screen, Gerard touching his tongue to the corner of his open mouth. By the time Frank is on his eleventh shot, Gerard is rolling his head on his shoulders while he rubs himself over his briefs, sliding the fingers of his free hand up his chest to curl into the collared neck of his shirt.

The way he pulls the collar down creates these lines in the fabric and Frank doesn't even think before he says, \"Lean your head back, away from your hand.\"

Gerard's body jerks in surprise, eyes that had been fluttering shut fixed on Frank through the lens of the camera. Frank's face heats up; maybe he shouldn't have talked, maybe it broke the mood somehow.

But Gerard purses his lips, which Frank recognizes as his attempt not to smile, and tilts his head back. It's fucking beautiful, the sharp line of his raised jaw, his Adam's apple working as he swallows, the thickness of his throat, the bunched fabric where he pulls at the collar of his shirt, all in one line of movement and shadow across his body.

Frank takes a few more shots, feeling that excitement when he realizes he's on to something, needs to chase it down. \"Your\u2014uh.\" His breath hitches when Gerard squeezes himself hard through his briefs, letting out a small noise. Fuck<\/i>. Frank tries to school his voice, needs to feel like there's some<\/i> line still here between them to make this okay, to know that he's just here to take pictures.

\"Your hair,\" Frank says in a low voice, and it almost sounds like a question so he grits his teeth and makes it sound like an order. \"Push it back.\"

Gerard does it smoothly, lifting his hand from his lap to rake spidery fingers through his bangs. \"Yeah, good,\" Frank breathes. God, that black<\/i>, it's fucking gorgeous in these shots, inky against the white of his fingers.

Gerard drops his hand to his lap again and slips the other one up to curl around the back of his neck, elbow bent. His eyes slip shut and he breathes, slow and deep. Frank pushes off the doorframe and takes just one step into the room so he can adjust the focus \u2013 Gerard's elbow, then the point of his nose, the curve of his lips.

\"Can I...\" Gerard's voice sounds strained. He shifts on the stool. \"Shit. Frank.\" Frank's stomach flips again, remembering he isn't just watching Gerard do this alone, he's doing it for the camera. Christ. \"What should I\u2014\"

\"Touch yourself,\" Frank says in a rush, because he feels fucking ridiculous, but Gerard just says, \"Yeah,\" really softly, gratefully, like he's been waiting for it. Frank's not used to Gerard waiting to be told what to do, especially not by him<\/i>. His skin feels kind of hot and itchy all over with it; he's sweating in his hoodie now but can't think of a way to take it off that wouldn't look like stripping, so he keeps pressing down the shutter to take another picture.

\"God,\" Gerard moans on a long exhale, like he's been waiting for it, and when Frank thinks about it, he kind of has<\/i>, ever since Frank interrupted him with that startling display of coordination in the doorway. \"Is this\u2014\" Gerard swallows, and Frank realizes he's been snapping shots of Gerard's face, the way his eyebrows twitch together, and watches as Gerard pulls himself out through the slit in his briefs. \"Is this good, Frank?\"

\"Oh,\" Frank says stupidly. He's seen a lot of dick. He's even seen a lot of Gerard's<\/i> dick, and Frank looks down at one \u2013 a pretty fucking nice one, if he does say so himself \u2013 every day. Still, there's something completely obscene<\/i> about the way Gerard's looks, hard and squeezed in his fist, just the darkened red tip showing between his open fly and his shirttails.

Frank makes a noise in the back of his throat and can't even get his shit together to snap a picture when Gerard rubs a wide, pale thumb across the head, smearing it shiny with precome. \"Yeah,\" Frank says, too quietly, and then, \"you need\u2014\" fuck<\/i>, how do porn stars say this shit without sounding like a twelve year-old kid or a goddamn medical textbook? \"\u2014like, spit. Lick your hand or something.\"

It sounds just as stupid out loud as it did in Frank's head but Gerard works his cheeks, lips puckered, and then lifts a hand to spit into his cupped palm, the noise loud in the soundproofed room. He's watching Frank<\/i> with the point of his tongue on his top lip \u2013 God, he's such a fucking diva for the camera \u2013 while he swipes his palm smoothly over the head of his cock and then curls it into a loose fist, twisting on the downstroke.

Frank can feel the hard press of his own dick against his jeans \u2013 anyone who says porn doesn't get them going isn't fucking human, seriously \u2013 but he keeps his eye on the viewfinder and starts taking shots again. He catches glimpses of his own fingers whenever he pulls back to look at the screen and the inked skin seems weird, like it doesn't belong in this moment, like it's not about him<\/i> right now.

\"Perfect,\" he says, and then when Gerard smiles and starts jacking himself off, slow and precise, Frank feels encouraged and adds, \"show me how it feels.\"

Gerard moans immediately, palm rubbing up and down at the back of his head to mess his hair up, eyes fluttering shut as he speeds his hand on his cock. He shifts, spreading his legs wide, jeans tight across his thighs while he slides his hand down one side of his face, turning into it like it's someone else's touch with a low \"Mmmm\" sound. He twists his hand on his dick on the upstroke.

\"Good,\" Frank says almost immediately. He knows this role from photo shoots, has seen just how Gerard reacts to this kind of direction. \"Yeah, like that. Hold it.\" Gerard pauses perfectly with his flushed red cheek turned into his own palm, head tilted to the side but eyes slitted and fixed on the camera.

\"Fuck,\" Frank breathes, because \u2013 fuck<\/i>. They make fun of Gerard for his pouty camera faces, but the dude can pose<\/i>. \"I can't see. Can you... move your hips?\" Frank doesn't know how to explain it but Gerard gets it, lifts one foot to brace higher on the stool so his opposite knee is tilted up and to the side. It pushes his hips forward into his hand, still moving fast on his dick.

\"Yeah,\" Frank says, and rolls his shoulders when he realizes he's been holding them tense, can feel sweat beading at the base of his spine, across his upper lip. He licks it away, salty-warm, and tries to ignore his own body, to concentrate on Gerard. \"Can you move your hands so I can see?\"

Gerard tilts his head back and raises one dark eyebrow at him. Frank just arches his back at him over the top of the camera, snapping a few more shots, so Gerard lowers his other hand until they're both in his lap. He stops moving his other fist over his dick and instead flattens both palms against the slit in his briefs, pushing down tight against the base of his cock to trap it between the crook of his thumb and forefinger, hard and still.

\"Jesus,\" Frank whispers. He can't believe he\u2019s actually zooming in on someone's fucking dick<\/i> with his brand new camera; now he knows the exact shade of pink Gerard's cock is when it's hard and jutting up against the plum-red tones of his shirttails and the pale skin of his hands. Frank snaps a shot that captures the texture so well \u2013 the play of warm light and dark shadow across spit-shiny, taut skin \u2013 that he actually thinks about how it would feel to touch the raised blue vein spidering up from under Gerard's thumb and forefinger.

\"Uh, okay. That's good.\" Frank swallows unsteadily. Gerard gives the camera \u2013 gives Frank<\/i> \u2013 such a cocky smirk that Frank kind of wants to smack him. Almost as badly as he wants to, well, smack<\/i> him, but in a much less innocent way.

Gerard spits in first one hand, then the other. Frank really, really<\/i> wants to pretend that Gerard doesn't know how hot that gets him, but he's got a camera hiding his face<\/i>, not his fucking crotch, so that ship has probably sailed.

\"This good?\" Gerard asks in this voice<\/i>, this small, innocent little voice, like he doesn't already know the answer. One side of his mouth is tugged up as he interlocks his slippery fingers around the base of his dick and slides them up and then back down again. \"Oh,\" he moans, sounding surprised by how good it feels, and his eyes flutter shut again, that bravado slipping. Frank tries so hard to capture that little moment, how open Gerard's face looks, taking as many shots as he can.

Frank doesn't say much for the next two dozen photos or so; he doesn't want to break the mood. Gerard's getting flushed, red all down from his cheekbones to his jaw line, his skin damp with sweat. His eyes are closed now, and he says \u201cAw, fuck<\/i>\u201d and \u201cOh god<\/i>\u201d in this tight, warning voice, thighs twitching together and apart again on the stool.

Frank has to wrench his fingers off the camera to tuck his hair behind his ears before it swings in front of the lens. He can feel it curling wet against the nape of his neck and almost moans out loud at the feeling of his own fingers on his hot skin. Gerard slouches forward, bowing his head so his hair falls in front of his face as he pumps his cock, before straightening up and tossing his head back and blinking heavy-lidded at the camera. Frank can barely stop snapping photos to adjust the settings, to remember to try different saturations, different light levels.

\"God<\/i>, Frank,\" Gerard moans down at his lap when his head falls forward again between his broad shoulders, and takes one hand off his dick to fist in his hair. \"Oh my fucking god<\/i>, it feels \u2013 it feels \u2013\"

\"What?\" Frank breathes, transfixed at the way the studio lights fall like a spotlight on Gerard, hunched over on the stool in the centre of the room, shoulders shaking as he fists himself hard and fast.

\"What do I \u2013 ah,\" Gerard catches on the last word, moaning. He braces his left foot against the stool but it slips down and swings free, kicking and catching again on the rungs, like he can't stay still.

Gerard is curled in on himself, hand a pale blur in his lap, when he claws hair out of his face enough to look up at Frank behind sweaty, dark strands. His expression makes Frank realize what he's trying to ask.

\"Just like that,\" Frank says, blown away by how completely open and vulnerable Gerard looks like this. He's not stretching out for the camera, arranging his limbs in long lines or his face in coy looks. Instead he's sweating through his shirt so it clings to his skin, pushing stringy pieces of hair from his face, curling red lips back in a snarl to bare crooked teeth.

He looks up at Frank, half challenge, half plead. It's all Frank can do to get his finger on the button before Gerard jerks in on himself and gasps, \"Fuck, fuck<\/i>, oh god,<\/i>,\" and comes all over his knuckles, turning to bite hard into the heel of his palm as his feet kick out, the stool wobbling for a moment before he leans back and regains his balance.

Frank stops taking pictures when it's over. He doesn't lower the camera, though, can't really think about his own body when he's so caught up in Gerard's right now. Gerard, whose open-mouthed pants fill the studio space as he tries to catch his breath.

Shit<\/i>.

\"That looked amazing,\" Frank finally says, gesturing with the camera. He has a feeling that Gerard already knows how great he looked, though.

\"God, Frankie,\" Gerard mumbles on a drawn-out exhale, like his tongue's not working right. He goes to lean back and sways when he realizes there's nothing to lean back against. \"Can you get me some fuckin'... napkins or some shit?\"

Frank lets the camera hang from the strap around his neck and heads into the control booth, shoving tabs and sheets of lyrics and doodles aside to find a stack of leftover napkins from their pizza that afternoon.

He pauses, looking up over the soundboard and through the glass into the studio space. The light is different from this angle, the curve of Gerard's spine through his shirt more pronounced as he faces the empty space in the doorway where Frank had stood. Frank's skin is hot all over and his ears are ringing but he feels so removed from his body, hadn't been thinking about anything but the camera, but Gerard<\/i>. It's weird.

Frank shakes himself and grabs the napkins before he goes back in, trying not to freak out or hide behind his camera again, and passes Gerard the wad of napkins. Gerard tosses them in the waste basket gingerly when he's done cleaning himself up.

It's awkward, then, and Frank feels stupid in his sweaty hoodie and tented jeans, camera a heavy weight against his chest. He digs his hands in his pockets and backs up to the safety of the doorway while Gerard slips off the stool to stand unsteadily on his feet and zip up.

\"Frank,\" Gerard starts, shoving hair out of his face and meeting his eyes. God, Frank is going to see Gerard's sex-kitten face every time he does that<\/i> now.

\"Don't,\" Frank interrupts, not sure why he feels defensive. He doesn't think he could explain what just happened, though, and really hopes Gerard knows him well enough to read that in Frank's voice, in the tense curl of his shoulders.

Gerard purses his lips and holds his gaze, looking back and forth between his eyes for a long moment. Frank blinks and then Gerard's sweaty palms are cupping his face and his lips are pressed against Frank's. Frank's whole body jerks in surprise, nerve endings on edge, and he makes a noise in the back of his throat. Gerard just steps into his space until his elbows are pressed into Frank's chest and the camera digs into Frank's sternum.

Gerard's tongue slides in one smooth line along the seam of Frank's lips and Frank feels his whole body just open<\/i>, fists relaxing in his pockets while Gerard's tongue sweeps his mouth. He feels the burn of Gerard's stubble against his own, adding a raw edge to the kiss that promises to leave marks. It's so goddamn much<\/i>, after Frank feeling so disconnected from his own body, so caught up in watching someone else's. When Frank finally slides his tongue into Gerard's mouth, Gerard sucks it slow and hard like the fucking porn star he apparently became when Frank wasn't looking, and pulls back with a soft wet pop of his puckered lips.

He rubs his thumbs over Frank's cheekbones and raises his eyebrows, like, do you get it?<\/i> Frank raises his own and draws them together, like I have no fucking clue at all, motherfucker<\/i>. Gerard snorts and plants a soft little kiss on Frank's nose before stepping backwards.

\"I'm gonna head home,\" Gerard says.

\"Okay?\" Frank replies, unsure. It feels like they're<\/i> okay, but there's so much more at stake here than just the two of them, and one big fucking part of that is hanging around his neck right now. The rest is waiting at home in Gerard's bed, and sitting at the top of the 'recent calls' list on Frank's phone.

\"Yeah,\" Gerard says firmly. He turns back to the stool, shifting it around until it's lined up under the hanging mic again, hair swinging into his face.

Frank watches him, feeling stupid and confused, but not sure what to say. Gerard seems to run out of things to fiddle with and takes a deep breath, turning to walk towards him again, slowly, with intent. Frank's stomach still hasn't stopped twisting when Gerard looks at him like that, fingers twitching in his pockets, wishing he knew what the fuck was going on.

Gerard wraps a hand around Frank's neck, warm and strong, and reaches the other between them \u2013 oh shit, oh shit<\/i> \u2013 and Frank's heart leaps into his throat because he knows<\/i> there's a line here, even after what just happened. He knows<\/i> there are reasons not to cross it, but if Gerard touches him right now he doesn't know if he can say no.

Gerard's fingers close over the camera and he lifts the strap carefully up and over Frank's head with this other hand.

Frank can hardly hear Gerard over the hammering of his heartbeat. \"Linds is gonna want these, dude,\" Gerard says.

\"Oh. Yeah,\" Frank says, dumbly. That makes sense.

Gerard fiddles with the lens cap for a second and then looks back up, the faintest smile on his lips. \"Don't let me forget to give the camera back, though, Jamia'll kick my ass.\"

That makes Frank smile too, and then Gerard is saying goodnight from the doorway and Frank doesn't know what to do but echo it, his head still swimming.

By the time Frank has turned off all the lights, set the alarm, and locked the front door, his car is the only one left in the parking lot. He gets the door unlocked and the key in the ignition and wraps his fingers around the steering wheel so tight his knuckles go white. He breathes deep and drops his head back against the headrest.

Frank looks out at the dark parking lot, the pools of orange light from the streetlamps, and thinks that maybe he gets it: it\u2019s okay that it happened, but Frank doesn't get to keep it. Lindsey does.



Frank pulls into the hotel fifteen minutes later, swiping the key card and dropping his bag and empty camera case onto the night table as he toes off his shoes. Fuck<\/i>. What a weird fucking night.

He still feels really keyed up. He stands in the window looking down at the empty pool in the courtyard below while he runs a hand down his face, over his chest, tapping his belly absently. He's kind of turned on and kind of sick to his stomach in equal measure, remembering the sheen of flushed pink cheeks, the curl of fingertips.

\"Shit,<\/i>\" he mutters to himself. His first instinct when he's confused out of his mind is to call Jamia but right now he doesn't know what's his to share or how to explain what happened in the first place, when he doesn't even understand what he's<\/i> feeling, or allowed to feel.

Frank's skin is hot under his sweaty hoodie so he decides that getting undressed and brushing his teeth is something he can<\/i> do, because thinking about tomorrow morning \u2013 about seeing Gerard at the studio, about talking to J \u2013 makes his throat close up. By the time he's climbed under the cool hotel comforter, Frank at least feels cleaner. It may be something small, but it's better, at least.

The camera case is a garish yellow that stands out even in the dark of the room after Frank has turned off the lights. He lies on his side staring at it, thinking about how much he wishes he could have kept those photos but how he doesn't know if he could look at them now, even if he had.

Frank reaches for his phone so he can set an alarm for tomorrow \u2013 fuck<\/i>, as if he'll actually be able to sleep \u2013 when he sees that he has one missed message, with a photo attached. His breath catches when he sees it's from Lindsey. He doesn't let himself wait or think of all the horrific things it could say, just opens it.

Because she won't believe your sorry ass when you tell the story. Proof. \u2013 L<\/i>

Something starts to loosen in Frank's chest as he reads it over again and then thumbs open the attachment to see the picture. Shit<\/i>, even on this tiny screen, he can tell it's a beautiful shot. He traces a fingertip down the line of Gerard's bent arm, across his hunched shoulders and along the curve of his jaw.

Frank calls his wife.

\"You alone?\" he asks as soon as Jamia picks up.

She laughs, big and open \u2013 she always recognizes the need in Frank's voice \u2013 and the sound relaxes him immediately. \"Jesus, you're like a fucking teenager with this shit, Frank. I'm feeding the dogs, gimme a sec.\"

\"Fine, fine.\" Frank smiles as he rolls face-down on the pillow, phone pressed against his ear. His stomach twists with excitement and nervous energy, feet tangling in the sheets as he taps a rhythm out on the bedspread with his fingertips.

When she's upstairs and settled in their bed, Frank lets his breath out all in a rush, eyes squeezed shut in the dark. \"Okay. Okay<\/i>. You are not gonna fucking believe this, J. Only you are, because I've got proof.\"

\"Yeah?\" Her voice is soft and low as Frank listens to her move around, getting settled on the sheets. He can tell she's smiling when she finally says, \"So tell me.\"

END

<\/a>

"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:desfinado:53512","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/53512.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=53512"}}],"title":"desfinado @ 2011-07-11T11:23:00","published":"2011-07-11T18:23:49Z","updated":"2018-01-29T01:34:12Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"meme"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"bandom"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"fic"}}],"content":"<\/a>turps33<\/b><\/a><\/span> is hosting a fantastic bandom kissing meme over here<\/a>! I wrote some things! They're pretty porny and unbeta'd, but it's been fun :D

Worst Ever <\/b>
Prompt: Pete\/Mikey, during sex

( Pete's forgotten to keep kissing him again<\/a> )
<\/b>
Sink Right In<\/b>
Prompt: Bob\/Frank, kiss and make it better

( Frank always has bruises the next day<\/a> )
<\/b>
Dem Dry Bones<\/b>
Prompt: Gerard\/Mikey, never on the lips

( A kiss on his right knee, then the left<\/a> )<\/b>"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:desfinado:41326","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/41326.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=41326"}}],"title":"desfinado @ 2011-02-12T11:22:00","published":"2011-02-12T19:22:40Z","updated":"2018-01-29T01:34:39Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"bandom"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"fic"}}],"content":"Hi! I recently did the DVD commentary meme, where poor souls on the internet ASK MY MY THOUGHTS about passages from stories I've written. AND THEN I RAMBLE AT THEM FOR AGES.

I'm just going to put this out there: I loved<\/i> this meme to pieces, so consider this post a constant open invitation to ask me for more DVD commentary, anytime, in the comments<\/b>! Maybe I'm terribly self-involved for wanting to talk about my own stories, but it really helps me get some perspective on my own writing and how things do or don't translate between my intention and my execution... it's also great to see what OTHER people took out of it. So thanks for getting me thinking :D

(The list of all of my writing is here<\/a>)


Commentary on Before and After<\/a> (Mikey\/Gerard, NC-17, warning for incest)<\/b>

<\/a>pikasafire<\/b><\/a><\/span> asked about this section:

\"After the meet-and-greet, they're out the back door getting a moment of quiet and fresh air.

Gerard smokes a silent cigarette, tipping his head back and blowing skywards, toeing the dirty snow and gravel with his boot. Mikey taps away on his sidekick, comparing notes with Alicia on the new Simpsons movie.

He looks up after a while, sees Gerard with his back against the wall, spine straight, shoulders squared against the brick. His brother's pale face is turned up, eyes fixed on the night sky and a heavy boot braced flat on the wall, one knee bent.

\"You stand different,\" he says suddenly, surprising himself in the quiet that had settled over them, the way that a layer of snow on the ground and stars in the sky seem to mute everything.

Gerard rolls his head to the side after a minute to look over at Mikey. There's something tired and intimate in the way he rests his cheek and forehead against the brick, strands of white hair catching on the rough surface and sticking up. He doesn't say anything, just looks.

Mikey shrugs and drops his gaze back to his sidekick. Alicia tells him she had to finish an extra-large popcorn alone without him there to man up.

\"Does it bug you?\" Gerard's voice is soft, most likely from screaming his lungs out on stage earlier.

Mikey shrugs again. Bugs? It occupies, more like. It occupies his mind, like he keeps thinking of things in 'Before and After' shots, making comparisons, since Gerard bleached his hair.

He's been texting Alicia about a bizarre quilt that a fan had given them the other day, but his thoughts have been occupied with how Gerard used to smoke before: with his shoulders hunched up and his head hanging low and forward, like the long weight of his hair pulled it down. His chin would be tucked to his chest so his face would be obscured by black, one hand hanging limp from his wrist at his chest, only the small of his back touching the brick. He'd be looking down at the snow but thinking about something else\u2014about being somewhere else.

Tonight, Gerard feels totally present.<\/i>


This exact section was probably the most vivid image I had in mind when I first started this story. I'm really fascinated with Gerard's body language and how contradictory it can seem at times... from fuck-the-world, chin raised, and hips cocked to hiding behind his hair, shoulders rounded.

I enjoyed working through Mikey to explore that in this story, and to come to the final realization that BOTH are Gerard, both have ALWAYS been Gerard, just to differing degrees. It's not really about the hair, but it's about Gerard navigating fame and passion and life choices and growing into more of a comfortable place with himself and his body (\"being present\"). In my mind, \"being present\" for Gerard is also about moving from the world of fantasy\/imagination in his head\/in his drawings to ALSO appreciating what's happening in his real life more often. On another level it's also about being sober, which forces him to deal with and experience the present... all things that I imagine Mikey would notice.

That particular image of Gerard with his face tipped against the brick, dirty snow at his feet, fixing Mikey with his gaze, was in my head for a long time. I feel like Gerard may be a talker, but often (for those of us that talk so much) our constant rambling actually demonstrates just how difficult we find silences to be. For me, showing Gerard being comfortable with silence with Mikey speaks a lot to how close they are and how much he trusts his brother.

Also: the Alicia plug was there (and in other parts of the story) because I felt uncomfortable erasing her from their lives and because I dislike stories that claim the boys are dating girls, but don't seem to include just what dating-on-tour probably means, day-to-day: updates and texts and phone calls and so on.


<\/a>mrsronweasley<\/b><\/a><\/span> asked about this section:

Without the keycard, he's not sure how to get into his and Gerard's room next door. But when Mikey takes one last look behind the TV set, the light from his sidekick glints off the knob of a door set in the wall\u2014a door that must connect to his room.

Mikey slides his phone into his pocket and turns the doorknob carefully, trying not to make any noise. Eyes on his feet, Mikey slips through into the room and closes the door behind him as carefully as he can.

The lump of blankets and shock of white hair is a pretty clear indicator of which bed is taken, so Mikey is about to move over to the empty bed when the shifting of Gerard's blankets stills him. Not wanting to wake his brother up, Mikey pauses in place to wait until Gerard settles back into sleep.

But Gerard doesn't stop shifting, one leg sliding down so a black-socked foot pokes out from the bottom of the duvet before sliding back up under it again. Mikey frowns and then the blanket is drawn down slightly by the movement of his brother's legs and he sees the soft pale skin of Gerard's arms. He\u2019s face down on the mattress with both hands tangled in the back of his own hair.

Gerard's hands shift around, pushing his hair up against the grain and back down, fingers curling into fists and releasing. Mikey is caught up thinking about that texture again, the dry-grass feel of short strands against his palm, the warm hair-product feel of Gerard's scalp under his fingertips.

Gerard makes a noise, just a \"Hahh\" sound that is nearly lost under the rustle of shifting blankets, but it feels like cold water down Mikey's spine. Mikey gropes behind himself for the doorknob.

Gerard's face turns to the left, eyes squeezed shut but mouth wide open, wet lips dragging down the length of his own pale upper arm, teeth grazing skin as his hands twist even tighter in his own hair. His hips are moving against the mattress and Mikey has to close his eyes.

He slips back against the wall, finally finding the doorknob and letting himself back into Frank and Ray's room as quietly as he can with his eyes still shut tight. Mikey isn't sure if that makes it better or worse. All he can see behind his eyelids is the dark shadow of his brother's mouth sliding wet and desperate against his own arm, tufts of brilliant white between thick, curling fingers.<\/i>


Okay, this scene was really fucking hard to write! LOL. I had the image of Gerard, clear as day, in my head. I also had the SENSATION, from Gerard's POV, clear as day (how it feels for him, that over-sensitivity of being turned on, where you slide all over the place under the blankets because it feels so good on your skin)... but getting that down, through Mikey's POV, was hard.

I struggle a lot with \"voyeur\"-style scenes, because there often isn't any dialogue to break up\/anchor all the narration. You HAVE to describe things but you also have to be careful not to over-describe (something I struggle a LOT with) and you have to avoid describing in a way that seems out of character for the POV, if that makes any sense... like if I'd written \"Gerard was sexily grabbing his hair\", or \"Gerard's sculpted biceps\", it would have felt weird, because these are not things I imagine his brother would think.

My biggest challenge with voyeur-style scenes: how to capture MIKEY'S physicality in the room. I re-wrote his movements so much because it felt almost cartoonish to me: slinking along the wall, groping for doorknobs, gasping in shock, slipping out again. In real life, I feel like people bark their shins on side tables or accidentally slam doors or take a piss and brush their teeth before they notice any shenanigans going on, so I struggled with that here. At least I didn't give Mikey a boner! That was something I was being very careful about: keeping the pacing of their \"attraction\" slow and believable, making it so his gut reaction to seeing his brother in a sexual scenario was still to feel uncomfortable. I don't know if I pulled it off or not.

I was happy with how the image of Gerard came out, though, the little details like his foot poking out. I don't know why but I LOVE the idea of his pale arm bent over his head on the pillow, opening his mouth against the soft fleshy skin of his upper arm, biting at it; to me that speaks VOLUMES more than straight-up saying \"he's turned on\". It's kind of desperate, and wanton, and the sort of personal thing people do when they don't think they're being watched.

It was also clearly a reference to how Gerard groped at his own hair while on stage, and a pretty significant plot point to let us know that, in the privacy of his own time, Gerard has kind of stumbled across this idea that the dye job has left his scalp sensitive and it feels kind of good. I never made it clear, but in my mind I kind of imagined that Gerard hadn't really realized this until Mikey grabbed his hair on the airplane. Here in the hotel bed is the first time he's explicitly connected the hair-grabbing to sex, which -- for Gerard, let alone for Mikey watching him -- must involve a lot of shame and guilt and fucked-up feelings because of its association with his brother. But it still feels too good to stop, and that right there is my guiltiest pleasure about waycest: SHAME GUILT SHAME but GOD IT FEELS GOOD DON'T STOP >:)
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Commentary from Your Man<\/a> (Mikey\/Alicia, Mikey\/Pete, R)<\/b>

<\/a>toucanpie<\/b><\/a><\/span> asked about this section:

Mikey settles his gaze out the window. \"There's stuff. I'm dealing with some shit right now, I guess. Whatever.\" Alicia thinks about conversations she overhears between My Chem's techs, thinks about days when Mikey seems to disappear into himself, no texts or smiles, and his brother\u2019s eyebrows draw together in worry. Alicia has to remind herself that knowing the feeling of Mikey's narrow hips in her hands doesn't mean she knows him yet. \"I'm not trying to, like, unload. Or channel,\u201d Mikey explains, \u201cI just feel like I need, um.\"<\/i>


I love all of the MCR couples and their wives SO MUCH and want to read about all of the domestic bliss ever. But I'm also really fascinated by long-term couples, when they just started dating... how they navigated it, how they didn't KNOW they were going to marry each other one day, how they were starting to see something really fucking special in each other but didn't know each other well enough to know how to interact or communicate perfectly.

So this story pretty much stems from Alicia being in that position: she and Mikey are casual, just seeing where things go... WE know they go on to get married but they don't at the time, and she's new to Mikey Way so she doesn't get his nonverbal communication that well. And thus her confusion about why they aren't having sex. And here, in this safe, dark, middle-of-the-night space that they've created, with both Pete and Alicia waiting for Mikey to explain, he finally admits why he's been kind of hesitant with Alicia... in my mind, he knows that he wants her to take charge in a way that he used to do with Pete, but he doesn't know how to ask for it, because he and Pete communicate so differently with people.

There's also his fear that he doesn't know Alicia THAT well yet, it might seem kind of embarrassing (and risky) to ask a chick to take control of him like that. I like what it implies, though: that Mikey knows himself well enough to KNOW that submission is something he does want\/need in his life right now.... to me, this is something I love about Mikey (or my impression of him): that he's easy-going and light-hearted but he's more thoughtful than people give him credit for. I also liked the implication that he trusts Alicia enough to finally ask for it.

This also reminds me that I NEED TO WRITE SOME PORN FOR THIS STORY. Uggggh. I just struggle with writing Alicia when I know so little about her!
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Commentary on Backseat<\/a> (Gerard\/Mikey\/Frank, R, warning for incest)<\/b>

<\/a>ina_pok<\/b><\/a><\/span> asked about this section:

\"End of the fucking world,\" Gerard says, breathing in steam from the cup held close to his chest. Mikey thinks it looks like it from here: colourless gray sky, dead grass and frozen mud, patchy snow, trucks passing like a river of noise and metal and wheels.

Frank gets cold in just his hoodie and likes to tuck his hands into Mikey's armpit, coffee clenched between his thighs. Gerard watches from Mikey's other side as Frank turns in, presses his nose like an icy point against Mikey's exposed neck. His hair smells like cigarettes and the wax he uses on his dreads.

\"Warm me up, Mikey Way,\" Frank says and Mikey obliges, puts his arm around Frank's shoulders as he looks out at the flat, ugly buildings around the lot, one-stories with no windows and empty parking lots. Frank pushes his face in further, opens his mouth and breathes hot against Mikey's skin. \"We're the only ones who aren't drones,\" he mumbles and it makes Mikey shiver when he feels the wet of Frank's tongue. His fingers get cold where they're bare, wrapped around Frank's shoulder.

When Frank kisses behind Mikey's ear, it makes him suck in a breath, cold air burning his lungs as his fingers tighten. Gerard laughs and reaches across Mikey's lap to rescue Frank's coffee before he spills it from leaning too far over. Gerard puts it down carefully on the platform behind them before finishing his own and crumpling it, dropping it to the ground below their hanging legs.

\"We'd never be drones,\" Gerard says before he lets his head fall to Mikey's other shoulder. He smells like home and when he kisses Mikey's pulse, it speeds up. Mikey can feel Frank smile, sees him reach across to work his bare fingers in between Gerard's thighs. Gerard's lips are dry and coffee-warm, his hand curving in the lapel of Mikey's jacket as he noses up behind Mikey's ear into his hair. He presses kisses into his scalp, along the shell of Mikey's ear. Mikey's eyes fall shut and he's so cold and so hot at the same time. <\/i>


Awesome choice, this was SUCH a fun and atmospheric passage to write; I had this image in my mind SO clearly, and enjoyed finding a way to capture it.

Jersey is not my home climate, but I spent a good chunk of my life in a very similar sort of place. I was really amazed by the very unique feeling that comes from that landscape in the wintertime: concrete parking lots, industrial buildings devoid of greenery or people, massive highways with a constant stream of cars, piles of dirty snow, and months of cold grey skies and weather that keeps you indoors or running between buildings and idling cars. It's a desolate sort of feeling, to me, but people I met who were from that area just felt like it was part of home... I enjoyed trying to channel that feeling for Frank, Mikey and Gerard, while still acknowledging that it's a regular part of their lives, that they grew up with winters like that.

I also had fun in this scene because I wanted this story to have an established three-way relationship going on among these boys, but I didn't want that to be the focus of the entire story, I wanted it to be something that just was a part of their lives; that making out was just as important to them as coffee and mix tapes and driving around shooting the shit.

I know a lot of fanfic (mine included) has a tendency to work in a linear sort of way where the whole story is constructed so that we can reach the end point: THE SEX! And even though this story also ends with orgasms, I wanted to find a way to work the sex into their lives in a way that felt kind of natural to them.

I don't know if I succeeded, it could have used more work, but I liked the idea of the reader learning about it through the simple act of Frank getting warm and kind of teasingly licking Mikey, just sending that signal out that he's game, if Mikey's game, and how Gerard very fluidly joins them. They all just sort of communicate non-verbally, because they're so familiar with each other.

I could write THOUSANDS OF WORDS of what it feels like for Mikey to have Frank and his brother kissing his neck at the same time, of how sexy it must feel, especially when he doesn't have the best self-confidence, to have two people giving him their attention like this. They already feel like they live in a different world from everyone else, how they kind of turn it around to look down on the people in the mall, how it makes the three of them feel like it's just them against the world, and how that brings them together.

It was so interesting to revisit this story... the song that I wrote the story from really really shaped it, to me, it already had that FEELING I wanted to capture, so it was fun to try and get that feeling into words.
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Commentary on Drag Like Sandpaper<\/a> (Gerard\/Mikey, NC-17, warning for incest)<\/b>

<\/a>toucanpie<\/b><\/a><\/span> asked about this section:

Mikey hums his agreement, a vibration against Gerard's hands, and almost in response he skirts his fingers down Mikey's neck, the hard ridges of his trachea.

\"You're kinda prickly here too, y'know,\" Gerard says, and looks up, but Mikey's eyes are still on the ceiling and it feels suddenly awkward; it's the middle of the night and he's feeling up his brother's face. He huffs a soft laugh and lets his hands drop. \"Sorry. Guess I don't have any of my own to feel.\"<\/i>


For me, this was the moment when things shifted a little in the bathroom between them; I think Mikey has been having ~feelings about Gerard for a little while, but not strongly enough he'd ever act on it or anything. But you can see it in the way he tips his gaze to the ceiling and holds his hands at his sides when Gerard touches his face and gets all up in his space; Mikey's trying to act normal and not think about it.

That moment when Gerard's feeling his face -- clearly so comfortable in Mikey's personal space, touching his body -- and suddenly feels kind of awkward, is when (in MY mind at least) the seed kind of gets planted for Gerard. Not a seed so strong that Gerard goes running for the hills in fear or has to go jerk off or anything, but just gets him THINKING... thinking that maybe not all brothers touch each other like this. I was also trying to build things up a bit, so later when Gerard encounters Mikey's hard-on it shows the build-up from Mikey's perspective, how all of the tense, gentle touching has been both so hot and so difficult for him -- but he can't SAY anything, and he's so ASHAMED. Ugh, I love working with shame in waycest.


<\/a>cold_clarity<\/b><\/a><\/span> asked about this section:

\u201cNot much of a fucking adult,\u201d Gerard says a bit hysterically, thinking about his birthday. This is nothing he could have ever, ever imagined\u2014nothing he could have even known he wanted this badly.<\/i>


I enjoyed playing with age\/maturity in this story... how Gerard may be older but he struggles with the fact that his younger brother hits the \"adult\" milestones first, like needing to shave or buying alcohol. For me, this was intriguing because we ALL know what that's like, to feel like (as teenagers) there's something different about us, that we're not growing up in the same way people on TV seem to, and it's awkward and makes us feel silly and embarrassed and alone. But for Mikey, those same things that Gerard wishes he had are things Mikey wishes HE didn't have -- another thing that I like exploring about adolescence: it's not necessarily easy for the people that we think have it easy. And so, in each other, Mikey and Gerard find a bit of comfort in knowing that neither of them have it easy and neither of them are alone.

In other ways, I felt like it was clear that Gerard WAS older; in the way he takes over the shaving, yes, but especially in the image of Mikey, hard and embarrassed in his boxers, standing against the wall, and Gerard being the \"mature\" one to step back. And how Mikey jerks himself off in front of Gerard, in that sort of impulsive and brave way that I associate with being younger and more desperate, of having less defined \"lines\" -- I imagine, in this story, that the taboo of incest feels stronger for Gerard in part because he's older and worries more about these kinds of things, or at least feels this social pressure that he's supposed to be more responsible than Mikey (and even responsible FOR Mikey, as the older brother). So - for me - it's that much heavier and hotter when he gives in to it.
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Commentary on Sit Tight<\/a> (Frank\/Mikey\/Gerard, NC-17, warning for incest)<\/b>

<\/a>turlough<\/b><\/a><\/span> asked about this section:

\u201cNice tits,\u201d Frank says, pushing Gerard\u2019s knees apart with his legs, \u201cthey look like they need to get fucked.\u201d

Mikey snorts at the line, expects Gerard to bitch at them for saying \u2018tits\u2019 so much, but his brother is quiet and still, chest rising and falling, looking up at Frank. They\u2019re all silent for a moment and Frank\u2019s face, intent and predatory, reminds Mikey of that night, the way he crowded that girl and held her down.

\u201cFuck,\u201d Frank says suddenly, grinning and slapping Gerard lightly on the cheek. Mikey feels his brother\u2019s body jolt. Frank looks up and meets his eyes. \u201cHe is so ready for me to whip my dick out right now.\u201d

\u201cWhat?\u201d Gerard says after a beat, struggling, and Mikey laughs, pulling him back up the bed a bit, not letting go.

\u201cHe wouldn\u2019t stop asking about it,\u201d Mikey confides. Gerard tries to turn his head to look at him but Mikey\u2019s got his wrists still pinned so his face just ends up in Mikey\u2019s neck.

\u201cNo shit.\u201d Frank laughs and props first one knee then the other on the bed on either side of Gerard. \u201cCan\u2019t blame him.\u201d

\u201cHey! It wasn\u2019t like\u2014I just didn\u2019t believe you, okay?\u201d Gerard says, and bucks his hips to get Frank off but Frank\u2019s face just slides into this slow grin, eyes hooded, as he plants a hand on each of Gerard\u2019s shoulders.

\u201cCareful,\u201d he says, leaning in and whispering in Gerard\u2019s ear. \u201cI might get the wrong idea.\u201d He presses his own hips down, and Mikey\u2019s laugh dies in his throat when Frank\u2019s eyes meet his over Gerard\u2019s shoulder, the way Frank\u2019s jaw locks for the briefest second and his eyelids droop a bit. Fuck, fuck. Just like his face that night, sitting on the couch, watching that girl suck Mikey\u2019s dick.

\u201cFrank,\u201d Mikey warns, meeting his gaze. He squeezes Gerard\u2019s wrists almost without realizing, his thighs tensing.

\u201cWhat?\u201d Frank\u2019s expression slides back from aroused to cocky, but he lets Mikey see it, like why can\u2019t we? Frank\u2019s cheeks are pink.

\u201cI still can\u2019t move,\u201d Gerard reminds them, body slack against Mikey\u2019s chest but his breathing heavy.

\u201cCome on, Mikes,\u201d Frank says, ignoring him. He sits up, one hand still on Gerard\u2019s shoulder, carding his other fingers through Gerard\u2019s hair. His knuckles bump against Mikey\u2019s Adam\u2019s apple and press in. \u201cWe make a good team, remember?\u201d

Mikey gives Frank the hardest look he can, like This isn\u2019t the same and It\u2019s different for Gerard and Maybe this isn\u2019t the kind of thing my brother and I usually do together. Frank smiles back, closed-lipped and confident, as he leans down and presses a kiss to Gerard\u2019s forehead. Gerard sucks in a loud breath and Mikey realizes Frank\u2019s hand has left his brother\u2019s shoulder and is now somewhere down between their bodies.

\u201cFuck,\u201d Frank mumbles against Gerard\u2019s forehead, eyes closed and breathing hard.

\u201cI don\u2019t\u2014\u201d Gerard says weakly, and Mikey\u2019s body flashes hot from head to toe at the tone, something he doesn\u2019t hear from his brother. Ever. <\/i>


Oooh, okay! This was FUN to write. I hammered this story out in an afternoon and didn't get it beta-read (I was in a hurry to meet the challenge deadline), so when I re-read it now I see so many \"mistakes\" and I think the execution of the porn is a little clunky. It was a challenge to write how the three of them were situated\/moving on the bed without it getting confusing, plus the premise is kind of a bit far-fetched... but it was FUN, and I tried experimenting more with dialogue and I was pretty happy with that part, so I'm glad I wrote it and I enjoy re-reading it :)

This particular section was great because I love love LOVE to write and read that feeling that Mikey gets in that last line you quoted... when suddenly things ratchet from normal (or even joking) to sexual and it's kind of overwhelming. Even if you physically haven't been touched, it's the IDEA that something non-sexual could be sexual, that it makes your body react... how just the knowledge that Frank is touching his brother's dick, that Mikey is THERE for it, makes Mikey's body buzz.

That buzz, too, is an interesting feeling to explore: it's kind of like nervous excitement, and it isn't necessarily AROUSAL right away, but it turns into it, the way things always are when you know that you SHOULDN'T be turned on by something but you end up realizing you are anyway. It's something I especially associate with our first time encountering a kink we didn't realize we might be into, that feeling of \"why am I biting my lip\/shaking\/sweating and unable to tear my eyes away from this?\" that gradually slips into \"oh fuck, it's because I think this is SO HOT, but shit, I never thought I'd be into something like this, but I AM\".... a shame\/arousal kind of thing going on. And I find that SUPER hot.

I really liked this section too for how it takes Gerard and Frank to pieces, how it strips both of them of any power\/control. With Frank so obnoxious and teasing, clearly with the upper hand, and Gerard being kind of eye-rolling and grumpy about it... something shifts and Frank has his jaw locked, eyes drooping, he's a bit surprised that he's turned on by this, it takes him down a few pegs, he loses control of the situation a bit... and how Gerard goes from bitching and wriggling to gasping and stuttering weakly, also surprised by how good it feels.

In my mind, Gerard's been having confused thoughts about Frank all night, since Mikey told the story about Fun Dips -- mostly because Gerard was so sure that he had Frank figured out, and now there's this side of him that Gerard is intrigued by, this side of him that takes control during sex, and so when Frank does just that to Gerard, taking control, palming his dick over his pants, it must feel SO intense for Gerard.

I also had fun with this because it's one of those situations that I enjoy in fanfic: where the gay shenanigans start without a clear culprit. No one has been secretly pining for anyone else, no one came to the situation INTENDING to put the moves on the other, but it happens sort of accidentally... sure, Frank MEANT to touch Gerard's dick, but he was probably expecting Gerard to push him away or make a joke, so I liked playing it out that even though Frank may be \"in charge\", really NO ONE is, and they're all a bit surprised by the fact that they're into it, that they're all turned on.

I liked doing it through Mikey's POV, too, so we don't actually SEE Frank touching Gerard's dick, and we don't get to see what it feels like from either of their perspectives... it gives the kind of distance that makes the incest issue a little less extreme, for Mikey's conscience, and I think makes it hot in a voyeuristic sort of way. I also love love LOVE the idea of Mikey hearing a tone of voice from his brother that he never hears, and that it simultaneously makes Mikey embarrassed\/ashamed and turned on, unnnnnnf.<\/a>


Commentary on To Feel So Bright<\/a> (Frank\/Gerard, NC-17)<\/b>

<\/a>ciel_vert<\/b><\/a><\/span> asked about this section:

\u201cWhat.\u201d Gerard grins and places a kiss on Frank\u2019s thigh, still meeting his eyes and acting like Frank\u2019s cock, dark and hard, isn\u2019t all up in his face. Gerard\u2019s hands are gripping Frank\u2019s upper thighs, fingertips digging into his skin.

Frank shakes his head, hair falling into his face. \u201cNothing.\u201d He bites his lip. \u201cL.A. made you kinda slutty, huh?\u201d

\u201cFuck off,\u201d Gerard says, squeezing Frank\u2019s thighs hard enough to bruise and grinning up at him. \u201cI can go suck someone else\u2019s dick, okay?\u201d

\u201cSee?\u201d Frank giggles again. \u201cSlutty!\u201d They both laugh and it feels safe and comfortable even though Frank\u2019s dick is waving back and forth when he moves and his thighs are really pale against the darker skin of Gerard\u2019s hands.

\u201cUngrateful bitch,\u201d Gerard mumbles, but he leans in to nose at the underside of Frank\u2019s dick and Frank moans even though it barely feels like anything. Gerard makes a fist and runs one broad thumb lightly down the side of Frank\u2019s cock to the base, breathing hot and hunching his shoulders a bit. \u201cOh\u2014shit. Yeah,\u201d Frank breathes, and then Gerard\u2019s ducking his head, lips over his teeth like a pro, and sliding his mouth down over Frank\u2019s dick. \u201cFuuuuck.\u201d

Gerard stays like that for a moment. Frank can feel his tongue flat against the underside, can feel Gerard starting to suck a bit. His mouth is hot and wet and so fucking good.

Frank can\u2019t help his hands carding through Gerard\u2019s hair, rubbing at his scalp encouragingly when Gerard hums at him, a vibration that makes Frank moan and tip his head back against the mirror, eyes falling shut.

\u201cCan you deep throat that shit?\u201d Frank asks without thinking, challenge in his voice, slipping into the language he\u2019s used to with J. Gerard just goes for it though and Frank spreads his palms, feels Gerard\u2019s jaw open under his fingertips. Frank\u2019s chin is on his chest, rising and falling with heavy breaths while he watches those freckled, pale shoulders hunch as Gerard takes him in.

\u201cShit,\u201d Frank mutters and thrusts forward a bit. It makes Gerard gag but he doesn\u2019t pull off, just eases back before swallowing wetly around Frank\u2019s dick and pushing down again. Frank can feel the head of his cock bump the back of Gerard\u2019s throat, constricting around Frank as he swallows and god, Frank\u2019s sweating so hard in this fucking leather vest that he\u2019s going to smell like the change room too by the time they make it back to the diner. <\/i>


This was fun to write... and different, for me. I write a lot of first-times, usually tied up in some kind of internal conflict or taboo or shame. So this was a different kind of world: sex that's motivated by and underwritten with happiness and a kind of joyous disbelief! I liked playing with that -- how Frank is kind of overcome, giggling, by the sheer fact of what they're doing, FINALLY, now, compounded by the significance of what they're filming in the desert, and babies, and the finished album... and how Gerard is kind of falling all over himself to make Frank feel good, how he can't keep his hands to himself when he sees Frank in the outfit, how he gets on his knees for Frank so quickly.

This section here was fun to write for showing that from Frank's perspective, the imagery of Gerard giving himself over. And of course, from Frank, that observation would be coupled with teasing Gerard about it. I really wanted to keep their comfortable banter and friendship-dialogue going through the sex, because a) I feel like they wouldn't be capable of \"switching it off\" (most people don't automatically turn into dirty-talking porn stars when they have sex) and b) I think they might even intentionally use that familiar dialogue as a way of grounding themselves, during something so new and boundary-pushing in their relationship, to the familiar ways they make fun of each other (and bicker about L.A.) and interact.

I really REALLY like the idea of Frank accidentally using his \"lines\" from the bedroom with Jamia here; how couples who have been together for so long have certain phrases that they use, that they know get each other off and so become second nature... so to have that bleed over into this moment, was hot to me. I wasn't sure about including it because it's tricky to do it without discounting Jamia, to still respect that she means the world to Frank. But this is something I toss around a lot in my head, and would love to write more of.
<\/a>

♥ Thanks for playing with me!"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:desfinado:40060","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/40060.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=40060"}}],"title":"desfinado @ 2011-01-25T13:50:00","published":"2011-01-25T21:50:34Z","updated":"2018-01-29T01:34:40Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"bandom"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"fic"}}],"content":"I want to write!

Last spring I did a fic-writing meme that I found REALLY inspiring. So I'm going to do it again:

I have 7849 songs on my computer. Pick any number in that range, and give me a pairing and a prompt\/idea to go with it!

Feel free to leave as many as you like, and make the prompts as detailed or open-ended as you want.<\/b>

I can't promise I'll answer them all, but I'll try my best.

It's strange... when I want to write, I can sit for DAYS with no ideas. But if I listen to a piece of music over and over, I can immediately see scenes forming in my mind; I guess I'm a very atmospheric writer? Or something? So this meme is a lot of fun for me! Thanks <\/a>listedheart<\/b><\/a><\/span> for coming up with it in the first place :D

PROMPT ME!

(I think you guys know what I write, but just in case: MCR & wives, Pete, Patrick, PATD\/TYV, and Misfits... or try something else! Who knows?)"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:desfinado:38813","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/38813.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=38813"}}],"title":"desfinado @ 2011-01-18T11:54:00","published":"2011-01-18T19:54:09Z","updated":"2018-01-29T01:34:48Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"bandom"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"fic"}}],"content":"Title<\/u>: It's All Over My Face<\/b>

Part I Here<\/a><\/b>



Part II<\/b>


Frank's shit-in-gear plan gets off to a great start the next morning, when he sets his alarm early to make pancakes. Or, okay, empty a box of Aunt Jemima mix into a bowl, add water, and pour blobs of batter into their lone frying pan.

Frank's standing there in boxers and a hoodie (he was going to try being shirtless to distract Mikey with his totally hot body, but it's December and it's fucking cold<\/i>, so Mikey'll just have to get the backs of his beautifully-sculpted legs), rolling an unlit cigarette back and forth in his mouth, when he hears Mikey's bedroom door open and then the front door unlatch right after.

\"Mikey\u2014\" he spins around and starts, but Mikey's already halfway out the front door.

His head appears, eyes kind of all over the place. His hair has that look like he hasn't even seen a mirror yet, and he's already leaving the house<\/i>. \"Yeah?\"

\"Pancakes?\" Frank tries to smile very casually as he says this, but he may still have a bit of morning wood going on, he hasn't looked down and it would probably be pretty sketchy to do it while Mikey's standing right there.

\"Um, parents. I should... visit them, haven't gone over in a while,\" Mikey says vaguely. \"Sorry?\"

\"Sure?\" Frank's cigarette flops neatly out of his downturned mouth and onto the linoleum floor just as the door swings shut. Well shit<\/i>.

.

Frank may be totally hopeless about how to get Mikey Way to put out, but he resolves not to be a fucking emo kid about it and eats every last pancake himself before spending the morning answering e-mails and playing some Excitebike on his NES. He has lunch with Shaun and Hambone at a diner, sits like a creeper on a bench at the park and watches other people's dogs play, and doesn't let himself go home until dinnertime.

Mikey isn't there.

Frank's cheeks sting from the cold and he can't feel his fingers when he gets into the apartment so he thinks fuck this noise<\/i> and pours himself a bath. He goes the whole nine yards, even lighting a stick of incense (they bought it mostly for when parents visit and they've only got a five-minute warning to clear out the smell of weed) and plugging the stereo in just outside the door, popping in a mix CD he made a few summers back.

When Frank's done washing his hair and scrubbing at his 'pits with a bar of soap, he lies there a little bit, warm and happy, while Jello Biafra sings Pol Pot Pol Pot Pol Pot Pol Pot!<\/i> at him through the door in his weird, beautiful, Biafra way. Frank lets his fingers float in the warm water and wiggles them in time to the guitar while the thinks about Mikey.

Frank's never been into a dude before, not in a way where he thinks about sinking his teeth into the wide muscles of his shoulders, or fisting a hand in his stupid tangled hair. Frank's been with a fair number of girls; he definitely likes ones who can hold their own, and he's got a spank bank full of memories of those ones to last a lifetime. But Frank's never even kissed another guy, or touched another dick before.

He wonders how weird it would be and skims the palm of his hand over the head of his own dick, bobbing slightly in the ripple of the water. Frank tries to pretend that it's not his dick he's touching, making a circle with his thumb and forefinger and jacking himself idly with a showy sort of twist at the head. It feels good, and Frank imagines that he's feeling some other dude's cock swell and fill out under his palm while he closes his eyes and sucks his lip ring into his mouth to worry at it with his teeth.

It surprises Frank to realize that despite all the touring and living in close quarters for the past few years, he's never seen Mikey's dick. Frank hums, echoing tinny off the bathroom tiles, while he pulls at his own. It's not always<\/i> true, but usually bigger dudes have bigger dicks. Frank doesn't know if that's something he's into or not.

Frank blushes when he pushes two fingers into his own mouth, keeps his eyes closed, but thinks what the fuck ever, no one's watching<\/i>, and stuffs as many fingers in there as he can, trying to imagine what it'd feel like to suck a dude off. It's awkward and his fingers don't taste like much of anything, but Frank starts to pump his cock a little faster. It's kind of hot in a weird sort of way, drooling all over himself, and Frank gasps when his fingers slip a bit farther back and he nearly gags, dick twitching in his hand.

\"Ah, fuck<\/i>,\" he moans loudly around his knuckles just to hear it, rolling the back of his head from side to side along the rim of the tub, and the splashing noise as he speeds up his hand on his cock would be kind of ridiculous if Black Flag wasn't blasting from the stereo at the same time. Frank thinks about Mikey's blue corduroy pants, the ones that always ride too low, and imagines just slipping them down and off and getting his hand inside. Or\u2014fuck<\/i>, Frank feels his balls draw up, toes curling in the water\u2014Mikey pushing Frank<\/i> down onto the floor, grinning his stupid grin while he wraps long fingers around Frank's dick and jacks him off, tight and fast.

It's a total stroke of luck that when Frank comes, it's into the cupped palm of his hand (a reflex, considering he usually rubs one out when he's in bed), because gloppy bits of jizz floating around the bathwater would be a bitch to clean up. Frank swallows thickly as he comes down from it, chest rising and falling in the steamy air of the bathroom, licking his lips and fighting to keep his eyes open when it feels like his entire body's leaked out of his cock.

Frank leans over the edge of the tub to wipe his hand off on the towel hanging by the sink, making a mental note to stick it in the laundry later, before smiling happily and sinking back down into the water.

Frank's eaten some leftover chow mein for dinner and is on the phone with his mom when he hears the front door open. He doesn't get up, tries to play it cool. It's only when Mikey's finished clattering around in the kitchen and Frank hears him swing the bathroom door shut and turn the shower on, that he realizes his spunk<\/i> is all over Mikey's towel<\/i> and he totally forgot to take it out of the bathroom.

\"Shit! Mom, I gotta go.\" Frank laughs at himself\u2014seriously, this is his life<\/i>\u2014and agrees to spend Christmas at home before hanging up and tossing the phone into the mess of blankets on his bed.

\"Frank?\" Mikey's voice is kind of lost behind the sound of the spray hitting the tub, but he must have heard the door open or felt the rush of cold air when Frank came into the bathroom.

\"Yeah, hi!\" Frank thanks the landlords that be for giving them a shower curtain that isn't see-through, as he stealthily slips Mikey's towel off the hanger and replaces it with one Frank had grabbed from Mikey's closet. \"Sorry, I just had to\u2014um.\" Frank spins around in place aimlessly and then stops, facing the toilet. \"Take a piss! I couldn't hold it. Y'know.\"

\"You gotta stop mainlining those venti lattes,\" Mikey says from the other side of the curtain, but he doesn't sound too concerned.

Frank's zipping up when he notices Mikey's clothes in a pile on the floor. He pauses. Frank's pancake plan didn't work out, but he's just had another brilliant idea about how to help Mikey Way get over himself and look Frank in the eye again.

\"Yeah, those fucking lattes,\" Frank says loudly as he shucks his t-shirt and steps out of his pants as quietly as he can. \"Later!\" Frank has to bite his lip to stop from laughing as he scoops up Mikey's clothes, leaving his own in a pile on the floor, and slams the bathroom door closed behind himself.

When Mikey steps out of the bathroom, Frank is sprawled out in one of the lawn chairs in the kitchen, wearing Mikey's stupid bell-bottomed jeans and baseball t-shirt. \"'Sup,\" Frank says, not lifting his eyes from the issue of AP<\/i> in his lap as he flips the page. He has to fight to keep his lips from quirking up, though, when he sees Mikey move into his peripheral vision and gets a glimpse of knobbly ankles sticking out beneath too-short pants. Frank starts laughing.

\"What the fuck?\" Mikey's glasses are sort of foggy and his eyebrows are draw together. He looks kind of put out. Frank's t-shirt is pretty short on him, and Mikey's got one hand fisted in the waist of Frank's baggy cargo pants, presumably to hold them up. Frank didn't actually expect Mikey to put the clothes on<\/i>.

\"What the fuck, what the fuck<\/i>?\" Frank grins, and slaps his magazine closed before primly crossing his legs.

\"You're wearing my\u2014\" Mikey waves a hand from Frank's head to toe. \"Could you even do them up?\"

\"It was kind of a struggle,\" Frank admits, \"my balls are totally crushed right now.\"

That finally makes Mikey smile and he pauses for a few more seconds, looking confused, before sighing and dropping down onto the living room mattress. \"Okay, fine.\" Mikey sprawls out on his back and Frank's belly twists hotly when he notices that Mikey isn't wearing any underwear, faint line of pubes showing above the waist of Frank's cargo pants. Well shit, that'd be because Frank stole Mikey's underwear<\/i> and it's now on the floor of Frank's room. Frank giggles.

\"What?\" Mikey lifts his head up, giving himself approximately four chins, and peers at Frank down the line of his nose.

\"Nothing.\" Frank levers himself off the chair and onto the floor, wincing as he pops the top button on the jeans with his thumb and forefinger. \"Ah fuck, these are so tight<\/i>.\" Mikey looks kind of smug about it. \"I just wanted you to chill out, dude, you were all weird this morning.\"

Mikey blows a raspberry into the air as he looks back up at the ceiling, tugging the hem of Frank's t-shirt down. The pants are too low to properly cover up his stomach. \"Dunno what you're talking about.\"

\"Riiiiight,\" Frank drawls. \"How's the family?\"

\"Fine.\" Mikey combs his fingers through his wet hair. \"I got a quarter off Gee, it's in my back pocket if you wanna smoke it.\"

Frank grins and fishes the baggie out of his jeans. \"That's a way better haul than the usual leftover marinara, dude.\"

They fight over what music they're gonna blaze to\u2014Mikey isn't in the mood for a band with more than two guitars, what the fuck ever<\/i>\u2014but they finally decide on the new Strokes album that neither of them has had a chance to listen to yet. When they've smoked the joint down to the filter, Julian Casablancas is begging Please don't slow me down if I'm going too fast<\/i> and they've pushed the mattress up to the wall so they can sit propped against it, legs spread out in front of them.

\"She bailed on him yesterday,\" Mikey's explaining after Frank asks what's up with that chick Gerard is always talking about, \"and told him her grandma was sick.\"

\"Ouch,\" Frank winces. \"Sick grandmas, that's bad news. Gerard is getting played<\/i>.\"

Mikey sighs and sticks his bottom lip out, dropping the roach into his now-empty beer bottle and setting it on the carpet. \"He gets so into girls, y'know? Like, I could never tell him, but I think it scares them off.\"

\"Gotta learn how to play it cool,\" Frank agrees. He should know, he's dealing with the skittery motherfucker sitting right next to him. Frank rubs his hand over his face, feeling kind of swimmy and unfocused. \"Fuuuck, I'm feelin' good. You?\"

\"Mm-hm,\" Mikey hums with a smile, giving Frank a once-over with red-rimmed eyes. \"Look at you. My fuckin' jeans<\/i>, man. I hope you're wearing boxers.\"

Frank sits up straight and laughs, shoving at Mikey's shoulder. \"I am but I know you<\/i> aren't, dude. Those are my pants you're rubbing your balls all over.\"

Mikey wiggles around on the mattress and Frank goes \"Aw, no<\/i>. Come on<\/i>!\"

\"You're the one who took my underwear.\" Mikey laughs, tucking his hair behind his ears. It's kind of stringy and soft-looking without any shit in it. Girly, maybe.

\"I can't believe your goddamn flared jeans<\/i> are so fucking tiny<\/i>,\" Frank complains. \"I should be smaller than you, fuck this shit.\"

Mikey crawls across the room to his backpack, rooting around in it while Frank tips his head to the side and eyes the soft-looking dimples at the base of his spine, the top of his ass showing above Frank's sagging cargo pants. \"I can see your crack,\" Frank says, because he's terrible at keeping his mouth closed when he's stoned.

\"Sucks to be you,\" Mikey says and doesn't pull the pants up as he crawls back to plant his ass next to Frank again, flush up against him this time. \"Cheese?\" He wraps a long arm around Frank's shoulders and holds the disposable camera out in front of them with his other arm.

\"Oh! Fuck yeah<\/i>, cheese,\" Frank laughs, and presses his cheek up against Mikey's, smooth from shaving in the bathroom earlier. \"Motherfuckin' gouda<\/i>,\" Frank says as he grins so big his eyes squeeze shut. Mikey laughs\u2014\"No! One more!\"\u2014and Frank rolls his eyes.

\"Here,\" Frank says, and grabs the side of Mikey's face to hold him in place as he smashes his lips up against Mikey's cheek for a kiss. \"Mmm?\" he mumbles into Mikey's skin while he takes the picture.

\"Ah! Shit. Yeah, okay.\" Mikey's kind of pink and smiling down at his lap when Frank pulls back. He turns the disposable camera over in his hands.

\"Sorry, I'm just trying to get into your pants,\" Frank says.

\"You are<\/i> in my pants,\" Mikey says, and it makes Frank feel all warm inside when they both laugh.

\"Damn straight.\" Frank leans over and tucks a finger into one of the belt loops just below Mikey's hipbone. He's totally flirting with his roommate, what the fuck<\/i>.

Mikey gets all pink again and Frank lets himself look, grinning. Before he can stop himself he says, \"Y'know, Chaz told<\/i> me you were gonna try to get into my pants.\"

Mikey goes kind of still against Frank's side and Frank closes his eyes for a moment, breathes through the wave of embarrassment prickling hot across his skin, and keeps going: \"He said Sam told him, when you tried out for Pencey.\"

\"I don't even remember\u2026\" Mikey says and kind of trails off. His hair's fallen in his face again. He puts the camera on the floor and shoves his glasses up. \"That was a long time ago, dude.\"

\"Mikey.\" Frank's already all up in his space, can smell Mikey's shampoo and his sweat, and is surprised by how easy it is to just slip his fingers out of the belt loop and close his palm over the front of Mikey's\u2014or Frank's<\/i>, whatever\u2014pants. \"It's cool,\" Frank says. He has to close his eyes because his heart is racing<\/i>, but he presses his forehead to Mikey's temple, breathing hot against his cheek.

\"Uh,\" Mikey says quietly, and his hand twitches between them but he doesn't move away. \"Frank, that's my dick.\"

Frank giggles suddenly, because he's high and kind of immature and Mikey just said 'dick'. Also, he's putting the moves on a dude<\/i>. \"I know it's your dick,\" Frank says, and sort of rubs his nose back and forth against Mikey's cheek a bit. \"I was kinda thinking about this, today. Before you got home.\" Ah fuck<\/i>, he shouldn't be doing this high, he's not gonna be able to keep anything to himself.

Mikey's breath comes out kind of shaky. \"Yeah?\"

\"Yeah,\" Frank echoes immediately, and at some point the nervous roiling in his stomach has turned into a nice warm buzz, maybe because Mikey hasn't pushed him away or maybe because Frank's already half-hard in Mikey's stupid too-tight jeans, and yeah, yeah<\/i>, he can do this. Frank pops the button on the cargo pants easily. \"I've never, uh...\" Frank hesitates after he's got the zipper down, feels Mikey's stomach tense under his fingers, \"touched another guy's dick before.\"

\"Oh.\" Frank opens his eyes to see Mikey's lips wet and red and parted. He turns his gaze down to watch his own hand, chipped black nail polish and skin a shade darker than Mikey's, slip under the fabric and rest over warm, hot skin. \"Shit,\" Mikey breathes, curling his fingers into the loose fabric at the sides of his pants, \"Frank<\/i>.\"

Frank licks his lips and pulls Mikey's dick out, careful of the zipper, and palms it a little. \"Thought about how big you'd be,\" Frank says around a dry swallow, and Mikey's breath hitches, cock hardening in Frank's hand. He's bigger than Frank, that's for sure, pink and curving up against dark hair and a pale belly. \"Thought about blowing you,\" Frank adds, and folds his palm over the length of it, trapped between Frank's hand and Mikey's stomach.

\"Shit<\/i>, Frankie.\" Mikey's eyebrows are drawn together, eyes squeezed shut as he pants, \"What the fuck<\/i>.\"

Frank's sweating through Mikey's t-shirt and totally hard in Mikey's jeans now, and there's gotta be a better position than this. He swings a leg over Mikey's lap to sit on his thighs, bracing his free hand against the wall next to Mikey's head.

\"What, dude?\" Frank asks, grinning, and decides that he kind of likes being a cock tease. He curls his shoulders in and moves his hand up and down a little, turning it to rub his thumb over the sticky tip of Mikey's cock.

\"Fuck you,\" Mikey swears, face all screwed up and hands fisting at his sides. \"I'm too stoned for this shit,\" he groans, cheeks pink, \"I'm gonna blow my load all over your shirt. Seriously.\" He meets Frank's eyes with a tight little smile. Fuck, that's hot.

Frank licks his lips and sits up, taking his hand off the wall to finally get the stupid jeans he's wearing open. They're too tight to push down while his knees are spread, though. \"Ungh, these fucking pants<\/i>.\" Frank rolls off of Mikey until he's on his back on the mattress, planting his heels and lifting his hips so he can wiggle them down and off with his underwear. He bounces back up onto his knees quickly and settles himself in Mikey's lap again, getting his hand back on his cock. Mikey's staring at him, mouth hanging open. \"What?\"

\"Just\u2014fucking\u2014\" Mikey swallows, Adam's apple bobbing, \"you're gonna kill me, dude. Like twenty minutes ago we were talking about where we could get burritos<\/i> this late at night and now your dick's waving all over the place.\" Mikey grins helplessly and closes his eyes. \"I'd be creaming my pants if you'd done this when I was eighteen.\"

Frank blushes and smiles, ducking his face to mouth at Mikey's neck\u2014damp and clean-tasting\u2014while he starts to move his fist up and down on Mikey's dick. \"Fuck, dude, you have no idea how hot that is. I was totally fucking clueless until Chaz told me.\"

\"Yeah?\" Mikey finally seems to remember he has hands too and folds them tentatively over Frank's hips, clammy and warm. \"I was\u2014fuck<\/i>,\" he swears and tilts his head to the side to give Frank better access as he sucks a bruise into Mikey's neck \"\u2014totally embarrassing, I thought you were so fucking cool.\"

Frank snorts and shifts his shoulders to get a better angle, pumping Mikey's cock. \"I was fat, angry, and still in high school, dude. You've got shitty taste.\"

Mikey's fingers squeeze at Frank's hips and Frank grunts, pushing them forwards a bit so his own dick bumps up against the back of his hand.

\"Are you insulting my taste while you try to get me off?\" Mikey's fingers slide up Frank's back under his shirt, digging into his shoulder muscles, and it feels good<\/i>. \"This is like the worst hand job ever<\/i>.\"

\"Fuck you, it's my first one<\/i>.\" Frank bites softly at the place where he'd been sucking and Mikey swears, jerking away. \"Mm-hm<\/i>, you like that shit.\"

They stop ripping on each other for a few minutes while Frank spits in his palm and sits back on Mikey's legs. Mikey's hands skid down Frank's back and land on his thighs, and the look that he levels at Frank is dark and hot and makes Frank think that Mikey knows<\/i> things, and maybe has moves<\/i>, and some time when Frank isn't being a tunnel-vision pothead, he should try stuff out with him.

\"Can I...\" Mikey asks, sucking his bottom lip in his mouth until it pops out, red and wet. Frank nods dumbly as he gets his spit-slippery fist back around Mikey's cock, tries to remember what he likes when girls do it to him<\/i>. Mikey licks his palms and closes them both over Frank's dick, fingers interlocking as he twists and pulls up, like a fucking pro<\/i>.

\"Oh fuck<\/i>,\" Frank moans, head tipping back, running his free hand over his buzzed hair and down across his own face. His skin feels like it's vibrating, and he grinds his fist down into his own thigh, eyes screwed shut, just so he won't put it through the wall above Mikey's head instead. \"Fuck<\/i>, that feels good.\"

\"Remember at the Pencey try-outs when you were playing 'Attention Reader' and you almost knocked over Shaun's keyboard, so you spun off and nailed your elbow on the speakers?\" Mikey asks all in a rush, voice low. Frank can't open his eyes or he's gonna bust a nut all over both of them, but he nods, trying to remember to breathe and keep moving his hand on Mikey's cock at the same time. \"You just screamed into the mic and played harder, like fucking nothing...\" Mikey's breath catches and he loses his rhythm on Frank's dick for a second, \"Shit<\/i>, Frank, you always just throw yourself into it, like fucking nothing<\/i>.\"

Frank groans and stuffs his fist in his mouth. He's shocked when Mikey's hands stall out on his cock and suddenly his fingers are slick with Mikey's jizz. \"Whoa,\" Frank says, blinking his eyes open. He searches Mikey's face, flushed pink, eyelashes dark against his cheeks behind his glasses. He can't believe he didn't even see him come. \"Dude, fuck<\/i>.\"

Mikey lifts heavy-lidded eyes to Frank's and smiles at him kind of stupidly with his limp hair tucked behind his ears. \"Fuck<\/i>, I made you come<\/i>,\" Frank grins.

\"No shit.\" Mikey smiles for a few more moments, catching his breath, before he gets busy pushing Frank onto his back on the mattress and climbing over him, one knee between Frank's legs and one arm braced on the mattress beside him while he starts jacking him off hard.

\"Ahhhh, fuck<\/i>,\" Frank moans. He feels weirdly exposed, in Mikey's t-shirt and no pants, writhing around on the mattress. But he feels kind of restricted too, with Mikey's broad shoulders and long body hemming in him. Frank kind of likes being held down, and when he rubs an aimless hand across his own face and down his chest, Mikey quickly wraps vice-like fingers around his wrist to pin it against the bed beside him.

Frank grins huge then, like this<\/i> is where it gets good, and struggles hard against Mikey's grip, tensing his bicep and lifting up. Mikey just grins back and presses down, looking like the smuggest motherfucker on the planet, even with his soft dick hanging out of his pants. \"You gonna fight me?\" Mikey asks and digs his fingertips into the pulse point on Frank's wrist warningly.

\"Maybe.\" Frank lifts his hips into Mikey's fist and tries to look dangerous, but his eyes slip shut on their own, \"Fuck<\/i>.\" He already knows he's kind of a touch-whore when he's turned on, and being high doesn't help. He has to tip his head back, rub it up and down and side to side all over the mattress, rough texture against his flushed cheek, just to ride out the feeling that's crawling under his skin. \"Goddamn<\/i>, Mikey Way.\" Frank moans and surges up to give his roommate the shittiest kiss ever, just as he comes all over his fist.

\"Fuck<\/i>,\" Frank gasps as his muscles give out and he falls back onto the mattress.

Mikey follows him down, licking into Frank's mouth and rubbing his thumbs in big, firm circles behind Frank's ears until Frank's arms are splayed like noodles out at his sides and his lips feel numb and the spunk between their bellies is starting to dry.

From the stereo, Julian Casablancas sings We were young, darling, we don't have no control.<\/i>

Frank thinks, yes<\/i>.

.

Living with Mikey Way is awesome<\/i>, because Frank gets to blow him in the morning before they've even brushed their teeth or changed out of each other's clothes.

\"You sure<\/i> you've never\u2014ah, fuck<\/i>\u2014done this before?\" Mikey asks, voice tight, fingers scrabbling at Frank's scalp like he wants to grab on to something.

\"Mmmph,\" Frank says around his dick, and feels pretty good about himself. He's gonna ask Mikey to hold him down again, when it's his turn, and thinks that he'll put up a better fight this time.

The guys come over in the afternoon for their last practice before Christmas, and Ray brings burritos. \"It's like we made them happen with our minds<\/i>,\" Mikey marvels as he sets one carefully in his lap. He and Frank share a smile.

\"I got my shit sorted out,\" Gerard tells the room at large, in case anyone was wondering. Frank's busy running the extension cord from his bedroom to the living room so they can all plug their gear in. \"I got fucked over by a chick, whatever, it was great for my process.\"

Mikey gives him a little pat on the arm and Gerard throws him a sad-brother look, so Mikey pushes his burrito across the table and raises his eyebrows. Frank rolls his eyes at them.

\"Frank, do you have the tuner I left here the other day?\" Ray asks, flicking a pinto bean from the back of his hand onto his burrito wrapper.

\"Yeah man, just let me grab it.\" Frank pushes clothing piles around his floor until he finds the tuner and hesitates when he sees a stack of Pencey Prep CDs.

Frank should maybe wait until the other guys have left, but he's never been good at controlling his impulses. \"Mikey Way,\" he announces in the kitchen, dropping a poorly-wrapped present down on the table in front of his roommate. Mikey looks up at him warily. There's a chance that Frank only had leftover wrapping paper from his birthday and no tape, so it's just kind of folded up. \"Merry Christmas,\" Frank says with a grin, turning away to pick up his guitar and sit on the carpet by his amp.

\"Oh,\" Mikey says, \"are we doing the present thing?\"

\"Nah,\" Frank says and plays a bit of Monroeville while Mikey opens the wrapping.

\"What is it?\" Otter leans over to see and Gerard scoots his lawn chair closer.

\"A Pencey EP?\" Mikey sounds confused. He pops the CD case open and adds, \"A Pencey EP that you signed<\/i>.\" He and Gerard look down at Frank with matching clueless expressions.

Frank smiles from the floor and doesn't lift his gaze down from his guitar. \"It recently came to my attention that Mikey Way used to be our number one fan. Thought I'd just, y'know. Give him some memorabilia.\"

\"Frank, he already has all your albums,\" Otter says, confused. \"I'm pretty sure all<\/i> of us have more Pencey records than we know what to do with.\"

Frank looks up. Mikey is narrowing his eyes at him and Frank wants to think Mikey's cheeks look a little pink, but when he's sober his poker face is killer. Frank decides to count it as a blush. Frank's gaze slides over to the other guys, and is surprised to see Gerard wearing a shit-eating grin.

\"Mikey did<\/i> idolize you, dude,\" Gerard says, slapping Mikey on the arm even as his little brother sighs. \"He wouldn't fucking shut up about your 'stage presence' or whatever, whenever we saw you play.\"

Frank's chest feels a little full and he straightens up, pointing his pick at Mikey. \"Ha! Right? Right?\" He raises his eyebrows and points at the CD. \"Frame that shit!\"

Mikey rolls his eyes but Frank sees him slip it into his room later.

They run through four full songs after they eat, and even though half the lyrics are still gibberish and he needs to remember to practice a bit over Christmas, Frank's pretty fucking proud of them. Mikey goes to check his e-mail, so Gerard pulls a pack of beers from his bottomless pit of a backpack and they shoot the shit for a while until he comes back.

\"It's kind of amazing that you've never gotten crap from your landlord before,\" Ray says. \"With the parties and the band practices.\"

\"And the D&D!\" Gerard adds, tipping the neck of his bottle at Ray. \"That shit got rowdy<\/i>.\"

Frank rests his beer between his thighs and rubs the condensation off on the carpet. \"He lives in Trenton. I think we've seen him, what, once<\/i>?\" Mikey nods, grabbing a beer and settling in next to Frank, close enough that their shoulders touch. Frank stares at his lap so he doesn't smile too big.

\"Aaaand we may or may not have given him a fake phone number,\" Mikey adds.

\"Two-four-four-'nads',\" Frank reminds him and they laugh.

\"Nads!\" Mikey repeats, nose scrunched up under the bridge of his glasses.

\"What are you guys, twelve?\" Ray asks. \"Who even calls them 'nads' anymore?\"

Frank and Mikey can't stop giggling. \"Keep saying nads!\" Mikey wheezes.

Frank takes a leak when Gerard starts listing words for testicles (he's been really into synonyms lately) and shakes off with a big smile on his face before zipping up. He ducks into his room to grab the stereo and something to listen to when he notices the wrapping paper in the middle of his bed. Did Mikey give it back to him? Frank steps onto his mattress to pick it up and realizes there's something inside.

It's a jewel case and the white liner has IOU<\/i> printed across it in permanent marker. Frank frowns and looks up at the door of his room briefly, can hear Ray's giggle as Mikey's voice rises above it with \"Go<\/i>-nads!\" before breaking down into laughter. Frank smiles and flips the case open.

My Chem's Platinum-Selling Epic Album Which Was Also Nominated For Three Oscars<\/i>, in Mikey's chicken scratch. It takes a moment for Frank to realize what the scribble underneath it is: Mikey's signature.

\"You just fucking wait,\" Frank says quietly to himself with a smile that feels like it takes over his whole face.

He tucks the CD under his pillow before following the laughter back out to his living room.

.


<\/a>

"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:desfinado:38402","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/38402.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=38402"}}],"title":"desfinado @ 2011-01-18T11:52:00","published":"2011-01-18T19:53:09Z","updated":"2018-01-29T01:34:52Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"bandom"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"fic"}}],"content":"Title<\/u>: It's All Over My Face<\/b>
Author<\/u>: <\/a>desfinado<\/b><\/a><\/span>
Pairing<\/u>: Frank\/Mikey
Rating<\/u>: NC-17
Word count<\/u>: 12,219
Disclaimer<\/u>: They don't belong to me; not making a profit.
Summary<\/u>: Mikey makes a pretty awesome roommate.
Notes<\/u>: Set loosely in the fall of 2003, with apologies for any garbled canon. Title from The Smiths. Written for <\/a>turps33<\/b><\/a><\/span>'s prompt in <\/a>no_tags<\/b><\/a><\/span> 2011: \"Frank\/Mikey Roommates\", originally posted here<\/a>. Thank you so<\/i> much to my spectacular beta <\/a>anoneknewmoose<\/b><\/a><\/span> for all her help!



Part I<\/b>


\"This<\/i>.\" Frank waves a hand at the living room and kitchen, stained carpet and bare walls. He grins. \"This is where the magic's gonna happen.\"

Gerard, Ray and Otter follow him inside, poking their heads into the empty bedrooms. Frank watches them while he unbuttons his coat, and decides that he already likes how the place looks with people in it; he can't wait for Mikey to get his ass back here and help make it theirs<\/i>.

\"Are we gonna get fucked up here tonight or what?\" Frank drops his jacket in the corner of the living room and rolls his sleeves up to get ready for some box-lifting. \"Me and Mikey need to break this shit in!\"

\"I'm in,\" Gerard calls from where he's started picking at his teeth in the bathroom mirror. \"I stashed a few bottles of Jameson in my parent's garage before we went on tour.\" Frank nods and points a finger at Ray, who freezes with his head halfway into the fridge.

\"Uh.\" Ray looks shifty and ducks behind the fridge door. There's nothing in there yet. \"Didn't we just have a party for your birthday a few weeks ago? My brother, I haven't seen him in\u2014\"

\"Your brother is invited<\/i>, Ray. You're not skipping out on this.\" Frank cuts a line across the room with his finger, stopping in front of Otter.

\"Always, dude,\" Otter says easily, pulling the rim of his baseball cap down. \"Where's the lady of the house anyway?\"

Frank snickers. \"Fucked off as soon as he heard we'd be lifting boxes. He's probably out inviting all of Jersey to the party.\"

\"Awesome,\" Gerard contributes from the bathroom, \"I wanna see all of Jersey in your two-bedroom, Frankie. Sardine that shit.\"

Otter snorts and follows Ray out the door as they stomp down the wooden staircase to the van. \"I bought you delicious, greasy breakfast today, man. You better pull your weight,\" Frank tells Gerard. Frank's halfway down the staircase before he realizes Gerard isn't following. His voice echoes in the stairwell when he calls back, \"I'll let you carry pillows!\"

.

The guys leave after lunch, begging off with showers and girlfriends and free dinner at their mom's. Frank has just gotten back from a pizza and booze run and stowed the vodka in the freezer when Mikey shows up to eat.

\"Casa del Good Times, man,\" Frank says as he and Mikey knock the necks of their beer bottles, grinning at each other. There are boxes and duffel bags piled high by the front door and Frank's sweaty from carrying them up the stairs but he's pretty excited to unpack. They've been touring so much this year that Frank's just happy not to be living out of a backpack for a little while.

\"My first real place<\/i>, shit.\" Mikey grabs a boom box from his room, setting it on the living room floor and plugging in. \"I can't believe I made it out of my parent's house before my older brother.\"

\"I can,\" Frank laughs and pops open the CD deck as soon as Mikey leaves the room, plucking out Meat is Murder<\/i> and dropping in some At The Drive-In. Mikey makes a sad sound from his bedroom. Frank calls \"Vetoed!\" over the wail of guitars and they start unpacking.

By five o'clock there are four empties on top of the fridge, a grease-stained pizza box in the kitchen sink, and a small island of shit in the middle of the living room.

\"Huh,\" Mikey says, pushing his glasses up his nose. \"That's it?\"

The island is comprised of at least six boxes of CDs and tapes, four video game consoles and boxes of games, one television set, two small stacks of comic books, an even-taller stack of movies, five coffee mugs, and assorted cables and guitar straps draped over top.

\"I really thought I had more to my name,\" Frank observes from the kitchen counter, kicking the heels of his Adidas on the cupboard below.

Mikey suddenly spreads both his hands out wide, pausing for a second to say \"Oh!\" before disappearing down the hall to their rooms.

He reappears with his bass and walks it to the pile. \"Aw shit,\" Frank laughs, hopping off the counter to get his favorite guitar, \"how'd we forget that, dude?\"

It takes a few moments of struggling against gravity (Mikey crunches Frank's copy of the new Outkast album underfoot\u2014by accident, Frank's ass<\/i>) until they have their guitar cases leaning against each other over the pile, precariously balanced.

\"I've got way more stickers on my case,\" Frank says, \"'cause of how I'm such a vet in the 'biz<\/i>.\"

\"I don't need stickers when I'm already friends with the bands,\" Mikey says easily.

They admire their pile for a moment before Frank realizes that they're staring at the most valuable stuff they own and maybe it shouldn't be in the middle of their living room if they're about to have an epic house party.

\"Wait!\" Mikey fishes a disposable camera out of the backpack he'd dumped by the fridge earlier. \"Give me something, Iero,\" he says from behind the camera. Frank makes a pretty unattractive face but Mikey's smiling when he snaps the photo.

\"Y'know, some of these aren't even band stickers,\" Mikey points out as he hauls Frank's guitar off the pile and into his room. \"I'm pretty sure this one's for the Salvation Army. And\u2014\" there's a soft noise from down the hall as he puts it on the carpet \"\u2014is that a label from a smoothie bottle?\"

\"You know it,\" Frank smiles. \"Seasoned vet, I told you.\" He drops to his knees and starts looking through their boxes for a shortlist of CDs for the party.

.

\"Another lawn chair!\" one of the girls by the front door announces to the room at large when someone new arrives with more donated furniture, and at least five people toast with bottles held high, laughing.

Frank can't walk five steps without someone stopping him to talk. The air is humid and reeks of sweat and spilled beer, Thrice blaring from the stereo just loud enough that people have to shout to hear each other properly. A few guys are shoving each other around while they smoke by the window, there's a very involved game of poker going on at their new kitchen table, and at least three people are sprawled on the floral-print mattress someone dumped in the middle of the living room. It's nice to see so many familiar faces in one place and Frank's feeling good<\/i>.

\"Shit,\" Frank laughs when people move aside to tuck the new chair under the table, clapping Mikey on the shoulder as he worms past him to get to the vodka in the freezer, \"we're gonna be decked out<\/i>, dude!\"

\"B-Y-O-Furniture,\" Mikey agrees, meeting his eyes with a smile for a moment before turning back to the girl he was talking to. Frank recognizes the short red hair: the girl Mikey's been hooking up with on and off the past few months whenever they're in town.

Frank goes to break the seal at some point after midnight. There are some dudes hot-boxing the bathroom, one guy he used to run into at Pipeline and two of his friends, so after Frank's pissed and tucked his dick away, he stays in there with them to catch up.

\"Ah, fuck you,\" Frank laughs when Chaz, sitting on the countertop, kicks at Frank's knees and reminisces about going to see his band play in '96. Frank plucks the joint from his smirking lips and takes a double hit, pausing while he holds it in to sit down on the lid of the toilet seat. \"Sector 12 was the shit<\/i>, man,\" Frank drawls on an exhale, earthy-sweet smoke curling up in front of his face. \"Ahead of our time.\"

The two dudes in the bathtub ask what Frank's been up to since Pipeline closed down, so he tells them about Pencey and jumping ship to My Chem, touring, how crazy it was that they made it to Europe last spring, while they pass the blunt around.

They brace their laced-up shit-kickers on the rim of Frank's tub and look at him skeptically, like he's just another kid from Jersey talking big about his own band. It doesn't give Frank the itch between his shoulder blades that it used to. Maybe he's just too stoned to care, or maybe he doesn't need to put his fist in a dude's gut to prove that his band is going places; they can just watch and see.

One more joint and two interruptions from people who have to piss later, Frank's smiling to himself, paying more attention to the happy chemical buzz in his bloodstream than the conversation, when one of the guys slaps his own thigh hard, laughing, and Frank looks over. \"No fucking way, the kid with the Disney tapes?\" he's saying, and Chaz nods back at him, grinning. \"Man, I heard he got into some serious<\/i> shit.\"

\"He's in Frank's band, dude,\" Chaz says with raised eyebrows, pushing sweaty hair out of his face and pointing at Frank.

Frank grins, \"Fuck yeah he is. Mikey Way? He's my roommate too, we moved in today.\"

Just then Chaz chokes on the hit he was taking, raising his middle finger in the direction of the bathtub when the guys call him a pussy. \"Frank\u2014\" he says, voice reedy as he emerges from his coughing fit. \"Fuck, this is some strong shit. Frank, man, you gotta watch yourself.\"

Frank frowns. \"Why?\"

\"Remember when he auditioned for Pencey? Like, what\u2014four years ago?\"

\"Five,\" Frank says. Shit, he'd almost forgotten Mikey had tried out back then.

\"Five, yeah.\" Chaz waves his hands around in the hazy air for a second. \"Dude, he had the biggest fucking hard-on for you!\" The guys in the tub burst out laughing, \"No way!\" and \"Aw, fuck, for real<\/i>?\"

\"What?\" Frank blinks and rubs a hand up and down the back of his head, over the buzzed hair there. He has no idea how long he's been in here or how much he's smoked. He's feeling kind of fucked up. \"Mikey<\/i>?\"

\"Yeah dude,\" Chaz says, \"remember Sam? With the leopard tattoo? We were dating, she and Mikey were tight back then. He was so into you he totally puked at her house before the audition.\"

\"I\u2014\" Frank shakes his head. He feels kind of offended on Mikey's behalf. Or something. \"No, man, fucking\u2026\" he swallows, closes his eyes to find the words, \"Mikey's the straightest fuckin' arrow I know, seriously.\"

\"Whatever, dude.\" Chaz grins. \"Just be careful he doesn't jump you in the middle of the night.\" He makes some kind of groping gesture and it sets the other dudes off laughing again.

Frank stands up abruptly, kind of pissed off, but then remembers he's at his own party and he's trying this thing where he doesn't punch smug assholes in the face anymore.

\"\u2026 the fuck ever,\" Frank mutters instead and ignores the chorus of \"Oo-oh\" from the fucking leather peanut gallery in his bathtub while he jiggles the doorknob open and spills back out into the hallway.

\"Whoa, Frankie,\" Ray says as Frank bumps into his chest. His eyes are kind of unfocused, sweaty pieces of hair sticking to his forehead. \"Killer party!\"

Frank gets the bathroom door closed behind him and takes a deep breath of the relatively fresh air, licking his lips. \"Yeah,\" he says absently, but he can't help grinning when Ray plants a big clammy hand on Frank's forehead and runs it down his face. \"You're messed up<\/i>, dude,\" Frank giggles as Ray's fingers catch on the neck of Frank's t-shirt and drag it down a bit.

\"I know, right? Shiiiiiit.\" Ray laughs and then he's slipping down the wall and accidentally tickling Frank's ribs and Frank goes down with him, laughing along.

.

Living with Mikey Way is kind of like what Frank imagines dorms at college would have been like, if he hadn't lived at home: they eat a lot of instant noodles, go home to do laundry, stay up way too late playing Zelda, brag about the shits they take, and hang socks on their doorknobs when they're getting laid.

The awesome thing about living with Mikey Way in their own apartment<\/i>, though, is that no one gives them crap for being messy, and they're old enough to fill their own fridge with booze. Also they're in a fucking band<\/i> and don't have to go to class. That part is especially awesome.

Whenever they go out Frank helps Mikey with his stupid pointy fake mohawk, Mikey's limp hair in one hand while he blow-dries it up with the other. \"The new Blur album isn't complete<\/i> shit,\" Mikey'll say from between his shoulders, bent over and braced on the kitchen counter, and Frank will tell him that yes, it really is<\/i>, as he smears hair gel on Mikey's neck, making him laugh.

Sometimes Frank makes the mistake of eating scrambled eggs or a grilled cheese or whatever the fuck else his stomach has decided it won't digest that week, and Mikey will turn up Die Hard<\/i> real loud on their TV and they'll shout lines at each other through the bathroom door until Frank's better.

They argue over track listings for mix CDs, kneeling on the carpet in front of the shitty computer Frank's dad leant him. They host a couple of poker nights (and more than one D&D session that lasts until five in the morning). And whenever Frank needs a record from an obscure band, or a new pair of shoes after he loses his at a show, or they get high and decide they have<\/i> to own a bread-maker, Mikey will smile knowingly from under his stringy bangs. \"I know a guy who knows a guy,\" he'll say, cross-legged on the mattress in the middle of their living room or tipping back in one of the plastic lawn chairs in their kitchen, \"who can get us that.\"

Sometimes Frank thinks about 1998, about Mikey's audition and what Chaz said, and can't remember much aside from Mikey's spotty skin and skinny legs and how Frank fucked up his elbow spinning into a stack of speakers that night. Frank feels kind of bad that he can't remember more. He wonders if it's something Mikey remembers really well.

\"What?\" Mikey asks around a mouthful of Chef Boyardee, when he catches Frank staring at him.

\"Your face,\" Frank answers absently, and gets a few bony toes in his side for his trouble.

.

They play a show in Passaic that month and, apart from one night in New York, they've been off tour for nearly six weeks. It feels like a homecoming, in a way.

\"Look at that fucking line!\" Frank announces to the rest of the guys, slamming his hands against the van window as they pull up at the venue. It feels strange to be playing a show on a full night of sleep, for once; Frank's got energy to spare.

It's fucking cold out, so Frank wraps his denim jacket around himself tightly as he tumbles out after Otter slides the door open. He hugs and fist-bumps old friends in line, warm puffs of air between them as they laugh. It's awesome to see so many people who've been coming out to their shows since the start.

\"Next spring, probably,\" Frank is telling a girl he met backstage a few months ago, \"that's when we're hoping the record'll be done, anyway. Who fucking knows!\" Frank looks down the line, spots Mikey's tangled hair\u2014Mikey did it himself tonight, their bathroom reeks of hairspray now\u2014and Ray's head rising and falling in the crowd as they talk to people. He sees Gerard and Otter smoking with the bouncer and it feels good, like Frank's got a place he belongs. His cheeks already hurt from smiling so much.

Frank's strung tight backstage, pacing in the hallway and rubbing his hands back and forth over the buzzed-short crown of his scalp while Mikey and Ray chill and talk about a mutual friend they saw outside. Frank knows he's being exactly the kind of twitchy motherfucker that Gerard can't handle when he's nervous before a show, but he can't help it.

When he gets sick of cracking his knuckles and rolling his shoulders, Frank comes up behind Mikey and grinds his fists into the meaty part of his back for a little while just to do something, blue t-shirt bunching under his knuckles. Mikey bears it patiently and keeps talking, only raising a finger to push his glasses up when they're jolted down his nose.

\"How do you live with this spaz?\" Ray asks eventually, laughing as he peers over Mikey's shoulder.

Mikey shrugs but Frank sees the way his ear moves back, knows that it means Mikey's smiling. \"Because he loves me,\" Frank says magnanimously, crowding Mikey with a bear hug from behind.

\"Erk,\" Mikey says when Frank squeezes, but laughs a little when Frank hops up on his toes to plant a dry kiss against Mikey's jaw. \"I'm only in it for the free meals,\" Mikey says to Ray in a stage whisper, \"I don't think he's realized that I haven't bought any groceries yet.\" Frank tries to tickle Mikey from behind but nearly gets an elbow in his face before he darts out of the way, light on his toes, grinning.

The venue is perfect, fucking perfect<\/i>, audience tight up against the stage as Gerard hunches his shoulders and screams the beginning of Skylines at them. Frank loves it here because he knows every inch of the stage, knows what it's like under his shoes, his knees, his cheek. He knows the sticky floor of the pit, too, has been on that side of the room more times than he can count.

Frank trips on a cable during Sorrows and only catches himself with a rush of adrenaline as he twists at the last second and lands on his back. He's up almost immediately and his eyes are open but he's not really seeing anything, lurching around in time with the driving chorus. He can never stay still during this song; if he didn't have a guitar to hold onto he'd be throwing his head back and his elbows out, spinning in the pit, screaming hard into people's faces as they passed him by.

He finishes the song sharing the mic with Gerard, throat hoarse, and staggers backwards in the sudden quiet as the ring of Ray's guitar dies out and the crowd screams back at them. Gerard grips Frank's shoulder hard for a second before shoving him away, a kind of pat on the back, and Frank turns to meet Ray and Otter's eyes with a big shit-eating grin.

Spaz<\/i>, Mikey mouths at him with a small smile, legs spread and feet planted firmly in the same spot they've been since the start of the set. Frank sticks his tongue out just as he slams into the opening chords of Honey and bends double with the force of the down-stroke. When he whips his head back up, Mikey's eyes are still on him but his face is kind of hard to read, teeth in his bottom lip.

Frank's mouth is suddenly watering and he turns to spit at the empty side of the stage. He plants a shoe on his amp, braces himself with a bent knee, and bangs his head in time with every person in the room.

.

The night doesn't end when they stumble off the stage on jelly legs with stupid smiles on their faces, sweat-soaked t-shirts sticking to their skin. They shoot the shit with the crowd for the next hour or so and Frank runs into a couple of friends from college, the rare few he met who weren't total douchebags.

He hasn't seen them since he dropped out, and it feels pretty awesome to show that them that this is what he does for a living. They don't talk down to him\u2014good for you<\/i>\u2014the way so many people do when they actually mean get a real job<\/i>. Frank walks with them to the merch table and gets them some free CDs.

Of the group from Frank's old school, the two chicks and one of the guys who came from upstate are too wasted to drive home, so Frank gets them a ride back to his and Mikey's place in the band's van. He kind of likes having a place to offer up for people to crash at, a place that's not just the back seat or his mom's basement.

They sit around the living room smoking a few bowls and eating from a couple of battered bags of Cheetos that Frank found under a seat in the van. Mikey settles down in the corner and smokes with them, smiling quietly through their catch-up conversation about shitty cafeteria food and bullshit professors. He doesn't really meet their eyes much but Frank knows his body language, knows it's not a big deal.

Frank takes a piss and when he gets back his friends are ripping on Mikey for staying in the exact same spot on stage all night. Frank hesitates, frowning, but Mikey's smiling that little smile that means he's having a good time.

\"Epic stage fright,\" Mikey says, eyes in his lap where he's fingering a green plastic lighter. \"I'm a deer in fucking headlights every time, you should see when they have to carry me offstage.\" Frank's friends laugh and Frank joins them, sitting back down on the floor.

\"We were gonna just take a cardboard cut-out of him to Europe,\" Frank explains, cracking his knuckles, \"save ourselves an airplane ticket. But we couldn't leave the fucker behind.\"

Mikey suddenly looks up for the first time since they got the bong out, meets Frank's eyes with a smile that shows a little teeth, and out of nowhere Frank's cheeks get hot.

\"Where the fuck did those Cheetos go?\" Frank asks, cutting his gaze to someone else.

Eventually one of Frank's friends starts to pass out propped up against the wall, so they decide to call it a night. He offers his bed to one of the girls and Mikey follows suit for the other one and her boyfriend. He and Frank only move enough to hit the light switch and grab the funky-smelling blanket from behind the TV before they collapse back on the mattress in their living room.

\"Oh god<\/i>,\" Frank moans, wiggling around a bit just to feel all his body parts intact, \"what a fucking show, huh?\"

\"Mmm,\" Mikey agrees and tries to spread-eagle it, nailing Frank in the face, \"totally awesome.\"

\"Motherfucker,\" Frank says. He bites at Mikey's hand until he pulls it back and rolls away onto his side. \"Pillows?\"

\"Ungh,\" Mikey replies, tossing his glasses a few feet away before groping around for a hoodie that he passes to Frank.

\"Thanks, man.\" Frank balls it under his head and collapses onto his back. It's only then, with the high of the show worn off, that he feels the ache in his knees, the bruise forming on his back where he hit the stage. It feels good to not be moving anymore.

He thinks Mikey's already passed out and is focused loosely on the soft noise of cars passing by on the wet street outside when Mikey suddenly says, \"We dropped out of college a year ago last month.\"

Frank startles at the noise, shaking the mattress slightly, and blinks up at the dark ceiling. \"Yeah.\" He sucks his lip ring into his mouth, pops it back out again. \"Shit, a year ago. My family was so fucking pissed.\"

Mikey snorts lightly, \"'Least they weren't losing two<\/i> sons to a shitty punk band.\"

Frank rolls his eyes, bumps the back of Mikey's ankle with his socked foot. \"Don't even<\/i>, you had Elena all over that shit.\"

Mikey hums in agreement. \"Fuck, can you believe that was only last year? We've toured the country since then. We've been to Amsterdam<\/i>.\" He laughs to himself. \"We nearly lost Ray<\/i> to Amsterdam.\"

Frank giggles too, remembering the passport shit-show that spring, and lets out a big sigh, smiling into the darkness. \"This is for real, Mikey Way. For real<\/i> for real.\"

Mikey rolls onto his back and looks over at Frank, eyes huge without his glasses on.

\"What?\" Frank feels kind of weird under Mikey's gaze and shoves at his shoulder half-heartedly. \"I'm just, like, having a moment. Okay?\"

Mikey pushes his hair out of his own face. \"I have a lot of moments, dude. I get it.\"

They smile at each other in the dark for a minute before Mikey pulls the blanket back up and Frank suddenly gets a whiff of stale sweat and hair product, screwing his face up at the smell. \"Aw, dude<\/i>, you fucking reek<\/i>. Did you change when we got home?\"

Mikey squeezes his eyes shut while he smiles one of his biggest, stupidest, middle-of-the-night smiles and says \"Nope!\" brightly before tucking the blanket up around his ears.

\"Asshole,\" Frank mutters, but there's not much feeling behind it.

The last thing Frank thinks before he passes out is that Mikey didn't bring that red-headed girl home, even though Frank saw them talking at the show. It strikes Frank that he never found out her name, even though he ate his Count Chocula across the kitchen table from her a few times.

.

It's a pale sort of dawn light outside when Frank wakes up and has to piss. He rolls out from under the blanket and stumbles into the bathroom, eyes still mostly closed while he does his thing.

He stops when he gets back to the living room to lift his hands up over his head and stretch, scratching at his stomach where his belt dug in and left marks in his sleep. He falls heavily down onto his knees on the mattress and only remembers Mikey's there when the lump under the blanket bounces slightly.

\"Shit<\/i>,\" Frank whispers and freezes, holds his breath, but Mikey doesn't move. His hair's all fucked up and he's half on his back, arm across his own chest and mouth slightly open.

Mikey looks so young, so different without his glasses on. His arm's kind of soft-looking where it's flung across his chest and he's got a patch under his chin where he forgot to shave. It has that look like it'd be rough, maybe prickly.

Frank blinks.

He totally just thought about kissing Mikey Way's neck.

Frank digs the heels of his hands into his eyes for a minute and takes a deep breath. He breathes evenly, watching lights dance behind his eyelids, and thinks about pushing Mikey's broad shoulders down into the mattress and grabbing the pale skin of his hips where his girl-jeans have slipped down, feeling the jut of Mikey's hipbones under his palms. And\u2014well.

Frank drops his hands into his lap and looks hopelessly down at his actual<\/i> roommate, the line of his jaw, eyelashes dark against his pale skin, long fingers splayed out across his own belly. Frank would totally hit that, holy shit<\/i>.

Frank bounces up onto his feet, sucking in a breath. He's smiling, which is fucking stupid, it's ass-o'clock in the morning and he's got the beginnings of a hangover and he's never been into a dude before and it should be scary or stupid but it's just\u2014it's Mikey<\/i>. It doesn't feel anything but good<\/i>. Frank stares down at Mikey for a few more moments, at the way the sharp and soft lines of his body seem to take a different shape when Frank thinks about fitting himself along them.

There's no fucking way Frank's going to go back to sleep now, so he steps into his sneakers, pulls on a hoodie, and grabs the Discman that's sitting on top of the TV before slipping out the door. It's dead out on the street, too early for commuters and too late for kids stumbling home from the bar. It's overcast and everything's wet from the rain the night before, cold enough for Frank to put his hood up and dig his hands in his pockets.

Frank pulls the plastic headphones on and flips through the mix CD as he thinks about 1998, wonders what Mikey<\/i> imagined them doing, how Mikey<\/i> saw the lines of Frank's body and thought yeah. Want that<\/i>.

He's ten minutes into his walk when a shitty song from the new Blur album comes on the CD. Frank's thumb hovers instinctively over the \"next\" button in his pocket, but he smiles and doesn't press it this time, sneakers hitting the pavement, left-right.

.

\"Living with Mikey Way is like taking one for the team,\" Frank says into the phone as he suffers through another afternoon kicked off his own computer so that Mikey can stalk his one million MySpace friends or whatever. Frank is still in his room and when Mikey gives him the finger without turning around, he can see the shifting muscles of Mikey's back through his t-shirt.

\"Eh,\" Frank responds when Gerard asks if Mikey's making out with someone in a bed that's not his. Again. \"He's making out, like, electronically<\/i>. With everyone on the internet.\" Gerard laughs and Frank elaborates: \"He's totally slipping the tongue to this chick with a uni-brow, I can see it from here. Did you know your brother was into cybersex?\"

\"It's not a uni-brow, it's make-up<\/i>,\" Mikey says and Frank is already laughing as Gerard tells him about the time their parents banned Mikey from the computer because they accidentally saw an e-mail with some pretty explicit photos attached.

\"How's writing going?\" Frank asks after a while, idly working his bare toes through the slats on the back of the lawn chair at his desk to dig into the bare skin at the base of Mikey's spine.

Mikey bats his toes away but Frank comes back as soon as Mikey's hand is curled over the mouse again. \"Yeah?\" Frank asks around a smile while Gerard explains lovers making deals with the Devil.

\"Shit!\" Frank laughs when Mikey finally grabs Frank's foot and yanks hard, so Frank loses his balance and falls on his back on the mattress. Mikey climbs on top, bony knees digging in to all of Frank's soft parts as he grabs Frank's forearm. Gerard sighs like he always does when he thinks people aren't paying enough attention to him. \"No! Gerard, I can't\u2014\" Frank tries to get his arm back, laughing, but he's still holding the phone in one hand.

\"Oh fuck!\" Frank drops the phone and kicks out when Mikey gives him an Indian sunburn, sharp flare of pain at the twist of his skin, lifting his hips off the bed until he tips Mikey over. Frank punches randomly at Mikey's scrawny arms and kind of eyes up where his too-small t-shirt stretches across his chest and pinches in at the armpit. Frank thinks about how much he'd miss tits if he was with Mikey, but the heat of Mikey's thighs tangled up with his and the giggle Mikey's got going on feel pretty good.

Frank meets Mikey's gaze, tries to ignore Gerard's long-suffering voice coming from somewhere in the folds of his bed sheets, and makes what he hopes is an if you kissed me right now I would totally let you<\/i> face at his roommate.

Mikey rolls off and passes him the phone, so Frank thinks maybe he needs to work on his faces.
.

It's only a few weeks before Christmas, and that means it's less than a month before they fly to L.A. to start recording the new album. It feels kind of surreal and far away to Frank, cross-legged on his living room floor while the five of them dick around with new song ideas.

Frank's been plucking out notes, trying to follow along with the melody that Gerard's singing with gibberish not-yet-lyrics. Ray's boxers are sticking out of the top of his pants as he leans over his amp, fiddling with the feedback, while Otter sits at one of their wobbly lawn chairs and bangs his sticks idly off a lone snare drum between his knees.

Frank looks over to the kitchen where Mikey is stirring sugar into the coffee he's been carefully preparing for the last five minutes. He's still got his bass slung over his shoulder and when he leans forward to pick the mug up, the neck of his bass swings forward, knocking the entire cup into the sink before Mikey can curl his fingers around the handle.

\"Oh,\" Mikey says sadly. Frank snorts.

\"Bel-ieve<\/i>,\" Gerard sings, on his back on the living room mattress, and frowns up at the ceiling. \"Sle-eve<\/i>?\"

\"Guys, I don't think L.A. is gonna be able to handle us,\" Otter says as he raps his sticks on the rim of his snare.

\"Yeah,\" Gerard says, rolling over onto his stomach and sighing. \"I need to go work on these more. Somewhere I can surround myself with lots of pictures of blood.\"

Frank smiles down at his guitar, picking at his D string. Fuck yeah, this is his<\/i> band.

After Gerard and Otter leave, Ray hangs around a little bit to practice what they've been calling Gerard's 'pissed-off teenager song'. The lyrics are still in progress but it scratches an itch for all of them, kind of like closing the book on a chapter of their lives while spitting a big fuck you<\/i> into its face at the same time.

Ray's solo for the song is killer, and Frank kind of forgets the chords he's supposed to be playing, hand stilling on the neck of his guitar while Ray closes his eyes and plays. He's banging his head a bit, biting his lip, and the way he bends the notes makes Frank's skin tingle. He never gets tired of watching Ray Toro shred his face off.

Frank's been thinking about Mikey's Pencey audition a lot lately. Watching Ray now, he thinks about My Chem shows he went to before he joined, about how he had to elbow kids out of his way constantly to keep a clear view of Ray, because Frank wanted to see just where his fingers landed on his guitar, to see if some of that would maybe rub off on Frank.

Frank blinks and looks over to where Mikey's fiddling away at his bass, unplugged, next to him. Mikey looks up at him and smiles, the line of his jaw softening and his eyes warm. Frank's face heats up and he closes his eyes, tipping his head back against the wall as his stomach clenches just trying to imagine Mikey feeling that way about Frank<\/i>, eighteen and awkward on his own guitar. Damn.

Frank thinks blushing constantly has got<\/i> to give this guy some idea that Frank wants him to make a move, already. Fuck<\/i>.

\"Good call, I'm pretty tired too,\" Ray says, and Frank opens his eyes to see him slipping his guitar into its case, smiling. \"But it is pretty awesome not having someone's sleeping parents upstairs telling us to keep it down when we practice here.\"

\"Only this princess, if he passes out on us,\" Mikey says, poking Frank in the stomach with his bass.

\"Now why<\/i>,\" Frank asks, wrapping his fingers around the neck of Mikey's bass and grinning, \"would you go and fuck up your tuning like that?\" He laughs and ignores Mikey's protests as he grabs randomly at the tuning pegs, twisting them in different directions.

\"And I'll just leave my tuner right here?\" Ray rolls his eyes, setting it down on the floor in front of them before propping the door open with his foot and hoisting his guitar and amp through it. \"'Night!\" he calls behind himself and Mikey and Frank echo it, giggling, as the door swings shut.

Frank feels warm and happy, likes that at the end of the day when everyone's gone home, he's here on the beer-stained carpet next to Mikey.

\"Can you actually do it by ear?\" He asks after a few minutes of watching Mikey pluck at the strings, turning the tuning pegs back and forth.

\"Nah, just trying to look cool,\" Mikey admits before giving up and settling back against the wall. He stretches his legs out in front of him, toes turned in.

Frank strums an A chord, tinny with his guitar unplugged. It's quiet in their apartment, just the faint noise of a television coming from an apartment somewhere above them, the ticking of the radiator, and the hum of their fridge.

\"Do you remember when you tried out for Pencey?\" Frank asks, ignoring the heat prickling across his neck as he casually slides the chord up a few frets, turns it into an A-sharp.

Mikey huffs a little laugh, ducking his head down under his hair. \"Yeah. Shit, dude, that was ages<\/i> ago.\"

Frank hums in agreement, watches the way the little muscles in Mikey's forearm work while he plucks out some kind of a walking bass line, fingers stretched wide and making the tendons in his hands stand out in relief.

\"I saw Chaz at our party. Remember him, he dated Sam? Used to hang out at Pipeline at lot?\" Mikey doesn't say anything. Frank plays a shitty harmonic scale and stops with an exhale, closing his fingers over the strings and looking down at their feet. \"He reminded me about it, I'd totally forgotten.\"

Mikey's still silent beside him and Frank thinks shit, that was too obvious<\/i>, and forces a small laugh. \"God, I was such a fucking poser then,\" he smiles into his lap. \"Thought I was seriously hot shit because I went to more shows than the kid sitting next to me in chem class. What the fuck<\/i>.\"

They both laugh softly that that. \"Not to mention all the baggy t-shirts,\" Frank adds.

Mikey wiggles his toes in his grey socks. \"Gerard went through the same phase, dude.\"

Frank remembers why he did it, and the feeling isn't a fantastic one. \"Felt like I could hide what a fat-ass I was,\" he says with a dry laugh. \"Thought throwing punches could do the same, too.\"

Mikey's quiet for a moment and Frank turns his head along the wall to look at him. He's got a few spots on his chin and his carefully-sprayed-up hair obscures his right eye, and Frank thinks yeah, okay, we all have our own shit<\/i>.

\"I thought you were cool,\" Mikey tells his feet. \"You didn't take anybody's crap, even though you were the only kid in that group still in high school. Like you weren't ashamed, or whatever.\" Frank watches Mikey's face as he says it, and it makes his stomach flip over. Frank swallows.

Mikey looks up at him when Frank doesn't say anything, and Frank tries not to make any funny expressions or drop his gaze to Mikey's lips, just thinks I know you wanted me I know you wanted me I know you wanted me<\/i> at Mikey's face like if he thinks it loud enough, Mikey'll hear.

Mikey's eyes slip down to Frank's mouth for a fraction of a section and Frank sucks in a breath, fingertips digging into the strings of his guitar, Yes, now, do it<\/i>, but Mikey stands up quickly and pulls the strap of his bass over his shoulder, dropping it onto the mattress.

\"I'm fucking wiped, dude,\" Mikey says and doesn't meet Frank's eyes when Frank frowns. \"'Night?\"

\"Yeah, okay... 'night.\"

Frank sits in the living room for a while, looking at Mikey's bass on the mattress in front of him. He should maybe take a fucking hint already, but he's never been very good at that. He tries and he tries until things go his way or he gets knocked on his ass; either way he knows where he stands.

Frank doesn't move until Mikey's finished brushing his teeth, until he hears the creak of Mikey's bedsprings shifting under his weight and it's quiet except for Frank's breath. He thinks about just saying it, just putting it out there: I know you were into me, dude<\/i>. He thinks about spreading his arms wide in front of Mikey's surprised face, looking up at him, saying here I fucking am<\/i> and waiting.

Waiting.

Frank tongues his lip ring and sides his fingers down the neck of his guitar, and somewhere between the second and the twelfth fret, he realizes that he's waiting for Mikey<\/i> to make a move. That audition was five fucking years ago, why would Mikey decide to make his move now?

Frank needs to get his shit in gear<\/i>.


Part II<\/a><\/b>
<\/a>

"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:desfinado:24148","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/24148.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=24148"}}],"title":"desfinado @ 2010-09-26T23:51:00","published":"2010-09-27T06:51:34Z","updated":"2018-01-29T01:34:58Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"bandom"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"fic"}}],"content":"Title<\/u>: To Feel So Bright<\/b>
Author<\/u>: <\/a>desfinado<\/b><\/a><\/span>
Pairing<\/u>: Frank\/Gerard (implied Gerard\/Lindsey, Frank\/Jamia)
Rating<\/u>: NC-17
Word count<\/u>: 8089
Disclaimer<\/u>: They don\u2019t belong to me; not making a profit.
Notes<\/u>: Thanks for <\/a>brooklinegirl<\/b><\/a><\/span> a million times over for the constructive beta! Any remaining errors (especially of the canon variety) are mine.
Summary<\/u>: It\u2019s not until they\u2019re out in the desert, getting ready to film, that they realize Frank\u2019s outfit is all wrong.




Frank wedges his phone into his back pocket after saying a fond \"I love you\" to Jamia and the two screamers in the background. He always misses her when he\u2019s out here in California, but it\u2019s different now with the twins, more immediate.

He\u2019s finally got the fucking leather pants on\u2014despite being covered in a layer of sweat and dust already<\/i>\u2014followed by the t-shirt and boots, but he's stuck on the jacket Gerard had left for him. Even though this morning is just set aside to scope out the diner and motel for spots to shoot scenes, everyone had decided to put their outfits on early, excited and impatient.

\u201cFuck,\u201d he mutters to himself, alone in the back room of the diner.

It\u2019s not the first time he wishes he\u2019d been around to buy all the fun costume shit with Toro and Mikey and everyone beforehand. His fingers are too fucking blunt for this thing, but he just<\/i> manages to get the last of at least six zippers done before he looks up to see Gerard standing in the doorway in his get-up. He<\/i> looks the part. Frank really, really doesn\u2019t.

Gerard hums a greeting and frowns, slipping off his jacket and tossing it onto a nearby table. He reaches out towards Frank but then pulls his hand back.

\"I dunno. I think\u2014hm.\" Gerard's brow creases and he steps further into the room, boots heavy on the floor.

Frank holds his palms out at his sides. \"I'm no costume designer, Gee. You gotta tell me.\" It hurts to widen his legs in these fucking pants, how are people supposed to fight crime in them?

Gerard sighs and pushes a hand through his hair, stringy and red between his fingers. \"It's not you, you know? It\u2019s less Easy Rider and more...\"

Frank grins. \"Tiny Dancer?\"

Gerard looks apologetic but he\u2019s smiling. \u201cIt looked fucking awesome in the store. You shoulda seen that place! I had to resist buying every jacket they owned.\u201d

\u201cI\u2019m sure you did,\u201d Frank agrees and tucks his thumbs under the waistband of his pants, trying to tug them down a bit and un-stick them from his thighs.

\"Okay.\" Gerard grins and claps his hands together. \"Okay! Let\u2019s go fix this.\u201d

\u201cHow?\u201d Frank asks. \u201cIt\u2019s two hours to L.A.\u201d

Gerard waves dismissively. \u201cWe can totally find something in Palmdale, it\u2019s half an hour away.\u201d He hitches his pale, dirt-smeared jeans up a bit\u2014they haven't put all the goddamn holsters on yet, thank god\u2014and heads for the door.

\u201cShouldn\u2019t we, like\u2014\u201d Frank frowns, \u201chelp out here?\u201d

But Gerard just says, \"Jon\u2019s busy with lighting and shit, he won\u2019t mind. I\u2019ll meet you at my car!\u201d before disappearing into the bright square of sky and dirt framed by the doorway.

Frank sighs and starts pulling zippers down at random, skinning a knuckle as one gets stuck, \u201cFucking piece of shit.\u201d He can hear people outside, Steve's laughter low and rumbling, Chantal\u2019s animated voice rising above it.

\"Motherfucker.\" He smiles, giving up on the jacket, and goes to tell Jon they\u2019ll be back by lunch.



It's hot in a way that Jersey doesn\u2019t get this time of year. Rolling the window of Gerard's car down doesn't seem to do much but blow more hot air at him, like opening an oven when it's going full-blast. Gerard's wailing along to the last few lines of Summertime<\/i> when he looks over and catches Frank watching him.

\"Y\u2019know, we've been cruising to this album for ages but this is my first time getting to do it with you<\/i>,\" Gerard grins. His hair flies around his face, fiery red and making him look a little crazy.

\"It was better when I sang it in my<\/i> car,\" Frank counters, eyes back out on the desert, \"J said it'd make a good screamo record.\"

Gerard snorts and slows down, taking a corner that brings them off the dirt-covered road and onto a two-lane country highway. \"She doing okay?\u201d

\u201cYeah, she\u2019s doing good,\u201d Frank says, and then amends it with \u201camazing. I\u2019d be shit without her, especially now.\u201d He can\u2019t keep the pride from his voice.

Gerard smiles. \u201cWhen we're retired and penniless,\" he says firmly after a few minutes, \"then we'll come back with your 'interpretation' of our body of work. Big money.\u201d

\"Acoustic,\" Frank adds, reaching over to turn the volume up on the next track. \"That's when I sound my best.\"

Gerard grins at him again, lopsided. He rakes his fingers through his hair before his eyes flick back to the highway and he swings a little too quickly onto another road.

Frank slides up against the car door with the turn and lets his head hang out the window, eyes closed, smiling indiscriminately out at the world. The wind that pushes his hair back from his face is thick with the smell of dirt, so different from home.

\"You ever sing her lullabies?\" Frank says after a few moments. It's not the first time he's asked Gerard a question about Bandit, but it's the first chance he's had to do it in person since the twins were born.

\"Oh god, yeah. I woke Lindsey up once because I'd started off on Enter Sandman and kinda forgot myself.\" Frank giggles and Gerard flashes him a happy smile. \"Later she told Alicia that she'd found me at five in the morning, sitting on a miniature pink rocking horse, screaming off to never-never land<\/i> at her daughter.\"

They both crack up and Frank tucks his hair behind his ears, his cheeks hurting from how much he\u2019s been smiling since he got to the West Coast. The road rolls by them, Gerard slowing as they enter the city, yellow cracked soil and dry brush giving way to bright green manicured lawns and church parking lots.

Frank looks at him, really looks<\/i> at him, for the first time since he flew in from Jersey. Gerard\u2019s hair is new, yeah, but kind of like he used to wear it when Frank was still in Pencey. His hands are spread wide on the steering wheel, pinkies tapping to the beat as he smiles, a little purse of his lips, like he's been doing all day. Frank thinks Gerard looks alive<\/i>.

Frank has felt a lot more alive in the past few weeks too, alive in the way you only can when little girls give you toothless smiles like you\u2019re the most important thing in the world. He feels alive in the way that sometimes the bags under his eyes never go away and he feels like a zombie, shuffling down the aisles of the grocery store clutching a package of Pampers and a box of instant coffee to his chest; in the way his fingers find the soft parts of Jamia's body under the covers when the twins are napping and they giggle into each other's mouths, falling asleep with his hands up under her t-shirt, just to hold on to the body that gave them both something so amazing.

Frank feels a little stupid when he thinks about how he\u2019s filled with a similar sort of emotion about their new record. About what they're doing today.

\"Goodwill?\" Gerard asks, and Frank blinks. They're swinging into a parking lot, car lurching as Gerard gears down and they coast into a spot.

\"Oh!\" Frank sits up, feels his leg hair catch the sweaty leather of his pants and winces. \"My fucking balls are so<\/i> ready for Goodwill.\"

\"No sweatpants allowed in the desert,\" Gerard warns as he hikes a faded-looking blue backpack onto one shoulder, slamming his door and gesturing at Frank\u2019s.

\"Give me Hammer pants,\" Frank says decisively as he flips the lock down and closes the door, \"or give me death.\"

It's pretty quiet inside, tinny music coming from nowhere-speakers, fluorescent lights bright in a way the sunshine isn\u2019t, and a blast of air conditioning that makes Frank stop short in the doorway, closing his eyes and exhaling. \"Fuck yeah.\"

Gerard snorts from somewhere ahead of him and Frank looks up, notices the only other person in the store\u2014a middle-aged woman at the cash\u2014is frowning at him. Then Frank remembers what he\u2019s wearing. He grins unapologetically at her and follows the pale slope of Gerard\u2019s shoulders to the men's section. Gerard\u2019s sleeveless shirt sags on the side his backpack's hanging from.

\"I veto leather pants of any variety,\" Frank says across a rack of worn t-shirts, slipping his fingers along the soft sleeves as he walks. \"Or anything with more than one zipper.\"

Gerard doesn't say anything but Frank knows his imagination is going, character sketches passing through his mind, little cartoon Franks staring defiantly off the page, splashes of color.

\"Yellow, right?\" Frank asks after a moment, pulling a mustard-colored t-shirt off the rack. It's got a giant clover leaf on it, one that shows through even inside out. He puts it back.

Gerard hums, hair falling in his eyes and necklace swinging forwards as he leans over a box of things on the floor. \"Hey!\" he announces, standing up. He snakes a faded yellow belt out of the pile, wiggling it in Frank's direction, eyebrows raised.

\"Yes,\" Frank says, amused. \"Yellow belt. Congratulations.\" He flips by another t-shirt\u2014too small.

Gerard tries to whip him with the belt across the rack of shirts to get his attention but it barely grazes Frank's elbow before the end snaps Gerard in the face. They both stare for a second at the belt and then each other before bursting out laughing.

\"Dude, weak,\" Frank says, shaking his head. \"You gotta get your shit together before we tour.\"

\"Wow. I\u2019m falling apart,\" Gerard agrees, \"Jesus Christ.\" His fingers skip over the blossoming red spot on his chin before his eyes catch something over Frank's shoulder. \"Oh! Jackets!\" He leaves the belt hanging over the metal rack before disappearing into the aisle.

\"Do I need a jacket? Really?\" Frank asks the store at large after he's collected five yellow shirts he thinks will fit him. \"Or are you just projecting your jacket issues onto me.\"

He doesn't get a response, so he moves on to pants. He is not<\/i> wearing any more leather. It makes embarrassing creaking noises, rubs his thighs raw, and smells rancid at the end of a day in the sun.

Frank thinks about Jamia as he tucks a few pairs of black jeans over his bent arm, does the math in his head and guesses that her mom is probably over by now and they've already had dinner. He wants to check in again, but she'd just answer the phone with \"They\u2019re still breathing, still shitting, and still cute as hell,\" and laugh her big beautiful laugh at him. He slips his phone out of his back pocket and rubs his thumb along its edge absently as he looks out the storefront windows at the blue, cloudless sky.

\"Hi.\"

Frank drops his phone in surprise when he feels Gerard's hand slip under his jacket and squeeze his side. \"Fuck off,\" he giggles, squirming away, and Gerard grins before holding up an armful of leather. \"Oh god<\/i>.\"

\"You trust me,\" Gerard says confidently and jerks his head to the back of the store. \"Should we try this shit on?\"

\"We?\" Frank asks, snatching up his phone and the forgotten belt as they pass.

\"Whatever.\" Gerard waves his hand and swings his backpack down into it. \"Here.\" The change rooms line a poorly-lit hallway, empty stalls on either side. Frank looks around for someone to check how many items they've got but there\u2019s no one there. A part of him is kind of bummed that Goodwill doesn't think he and Gerard look like the type for theft.

\"Do you think we look like dads?\" he asks as they hang up the clothes they've got on the three coat hooks in the far stall. Frank smiles as he hangs the last shirt, running a hand down it. \"Shit, Gee. Dads<\/i>. What the fuck.\"

Gerard laughs softly, and when Frank turns around he nearly buckles because Gerard is hugging him hard and the backs of Frank's knees slam into the edge of the bench seat.

\"Shit,\" he laughs around a faceful of red hair, that Gerard-smell that he's missed (since the first<\/i> bone-crushing hug at the airport). He staggers forward a bit to right himself, feels Gerard shuffle along with him.

\"So fucking proud of you, Frankie,\" Gerard mutters against Frank's shoulder. He squeezes hard and Frank makes a choked sort of sound around another giggle. \"No, I will not stop hugging you right now, okay? Just give me my moment rubbing all the skin off my face on these zippers. Twins<\/i>.\"

Frank smiles and closes his eyes, bunches the thin fabric of Gerard's shirt in his palms before smoothing it out again. He can feel the bumps of Gerard's spine. \"Am I gonna be a skinny motherfucker like you after a few more months of changing diapers and forgetting to eat?\"

\"Nah,\" Gerard says, stepping back and meeting his gaze with bright eyes. His skin looks sallow in the light. \"L.A., man. Every fucking grocery store is health food, y\u2019know? Granola shit.\"

Frank grins, starts yanking the zippered monstrosity of a jacket off. \"I miss Jersey diner food,\" Gerard admits.

\"Damn straight you do.\" Frank adds it to the list of things to remind Gerard of next time they're having a Jersey-or-Cali debate.

Frank leaves the jacket on the floor and peels off his sweat-damp t-shirt, tossing it at Gerard's face\u2014ignoring his complaining noises\u2014before turning to grab one off a hanger. \"Just tell me if anyone's out there and I'll close the door against my white ass.\"

Gerard drops the t-shirt on the floor and leans against the doorway, arms crossed, as Frank tries on three different shirts. One is plain but they both agree it's too pastel-colored, won't go with the arm-band he'd been wearing earlier. The other two have decals that Gerard doesn't think work with their aesthetic (even though the howling wolf is totally awesome).

They can't decide between the last two, one with a flaming skull, which they both think is pretty badass, and one that's actually a black baseball t-shirt with yellow sleeves and some white lettering. Frank leaves the last one on as he finally pops the button on his pants and shimmies them off.

\"Ow ow ow<\/i>,\" he complains as he loses more leg hair to the leather. \"How the fuck do you wear that pair you own? Do you wax your legs or what?\"

Gerard grins, cocks his hip out from the doorframe. \"Rock star.\"

\"Right.\" Frank hops into a few pairs of pants. The first three won't even do up. He giggles and tries to suck his stomach in. \"Can't wear shit with this ghetto booty I've still got,\" he says as he gives up on another pair. \u201cGuess I haven\u2019t gone down as many sizes as I thought.\u201d

Gerard scratches his forehead, amused. \"Want me to go check in the maternity section?\"

Frank blows a raspberry at him and manages to get one pair buttoned up just at that moment. \"Hey, look! Have faith.\" He lifts first one knee, then the other, before sitting on the bench. They slip down his ass a bit but otherwise feel fine. \"See?\" He stands up and turns full circle for Gerard, who nods, smiling. \"Alright. Lay your jackets on me, Way.\"

Gerard bites his lip and reaches over Frank's shoulder, pulling one off its hanger. \"Turn around.\"

Frank turns and lets Gerard guide his arms into the jacket. The leather's cool and smooth and Gerard grips Frank's shoulders, turns him back around. \"Well?\" Frank asks, eyebrows raised.

Gerard makes some unsure noises, doing up the front and patting it down. It feels different from the zippered one that's forgotten on the floor, a lot looser around his ribcage. \"Hold your arms out.\" Frank does and looks at the mirror on the wall next to them. The jacket's black with some ribbing around the chest. \"Too big,\" Gerard says firmly, \"off.\"

Frank laughs. \"How can you tell?\" He shrugs it off anyway, putting it on the bench. \"Forget I asked that. I don't wanna hear you get pornographic about lapels again.\"

\"No idea what you're talking about,\" Gerard says, and insists on helping Frank into the next jacket too. \"How's this one feel?\"

Frank wiggles a bit, stretching his arms out ahead of him and then behind him, feels the pull at his armpits. \"Fine. Kinda boring though, all black. You guys all have some fun shit on yours.\"

\"Yeah,\" Gerard says wistfully. \"Guess we don't have time to get anyone to sew some stuff on.\" He steps in behind Frank, tugging at the hem of the jacket and frowning as Frank watches him in the mirror.

\"You enjoying yourself?\" Frank asks, and he means it to be a jab at Gerard's obsession with jackets, but it comes out kind of soft\u2014he's just so stupidly happy to be hanging out with his band again\u2014and Gerard looks up, eyes wide, meeting his gaze in the mirror.

\"God<\/i>, yes. Yes. Are you?\"

Frank laughs, \"Yeah, of course. I just\u2014\" he shakes his head, wriggling out of the jacket. \"We knew we'd finally found it, in the studio, I guess. Or created<\/i> it or whatever. But this still feels so... like it's going to be this huge and crazy thing, but no one knows yet. I dunno.\"

Frank stays facing the mirror, watching Gerard pull another jacket off a hanger. \"Arms,\" Gerard says matter-of-factly, and Frank lifts them up so Gerard can slip the jacket on. \"I know what you mean. It finally feels complete, like full circle. We're really doing this shit right.\"

Frank doesn't register his words for a second, surprised at the light feeling of the fabric before realizing he's just put his arms through a leather vest<\/i>. It's got weird symbols on the breast\u2014yellow<\/i> symbols\u2014and stretches tight across his shoulders. He looks up at Gerard in the mirror, who's watching his reflection intently. \"Yeah,\" he smiles. Gerard smiles back, smoothes a hand down Frank's back. He can feel it at the base of his spine, the jacket riding a bit high.

It swells up in Frank again, what they're doing, what's going to follow: a fucking whirlwind year, bright stage lights and long flights, a fret board under his fingertips. Finally out of the studio; the rooms never felt big enough for what they were doing in there.

\"It's way too fucking small on you,\" Gerard says finally, \"can you even do it up?\"

Frank blinks for a minute and then giggles, fingers a little clumsy as he attempts to get the zipper to even connect, still riding out the happy feeling in his chest. \"Nope.\" Gerard looks sympathetic. \"But it's perfect anyway,\" Frank grins. \"Look at this shit!\" He turns, points at the yellow characters on the breast.

Gerard nods enthusiastically. \"I totally had a feeling when I saw this one, even if it's sleeveless.\"

\"How's it look, then?\" Frank asks, hands on his hips. \"All together?\"

Gerard's smiling but he waves at his backpack. \"Put your boots back on. I've got a holster in my bag.\"

Frank snorts. \"Dork. Of course you have a holster in your bag.\" He zips his boots up over the pants and grabs the holster Gerard hands him. He's busy hooking the leather under the shoulder straps of his vest when he feels Gerard's fingers in his belt loops, body close behind him.

\"I feel like a fucking Ken doll,\" Frank says, twisting under his armpit to get the holster done up. It's kind of cool though, strapping shit on and zipping it up, layers and buckles. He feels fierce with all this stuff attached to him. \"Hey!\" He laughs as Gerard threads the yellow belt through his last two loops, arms around his waist. \"I can do up my own belt, mom.\"

Gerard's warm against his back and Frank can see him smiling in the mirror. He lifts his arms so Gerard can do the buckle up. Frank makes an oof<\/i> sound when Gerard pulls it too tight, but grins as their gazes meet in the glass.

\"Desert warrior,\" Gerard says, and leans forward to hook his chin over Frank's shoulder and slip his thumbs into Frank's front belt loops. Frank leans back against his weight, warm and familiar but taller than he's used to with Jamia, flat from chest to waist.

He watches Gerard take in his outfit from head to toe. It's nice in the way it always is when you get Gerard's undivided attention. It\u2019s something that Frank knows he'll get when it's important, but that still makes a bit of sweat break out across his shoulder blades. The change room smells like Febreeze and other people's B.O.

\"Desert warrior dad<\/i>,\" Gerard says after a moment, smiling, and slips his hands to Frank's sides, squeezing bare skin where the waistband of his jeans dig in.

\"Hey!\" Frank squirms good-naturedly, not really pulling away, but Gerard holds on. \"J needs those love handles to grab onto.\"

Gerard presses his mouth into Frank's shoulder and raises his eyebrows, hair a brilliant red against the black of the leather vest and his dark eyebrows.

\"Whenever we actually start staying awake long enough to fuck,\" Frank amends with a grin.

Gerard nods, fixes him with smiling eyes. They're quiet for a moment. Frank wonders how long they've been gone from the diner and how many hours the twins have let Jamia sleep today and if Gerard's been secretly working out, because there's a bit of definition in his biceps and for some reason it seems really feminine.

\"You look good, Frankie,\" Gerard says softly into Frank's shoulder. His fingers are still on Frank's sides, hands warm.

Frank rolls his eyes because it feels like when your mom tells you you're handsome or whatever. But his spine tingles a bit with the sudden awareness of how close they are, of how long it\u2019s been since they last... It had been just before Gerard and Lindsey\u2019s wedding. Jamia has always understood, knows that it\u2019s mostly emotional and rarely physical. But Frank doesn\u2019t know where Lindsey stands on it\u2014or even Gerard, anymore\u2014so he hasn\u2019t pushed it since they got hitched.

Gerard raises his eyebrows again, in an insistent sort of way. \"What,\" Frank asks.

\"I like<\/i> your ghetto booty,\" Gerard argues, which sounds really stupid in his earnest voice. But then he pulls Frank back against him a little bit\u2014enough<\/i>, anyway\u2014to feel more of Gerard than he had been expecting. Frank\u2019s skin prickles hot across his body and his hands suddenly seem awkward dangling at his sides, so he flexes them. He\u2019s starting to sweat with all the warmth along his back.

\"Really?\" Frank asks. He wants to keep his voice neutral enough that if Gerard is shitting him it won't make him look like a tool, but when Frank looks away from Gerard's hard gaze to his own reflection, he knows it's pointless. If Gerard is giving them the go-ahead, Frank doesn\u2019t think he can say no. It's all over his face.

\"Really,\" Gerard says in a low voice. He walks both of them forward, knees against Frank's thighs, and when Frank finds himself pushed kind of forcefully against the mirror, he starts giggling. \"What, motherfucker?\" Gerard asks dangerously, and Frank turns his cheek against the cool glass, has to squeeze his eyes shut against the jittery excitement that suddenly overwhelms him.

\"Nothing,\" Frank says. \"Please continue flattering my fat ass.\" He grins because he can\u2019t keep it from his face, bracing his hands on the mirror on either side of him. Gerard actually growls<\/i>, which is fucking ridiculous and<\/i> kind of hot in a weird way, before biting Frank's shoulder through the leather.

\"Okay,\" Gerard agrees around a mouthful of vest, and palms Frank\u2019s ass with his right hand to prove his point. When he squeezes, Frank is still smiling but it makes his dick twitch, hard-wired to think about how Jamia digs her fingers into the meaty part at the bottom of his ass right when she's about to come, when she says don't move don't move don't move<\/i> in a strained voice.

\"My wife likes to flatter it too,\" Frank adds, wanting to give Gerard an out if he needs it.

\"Good taste,\" Gerard says absently before folding his palms over both of Frank's hands, pressing hard into the glass as he grinds into Frank's ass and slides his open mouth across the nape of Frank's neck at the same time.

\"Oh, fuck<\/i>,\" Frank gasps, and then giggles again because really<\/i>. This is actually happening<\/i>. He knows J would be okay with it, but he needs to keep his head, here. Even before Lindsey, this wasn\u2019t something they did a lot. \"Gee. Unh.\" Gerard growls again\u2014seriously? And yet there's Frank's dick, getting hard\u2014and Frank licks his lips, mashed sideways against the mirror. God, he hopes Goodwill sterilizes every surface in their store. Often. \"Are you sure?\"

\"Hm?\" Gerard sounds distracted, nosing at the base of Frank's skull, lips in his hair as he grinds a tight circle against Frank\u2019s ass.

\"What, uh\u2014shit.\" Frank closes his eyes and has to swallow, hitching his hips back a bit without realizing. It feels so<\/i> good to be hemmed in like this. He's hot all over and covered in stupid desert dust and there\u2019s a ray gun holster trapped between their bodies. \"Why?\" he finally manages.

Gerard stops moving, inhales deeply with his nose still buried in Frank's hair. \"Feels good to see you,\" he says after a moment, voice low. He swallows loudly. \"Missed you.\"

Frank giggles again. \"Did everyone get this welcoming ceremony?\"

\"Fuck.\" Gerard smiles, lips against Frank's neck. \"No.\" He steps back slightly. \"Sorry. I just, things with me and Linds and B are so good right now, and we talk about stuff. Stuff like this.\" Gerard runs his palms down Frank's sides and back up again, like he\u2019s reminding himself it\u2019s really Frank. \u201cHaving a kid with someone, it\u2019s this experience<\/i>, y\u2019know? It brings you together, like you don\u2019t even have to find words for it, you both know how it feels.\u201d

Frank peers over his shoulder and Gerard pulls back enough so they can actually see each other. Frank's cheek feels hot, the other one cool against the mirror as his breath beads moisture on the glass. He raises his eyebrows because yeah<\/i>, he knows how it feels.

Gerard bits at his lip, shiny-wet when he lets it go. \"This year... this record<\/i> feels like that to me too. And today it just\u2014feels right. I have no fucking clue what I'm doing, I didn't really plan to\u2014um.\"

Frank smiles and waggles his eyebrows. \"Now it's creepy 'cause we're dads.\"

Gerard grins, kind of crooked and blinding at this close range, and it makes Frank's throat close up a bit. Fuck, he missed this loser so bad. \"You're right,\" Gerard says, \"no one wants to see that shit.\" They both laugh and he punctuates it by reaching over to swing the stall door shut on them.

Frank's stomach swoops, even though he's already got Gerard's dick against his ass. \"What do you want to\u2014\"

\"Just let me?\" Gerard asks quickly. Suddenly his hands are wandering all over Frank's torso, grabbing at his stomach and his side and the backs of his arms, still pressed up warm against his back. Frank kind of likes the sensation, the cool metal of Gerard\u2019s wedding ring as his hand brushes bare skin, the eager way Gerard maps his stomach, the ridges of his ribcage. It feels real, like Frank isn\u2019t the only one who\u2019s kind of amazed that this is happening.

\"Can you stay still for me?\" Gerard asks, and it's so soft that Frank is tempted to be a shit just to get that heat back in Gerard's voice, hear that growl again. But he also wants to know what he's supposed to be staying still for<\/i>, so he just says \"Uh huh,\" a bit breathlessly, and clenches his fists against the mirror.

Gerard sweeps wide palms out Frank's shoulders and down the length of his arms, crowding him against the glass until they hear the clink of Frank's belt buckle against the mirror. His mouth is wet and open as he licks at the nape of Frank's neck, tongue hot.

\"Unngh,\" Frank says nonsensically against the glass and then \"Ah!\" when Gerard bites at the side of his neck and doesn\u2019t let go, keeps his teeth there as Frank twitches and gasps. It slips over into that side of pain that overwhelms him, that feels like his cock leaking a wet spot in his briefs. Frank bucks his hips back hard.

\"Fuck,\" Gerard breathes, and Frank moans in response when Gerard licks over the indentations from his teeth, the tingling of his skin prickling all down his back and up into his scalp. He squeezes his eyes shut, rides it out.

Gerard\u2019s fingers tuck into the leather holster, tugging a bit. \u201cYou look hot in this shit, you know that?\u201d

Frank\u2019s panting but he says \u201cMaybe,\u201d with laughter in his voice. \u201cYou gonna take it off after all that hard work getting it on?\u201d

Gerard bites at that spot again and Frank gasps, but then he moves back, hands slipping along Frank\u2019s spine, pushing the t-shirt and vest up to his shoulder blades. The material pinches tight in Frank\u2019s armpits but his pulse kicks in when he feels Gerard\u2019s mouth on his lower back.

\u201cOh god,\u201d he breathes, Gerard\u2019s tongue licking a broad, slow line up and then back down to the waistband of his jeans, hair brushing Frank\u2019s skin.

\u201cFuck, Frank,\u201d Gerard mutters, hands drifting down to grope at Frank\u2019s ass again through the tight jeans\u2014jeans which he hasn\u2019t actually paid for yet\u2014while he licks over to Frank\u2019s sides, biting lightly where he\u2019d dug his fingers in earlier. \u201cYour tattoos. And you taste\u2014fuck<\/i>.\u201d There\u2019s the shift of fabric as Gerard settles onto his knees on the floor.

\u201cWhat,\u201d Frank jokes breathlessly, \u201clike dirt and sweat?\u201d

\u201cMmm, yeah,\u201d Gerard moans, and Frank has to giggle even as he humps the mirror a bit because of course<\/i> Gerard gets off on that shit.

Gerard\u2019s fingers wander around to where Frank\u2019s hips are pressed hard against the mirror and he pries underneath to get at Frank\u2019s belt. Frank feels like he should just reach down and undo it himself, but doesn\u2019t think that\u2019s what Gerard wants right now. There\u2019s something about feeling handled by him, hands smoothing over Frank\u2019s hips, pulling down his zipper. Gerard hooks his fingers into Frank's pants and gets them down over his ass, reaching around to carefully not touch his dick while he lifts the waistband of Frank\u2019s briefs out and down.

Frank\u2019s so hot all over that he only registers that his bare ass is hanging out when he feels Gerard\u2019s exhale ghost across it. \u201cFuck.\u201d He\u2019s been living and breathing babies and jealous dogs for the past few weeks, raciest daydreams involving getting to fall asleep wrapped around his wife. But now that he feels Gerard\u2019s broad palms on his ass, thumbs digging in and spreading him open, he wants to get his dick sucked so<\/i> bad.

\u201cOh\u2014shit<\/i>,\u201d Frank chokes out, and then \u201cOh my god<\/i>, seriously?\u201d when he realizes what\u2019s going on. Gerard\u2019s pushing him forward again, Frank's dick skidding across the mirror, sticky-wet tip a smear against the glass, before Gerard licks a line down between his ass cheeks.

\u201cI\u2014Gerard. Gerard<\/i>.\u201d Frank\u2019s not really sure what he\u2019s trying to say because holy shit<\/i>, when Gerard started grinding against his ass he was expecting a sloppy make-out session, maybe shitty hand jobs at best, and now\u2014Jesus Christ<\/i>. \u201cI don\u2019t even\u2014unh<\/i>. Fuck!\u201d

Frank\u2019s eyebrows are drawn together so hard he has to consciously relax them, and then that's all shot to shit because Gerard\u2019s tongue is inside him<\/i>, holy fuck, and his skin feels stretched tight, sensitive, like every nerve ending in his body is wired to that one spot. He pushes forward, pressing his dick against the glass, unyielding and cool but so good <\/i>right now. God<\/i>.

\u201cFrank,\u201d Gerard gasps, right into him, around his tongue so it sounds kind of muffled before it degenerates into a moan that vibrates against Frank. Shit, shit<\/i>. His fingertips scrabble against the mirror and he\u2019s actually writhing<\/i> against the probably-disgusting glass, pants around his thighs keeping him from spreading his legs like he wants to, metal zipper of his jacket clinking against the mirror as he rubs his chest around, just needy for the sensation. Gerard is licking hot and wet over him, his stubbly cheeks and chin rough against Frank's skin and god, Frank wants to touch his own dick so bad<\/i>.

\u201cGee,\u201d he says urgently, \u201cfuck, shit, can I\u2014please?\u201d Frank sighs shakily. His fingernails dig into his palms. \u201cPlease<\/i>.\u201d

\u201cMmm?\u201d Gerard mumbles\u2014into Frank\u2019s ass<\/i>\u2014before his mouth slides away and he bites gently into soft flesh, spit cooling against his skin and making Frank shiver. \u201cIs this okay?\u201d

\u201cYes. Holy fuck, yes<\/i>,\u201d Frank says breathlessly, the edge of laughter in his voice because they are in a Goodwill<\/i> in the middle of the desert<\/i> right now.

\u201cIs this\u2014\u201d Frank swallows and feels Gerard pull away, hands on Frank's hips to turn him around. Frank leans back heavily against the mirror and looks down at him. Gerard meets his eyes, lips red and wet, spit shining down his chin. His gaze is dark and his stringy red hair is pushed back from his face.

\u201cFuck,\u201d Frank giggles, closing his eyes because this shouldn\u2019t be something he ever gets to see and it\u2019s so stupidly sexy he feels like he\u2019s going to burst out of his skin. He thinks about Lindsey and Jamia and how fierce, beautiful and understanding they both are, and how he loves them so much right now.

\u201cWhat.\u201d Gerard grins and places a kiss on Frank\u2019s thigh, still meeting his eyes and acting like Frank\u2019s cock, dark and hard, isn\u2019t all up in his face. Gerard\u2019s hands are gripping Frank\u2019s upper thighs, fingertips digging into his skin.

Frank shakes his head, hair falling into his face. \u201cNothing.\u201d He bites his lip. \u201cL.A. made you kinda slutty, huh?\u201d

\u201cFuck off,\u201d Gerard says, squeezing Frank\u2019s thighs hard enough to bruise and grinning up at him. \u201cI can go suck someone else\u2019s dick, okay?\u201d

\u201cSee?\u201d Frank giggles again. \u201cSlutty!\u201d They both laugh and it feels safe and comfortable even though Frank\u2019s dick is waving back and forth when he moves and his thighs are really pale against the darker skin of Gerard\u2019s hands.

\u201cUngrateful bitch,\u201d Gerard mumbles, but he leans in to nose at the underside of Frank\u2019s dick and Frank moans even though it barely feels like anything. Gerard makes a fist and runs one broad thumb lightly down the side of Frank\u2019s cock to the base, breathing hot and hunching his shoulders a bit. \u201cOh\u2014shit. Yeah,<\/i>\u201d Frank breathes, and then Gerard\u2019s ducking his head, lips over his teeth like a pro, and sliding his mouth down over Frank\u2019s dick. \u201cFuuuuck.\u201d

Gerard stays like that for a moment. Frank can feel his tongue flat against the underside, can feel Gerard starting to suck a bit. His mouth is hot and wet and so<\/i> fucking good.

Frank can\u2019t help his hands carding through Gerard\u2019s hair, rubbing at his scalp encouragingly when Gerard hums at him, a vibration that makes Frank moan and tip his head back against the mirror, eyes falling shut.

\u201cCan you deep throat that shit?\u201d Frank asks without thinking, challenge in his voice, slipping into the language he\u2019s used to with J. Gerard just goes for it though and Frank spreads his palms, feels Gerard\u2019s jaw open under his fingertips. Frank\u2019s chin is on his chest, rising and falling with heavy breaths while he watches those freckled, pale shoulders hunch as Gerard takes him in.

\u201cShit,\u201d Frank mutters and thrusts forward a bit. It makes Gerard gag but he doesn\u2019t pull off, just eases back before swallowing wetly around Frank\u2019s dick and pushing down again. Frank can feel the head of his cock bump the back of Gerard\u2019s throat, constricting around Frank as he swallows and god<\/i>, Frank\u2019s sweating so hard in this fucking leather vest that he\u2019s going to smell like the change room too by the time they make it back to the diner.

Gerard\u2019s eyelashes are dark shadows on his face, eyebrows drawn together, lips stretched wide and wet. He\u2019s gripping Frank\u2019s thighs hard and, between moaning on almost every exhale and rolling his head back and forth against the mirror, Frank notices Gerard\u2019s hips are hitching forward, can see the imprint of his cock against the faded jeans. Frank grips Gerard\u2019s hair a little harder.

\u201cDon\u2019t cream those pants,\u201d Frank says breathlessly, \u201cyou\u2019ll have to cut them off later.\u201d

\u201cFuck,\u201d Gerard laughs, pulling off and breathing heavily into Frank\u2019s thigh. Frank\u2019s spit-slick dick slides against his ear, red strands of hair sticking to it. Frank stares for a second, because. Damn<\/i>. \u201cThis shit takes some serious lung capacity,\u201d Gerard pants.

Frank grins, licks his lips. \u201cOld man.\u201d He pushes forward again, impatient, and Gerard smiles into the side of Frank's dick, turning his face to trace a vein with his tongue. \u201cI could\u2014\u201d Frank swallows. \u201cI could come in your hair?\u201d

\u201cNo fucking way am I spending the afternoon with my brother and my wife with your jizz in my hair,\u201d Gerard laughs. He finally wraps a hand around the base of Frank\u2019s cock, licking down around his fingers and then back up to the tip.

Frank opens his mouth to talk but Gerard squeezes him hard and he just gasps, jaw locking. \u201cDon\u2019t feed me a line about it making my hair lustrous or some shit,\u201d Gerard warns, \u201cI\u2019m gonna finish this ace blow job, and then you\u2019re gonna let me rub one out all over your tattoos.\u201d

\u201cWhat?\u201d Frank asks, distracted. Gerard swallows him down suddenly, starting up a fast rhythm between his hand pumping at Frank\u2019s base and his mouth sucking up and down his length. \u201cUnnnngh<\/i>.\u201d It brings Frank close to the edge embarrassingly quickly, the build from writhing against the glass for so long, spit still slippery all along the crack of his ass. \u201cShit, I\u2019m\u2014\u201d

Gerard makes a yeah?<\/i> sort of sound, lips meeting his hand on each duck of his head, and Frank can feel his tongue working, not breaking suction as spit drips out of the corners of Gerard\u2019s mouth and makes his knuckles all shiny. It sounds obscene and amazing.

Frank\u2019s beading sweat at his hairline and he gasps \u201cShit!<\/i>\u201d, feels his balls draw up. He grabs fistfuls of brilliant red between his inked fingers and holds Gerard down as he comes, a sweep of heat through him to his core. His head is loud as he smacks it back against the mirror, his eyes squeezed shut and mouth hanging open.

\u201cJeeeesus,\u201d Frank slurs, releasing fistfuls of hair and smoothing it down, petting Gerard\u2019s unshaven cheek.

Gerard slips off with a wet noise, breathing heavy against Frank\u2019s softening dick. \u201cYeah,\u201d he says, voice low and hoarse.

Frank rides that blissed-out feeling as long as he can before opening his eyes. Gerard\u2019s swearing and fighting with the button fly on his acid-washed jeans.

\u201cFor fuck\u2019s sake.\u201d Frank sighs and lets his legs buckle, folding down onto his knees and tucking his boots under his bare ass. Gerard\u2019s mouth is so red and shiny, and his eyes are hard and dark, unfocused as Frank tries to push his fingers out of the way. \u201cHey, Gee,\u201d Frank says, \u201cmy momma taught me my manners, okay?\u201d

Gerard grins, meeting his eyes, and he looks like he wants<\/i>. It makes Frank\u2019s scalp tingle. \u201cCan you\u2014uh,\u201d Gerard says, shoving his hands under Frank\u2019s shirt to lift it up to his nipples. \u201cHold this?\u201d

Frank frowns but does what Gerard asks, one hand clutching the fabric over his own chest. His belly is all folded up, dark hair and spent dick between his thighs. Gerard shuffles forward and gets one knee between Frank\u2019s, pushing his jeans down and getting his cock out. \u201cYeah, just\u2014fuck<\/i>, Frank.\u201d Gerard is staring hard. \u201cSit up on your knees?\u201d

Frank sits up, still kind of awkwardly holding his t-shirt out of the way, leather vest hanging open and chest bare. \u201cMmm,\u201d Gerard moans appreciatively, and spits in his palm before rubbing it over the head of his dick, curling it into a fist that slips down his length. Frank stares and blinks when Gerard leans forward to drop his face into Frank\u2019s neck and press his dick against Frank\u2019s stomach.

\u201cOh,\u201d Frank says, breath displacing some red hair hanging in his face. \u201cMy tattoos.\u201d

\u201cYeah,\u201d Gerard replies softly, hips rutting forward as he jacks his dick, spit-slick head rubbing against Frank\u2019s stomach and up over where he knows the bottom of his chest piece is. \u201cI kinda have this thing, it\u2019s like\u2014\u201d his breath hitches and Frank feels it, Gerard's shoulders lifting and falling again. \u201cShit<\/i>. It\u2019s beautiful, it\u2019s someone else\u2019s piece, and it\u2019s kinda...\u201d

Frank smiles and pushes his chest forward against Gerard\u2019s hand, feels the hot wet tip of Gerard\u2019s cock and his fist bumping against Frank\u2019s stomach every time he pumps himself. Frank walks his free hand up Gerard\u2019s spine under the loose fabric of his shirt. His skin is hot and a little damp with sweat.

\u201cYou like to fuck it up?\u201d

\u201cNnngh<\/i>,\u201d Gerard moans, loud and needy, hips pushing forwards again. Frank spreads his fingers to curl around the base of Gerard\u2019s neck, shirt rucked up around his arm, and squeezes.

\u201cYeah you do,\u201d Frank says, \u201cyou like to come all over other people\u2019s art. Lindsey\u2019s totally game, I can tell.\u201d Gerard makes a broken little noise and Frank grins. He licks all around his fingers and works his hand between where Gerard\u2019s pressing their chests together, gets his palm around Gerard\u2019s dick just below his hand.

\u201cOh yeah<\/i>. Fuck. Frank<\/i>,\u201d Gerard whispers brokenly, and the soft tone of his voice sounds so private, so important, that it makes Frank\u2019s eyes prickle. Frank breathes deep.

\u201cCome on,\u201d he whispers, turning his head to say it into Gerard\u2019s hair. Gerard\u2019s fingers have closed over his own and feel like a vice grip as he pulls their fists up and down, fast and starting to go a bit dry on his dick.

Gerard whines, high and tiny, and freezes with his hips pushed forwards, two bony points against Frank's stomach. Wet warmth spills over both of their fists as Gerard rubs them up and down and side to side, all over Frank\u2019s skin. He can smell it, has forgotten what it\u2019s like to have someone else\u2019s come smeared all over you, and it makes him feel kinda dirty and used in a way he\u2019s forgotten he loves.

\u201cFuck yeah,\u201d he confirms.

Gerard pulls back, grinning, and they stare at each other for a second, dicks out and pants at their thighs, sitting on the floor of a change room. Frank is suddenly very aware that he is wearing a ray gun holster and has spunk on his tattoos.

\u201cI love you, fuckface,\u201d Gerard says in a used-sounding voice, and before Frank can say anything back he cups Frank\u2019s face in both his palms and gives him a really hard, close-mouthed kiss, fingers wet on Frank\u2019s jaw.

Frank raises an eyebrow at him when he pulls back. \u201cYou too. I guess<\/i>,\u201d he answers with a smile. They pull themselves to standing and Frank has just hiked his underwear and pants up, wincing at how sticky it feels, when Gerard pushes his hands away. He steps easily into Frank\u2019s space and zips and buttons his jeans for him, slipping the belt buckle back in place and wrenching it closed, too tight again. \u201cUgh,\u201d Frank inhales, \u201cit\u2019s not a fucking cummerbund, man.\u201d

Gerard\u2019s got a small smile on his face, eyes on his hands as he squeezes Frank\u2019s sides again. \u201cI know.\u201d He looks up, readjusts Frank\u2019s collar and pulls a bit at his holster. \u201cYou look like you\u2019re ready to fight some draculoids.\u201d

\u201cThat\u2019s<\/i> a new pick-up line,\u201d Frank observes. He tugs at Gerard\u2019s necklace, smiling in a really stupid way at the fact that he can<\/i> right now, before getting over himself and patting it back down against Gerard\u2019s chest. \u201cShould we pay for this shit?\u201d

There are a few middle-aged women browsing the racks when they come out, and the sunlight reflecting off the asphalt outside is bright after the dimly-lit change room.

They leave Frank\u2019s zippered monstrosity and leather pants in the stall, although Frank\u2019s careful to get his phone out of his back pocket and check for any missed calls\u2014a baby emergency while he was getting his dick sucked would make him feel like the worst dad ever<\/i>\u2014but there\u2019s nothing. He thinks about what it\u2019ll be like to tell Jamia later, if she\u2019ll be surprised about where Lindsey\u2019s at with it.

\u201cNo one tries anything on in this store?\u201d Frank asks Gerard as they approach the counter, and lets Gerard get his wallet out of his backpack to pay for him, pulling forgotten price tags off of Frank\u2019s clothing and reading them out to the cashier.

\u201cThanks,\u201d Gerard smiles as the woman hands him his receipt. \u201cYou might see us again in the next few days.\u201d

In the car, Gerard tosses his bag in the back and they slam their doors shut at the same time. When he turns the ignition they both jump, his own voice wailing back at them, before Frank laughs and turns the stereo down. The engine rumbles and Gerard hooks his bare arm over the back of Frank\u2019s seat as he turns to look over his shoulder and reverse out of the lot.

\u201cAlright, back to reality. Or fantasy. Or whatever,\u201d Gerard grins.

Frank bites at the soft pale skin of Gerard\u2019s inner elbow, smiles when Gerard looks at him. \u201cWe\u2019re actually doing this,\u201d Frank says, shaking his head as they pull out onto the road. \u201cFuck.\u201d He bounces a little in his seat, hears the buzz of cicadas as they fly by the last of the houses and back out into the desert. He turns the volume up.

Gerard sings along to his own voice again as they turn out onto the final dirt highway that takes them back to the diner, telephone poles whipping by against the blue sky.

\u201cBlaauurghh!\u201d Frank yells suddenly because he feels like he needs to, waggling his fingertips out at the gnarled little spiky trees they pass, the smell of dry earth and grasses filling him up when he inhales. The drive of his own guitar pounds from the stereo and pushes at his chest from the inside out like he\u2019s going to float right out of the window into the massive sky.

\u201cWhat?\u201d he asks when he notices Gerard looking at him, unable to keep the smile from his face, thrumming with good feelings, thinking about his band and his girls and his music.

Gerard looks like he\u2019s holding back a grin. He waves a hand at Frank\u2019s face. \u201cYou\u2019ve got\u2014\u201c

Frank frowns and runs a hand over his cheek, and\u2014 \u201cFuck!\u201d \u2014it comes away sticky. Gerard laughs, smacking the steering wheel with his palm. \u201cYou piece of shit<\/i>,\u201d Frank says, loud enough to be heard over the music, but he can\u2019t keep from laughing as he wipes Gerard\u2019s own jizz off on his fancy jeans.

Gerard doesn\u2019t say anything, but he\u2019s grinning. It\u2019s like he\u2019s waiting for the right moment because then, right in time with the song, he deadpans \u201cNa nana na. Nana na.\u201d

\"Ha fucking ha.\" Frank punches Gerard in his stupid girly arm and then has to lean out the window a bit to smile at the road shimmering with heat and the sun beating down on them, because he thinks that in this moment he knows what it\u2019s like to feel so bright.



Thanks for reading. Constructive feedback is appreciated!

(DVD commentary for this fic here<\/a>!)
<\/a>

"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:desfinado:19061","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/19061.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=19061"}}],"title":"desfinado @ 2010-08-01T15:34:00","published":"2010-08-01T22:37:27Z","updated":"2018-01-29T01:39:51Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"bandom"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"fic"}}],"content":"Title<\/u>: Sit Tight<\/b>
Author<\/u>: <\/a>desfinado<\/b><\/a><\/span>
Pairing<\/u>: Frank\/Mikey\/Gerard
Rating<\/u>: NC-17
Word count<\/u>: 5544
Warnings<\/u>: Incest
Disclaimer<\/u>: They don\u2019t belong to me; not making a profit.
Notes<\/u>: Written for <\/a>kasuchans<\/b><\/a><\/span>'s <\/a>waysplusone<\/b><\/a><\/span> prompt.
Summary<\/u>: Gerard\u2019s mind is blown when he finds out Frank gets bossy with the ladies. Ridiculous, indulgent, unbeta'd porn!



Mikey's propped up against the headboard, three pillows behind his back and happily watching The Swamp Thing (rented from the hotel's pay per view) when Gerard wanders in. He\u2019s looking down at a magazine as the door bangs shut behind him and he says, \"Have you ever had a sexual encounter with anyone in your band?\"

\"Um.\"

\"It was an interview question they asked some pop punk band from California.\" Gerard finally looks up, pushing hair out of his face and waving the magazine in question. \u201cCan you even imagine getting asked that? Awkward<\/i>,\u201d he sing-songs. \u201cAt least we're all clean.\u201d

Mikey waits, eyes on the screen, but Gerard\u2019s still standing there. \u201cWell, depends how you define that,\u201d he says, leaning over onto one elbow to see around his brother\u2019s torso.

\u201cExcuse me?\u201d

Mikey indulges in a few more minutes of his movie before making a show of getting the remote (which is all the way down by his toes) and pausing the film, looking up to meet his brother's eyes. \u201cFrank and I, sort of. When we were living together.\u201d

Gerard sits down at the end of the bed. \u201cHow did I not know this?\u201d

\u201cI never think about it!\u201d Mikey rubs at his eyes. \u201cIt was ages ago. No awkwardness. I promise.\u201d

\u201cNo.\u201d His brother shakes his head slowly. \u201cFor real?\u201d

\u201cOh my god.\u201d Mikey rolls his eyes, digging his toes into Gerard\u2019s thigh. \u201cI don't even remember that well, okay? We were at one of Eddie's parties, there was this girl from the label\u2014d'you remember her? Dyed orange hair, like Fun Dip orange. She ended up back at our place, etcetera etcetera.\u201d

\u201cFun Dip.\u201d

Mikey stops wiggling when he\u2019s got his toes buried completely under his brother\u2019s thigh, finally warm. \u201cYes. A candy I hold in high esteem.\u201d

Gerard smiles, whacks Mikey\u2019s calf with the rolled-up magazine. \u201cOkay, tell me about Fun Dips.\u201d

\u201cSeriously? Someone was totally about to get devoured when I paused my movie. Way more important.\u201d

They stare at each other for a moment. Gerard\u2019s eyes are huge in the dim light of the TV, and when he raises his eyebrows it makes all those sad-dog lines in his forehead. \u201cI need to know. A healthy band is a band that shares,\u201d he explains.

Mikey tugs at his hoodie strings. \u201cYou know, normal brothers totally don\u2019t ask this kind of shit.\u201d

Gerard grins, shrugging, and Mikey laughs. \u201cRight, since when were we normal, blah blah. Fine.\u201d He pulls his feet up to sit cross-legged, lets his head fall back against the headboard.

\u201cShe and Frank and I were talking about something at the party. I don't remember what. She was kinda cool and had these killer legs\u2014and seemed into me\u2014so I tried to get Frank to fuck off, so I could take her home. But he wasn't leaving. I figured he was cock blocking me to be a bitch, so I thought 'fuck it' and invited her back to our place anyway.\u201d

Mikey pauses, tries to see if he can get away with ending his story there, but Gerard plants a hand on the comforter and leans forward, eyebrows up again. \u201cFine! Fine. I tried to take her home but Frank walked with us, and he was flirting hardcore with her. Bros before hoes, so I didn\u2019t say anything.\u201d

Mikey frowns, remembers the way she had looked leaning against their kitchen counter in jean shorts, one leg bent with her beaten-up Docs propped on the chair, smiling at him. Frank had walked by to get something from the fridge and had run his hand up her thigh as he passed. \u201cWe got high in the living room and then she and Frank were making out. And I didn't leave and then she was making out with me and... yeah.\u201d

\u201cWell?\u201d

\u201cWell what.\u201d Mikey shifts, settles a bit lower in the pillows. He\u2019d forgotten how it had felt that night, something familiar and warm in the way she\u2019d reached for his belt as she curled her hand around the back of his neck and kissed him, but a new kind of buzzing awareness that his roommate was right there, that Mikey was somehow on display<\/i>.

\u201cDid you cross swords or what?\u201d Gerard asks, deadpan.

Mikey snorts. \u201cNah. But he was watching her go down on me. Didn't do anything. But he totally had a boner.\u201d He remembers wanting to make fun of Frank for it later, but had wanted to give it a few weeks so it wasn\u2019t too<\/i> awkward. Then he\u2019d forgotten.

Gerard is grinning like Mikey just dished the best gossip. \u201cDude. Dude.\u201d

\u201cI know!\u201d Mikey grins too, because Frank had<\/i> looked like a total tool, sitting on the couch with his hands primly on his thighs, mouth shiny and open, tenting his cargo pants. Mikey probably looked like a tool too, though, on his back on the rug, knees knocking together while she blew him. \u201cI had no idea he was such a perv.\u201d

\u201cWell did you leave the room when Fun Dips was hooking up with him<\/i>?\u201d

\u201cI was falling asleep. I think I passed out under the coffee table, 'cause I had that shitty rug imprinted all over my face and arm in the morning. Remember that one from Elena's with the red tassle bits?\u201d

Gerard made a face. \u201cNasty rug.\u201d

\u201cExactly. Nasty rug.\u201d

They take a moment. \u201cHuh,\u201d Gerard says, sitting upright. \u201cWell that's not, like, super crazy. It's not like a porno or anything.\u201d

Mikey smiles. \u201cExcept for how Frank got all weird and kinky.\u201d

\u201cExcuse me?\u201d

Mikey pauses for suspense, digs in his bag on the floor and carefully pulls on first one, then the other sock. Gerard is practically vibrating<\/i> when he sits back up. \u201cI dunno. He, like, tied her up or something.\u201d

\u201cTied her up? Like to a leash?\u201d

Mikey struggles to keep a straight face, but his brother\u2019s stupid spacey comments will never stop being funny. \u201cShit. No.\u201d He shakes his head, tosses a spare pillow at Gerard, who catches it and hugs it to his chest, intent. Mikey sighs.

\u201cHe was taking her hoodie off and I thought it got caught. But then I realized he tied it all up in her arms so she couldn't move them.\u201d He\u2019d been pretty high, but he remembers her lying along the couch with her head on the armrest, hands trapped underneath her, on her back. She was grinning up at Frank as he moved over her surprisingly smoothly. Mikey shrugs. \u201cThen he titty fucked her.\u201d

Gerard clutches the pillow tighter. \u201cOh.\u201d

\u201cCan I have the remote now?\u201d

It takes Gerard a moment to respond, but he finally gropes for it and passes it over. \u201cYeah.\u201d

Mikey has just<\/i> un-paused the movie, convinced that his brother has now gotten all the gossip he wanted and more, when Gerard clears his throat. \u201cDid you just say \u201ctitty fuck\u201d?\u201d

Mikey doesn\u2019t take his eyes off the screen. \u201cSorry, is there a politically correct way to say that now? Frank\u2019s dick. Her breasts. I didn't take notes or anything.\u201d

\u201cI just\u2014\u201d Gerard shifts around on the bed a bit. \u201cShe let him tie her up and fuck her tits.\u201d

\u201cFun Dips was a catch, man. She gave killer head too, totally into it.\u201d

Gerard stares down at his lap. \u201cI can't imagine Frank ever\u2014he\u2019s just so small<\/i>. And, like, submissive.\u201d

Mikey stares at his brother. \u201cSubmissive.\u201d

\u201cYeah, like\u2014\u201d

\u201cYou go tell him to do something he doesn\u2019t want to do and then remind me how submissive Frank is.\u201d

\u201cNo! Like\u2014\u201d Gerard wiggles again, what is his fucking deal? \u201cI just always imagined him with big, brassy girls who would totally boss him around, you know?\u201d

\u201cBoss him around?\u201d Mikey asks.

Gerard waves one hand in the air. \u201cLike that chick he dated during Pencey! Laura! Lisa? Fucking owned him.\u201d

\u201cThe one who always punched him in the arm and stole his smokes?\u201d Mikey remembers she had the grossest hair, dreadlocks with bits of string and shit tied into it. She loved to toss it over her shoulder.

\u201cYeah! See? Brassy.\u201d

\u201cGee. He totally took her home and titty fucked her too,\u201d Mikey says.

\u201cNo<\/i>!\u201d Gerard thumps the pillow down on the bed emphatically.

Mikey grins. \u201cYes.\u201d

Gerard looks defeated and starts smoothing the pillowcase out. \u201cI don't even know what to do with what is going on in my brain right now.\u201d

\u201cI'm sorry I turned your world upside down.\u201d

Gerard sighs. \"I guess I'll survive.\"

\u201cOkay. Can we watch the movie now?\u201d Mikey\u2019s thumb hovers hopefully over the \u2018play\u2019 button.

\u201cYes! Yes. Go, I am totally ready to watch.\u201d Gerard even shuffles around to face the screen, still fiddling with the pillow as he pulls it into his lap.

They\u2019ve only seen one innocent civilian get eaten when Gerard, eyes still on the TV, says \u201cMikes?\u201d

\u201cYeah?\u201d

\u201cDid Fun Dips enjoy it?\u201d

Mikey blinks. He thinks of something sarcastic to say but he suddenly has a vivid memory: Frank on his knees on the couch, jeans sagging halfway down his ass, thrusting forward as he held her tits together and leaned over to let a long line of spit drip down between his hands, into that dark blurry space Mikey couldn\u2019t see.

Mikey swallows. \u201cWell obviously. He was a fucking pro at it.\u201d

\u201cOh.\u201d



Two movies later it\u2019s officially a stupid time to be awake, so of course Mikey gets a text from Frank that says have liberated the goods from bryar. rendezvous at our room at 02:30<\/i>

He and Gerard had just started to fall asleep, zombie-eyed and staring at the blue TV screen as they slumped against the headboards of the twin beds. But they don\u2019t have anything to do until tomorrow night and Mikey never knows how to say no to a good time, so he drags his brother down the hall.

Mikey only knocks once before Frank swings the door open, crowding him as he edges out and pulls it shut behind them. \"Shh,\" Frank says, way too loudly. Mikey stumbles backwards and rubs at his eyes. Gerard is leaning against the wall, blinking sleepily; there\u2019s a hanging painting swaying slightly where he bumped against it.

Frank stands upright and surveys them both. \u201cWell you two look like a real fucking party.\u201d He's got bloodshot eyes and stubble but is rocking up onto his toes.

\u201cWhat\u2019ve you got?\u201d Mikey asks, trying to reach for the hand that\u2019s behind Frank\u2019s back. Frank grins, big and bright, long hair falling in his face.

\u201cNuh-uh. Your room. Bob\u2019s asleep.\u201d

They get settled, Mikey re-claiming his pillow throne, Frank sideways in the armchair with both his feet up on the TV stand. Gerard sits at the edge of the other bed, picking at his nails.

Mikey and Frank hash out the merits of the 1982 Swamp Thing adaptation and take successive burning swigs from the bottle of Jameson. The can of Coke Frank had brought for Gerard is half-drunk, on the carpet by his feet, when Frank says \u201cSo, Mikey Way, question.\u201d

Mikey blinks and sets the bottle down on the bedside table. His body feels liquid, melted into the bedspread. \u201cAnswer?\u201d

Frank grins and lets his head fall back against the arm of the chair, hair spilling down the side. He's slumped down so his ass is up on the chair's other arm, legs crossed on top of the TV stand. It looks entirely uncomfortable.

He points a finger across the room to where Gerard appears to be reading the ingredients list on his Coke can. \u201cWhat crawled up your brother\u2019s ass?\u201d

Mikey sees Gerard look up, eyes wide. \u201cWhat?\u201d They both stare at him. \u201cNothing! I\u2019m just, like, being attentive.\u201d

Frank bites his thumb, grins around it. \u201cYeah, \u2018cause you\u2019re always such a Listener.\u201d

Gerard mumbles something and swills a sip of Coke in his cheeks like he\u2019s tasting wine. Mikey rolls his eyes and lifts his foot up, wagging it in his brother\u2019s direction. \u201cGerard is being weird because he can\u2019t stop thinking about you<\/i>\u2014\u201d he wags his foot at Frank \u201c\u2014titty fucking that chick you and I hooked up with at our apartment that one time.\u201d

\u201cHey!\u201d Gerard starts, but is interrupted by Frank barking out a laugh, kicking the side of the TV.
\t
\u201cWhat<\/i>?\" The TV wobbles and stills. \"Dude, I had seriously<\/i> forgotten about that.\u201d

\u201cGee wanted to know if any of us in the band had hooked up with each other.\" Mikey smiles. \"It doesn\u2019t exactly qualify, but it\u2019s a good story.\u201d

Frank twists, feet hitting the ground as he bounces upright in the chair. \u201cFuck yeah it is. She was so into being used, that girl was fucking dirty<\/i>.\u201d

\u201cSee?\u201d Mikey says to his brother, who\u2019s looking innocent. \u201c\u2018Frank is submissive\u2019,\u201d he repeats incredulously. \u201cWhat the fuck?\u201d

\u201cI never said that!\u201d Gerard gets up and puts his Coke can in the mini-fridge. \u201cThis shit is lukewarm, I can\u2019t drink this.\u201d

\u201cSubmissive?\u201d Frank repeats, ignoring Gerard\u2019s diversion tactics. He looks delighted<\/i>.

Gerard sits on the edge of Mikey\u2019s bed. His back is curled in, that defensive stance when everyone is making fun of him and he\u2019s going to bitch about it instead of having a sense of humour.

\u201cI just couldn\u2019t picture you\u2026 titty fucking a girl or whatever, okay?\u201d he says. Frank bites his bottom lip, like Yeah?<\/i> \u201cI don\u2019t usually picture any<\/i> of you guys doing that kind of shit.\u201d

\u201cWhat did Mikey tell you?\u201d Frank asks.

Mikey feels his cheeks heat up, remembering the image of Frank spitting on himself, holding her tits together as he moved.

\u201cThat you were a pro,\u201d Gerard says. \u201cLike that\u2019s even true.\u201d

\u201cYeah?\u201d Frank giggles, rubbing a hand over his prickly cheeks and looking between the brothers on the bed. He\u2019s drunk, but his eyes are intent. \u201cYou guys like to talk about what a pro I am with the ladies?\u201d

\u201cYeah, they were just lining up at your door when we lived together,\u201d Mikey folds his hands in his lap and smiles, a challenge.

\u201cQuality, not quantity,\u201d Frank says smoothly and pushes himself off the chair. \u201cD\u2019you think any of them remember you now? I blew their minds<\/i>.\u201d

\u201cWith all your secret moves,\u201d Mikey confirms.

Frank just grins and walks over to stand in front of Gerard, whose back straightens as he looks up. \u201cWant a demonstration? I can tell Gerard is dying to get titty fucked.\u201d Frank\u2019s got one hand on his belt, hair hanging in his face.

\u201cThanks, but my titties are just fine the way they are,\u201d Gerard replies in a dull tone.

\u201cMikey,\u201d Frank says, ignoring him. \u201cGrab his hands.\u201d

Mikey raises his eyebrows but Frank\u2019s grinning and Mikey\u2019s had enough whiskey that he\u2019s up on his knees and behind his brother before he realizes it. He wraps his fingers around Gerard\u2019s wrists, crossing one over the other.

\u201cHey\u2014\u201d Gerard protests, twisting to the side, but Frank steps in between his legs, one hand still on his belt buckle.

\u201cUsually I\u2019d find something to tie you up with, chicks dig that shit. Like they\u2019re helpless, but they still want it.\u201d Frank licks his lips, red and shiny, and pats Gerard\u2019s cheek with his free hand. Mikey can\u2019t see his brother\u2019s expression. It\u2019s probably a dramatic eye-roll. \u201cBut I\u2019ve got my main man here to help,\u201d Frank says, nodding at Mikey.

Mikey huffs a laugh. Frank steps forward until Mikey feels the bump of his knees on the mattress and Gerard moves backwards out of the way, leaning against Mikey\u2019s chest.

\u201cYour nasty-ass hair is in my face,\u201d Mikey complains, lifting his chin to clear his brother\u2019s head.

\u201cYour nasty-ass hands<\/i> are on my wrists<\/i>,\u201d Gerard responds.

\u201cWhat could be nasty about my hands? They\u2019re just hands,\u201d Mikey argues, but Frank shuts them both up by popping his belt buckle and fly in one swift movement, hands on his hips and jeans hanging open. His boxer-briefs are gray.

\u201cUm,\u201d Mikey says around a mouthful of black hair.

\u201cMikey?\u201d Gerard asks, and Mikey can\u2019t see his face but can feel his brother turn his head to the side. \u201cYou were right. Frank is<\/i> a big perv.\u201d

\u201cShh,\u201d Mikey says, keeping his hands around Gerard\u2019s wrists. \u201cHe\u2019s trying to psych you out. Be strong.\u201d

Frank grins at them, licks his lips slowly and lets his mouth hang open as he leans in and undoes the top button of Gerard\u2019s shirt. He looks good, Mikey thinks. He knows it, too.

\u201cHey baby,\u201d Frank says, jerking his head up slightly in acknowledgement, meeting Gerard\u2019s eyes. \u201cJust sit tight.\u201d Frank looks down, works on more buttons. \u201cWe\u2019ve got you.\" Gerard snorts.

\u201cShit, going commando. I like that in a lady,\u201d Frank grins, flattening a hand against Gerard\u2019s chest. Gerard seems to still when Frank touches him, but his hands clench into fists under Mikey\u2019s fingers. Mikey peers over his brother\u2019s head, sees Frank\u2019s tattooed hand on Gerard\u2019s pale sternum. He\u2019s surprised to see Gerard doesn\u2019t have a t-shirt underneath.

\u201cNice tits,\u201d Frank says, pushing Gerard\u2019s knees apart with his legs, \u201cthey look like they need to get fucked.\u201d

Mikey snorts at the line, expects Gerard to bitch at them for saying \u2018tits\u2019 so much, but his brother is quiet and still, chest rising and falling, looking up at Frank. They\u2019re all silent for a moment and Frank\u2019s face, intent and predatory, reminds Mikey of that night, the way he crowded that girl and held her down.

\u201cFuck,\u201d Frank says suddenly, grinning and slapping Gerard lightly on the cheek. Mikey feels his brother\u2019s body jolt. Frank looks up and meets his eyes. \u201cHe is so<\/i> ready for me to whip my dick out right now.\u201d

\u201cWhat?\u201d Gerard says after a beat, struggling, and Mikey laughs, pulling him back up the bed a bit, not letting go.

\u201cHe wouldn\u2019t stop asking about it,\u201d Mikey confides. Gerard tries to turn his head to look at him but Mikey\u2019s got his wrists still pinned so his face just ends up in Mikey\u2019s neck.

\u201cNo shit.\u201d Frank laughs and props first one knee then the other on the bed on either side of Gerard. \u201cCan\u2019t blame him.\u201d

\u201cHey! It wasn\u2019t like\u2014I just didn\u2019t believe you, okay?\u201d Gerard says, and bucks his hips to get Frank off but Frank\u2019s face just slides into this slow grin, eyes hooded, as he plants a hand on each of Gerard\u2019s shoulders.

\u201cCareful,\u201d he says, leaning in and whispering in Gerard\u2019s ear. \u201cI might get the wrong idea.\u201d He presses his own hips down, and Mikey\u2019s laugh dies in his throat when Frank\u2019s eyes meet his over Gerard\u2019s shoulder, the way Frank\u2019s jaw locks for the briefest second and his eyelids droop a bit. Fuck, fuck<\/i>. Just like his face that night, sitting on the couch, watching that girl suck Mikey\u2019s dick.

\u201cFrank,\u201d Mikey warns, meeting his gaze. He squeezes Gerard\u2019s wrists almost without realizing, his thighs tensing.

\u201cWhat?\u201d Frank\u2019s expression slides back from aroused to cocky, but he lets Mikey see it, like why can\u2019t we<\/i>? Frank\u2019s cheeks are pink.

\u201cI still can\u2019t move,\u201d Gerard reminds them, body slack against Mikey\u2019s chest but his breathing heavy.

\u201cCome on, Mikes,\u201d Frank says, ignoring him. He sits up, one hand still on Gerard\u2019s shoulder, carding his other fingers through Gerard\u2019s hair. His knuckles bump against Mikey\u2019s Adam\u2019s apple and press in. \u201cWe make a good team, remember?\u201d

Mikey gives Frank the hardest look he can, like This isn\u2019t the same<\/i> and It\u2019s different for Gerard<\/i> and Maybe this isn\u2019t the kind of thing my brother and I usually do together<\/i>. Frank smiles back, closed-lipped and confident, as he leans down and presses a kiss to Gerard\u2019s forehead. Gerard sucks in a loud breath and Mikey realizes Frank\u2019s hand has left his brother\u2019s shoulder and is now somewhere down between their bodies.

\u201cFuck,\u201d Frank mumbles against Gerard\u2019s forehead, eyes closed and breathing hard.

\u201cI don\u2019t\u2014\u201d Gerard says weakly, and Mikey\u2019s body flashes hot from head to toe at the tone, something he doesn\u2019t hear from his brother. Ever.

\u201cFuck,\u201d Frank repeats, mouth open and sliding against Gerard\u2019s forehead. Mikey can feel the exact moment his brother\u2019s hips hitch upwards and Mikey blinks, moves to shift away.

\u201cDon\u2019t even,\u201d Frank says suddenly. He\u2019s inches from Mikey\u2019s face, sitting upright, Gerard panting into Frank\u2019s t-shirt. \u201cYou\u2019re my main man here.\u201d He bares his bottom teeth, body shifting as his shoulder moves and his arm flexes again. Gerard chokes a noise into Frank\u2019s chest.

Mikey\u2019s eyes widen, trying to remember that the warm weight all along his front isn\u2019t attached to Frank, but his brother<\/i>. His dick is getting hard anyway. \u201cFuck\u2014\u201d

\u201cDon\u2019t let go,\u201d Frank says in a rush, shoulder moving again. Mikey\u2019s fingers still and he breathes in. All he can smell is Gerard\u2019s hair. Frank's lips curve up in a smile. \u201cOr else I let go of your brother\u2019s dick.\u201d Mikey closes his eyes. He feels like he\u2019s sweating through his t-shirt, heart hammering.

\u201cJesus Christ,\u201d Gerard mumbles into Frank\u2019s chest, and Mikey feels it against his own ribcage, the vibration.

\u201cFrank,\u201d he begs, sounding high and ugly. Mikey wishes Gerard didn\u2019t have to hear his voice right now, knows it must feel as weird as it feels for him.

Frank shifts again, sits back a bit, and Mikey\u2019s eyes open to see Frank bury his face in Gerard\u2019s neck. Gerard\u2019s head falls to the side easily, rolling against Mikey\u2019s collarbone. His breathing is erratic, stop-start, as Frank\u2019s shoulders shift back and roll forward, arm moving in a slow but steady rhythm between them.

\u201cMikey,\u201d Frank replies into Gerard\u2019s neck, working a hand around Gerard\u2019s side to close over Mikey\u2019s fingers, still holding Gerard\u2019s wrists together. Frank pushes back, knuckles up against Mikey\u2019s hard-on through his sweatpants.

Mikey feels the moan leave him on an exhale, doesn\u2019t even know it until he runs out of breath and has to gasp in again, rocking up against his hand. \u201cFuck.\u201d

Gerard\u2019s hands flex. \u201cMikey,\u201d he says and it sounds strung-out, scared. \u201cWhat\u2014\u201d

\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d Mikey says in a miserable voice, squeezes his eyes shut and feels Frank press his open palm against the length of Mikey\u2019s dick over his pants, rubbing his thumb up and down.

\u201cYou two, shit,\u201d Frank mumbles into Gerard\u2019s neck, then noses up against Mikey\u2019s shoulder, bites hard through his hoodie.

\u201cAh!\u201d Mikey brings his shoulder up to his ear to push him off, the pain sharp and hot.

\u201cGerard, are you\u2014\u201d Frank shifts in Gerard\u2019s lap, the mattress shaking with the movement, \u201c\u2014can I\u2014\u201d

\u201cFuck, yes, please,\u201d Gerard says, and Mikey has to grip hard as Gerard struggles suddenly against his hands, trying to wriggle out of his grip. \u201cI want to\u2014Mikey, can you let me\u2014\u201d

\u201cNo,\u201d Frank pants, and his hand returns from indiscriminately rubbing the front of Mikey\u2019s sweatpants to his own jeans, getting his underwear down and dick out surprisingly fast.

Mikey blinks and takes a moment to just look at it, hard and pink in Frank\u2019s inked hand, dark hair at the base and sticky-shiny at the tip. Frank\u2019s grinning at him when he lifts his gaze. \u201cFuck yeah you missed this, Mikey Way.\u201d

\u201cYou wish,\u201d Mikey says, but it\u2019s half-hearted, and without Frank\u2019s hand on his dick he\u2019s rutting up against Gerard\u2019s knuckles, which is fucked up enough. His brother\u2019s craning his neck forward like he\u2019s going to swallow Frank\u2019s dick down before anyone else realizes.

\u201cHey, hey,\u201d Frank says, hand on Gerard\u2019s chest to pin him back to Mikey's chest. \u201cI\u2019ll take care of it, okay?\u201d

Frank spits in his palm, makes a loose fist and starts to jack himself slowly. Gerard lets out a whining noise and Mikey wants to know if his brother realizes what he\u2019s doing to Mikey every time he flexes and clenches his hands like that. Jesus<\/i>.

\u201cI know what you really wanted,\u201d Frank says, grinning. Mikey and Gerard watch him, jeans around his thighs, t-shirt shifting with the slow movement of his shoulders, the line of dark hair and tattoos below the hem. His hair hangs in his face, eyes glassy and heavy-lidded, like he wants their gaze on him.

\u201cWhat do I want,\u201d Gerard asks, swallowing thickly. He and Mikey are breathing in time now, chests rising and falling quickly.

Frank doesn\u2019t say anything, just licks up his palm and all around his fingers, closing his lips around them as they slip in his mouth, shiny and wet. He\u2019s smiling as he plants the hand on Gerard\u2019s chest and rubs all around, flicking the last few buttons open with his wet hand. Mikey\u2019s mouth feels dry looking down at the shiny, pale skin of his brother\u2019s chest, his stomach folded up and the imprint of his dick against his black jeans.

\u201cThere,\u201d Frank says, and walks forward on his knees until he\u2019s close enough, rubbing his hard-on up against Gerard\u2019s collarbone.

\u201cShit,\u201d Gerard says, holding his breath. Frank laughs, guiding the slippery tip of his dick around, rubbing and tapping it lightly on Gerard\u2019s skin. It\u2019s kind of obscene and stupid looking because Gerard doesn\u2019t have tits, but Mikey\u2019s panting into his brother\u2019s hair anyway.

\u201cOops,\u201d Frank says without remorse right before he shoves his cock up under Gerard\u2019s chin, bumping his throat. \u201cMissed.\u201d

\u201cMotherfucker<\/i>,\u201d Gerard groans, and Mikey feels him tilt his head back\u2014giving Frank more space, holy shit<\/i>\u2014as he rubs his dick along the line of Gerard\u2019s jaw, across his cheek, over his closed eyes but avoiding his mouth.

\u201cFuck yeah,\u201d Frank moans appreciatively, digging his fingers into Gerard\u2019s scalp to keep him from moving. \u201cYou got him, Mikey?\u201d

\u201cYeah,\u201d Mikey says dumbly. Gerard\u2019s panting like crazy, wriggling in his grip. \u201cUm. Do you want me to\u2014\u201d

\u201cHold on.\u201d Frank sits back for a second, strips his t-shirt off. \u201cTie him up with this.\u201d

\u201cOh.\u201d Mikey stares at Frank\u2019s chest, sweat-shiny, tattoos like coloured marker on his skin. \u201cOkay.\u201d

Mikey sits back, feels Gerard slump but regain his composure, holding himself up with shaking stomach muscles. Mikey fumbles but manages to tie Frank\u2019s t-shirt around his brother\u2019s wrists. He looks down; his hard-on\u2019s fucking obvious in his loose sweatpants, and so close to Gerard\u2019s back. Jesus.

\u201cIs that okay?\u201d Mikey asks softly, running a hand gently up his brother\u2019s forearm before pulling it back, feeling too intimate.

\u201cYeah,\u201d Gerard says, breathless. \u201cShit\u2014Frank, come on<\/i>.\u201d

\u201cNot yet.\u201d Frank looks totally content just jacking himself like that, cock red and shiny with spit, brothers watching him. Gerard makes a noise and bucks his hips up. \u201cHey. Mikey?\u201d Frank meets his eyes, glassy and turned on. \u201cCan you keep him still?\u201d

Mikey swallows. He sits back on his ass so his legs are bent, bracketing Gerard but not touching, and lightly curls his hands around Gerard\u2019s hips. His shirt\u2019s hanging open and Mikey\u2019s fingers dig into the fleshy bit from where his tight jeans dig in. The feeling of skin under his fingers for the first time makes his dick twitch, and he has to close his eyes for a minute. \u201cShit.\u201d

\u201cYeah,\u201d Frank grunts, \u201cyou two look so fucking good, you know that?\u201d

Mikey licks his lips, feels Gerard\u2019s hips buck up again, and splays his fingers out to hold him down. \u201cFuck<\/i>,\u201d Gerard moans. \u201cI can\u2019t\u2014I can\u2019t move<\/i>.\u201d

\u201cMmm,\u201d Frank hums. Mikey looks up, sees his hand moving fast over his dick, the rise and fall of his chest and shoulders, stringy dark hair in his face. \u201cI know.\u201d Frank grins. \u201cThink you can get off like this?\u201d

\u201cWhat?\u201d Gerard asks, distracted, but his hips rut up and Mikey pushes down hard again, feels strange stopping him, like he doesn\u2019t have the authority. But Gerard doesn\u2019t protest.

Frank slips back off the bed to standing and lifts a knee up. He leans forward, hand still moving on his cock as he presses his knee into the mattress between Gerard\u2019s legs. \u201cHow about now?\u201d he pants.

\u201cFuck,\u201d Mikey says. Gerard tosses his head a bit, hair all over his face, and strains against Mikey\u2019s hands to push forwards into Frank\u2019s knee. \u201cGee, are you\u2014\u201d

\u201cOh my god,\u201d Gerard moans on a long exhale. He wriggles his hips and Mikey has to shift forwards to get his hands around him again. Gerard moves back suddenly and they both freeze and gasp.

Frank\u2019s mouth hangs open as he looks between them. \u201cShit.\u201d Mikey squeezes his eyes shut, wants to move back\u2014away<\/i>\u2014but the pressure against his dick feels so good. He barely even realizes he\u2019s digging his fingers hard into Gerard\u2019s hips, pulling closer.

\u201cFuck,\u201d Mikey mutters, \u201cfuck fuck fuck.\u201d He can\u2019t open his eyes, hangs his head and feels his mouth drop open, hips rocking up slightly against his brother\u2019s back.

\u201cWhoa,\u201d Frank says. \u201cWhoa.\u201d He lets out a breathy moan that sounds a bit like a laugh. \u201cIf this is what you motherfuckers are going to pull, then I have no fucking chance.\u201d He grunts and the bed shakes, like Frank\u2019s got his other knee up on the mattress to kneel in front of them again.

\u201cCome on<\/i>,\u201d Gerard grits out, hips grinding little circles forward against Frank\u2019s knee. Mikey tightens his fingers immediately, is surprised by how much that feeling of digging in hard and restraining someone else turns him on. \u201cCome the fuck on, Frank,\u201d Gerard repeats, voice low and dangerous.

\u201cShit, yeah,\u201d Frank mumbles. \u201cI\u2019m\u2014fuck. Open wide?\u201d He huffs a laugh but it trails off into a groan and Mikey has to open his eyes, can\u2019t see Gerard\u2019s face but hears the needy noise he makes as Frank comes, striping his face, his hair, his chest. Frank\u2019s got this expression of disbelief on his face, mouth open as he finishes. Jesus. Mikey can\u2019t believe he was asleep for this, last time.

\u201cOh my god<\/i>,\u201d Gerard groans, and it strikes Mikey that he can\u2019t even reach up to wipe his own face off, that it\u2019s probably all in his eyelashes and on his lips and all he can do is moan and grind his hips forward and look used<\/i>. Shit.

\u201cCome on,\u201d Frank says, hand still curled loosely around his softening dick. \u201cJust like this, Gerard, I know you can.\u201d Gerard moans and his back bows, pushing his chest out, grinding up against Frank\u2019s knee as Mikey holds his hips in place and feels the exact way they move. \u201cFuck,\u201d Frank says, running one thumb down Gerard\u2019s face and shoving it in his mouth, \u201cyou look so fucking good like that, you know. Slutty.\u201d

Gerard moans again around Frank\u2019s thumb, \u201cYes,\u201d and \u201cFuck, please, please, please,\u201d in a desperate voice as he thrusts forward, head rolling back and nearly knocking Mikey\u2019s chin. It gives Mikey a clear view of Frank\u2019s spunk, white and sliding in inelegant clumps down his brother\u2019s face, pieces of his sweat-damp hair sticking to his cheek. He can smell<\/i> it.

\u201cHow is this even happening,\u201d Mikey says weakly, looking up at the ceiling so he doesn\u2019t cream his sweatpants before he even touches his dick.

\u201cHow\u2019s it feel, Gerard?\u201d Frank asks. \u201cCovered in my come. All tied up.\u201d Gerard groans, head hanging forward again. Frank leans in, smell of sweat and spunk, hair falling into Gerard\u2019s face. \u201cCan\u2019t move,\u201d Frank whispers, Gerard\u2019s breath hitching as he ruts up hard into Frank\u2019s knee. \u201cGot your brother holding you down.\u201d Gerard gasps and stills and Mikey thinks Fuck, he\u2019s freaked out, he stopped,<\/i> before he notices the shake and tense of Gerard\u2019s thighs under his hands and realizes he just came. Shit<\/i>.

\u201cDamn,\u201d Frank says, sitting back heavily on his haunches, exhaling with a smile on his face. \u201cI\u2019m good.\u201d

\u201cFuck off,\u201d Gerard moans and slumps over onto his side, hands still behind his back, Mikey\u2019s shin trapped awkwardly under his shoulder. Mikey\u2019s fingers fall away from his hips.

\u201cJesus Christ.\u201d Mikey collapses onto his back on the mattress, eyes falling shut. He palms his dick over his sweatpants. \u201cWhat the fuck<\/i>.\u201d

\u201cWhat the fuck,\u201d Frank confirms from the end of the bed, giving Mikey\u2019s feet a pat. \u201cYou guys fucking hijacked my shit right there, I was busy showing off my moves.\u201d

\u201cUngh,\u201d Mikey replies, getting both hands under his waistband and finally\u2014finally<\/i>\u2014pumping the base of his dick. Dry and rough and he doesn't give a shit.

\u201cYou need a hand there, Mikes?\u201d Frank asks in an amused tone. \u201cI can come on your tits too.\u201d

Mikey laughs, but it dies away when he feels Gerard push his sweatpants aside with his nose, slippery-wet cheek and sticky hair against his shin. \u201cI\u2019m good,\u201d Mikey manages, gasping as he fists himself hard and fast, toes curling and eyes rolling back in his head.

Gerard kisses his ankle, closed-lipped and chaste, and Mikey comes.




(DVD commentary for this fic here<\/a>!)

<\/a>

"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:desfinado:16748","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/16748.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=16748"}}],"title":"desfinado @ 2010-06-07T21:34:00","published":"2010-06-08T04:34:44Z","updated":"2018-01-29T01:37:31Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"bandom"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"fic"}}],"content":"Title:<\/u> Drag Like Sandpaper<\/b>
Author:<\/u> <\/a>desfinado<\/b><\/a><\/span>
Pairing:<\/u> Gerard\/Mikey
Rating:<\/u> NC-17
Warnings:<\/u> Incest, shaving kink, underage
Word count:<\/u> 4904
Disclaimer:<\/u> They don\u2019t belong to me; not making a profit.
Notes:<\/u> For kink bingo<\/a>. My card is here<\/a>. Many thanks to <\/a>brooklinegirl<\/b><\/a><\/span> and <\/a>pearl_o<\/b><\/a><\/span> for beta help!
Summary:<\/u> On Gerard's eighteenth birthday, he watches his little brother buy his first razor.<\/i>




On Gerard's eighteenth birthday, he watches his little brother buy his first razor.

\"Is this what dad uses?\" Mikey asks.

Gerard reaches around Mikey and pulls one off the shelf, red and metallic inside the plastic packaging. \"This is the best kind,\" he says. Mikey raises an arched eyebrow at him over his shoulder. \"I don't\u2014I just heard<\/i>, okay?\"

Gerard turns and surveys the rows of toothpaste behind them while Mikey makes his choice. He thinks about weekends when he wanders the stores downtown by himself and stands right here. He knows all about the different razors, knows exactly which one he'll buy when he needs it.

They spend the rest of the afternoon in a thrift store, Mikey in the jeans section while Gerard makes his way through the t-shirts, fingering worn-in and pilling cotton. He checks out the decals, looking for anything cool.

\"Longpoint? Is that where we used to go bowling?\" he calls out to Mikey, narrowing his eyes at a faded black shirt with a vaguely familiar logo on it.

\"Dunno, maybe?\" Mikey's plastic shopping bag is hooked over his wrist, bumping coat hangers as he flips through the jeans. \"So much fucking acid-wash, it's hopeless.\" He sighs and looks up, meets Gerard's eyes across the racks. \"You gonna get anything?\"

Gerard hesitates and then puts the shirt back where it was hanging. \"Nah. Don't wanna go around promoting any old bowling alley.\"

On the ride home, sun setting on an overcast sky, Gerard watches people swaying side to side with the stop-start of the bus, their blank faces and dull grey raincoats.

\"I'm an adult, Mikes. Can you believe that shit?\" His brother snorts beside him. He\u2019s probably not even paying attention, long fingers wrapped around his walkman.

Gerard tries to picture himself working a day job, coming home every night on a bus that smells of vinyl seats and the funk of B.O., unlocking the front door and stepping into his apartment. Gerard can't imagine it, despite all that he does<\/i> imagine every day. It's weird. Adult Gerard opens the door and it's sketchy and dark inside, like he can't turn the light on.

Gerard looks at the reflection of him and his brother in the window, feels the body heat along his left side, watches Jersey lurch by in the traffic... he doesn't feel<\/i> like an adult.

Gerard wants to be annoyed with his parents for having a fancy dinner on his eighteenth birthday<\/i>, but his mama tells the story about the time her co-worker Bettie's boob fell out when she was doing a cut-\u2018n\u2019-colour and his dad wants to help him with his SVA application and Mikey makes fangs with his asparagus so Gerard ends up smiling and laughing too loudly like always.

After dessert he and Mikey end up at the park down the block, where Mikey says some of their friends are going to be later. Gerard didn't want to invite anyone over because then it would feel like a birthday thing<\/i> and he'd feel lame for having so few people show. But it's better like this, just bumping into them.

Mikey drops his sagging backpack heavily on the sand by the swings and waves a broad palm at it, grinning at Gerard in the orange of the streetlights.

\"Present.\"

\"Uh oh.\" Gerard sits on a swing and pulls the bag up into his lap, knees together to hold its heavy weight. He looks up at Mikey but he's just smiling.

It's a twelve-pack of Coors and Gerard rolls his eyes, pops the tab on one with a hiss and passes it to his stupid brother. Who is three years younger and got him beer<\/i> for his birthday. \"Way to make me feel like the older one, booting for me.\"

Mikey just shrugs and takes a long gulp, throat working. Gerard twists the swing side to side as he opens his own, and even though they\u2019re at a playground it feels celebratory, like how you\u2019re supposed to end your eighteenth birthday: with beer.

It's well past three when Gerard and Mikey climb in through the basement window, after their friends came and went and Mikey started complaining about being cold. Gerard's not going to miss this part of being a kid. He takes a piss while Mikey shucks his clothes and glasses in the bedroom and returns to the bathroom in his boxers with one of his baggy white undershirts on. He and Gerard maneuver around each other to brush their teeth, buzzed and a little uncoordinated. Mikey's collarbones are sharp in the yellow light and his chest looks almost concave; he's so fucking skinny.

Mikey mumbles something around this toothbrush and Gerard raises his eyebrows at him in the mirror, wedged in shoulder-to-shoulder in front of the sink. Mikey leans over and spits, hair falling in his face. \"I said what are you looking at, weirdo?\" He bumps Gerard's hip with his own bony one, straightening up and washing his toothbrush under the tap.

Gerard finishes and drops his toothbrush into the cup next to his brother's. \"You're a fucking twig. How come you never get carded and I always do?\"

Mikey makes faces in the mirror at himself. \"I dunno. 'Cause they can tell I'm totally a man already and you're still a kid who keeps his pencil crayons in a Polly Pocket case?\"

Gerard laughs even as he\u2019s saying \u201cFuck off,\u201d which is definitely a sign he\u2019s reaching that giggly saturation of beer and exhaustion.

\"Reminds me!\" Mikey grins, sprinting to their room\u2014way<\/i> too enthusiastically when their parents are asleep two floors up\u2014and reappearing in the doorway, dangling a white plastic shopping bag between his long fingers. \"I desperately need to shave<\/i>.\"

Gerard laughs and takes a seat on the toilet, flipping the lid down. \"Fine, let\u2019s see you shave that gnarly<\/i> beard. I'll be the adult supervision.\" There is no way Gerard is leaving Mikey alone with sharp things right now.

Mikey grins to himself and sets the bag on the floor. Gerard watches as he goes about opening the packaging, getting the shaving cream out and filling the sink with water. Gerard likes this: it's late and dark and everyone else is asleep and it's just him and his brother in the tiny bathroom. Gerard doesn't even really mind that he can't shave yet, not when he can be here for Mikey's first time.

\"Where do I start?\" Mikey wraps his big hands around the edges of the sink and leans over to inspect himself in the mirror, tilting his chin up and turning this way and that. \"It's kinda patchy and all over the place.\" The muscles in his arms are flexed; with the undershirt and his chin lifted it makes him look strong, intimidating. Not like Gerard\u2019s little brother.

\"Um, I wouldn't know.\" Gerard laughs softly. \"Maybe do one half of your face first?\"

Mikey nods at himself in the mirror and shakes the can, filling his palm with white-blue shaving cream. He pats down one side of his face from the base of his ear to the bow of his upper lip, so thick that even Gerard knows he\u2019s doing it wrong.

\"You got enough there, Mikes?\"

\"I feel like fucking Santa Claus,\" Mikey says, lips tight so it doesn't get in his mouth. Gerard stands up, reaching out to drag his fingertips down Mikey's cheek.

\"Hey!\" Mikey bats at Gerard's hand, getting cream all over his clean hand too. \"You're trying to hone in on my man-time.\"

Gerard laughs and wipes his fingers down the front of Mikey's chest, smearing across his collarbone and the neck of his undershirt. \"Adult supervision!\" Gerard says in defense, laughing as Mikey splutters and bats at him, getting shaving cream all over Gerard's arm and probably the side of his face. \"Okay! Okay!\" Gerard lifts his hands up to protect himself. \"I'm done supervising!\"

Mikey's grinning and foamy on only one side of his face, his shirt is sagging and splattered with white, and he looks completely ridiculous. \"You're my brother,\" he says, looking Gerard right in the eye even though they're standing so close. He's only a few inches taller but it's still strange for Gerard to look up at him.

\"Um.\" Gerard feels around his temple for the blob of shaving cream and doesn't find it, probably just smears some into his hair. \"Yes?\"

Mikey rolls his eyes skyward and lifts his fist, swiping at Gerard's cheek with his clean knuckles. They come away foamy. \"You're awesome, and even though you're an adult now or whatever, you're still my brother.\" He says it to his hand, curling and then flexing his fingers, smeared with white. He looks up again. \"You know?\"

\"Yeah.\" Gerard wants to hug him, but it might get foamy. Fuck it, it's his birthday. \"Me too,\" he mumbles into Mikey's shoulder, hugging him fast and squeezing hard like he always does, before letting go and stepping back. Mikey is giving him stupid emotional eyes that he sometimes gets after a few beers. Gerard knows there's even more shaving cream in his hair now.

\"Hand over the razor,\" Gerard demands.

\"Why?\"

\"No shaving under the influence. Plus you're a minor.\" Gerard grins when Mikey sighs at this. \"Hold still.\"

Mikey\u2019s obedient, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his chin up. Gerard moves him back against the wall and steps in a bit closer, steadying Mikey's head with a hand on the clean side of his jaw.

\"If you move, you could end up looking like the Joker,\" he says in a dark voice. It only makes Mikey grin and Gerard has to wait for his face to relax again. \"Okay fine, no jokes. Just manly, manly shaving in the middle of the night on your older brother's<\/i> beardless birthday.\"

As he lifts the razor to Mikey's face Gerard feels something big fill his ribcage, like this first stroke<\/i> is it, it's the end of his little brother being a kid, of Gerard pretending to be the mature one when he's never felt like it, of the space between them. Then he blinks because he's stupid and everyone tells him he always turns everything into a big deal when it isn't. He makes himself touch the metal blade to the foamy skin just below Mikey's cheekbone.

By the time Gerard's worked his way in careful down-strokes from Mikey's ear to the side of his mouth, he has to stop to rinse the blade in the sink and he's got foam all up his wrist. It doesn\u2019t smell quite like the shaving cream their dad uses but it\u2019s got that same old-guy-cologne scent, kind of musky. Mikey's fingers fiddle with the hem of his undershirt and he shuffles his feet apart a bit so Gerard can step between them when he comes back to make short little strokes above Mikey's lip and along his chin.

Gerard is slow and precise, sobering quickly. It's his first time using a razor but it feels like second nature, like any tool he wraps his fingers around\u2014paintbrush or sculpting blade\u2014where it's about a steady hand, working methodically to stay inside the lines, wherever you want those lines to be. The curve of his brother's nostril, the edge of his red lips.

\"What's it feel like?\" Gerard asks quietly, thinking about all the times his brother\u2019s asked him<\/i> that about things. Mikey swallows and Gerard feels it under his thumb, tucked below Mikey's jaw.

\"Weird. Like it's scraping, but it doesn't hurt. My skin feels kinda stretchy.\" Gerard steps back, lets Mikey frown and bunch and wiggle his lips, moving his face around. \"Rubbery. Not totally numb like at the dentist, but kinda like it's...\" Mikey meets Gerard's eyes and lifts his own fingers to his shaved cheek, fingertips playing lightly down to his jaw. It's kind of weird and intimate to watch. \"Like it's not my skin,\" Mikey says at last.

Gerard tries to imagine it, but just thinks about drooling on himself after getting a cavity filled. He reaches up but hesitates, Mikey's fingers still in the way. \"Can I?\"

Mikey nods, lets his head fall back against the patterned wallpaper, eyes on the ceiling and hands by his side. Gerard rubs two fingers in a small circle on the edge of Mikey's jaw, but it just feels like skin to him so he runs the forefinger of his other hand along Mikey's unshaved cheek, and\u2014\"Oh.\" It does<\/i> feel different, and Mikey's chest rises with his quiet inhale as Gerard's fingers slip under his ears and he swipes his thumbs back and forth, cupping his brother's jaw in both hands. Gerard's thumbs look blunt and inelegant next to the defined lines of Mikey's face.

\"So weird,\" Gerard whispers, inspecting the tiny dark dots of stubble on Mikey\u2019s cheek, feeling it drag like sandpaper under the pad of his thumb. The other side is strange with how smooth it feels. None of it seems to fit with who he's always known Mikey to be.

Mikey hums his agreement, a vibration against Gerard's hands, and almost in response he skirts his fingers down Mikey's neck, the hard ridges of his trachea.

\"You're kinda prickly here too, y'know,\" Gerard says, and looks up, but Mikey's eyes are still on the ceiling and it feels suddenly awkward; it's the middle of the night and he's feeling up his brother's face. He huffs a soft laugh and lets his hands drop. \"Sorry. Guess I don't have any of my own to feel.\"

Mikey shifts, hooking a finger into the neckline of his undershirt and pulling it down. \"I'm gonna be fucking Wolverine, aren't I?\" he asks with a small smile, baring a patch of wispy brown hair below his collarbone.

Gerard plucks at one of the strange-looking hairs, wanting to feel inadequate but not finding it in him because it's his brother. \"'Least I<\/i> won't have to wax my chest,\" he says, stepping back and reaching for the can of shaving cream. \"Let's do the\u2014\"

\"Gee,\" Mikey says quickly, soft but sharp, big hands coming up to bracket Gerard's face just like he'd been doing to Mikey. His eyes are intent on Gerard's face. \"It doesn't really matter, I've got stupid Wolverine fur but you've got fucking everything else. I promise.\" Gerard frowns, shifts his weight, but his head is held still in his brother's palms. \"I know<\/i>,\" Mikey concludes.

\"I don't have everything else,\" Gerard says in a small voice, and for some reason he finds it hard to meet Mikey's eyes. He wants to say forget it, it's not a big deal<\/i> but sometimes it feels like it is<\/i> and a part of him likes it being acknowledged. They stand like that for a moment, Gerard waiting for Mikey to say something or let go of him, but neither happens and he eventually drops his eyes to the stretched-down neck of Mikey's undershirt.

\"I\u2014\" Mikey starts, moving forward slightly before stopping, like he was going in for another hug. Gerard glances up and realizes Mikey's staring at his face but not his eyes, a few inches below them instead, and Gerard\u2019s heart is suddenly hammering in his ears. Mikey moves in again and Gerard barely has time to wrench his head sideways in his brother's grip. Mikey's mouth lands on Gerard's jaw, his cheek sandpapery against Gerard's lips as Gerard clenches the can of shaving cream tight in his fist.

\"Um,\u201d Gerard says, squeezing his eyes shut because suddenly they're prickling and his chest feels too small again, this time because it's flush against Mikey's, warm and solid. It's awkward and overwhelming and Mikey seems frozen. Gerard knows his brother hates talking about how he feels, so he takes a deep breath and lifts his own hands to cup Mikey's jaw, their arms touching where they're bent between them. He tilts, rests their foreheads together. He has no fucking clue what to say.

\"Mikes,\" he breathes, and looks at him, blurry so close up. \"I get it.\"

He feels Mikey's fingers clench a bit harder on his jaw, ten points digging in along his cheek and behind his ear. \"No, it's not\u2014\" Mikey closes his eyes, breath minty and warm across Gerard's face. \"It's not perfect, okay? Growing up. Shaving. Whatever.\"

\"I know,\" Gerard says immediately, and then \"I know\" again when he realizes that he really does<\/i> know. Being an adult, let alone a teenager, is fucking confusing and gigantic and huge and he never knows how to talk about it, always feels like he's going to fill up and burst with all the things he feels\u2014all the anger and passion and possibility and fear, coming home from his someday-job, opening the door to his apartment and not knowing what it\u2019ll look like inside.

Mikey makes a choked noise. \"You think so?\" he asks as he moves his face out of Gerard's grip to press it into Gerard's neck, hands clenching tight on his shoulders. Mikey shifts his weight forward and it brings them flush up against each other from chest to knee and\u2014oh. God<\/i>.

\"Fuck,\" Gerard sucks in on an inhale, and he goes to step back but Mikey's holding tight so he has to just stand there and feel<\/i> it, feel his brother's dick<\/i>, hard against his thigh. The shaving cream clatters into the sink, Gerard's nails digging into his palms.

\"You can have the stupid beard,\" Mikey mumbles into Gerard's neck, like this way it's not part of him, not the same body. Gerard can smell him and feel his lips move\u2014can feel everything<\/i>\u2014and it spreads out across his shoulder blades, down his spine.

\"Jesus.\" Gerard turns his face and whispers into Mikey's hair, \"You can't joke about\u2014about this shit, okay?\" His hands are restless and it's only when he uncurls his palms that he realizes where they want to go, what it might mean<\/i>.

Instead Gerard grabs Mikey's shoulders and pushes as he steps back, eyes anywhere but Mikey's face, just putting space between them. Mikey's staring at him. Gerard sits heavily on the toilet seat and scrubs his hands over his face, waits for Mikey to say something that might make this okay, make Gerard feel less like he's going to throw up and pop wood at the same time.

Neither of them say anything for a few awkward moments. Gerard comes to the conclusion that thinking isn't helping, that it's giving him that anxious, spiraling feeling that he doesn't know how to deal<\/i> with this, he's not really an adult, he never will be. He eventually looks up and he sees his brother standing against their bathroom wall, broad palms on his thighs trying to smooth the fabric of his boxers down, but he's fucking tenting<\/i> them and his knees are turned in and his eyes are cast down and every fiber of Gerard's stupid eighteen-year-old being wants to make it better.

He runs a hand down his face again, catching his bottom lip, and the sensation of wet on his fingertips makes him shiver. He realizes he's tensed up, his skin buzzing. He wants to stand and do something but it's too big, scares the shit out of him, he doesn't know if it'll actually help.

\"What do you want to do?\" Gerard finally asks, measuring the exact order of the words before he says them, trying to keep his tone steady when the rest of him really, really isn\u2019t. It makes him feel responsible, something which still doesn't seem right for his body, the shape of the words on his tongue.

In response, Mikey squeezes his eyes shut and hooks a hand under the elastic of his own boxers. Gerard doesn\u2019t know what to do but start counting the diamonds in the wallpaper to the left of his head. Mikey's wide shoulders lift and fall on one side and he lets out a long breath through his nose, shaky at the end of the exhale. Gerard tries to think scientifically about it, like everyone does this<\/i>, but everyone doesn't sit a few feet away on a toilet seat watching their brother do it.

Gerard finally decides to look because Mikey's eyes are closed, and it's not like he can see much of anything but Mikey's knuckles imprinted on the inside of the cotton as his fist moves, the flex of his skinny thighs. But seeing the whole thing\u2014how Mikey\u2019s body reacts, from his hair to his bare toes\u2014makes Gerard feel like he\u2019s just collapsed in on himself, and suddenly he's overwhelmed<\/i> by how turned on he is, his shaky, sweaty palms gripping his thighs, getting shaving cream all over his sweatpants.

The sound of Mikey's breath really isn't that new, Gerard falls asleep to that sound every night, but it's like he's breathing hot, moist Mikey-air right into Gerard, filling his lungs and filling him with what it feels like to be in Mikey's skin, what it feels like to wrap that fist around his dick.

Gerard's toes curl against the cold tile and he moans<\/i> at the thought. The noise is soft but seems huge in the bathroom, and shit, shit<\/i>, they have parents<\/i> upstairs and Mikey moans back almost immediately and Gerard can't fucking\u2014parents<\/i>. He folds in on himself, face pressed to his knees, hands clutching his shins.

\"Gee,\" Mikey hisses, and all Gerard can think is that Mikey has never said his name with his hand in his boxers before, and Gerard thinks this is it, this is all the evidence they'll need<\/i>. He wants to shut his brother up but he can't move, dick pressing up against his sweatpants, trapped between his clenched thighs and his folded-up stomach. God<\/i>, he wants to touch himself so badly it sweeps through him from tensed calves to tight shoulders.

Mikey's bare feet are a soft slap on the tile and the air shifts around Gerard. \u201cDo you want me to go?\u201d Mikey asks from beside him, probably kneeling on the floor next to the toilet.

Gerard shakes his head against his knees and wills himself to sit up, arms braced on his thighs. \u201cNo.\u201d He bunches cotton in his palms, feels it shift, rough against the head of his dick, and his chest hitches. \u201cJust\u2014don\u2019t\u2026 don\u2019t look.\u201d His voice sounds dark, older. Gerard clears his constricting throat and asks \u201cOkay?\u201d a bit more softly.

Mikey nods and Gerard can\u2019t meet his eyes, but he doesn\u2019t have to because his brother turns around to sit on the bathroom floor with his back against the side of the toilet. \u201cCan I\u2026\u201d Mikey trails off, and Gerard doesn\u2019t understand but looks down and sees Mikey\u2019s skinny, hairy legs and clenched fists and\u2014shit<\/i>\u2014the dark spot at the front of his boxers, the shape of\u2014

\u201cOh, um.\u201d Gerard swallows, eyes flicking back to his own lap. \u201cYeah. Fuck.\u201d Gerard has done this before, knows how to do this, doesn\u2019t think he\u2019s ever wanted to do it this badly in his life. His thighs are squeezed together just for the pressure, the friction.

He sucks in a breath when he realizes Mikey\u2019s got both hands already in his boxers, one low and barely moving\u2014touching his balls<\/i>, jesus fucking christ\u2014the other fisting faster now, like he\u2019s just been waiting for the go-ahead. Mikey squares his shoulders against the toilet and his head drops back against Gerard\u2019s thigh, which twitches immediately before he forces it tense and still.

Okay. Okay. Gerard breathes, feels like he\u2019s blushing from head to toe, but no one\u2019s watching, so he goes for it: hand under the waistband, onto his dick.

\u201cNnnggh.\u201d He sounds stupid, like a whale or something, but he can\u2019t help it, holy shit<\/i>. And there\u2019s his own hand, dry-rough circle of forefinger and thumb pulling up and down on his cock, but it\u2019s like all his nerve endings have rerouted to his left thigh where his brother\u2019s head is a solid point of pressure, rolling to the side with the shake of his shoulders. Gerard imagines it shaking through his bones, matches the tempo with his own hand, knows how fucked it is and is overwhelmed by how the thought sends another full-body wave of want<\/i> through him, toes to prickling scalp.

It's way more intense than Gerard could have imaged. He knows that he\u2019s doing the same thing he always does\u2014without any lotion, even\u2014but it feels like so much more... it feels like sex<\/i>, what the fuck, Gerard doesn\u2019t know what sex is like, but it\u2019s him and this other person and their body heat and energy are making Gerard so turned on he can\u2019t think in straight lines anymore. He wishes he could ask the same question of his brother that he asked earlier: What\u2019s it feel like?<\/i> Gerard often wonders what it feels like to be Mikey, to be tall and thin, to have hips like a boy should and muscles in his shoulders from doing absolutely nothing at all. Gerard knows other people have touched his brother\u2019s body like that, but it\u2019s different, Mikey comes home and all he brings with him are his<\/i> long legs, his<\/i> tiny smiles and sloping posture, no one else\u2019s.

Gerard\u2019s left hand feels weird and unused, fingers tensing and releasing his sweatpants on his thigh. When he opens his eyes to look\u2014shit<\/i>, he\u2019s close, just looking at hair, the slope of Mikey\u2019s nose\u2014his hand twitches sideways, brushes his brother\u2019s ear.

\u201cFuck<\/i>,\u201d Mikey breathes, in that low harsh voice he only uses when he\u2019s badly hurt. It twists at Gerard\u2019s stomach because they\u2019re both<\/i> here and they\u2019re both<\/i> strung out, overwhelmed. Gerard can\u2019t stop it, his other wrist is pumping his dick and his left hand skates awkwardly down the prickly side of his brother\u2019s unshaved cheek. Mikey\u2019s breath catches and he leans into it immediately. Gerard can\u2019t stop himself from watching anymore; he isn\u2019t sure there\u2019s anything he\u2019d be able to stop himself from doing right now, because he\u2019s so fucking gone.

\u201cNot much of a fucking adult,\u201d Gerard says a bit hysterically, thinking about his birthday. This is nothing he could have ever, ever imagined\u2014nothing he could have even known he wanted<\/i> this badly.

\u201cUnnh,\u201d Mikey grunts, feet pushing at the bare tiles as his knees draw in and straighten again, slap-slap between skin and cotton as he fists himself. Gerard swallows against his dry throat, shoulders twitching on their own, and rubs the back of one knuckle across Mikey\u2019s lips.

Mikey opens his mouth immediately and bites, moaning hard as he lifts off the side of the toilet bowl, stilling for a moment before sagging back. Shit, shit<\/i>, Gerard\u2019s breath catches and Mikey\u2019s teeth release his knuckle, tongue sliding over the indents there, wet and hot. Gerard knew it was going to happen but he's somehow still blindsided by how good it feels when he comes, sucking short breaths in as he tenses up while it courses through him, stomach muscles quivering and his eyebrows drawn in tight.

\u201cOh my god<\/i>,\u201d Gerard whispers when all his breath has left him, leaning back heavily against the toilet tank. \u201cOh my god<\/i>.\u201d

\u201cOh my goddddd<\/i>.\u201d Mikey startles him when he says it, laughing around Gerard\u2019s knuckle.

Gerard groans, pulls both of his hands back to lie in his lap, sticky with spit and spunk. He frowns and surveys his left hand again. \u201cDid you just eat shaving cream?\u201d

\u201cI totally did.\u201d Mikey agrees and heaves himself sideways to sprawl on his back on the bathroom floor. His legs are bent awkwardly and his boxers are a mess, smeared shaving cream still dotting his chest. \u201cOw.\u201d He winces when one of his arms hits the wall as he flings it out.

Gerard lifts a socked foot with every ounce of remaining strength he has, prodding at Mikey\u2019s bony ribcage, like hey, hey<\/i> or should we be talking about this or something<\/i>. He\u2019s surprised to find himself smiling, to see the same curve on his brother\u2019s lips.

\u201cStop it,\u201d Mikey says, but doesn\u2019t move as Gerard rubs his toes over his chest and around the little patch of hair above the sagging neckline of his undershirt. Mikey grins when he realizes what Gerard\u2019s going for and he grabs Gerard\u2019s foot, stopping its movement but just holding it there against his chest, warm in the palm of his hand.

\u201cYou\u2019re my brother,\u201d he says, and this time it sounds decisive, final.

Gerard feels a little wild when he barks out a loud, inappropriate laugh in the tiny bathroom and says \u201cI know. Fuck, I know<\/i>.\u201d



(DVD commentary for this fic here<\/a>!)

<\/a>

"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:desfinado:12947","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/12947.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=12947"}}],"title":"desfinado @ 2010-04-21T23:14:00","published":"2010-04-22T03:14:34Z","updated":"2018-01-29T01:37:35Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"#914"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"bandom"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"fic"}}],"content":"Title:<\/u> Backseat<\/b>
Author:<\/u> <\/a>desfinado<\/b><\/a><\/span>
Pairing:<\/u> Gerard\/Mikey\/Frank
Rating:<\/u> R
Word count:<\/u> 1564
Disclaimer:<\/u> They don\u2019t belong to me; not making a profit.
Summary:<\/u> Mikey spends most of twelfth grade watching Jersey from backseat windows<\/i>.


Notes:<\/u> A ficlet from this music-shuffle writing meme<\/a>. Prompt by <\/a>tortugax<\/b><\/a><\/span>: frank\/gerard\/mikey; #914, shadows<\/i>. Chad VanGaalen - Mini TV's (Listen<\/a>\/Download<\/a>)

I'm excited to add that <\/a>knight_tracer<\/b><\/a><\/span> has recorded a fantastic podfic of this story, as a gift for the lovely <\/a>ina_pok<\/b><\/a><\/span>! You can check it out here<\/a>; make sure you tell her how much joy enjoy it.



Strip malls \/ winter in the fall \/ it happened so slow I barely noticed it at all
Blank tapes \/ try to stay awake \/ I'm running from the future but I can't escape it<\/i>


Mikey spends most of twelfth grade watching Jersey from backseat windows, passing streaks of tail lights and on-ramps.

In the winter the smoke from industrial stacks curls white and solid against the cold gray sky and when they pause at red lights, Frank's shitty Honda rumbling beneath his feet, Mikey looks at the people standing at bus stops--hoods of their jackets pulled tight around their faces, hunched over with their hands in their pockets--and thinks that they could be statues and he wouldn\u2019t even know they weren\u2019t real.

His brother sits up front because he gets sick in the back, even though it folds Mikey's too-skinny legs up and he has to splay them wide apart, knees on either side of the back of Gerard's seat. \"That's where they found that kid that got stabbed,\" his brother'll say when they pass an empty park, trees bare and skeletal, grass brown and frozen. Frank likes to imagine how it happened, gesturing with his cigarette as he smokes out the window, icy wind tossing his dreads around his face while he talks.

Gerard pulls his big ugly black trench coat tighter around himself and turns sideways in his seat, nodding with a big smile and clarifying exactly where<\/i> the knife got lost beneath the sand in the playground and how the blood dried in brown clumps. Mikey likes to shove his knees into the back of his brother's chair when he gets carried away and Gerard makes a big show of getting carsick when he turns around to swat at Mikey's thigh. Frank grins, eyes darting back and forth between them like he always does when they give each other shit, like they\u2019re so interesting or something.

Mikey and Frank fight over the music sometimes, and Frank might be closer but Mikey has long arms so he hunches over the gearshift. He loves that satisfying feeling of pushing the cassette tape in, feeling it click into place before the music fills the car. They keep all their tapes between the two front seats, jammed tight. Mikey likes the way they look, the colours and lettering down their spines, how they feel when he runs his hand along them and pulls one out, how perfectly it fits back in. So many are white with his cramped black writing or Frank's loopy scrawl, saying things like \"Jocks Can Suck My Dick Summer 1996\" and \"Frank's Shitty Screamo\".

They stop at malls and Mikey stomps through the blackened snow piled up by the sidewalk because it feels so satisfying. Later when they're sitting in the food court, knees knocking under the tiny table, Gerard will bitch him out for complaining about his cold and wet feet.

The three of them walk the mall from end to end, shoulders bumping. Gerard's coat flaps behind him, Mikey's jean jacket tight across his shoulders and the hood of Frank\u2019s sweater up as he chews on the strings. Mikey likes how it makes him feel, talking shit about the people they pass, the clothes they wear, the shitty bands whose faces are blown up in the windows of music stores.

\"Drones,\" Frank says around a mouthful of cotton string, elbowing Mikey's hip, \"programmed to seek and destroy individuality.\"

They get coffees in stupid tiny white styrofoam cups and sit out the ass end of the mall on the loading dock, sipping from shaky fingers as they look out at the highway across the abandoned lot, legs swinging from the edge of the concrete platform.

\"End of the fucking world,\" Gerard says, breathing in steam from the cup held close to his chest. Mikey thinks it looks like it from here: colourless gray sky, dead grass and frozen mud, patchy snow, trucks passing like a river of noise and metal and wheels.

Frank gets cold in just his hoodie and likes to tuck his hands into Mikey's armpit, coffee clenched between his thighs. Gerard watches from Mikey's other side as Frank turns in, presses his nose like an icy point against Mikey's exposed neck. His hair smells like cigarettes and the wax he uses on his dreads.

\"Warm me up, Mikey Way,\" Frank says and Mikey obliges, puts his arm around Frank's shoulders as he looks out at the flat, ugly buildings around the lot, one-stories with no windows and empty parking lots. Frank pushes his face in further, opens his mouth and breathes hot against Mikey's skin. \"We're the only ones who aren't drones,\" he mumbles and it makes Mikey shiver when he feels the wet of Frank's tongue. His fingers get cold where they're bare, wrapped around Frank's shoulder.

When Frank kisses behind Mikey's ear, it makes him suck in a breath, cold air burning his lungs as his fingers tighten. Gerard laughs and reaches across Mikey's lap to rescue Frank's coffee before he spills it from leaning too far over. Gerard puts it down carefully on the platform behind them before finishing his own and crumpling it, dropping it to the ground below their hanging legs.

\"We'd never be drones,\" Gerard says before he lets his head fall to Mikey's other shoulder. He smells like home and when he kisses Mikey's pulse, it speeds up. Mikey can feel Frank smile, sees him reach across to work his bare fingers in between Gerard's thighs. Gerard's lips are dry and coffee-warm, his hand curving in the lapel of Mikey's jacket as he noses up behind Mikey's ear into his hair. He presses kisses into his scalp, along the shell of Mikey's ear. Mikey's eyes fall shut and he's so cold and so hot at the same time.

When they stumble back in the fire exit, they breathe on their icy fingertips and rub their hands together to warm up, Mikey curling his wet-numb toes inside his shoes just to feel them move. On the second floor of the department store there's a men's change room where no one ever goes, burnt bulbs and shadows behind shuttered doors; it's there that Mikey gets his cold hands up under his brother's sweater to warm them against his belly, smiling and licking into Gerard's mouth when he gasps at the sensation and tries to shove Mikey's hands away. Frank gets Gerard's hands in his own, holds his wrists behind him and watches the two of them, his eyes moving back and forth like always. Gerard tastes bitter and dark when he kisses back, doesn't sweeten his coffee like Mikey does.

\"Shh,\" Mikey says when Frank guides Gerard's hand to his belt and bucks up into it, hissing. Frank giggles into Mikey's arm and it cuts off into a choked noise when Gerard gets his hand inside his boxers. Mikey slides an arm around Frank's shoulders and the other around his brother's waist under his sweater, holding the two of them in like a football huddle.

He watches Gerard's wrist work fast and rhythmic inside Frank's baggy jeans, feels Frank's shoulders twitch and hunch in, the sharp intake of breath that expands them. Mikey and Gerard's eyes meet and they smile, leaning so their foreheads touch, Mikey's fingers curling and uncurling at the soft dip of his brother's spine, feeling his body shake with the movement of his arm.

Frank doesn't know how to be quiet so Gerard cups his big square palm around Frank's jaw and kisses him, eyelashes so soft against his round cheeks, and Mikey watches their tongues slide wet and messy. He likes to know that he's touching them both, like a live wire conducting a current.

After, Frank panting with red cheeks and big glassy eyes as he leans in the shadows against the door of the fitting room, Gerard presses Mikey back into the wall, coat hooks on either side of his head, hips rolling, hands clenched painfully on Mikey's shoulders. \"Please, Mikes,\" he chokes into Mikey's ear as he buries his face in Mikey's neck.

Mikey swallows hard and tucks his fingers into Gerard's belt loops, pulls so tight he feels it in the muscles of his arms and his back, and grinds up just how he likes. He watches Frank over Gerard\u2019s shoulder, staring at them with round, red lips and a hand curled, unmoving, inside his tacky boxers. Gerard's black coat hangs around them both like a veil, but it can't be hard to see what they're doing in the roll of Gerard's hips, in the way Mikey pants softly against his brother's temple.

The pressure always feels good, not just on his dick but across his chest, Gerard solid and warm and pressed up against him, pinning Mikey to the wall so he can't move. And that's always what takes Mikey over the edge, when his knees start to shake and his eyes squeeze shut, balls drawing up tight: that feeling that he can struggle and push his chest out and hitch his hips up but his big brother will be there, Gerard will always be there ready to push right back.

The sun is going down when they walk to the car, Frank kicking a chunk of ice ahead of him all the way to their parking spot, Gerard sucking back a cigarette and coughing when he inhales too fast.

In the backseat Mikey runs his finger down the spines of cassette tapes as they swing out of the lot, dusk-gray Jersey slipping by in his peripheral vision. He pulls out a blank case and thinks about what\u2019ll go on their next mixtape.



(DVD commentary for this fic here<\/a>!)

<\/a>

"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:desfinado:12769","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/12769.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=12769"}}],"title":"desfinado @ 2010-04-20T00:59:00","published":"2010-04-20T04:59:29Z","updated":"2018-01-29T01:37:39Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"bandom"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"fic"}}],"content":"Title:<\/u> Because I've Only Got Two Hands<\/b>
Author:<\/u> <\/a>desfinado<\/b><\/a><\/span>
Pairing:<\/u> Gerard\/Mikey
Warnings:<\/u> Incest, underage
Rating:<\/u> NC-17
Word count:<\/u> 951
Disclaimer:<\/u> They don\u2019t belong to me; not making a profit.
Summary:<\/u> That's when he remembers to school his breath and the squeak of the bouncing mattress under the jack-knife of his hips<\/i>.


Notes:<\/u> A ficlet from this music-shuffle writing meme<\/a>. Prompt by <\/a>monvenin<\/b><\/a><\/span>: 4960 - Gerard\/Mikey, sour<\/i>. The Smiths - What Difference Does it Make? Listen<\/a>\/Download<\/a>



All men have secrets and here is mine<\/i>

Gerard knows the scent of his own spunk, sour and dried on his skin, from lifting up the heavy weight of his blankets in the morning. He knows it in the same way he knows the pattern of Mikey's before-bed ritual, the shuffle of socks from living room to bathroom and down the hall towards their room.

Gerard has an endless supply of excuses that get him off the couch at night, the brush of Mikey's thigh against his own as he stands to head to bed before the movie ends. His hands make shapes at Mikey's protests: flapping, awkward gestures of don't worry about me<\/i> and go on, go on, I'm fine<\/i>. Gerard tries not to think about the double-chin he gets when he frowns. Mikey has seen it his whole life, Gerard can't hide it from him.

Gerard usually gives himself enough time to brush his teeth, make faces at himself in the mirror, and climb into bed facing the wall, on his side. By the time the low buzz of noise from the TV dies out, Gerard already has a loose fist curled around his soft dick, idly fingering wiry hairs, thumb sliding slack skin back and forth.

It's the protest of the floorboards when Mikey stands up that Gerard waits for. He closes his eyes--face pressed into the pillow--and pictures his brother, the way he pulls himself up, stretches tall, the flat of his stomach. He pictures the way the sunken jersey fabric of Mikey's pajamas falls down the lines of his hips and the shape of his dick clear underneath it, almost obscene, the point which Gerard knows<\/i> is the tip of his brother's dick, shifting back and forth as he walks out of the room.

Gerard knows this, and feels the swell of his own cock in his hand. He has to move fast now that he hooks the elastic of his boxers down his hips and starts sliding his grip up and down, because Mikey comes down the stairs, heavy footfalls--so heavy for his small frame--and flips the bathroom light on, hum of the overhead fan.

Gerard lets his hips move back and forth, fucking into his fist like it could be something else--it's never been<\/i> anything else, but. Could be. There's the sound of water running and Gerard knows Mikey is leaning against the counter, knows how wide his shoulders look from the doorway, standing under the light, hunched over the sink. Gerard's shoulders curl in against his bed, shifting as the blankets move with his arm, the shake of the mattress.

It builds in Gerard's gut fast; when he's alone at home it never builds this fast, but it's because he knows he has to hurry this time. Gerard thinks about the red of Mikey's lips, wet with toothpaste foam and saliva, but it's cut with Gerard thinking what he'd do if Mikey suddenly walked in the room: he'd stop--just stop short, wouldn't lie on his back, wouldn't take his fingers from his hot, throbbing dick. He'd make himself stay like that until he fell asleep, because he knows he wouldn't finish with Mikey in the room.

The thought makes Gerard work for it, forces him to draw up all the half-formed images that get him to the edge fastest: sliding, hot tongues, people fucking, bloodied lips and the shadow of cleavage, the dimples in the backs of knees and the slope of a long neck ducked over the sink, the tinny sound of spit hitting the basin from down the hall. Gerard turns his face further into the pillow to quiet his breathing, soaking a spot into the fabric as saliva drips out the corner of his wide-open mouth.

It's easier on the nights when Gerard hears the sound of the toilet seat being flipped up; it gives him that extra minute, lets him think about long fingers, bitten-down dirty nails tucking under the elastic, reaching in to curl around his brother's cock. Just like Gerard, just down the hall, panting and tonguing rough cotton, hips stuttering into the dry, tight squeeze of shorter fingers.

When the sound of the fan cuts out, the silence always surprises Gerard. That's when he remembers to school his breath and the squeak of the bouncing mattress under the jack-knife of his hips. This is the real fucking race and Gerard knows exactly how long he doesn't have, knows the feeling of sweat breaking out across his back, in the folds of his knees, between his fingers, skin ablaze.

Gerard knows the soft sound of socks on the carpet, the shifting weight coming down the hall. When the doorknob turns, soft click in the dark room, Gerard squeezes as tight as he can, white-knuckled and grimacing into the pillow, and comes all over his fist. The feeling is like a supernova in his veins, shaking waves of pleasure out to his fingertips and his toes. Gerard has to tense, hold it all in, because that is the exact moment that Mikey looks over at Gerard's bed in the slant of light from the hall. Sometimes Gerard Charley-horses himself, muscles in his calves seizing up from being held so tense, but he rides it out. It makes Gerard feel like he's pulling out every last ounce of his orgasm. He can't move because Mikey is right there<\/i>, toothpaste-clean and sleepy-limbed, pulling up his covers.

Gerard doesn't shift around, just falls asleep like that. He likes to think that the evidence is right there in his loose fist, smeared on his belly under the covers, and all anybody would have to do is look<\/i>.

Gerard knows nobody will.

<\/a>

"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:desfinado:12160","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/12160.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=12160"}}],"title":"desfinado @ 2010-04-14T00:46:00","published":"2010-04-14T04:46:32Z","updated":"2018-01-29T01:37:44Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"bandom"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"#4386"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"fic"}}],"content":"Title:<\/u> On A Good Day<\/b>
Author:<\/u> <\/a>desfinado<\/b><\/a><\/span>
Pairing:<\/u> Frank\/Jamia
Rating:<\/u> NC-17
Word count:<\/u> 2809
Disclaimer:<\/u> They don\u2019t belong to me; not making a profit.
Notes:<\/u> A ficlet that grew, from this music-shuffle writing meme<\/a>. Prompt by <\/a>brooklinegirl<\/b><\/a><\/span>: frank\/jamia married bus during projrev, #4386<\/i>. Song: I Mother Earth - Raspberry (Listen<\/a>)
Summary:<\/u> Frank can't really help it, he's been moving on impulse all night<\/i>.





And on a good day, my mind is like the country... green, wide open, a breath of zen<\/i>

The day's been a long one, scheduled so tight that Frank's just committed himself to following the guys everywhere they go so he doesn't have to remember meeting places and times, always being handed microphones or guitars or sharpies, turning around and finding himself in a new conversation.

Lot parties are the way to deal with hectic days on tour: messy nights spent chasing down two-fours, tossing lighters, telling stories and doing stupid shit that'll make for good ones tomorrow night. It's a chaos that Frank knows well. From the sweat and the unpredictable lurch of the pit to back-slapping and hotboxing bathrooms at house parties, this is what he's grown up on and he fucking loves it. Things are always moving a step ahead of you and you just barrel right on through, finding your footing as you go.

The parking lot is lit up with trash can bonfires, fold-up lawn chairs scattered around them, as Frank laughs with Cortez and a few of his friends. Someone taps an unopened bottle of beer against Frank\u2019s sternum and he takes it with an appreciative eyebrow raise. He's still talking while he rucks his hoodie up, intending to pop the bottle top off with his belt buckle when a hand folds over his exposed side, squeezing hard.

\"Jesus, your fucking nails<\/i>!\" Frank laughs, hunching sideways protectively and elbowing Jamia hard as he turns to face her.

\"Deal with it, pussy.\" She smiles sweetly, eyes crinkling at the corners. \"I need you for a minute,\" she adds, pulling the beer bottle out of Frank's grasp and handing it to Cortez, \"consolation prize?\" He takes it with a nod.

Frank feels restless, used to conversation-hopping, and works his fingers under the hem of Jamia's t-shirt to tickle her belly. She grabs his hands, digging her nails in with another smile before pulling him off towards the buses at the distant edge of the lot, eyes glinting in the light of nearby fire when she looks back at him.

\"Oh really?\" Frank follows her with a skip, gets out ahead, jogging backwards and grinning at her, his hair bouncing in his face. \"You got that look like you want on my dick<\/i>.\"

Jamia smirks, but her hips sway and she makes a kissy face. \"Well I was<\/i> going to give you my bags and schedule for tomorrow, but you make such a strong case.\"

On the bus, Jamia heads into the bunk area and Frank follows. She reaches up to grab her bag, stowed in Frank\u2019s bunk, and her shirt sags down one freckled shoulder. Frank can't really help it, he's been moving on impulse all night: he grabs her hips hard, digging fingers into the soft give of flesh and the fabric of her skirt, pulling her back against him and closing his mouth over her shoulder, his hair falling down around his face. Jamia stills, one hand in her backpack.

\"No business right now,\u201d Frank says into her skin, smelling bonfire smoke and cigarettes, \u201cyou gotta stop looking so fuckin' good, okay?\" He feels her breathe deep, pushing slightly back against him as he grinds his hips forward, half-hard and trailing sloppy kisses up and down from her ear to the edge of her collar. The heat of her body feels good against his, like all the other bodies he's been bumping into all day; but hers is the only one that's his<\/i>, that he knows every inch of, that he's allowed to touch.

\"Shit,\" Jamia mutters, slapping a hand out against the edge of the bunk to hold herself up because Frank's rolling his hips hard against her ass, fingers splayed across the front of her hips. He\u2019s bunching the black cotton of her skirt up her thighs and the feel of her against him like this is so good, he doesn't want to ruin it by getting undressed.

Frank grunts as she rubs her ass back, using the resistance from the bunk, and his cock's pushing hard against his fly already. He\u2019s going commando because it's laundry day--it's been laundry day all week--and it's painful but overwhelming, which is exactly what Frank needs right now.

\"J, I want. Christ\u2026\" he swallows thick around his own spit and closes his eyes, biting hard into the meat of her shoulder as she shifts against him in perfect rhythm. \"You move like a fucking dancer, you know that?\"

\"Trained in the Jersey pits, baby, you know me.\" Jamia huffs a laugh, and her voice has dropped the way it always does when she's turned on. Frank has to feel her too now, wants to see just how she's doing. He gathers the hem of her skirt up higher in his fingers and cups his hand over her underwear, warm and soft and wet<\/i>, that spot right where the calloused pads of his middle and forefinger rest, between her thighs. He pushes in slightly, rubs little circles, feels the fabric get even more damp.

\"Fuck, yeah,\" Jamia groans, loud just like Frank loves her to be, no fucking princess in the bedroom.

\"Sorry J, but I am so fucking done with foreplay tonight,\" Frank says, rushed and laughing, against the flushed skin of her neck. The feel of her cunt, wet and soft under cotton, the fragile curve of her shoulder, the strength in her arm, flexing as she pushes herself back against his cock... he's feeling too much at once right now to make any sort of game plan other than: \"You wanna get fucked?\"

Jamia doesn't turn around, just gets her hand in between their bodies to flip the back of her skirt up and bends over, both hands bracing on the lower bunk.

\"Oh god<\/i>,\" Frank groans, palming the pale soft of her ass. \"You leaving these on?\" he asks, snapping the elastic of her bright red panties.

\"Are you gonna do me or what?\" Jamia asks, one knee buckling as she cocks her hips out to the side, and Frank has to\u2014-fuck<\/i>. He wants to just stand back and appreciate<\/i> her, all these curves and this strength and attitude bent over and waiting for him, but he can't stop touching her, running his hand up the length of her back, bending his body over hers to cup her tits over her shirt, swaying in his palms.

\"Okay, okay. Fuck.\" Frank has to stand back up, popping the button and getting his jeans down over his knees to pull his dick out, red and curving up in his palm. \"Just like this?\" he asks, because yeah, they don't have anything<\/i> with them right now and they don\u2019t bareback a lot, they know they\u2019re running a risk. But Frank likes the way his cock looks, hard and bare against Jamia's skin, and things feel pretty fucking immediate.

Jamia reaches back, grabs one of Frank's hands and pulls it forwards so he has to brace a hand on her hip and lean over her. He feels the wet of her spitting into his palm, a hot twist in his belly at something that should be gross but only feels sexy.

\"Just put your fucking dick in me,\" she says, low and dangerous, when she passes his hand back.

\"Right on,\" Frank grins, slicking himself up and using his dry hand to pull her underwear out of the way, hooking his thumb into the elastic that runs across her ass cheek and holding it off to the side, cutting into her skin. Her pussy looks so good like that, dark and damp in the curve between the tops of her thighs.

\"Okay, okay,\" and he's saying that more to himself at this point as he swipes his wet palm across her cunt, tips of two fingers dipping inside and fuck, fuck, they slide in so easily and her breath hitches--he has to do this now or it\u2019s gonna be over.

He lines up and pushes inside her partway, hot and wet around the head of his cock. He pulls out a bit before pushing back in, sliding until he's slicked and all the way inside her. Frank's hands are on her ass, holding her underwear aside as she takes a deep breath in and out. His fingers dig in, spreading her apart so he can see himself slide out slowly and fuck, it's like all the noise, all the sensation, narrows to one point of focus: just right there.

\"You feel so good, J. Damn.\"

\"No shit,\" she says, pushing herself back so he slides in again. He laughs and groans at the same time.

\"Fuck, alright, okay.\" And then Frank's fucking her, hips shifting back when he slides out, pulling her hard against him as he pushes in. God<\/i> it feels good, and Jamia's moaning and swearing as he pushes deep inside her, as he grinds hard when he's all the way in. Frank tosses his head, trying to shake stringy hair out of his face.

He takes in how she looks like this, elbows locked to hold herself up off the edge of the bunk, skirt up around her lower back, hair swinging forward with each thrust, the long line of her neck and shoulder as she shifts. Fuck, he has to be able to touch, to know what every inch of her feels like as he pushes inside her, wet heat like fucking silk against his dick--and the feeling of going bareback is so rare, so good<\/i>, the idea of it just being them, skin on skin.

Frank pushes Jamia's t-shirt up in the back, runs his palm up the smooth freckled line of her shifting spine, over the strap of her bra and back down, sliding around to her belly. He feels her jiggle with the impact of his thrusts and he groans, \"Shit, J,\" because he loves feeling her move with him.

Jamia grunts and starts pushing back to match his thrusts, only slightly off his rhythm, and his hips slam her ass hard when they meet. The edge of her underwear is slipping back into place, dry cotton dragging against the side of Frank's dick but he doesn't care, likes the idea of it too much to be anything but into it.

\"Touch my fucking tits already,\" she says, and Frank will never hesitate when she asks like that, just slaps one hand on the upper bunk and leans over to push her t-shirt up over her swaying breasts with the other. He palms one and then the other over her bra, squeezing hard, kneading, as his hair falls into his face and brushes along Jamia\u2019s back, getting damp with his sweat. He holds on tight for a minute and just feels the impact as he fucks her, the way her tits move with it--everything<\/i> moving, all from that one point of contact, sliding inside her.

Jamia's legs have gotten closer together and when Frank slides forward he's smearing wet around the backs of her inner thighs, he can feel them against his dick whenever he pulls out, loves the idea of her with her clothes pushed up and aside, well-fucked and messy.

\"You doing good?\" he asks, pinching her nipple tight between his thumb and the side of his forefinger, fingers digging hard into flesh. He's hot as hell inside his hoodie, the strings swinging forward and back, sweat beading across his back and his hairline.

\"Yeah,\" she says on an exhale, catching her breath, and then: \"you wanna help me do better?\"

Frank grins at her back. He loves her lines, she sounds like a porn star but when they're fucking it's never cheesy, she always makes it work--he loves that.

\"Always,\" he grunts, prying one of Jamia\u2019s hands from its grip on the lower bunk ledge and pulling it back to her abdomen.

He just means to guide her own fingers into her underwear but he remembers how he pulled it aside, and he can feel how it's stretched tight to cut a line across the soft folds of her cunt, pressed hard up against her as she moves. It's hot--Frank wishes he could see. He settles for picturing it instead, knows the deep pink colouring there, the smell, the shade of darker hair.

\"C'mon, what d'you have those strong fingers for, J?\" he murmurs in encouragement, guiding her fingers under the elastic of her underwear to find her clit. She moans and rubs in tight circles, the way she always does to herself, jolted slightly back-and-forth as Frank\u2019s hips work behind her.

The way he's leaning over her now, he can barely pull out but he pushes hard to make up for it, knows that this angle gets her g-spot dead on. He can tell in the way her knees keep drawing together, her ass pushing back against him, hitching higher onto the balls of her feet to get him deeper inside.

\"Yeah?\" he asks, locking his elbow to keep himself steady on the upper bunk as he twists her underwear in his other hand and pulls slightly, elastic cutting tighter into her flesh, over her fast-moving fingertips.

\"Fuck,\" she chokes out, and Frank moans immediately in response--he's such a fucking slut for this girl, seriously--as he pulls the fabric tighter, feels the edge of the elastic against the side of his dick, a dry rub that only makes the wet heat inside Jamia feel that much better. \"Frank,\" she says, \"Frank--can you do that\u2026 ungh. Higher.\"

\"Yeah, yeah,\" he answers before he even knows what he's doing, the clarity only coming from the fact that everything is focused on a two-foot radius of his dick right now. He twists the elastic edge of the underwear higher, nearer her clit, her hips jerking with his.

\"Oh shit,\" she breathes, and he feels her thighs shake, knows exactly what it means, \"oh shit Frank, come on<\/i>,\" and he barks a short laugh at her because she bullies him when she\u2019s about to come and he loves it. \u201cFuck off, I mean it,\u201d she mutters, groaning through the words, \u201cfuck, oh--oh<\/i>. Fuck. Please--\"

When she comes, Frank had nearly stopped fucking her, focused instead on holding tight and letting her grind her hips against him, letting her fingers circle tight under fabric. But at the feeling of her clenching hard down on his cock, the sight of the sag of her head and the long, low moan she lets out, Frank is fucking buzzing. He stands up, shaking hair out of his face, and curls his hands over her hips--inked skin against the black of her flipped-up skirt--as he fucks her hard and fast.

\"Jesus christ,\" she moans, thighs still clenching and unclenching, because she loves riding it out like this, and fuck, Frank feels so--

\"Yeah. J, you don't even know--you feel so fucking tight and wet, God<\/i>,\" he wants to keep his eyes open but he's focused so hard, holding his breath, eyebrows drawn together and jaw locked, mouth open. He slams into her and feels the impact through her hips and her body. He's so fucking close, knows what it means and hates it, but\u2014

Frank pulls out, sweaty hand clamped tight around the base of his dick and he jacks it hard and fast, chasing it down. His dick is sticky from Jamia's cunt, shiny with it, and he knows exactly what it must taste like.

\"Your fucking canvas, babe,\" Jamia says from where her head\u2019s hanging below her shoulders and Frank laughs, squeezes her ass in response. His breathing is so loud, the slap-slap of his fist working his cock, and it's happening and oh shit<\/i> it hits him hard, the sparking of nerve endings down his spine and out across his shoulders and prickling the hairs at the nape of his neck, \"Fuck, fuck...<\/i>\" He's dimly aware of holding Jamia flush against him as he grinds his dick--wet from her cunt and his come--against her ass, smearing her underwear and her soft, soft skin.

One of Jamia's elbows buckle and they both lurch forward, Frank just catching himself in time. He drops hard to the bus floor, legs and feet tangled awkwardly underneath him in his jeans. Jamia follows quickly, nearly-bare ass on the floor, leaning back against the bunk on the opposite wall. She's got a shit-eating grin going, eyes bright under her bangs and her cheeks flushed red. \"Nice.\"

\"Hey,\" Frank says, shoving at one of her bent bare knees, \"a fucking masterpiece.\"

Jamia laughs that loud, pretty laugh that Frank loves, her tits shaking with her t-shirt still pushed up above them. \"D'you need to go back out there and run a few laps or are you good now?\"

\"No fucking clue what you're talking about,\" Frank says, head falling back against the edge of the lower bunk behind him, eyes sliding shut, and he feels--for once today--like he doesn't need to move.



Unbeta'd, feedback is appreciated!
<\/a>

"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:desfinado:7437","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/7437.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=7437"}}],"title":"desfinado @ 2010-02-22T14:46:00","published":"2010-02-22T19:46:12Z","updated":"2018-01-29T01:39:18Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"bandom"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"fic"}}],"content":"Title:<\/u> First Class<\/b>
Author:<\/u> <\/a>desfinado<\/b><\/a><\/span>
Pairing:<\/u> Frank\/Gerard
Rating:<\/u> NC-17
Word count:<\/u> 1687
Disclaimer:<\/u> They don\u2019t belong to me; not making a profit.
Notes:<\/u> For <\/a>mrsronweasley<\/b><\/a><\/span> who is having a shitty day and deserves a better one! With shameless porn!
Summary:<\/u> Gerard is totally disturbed, because he's sort of obsessed with making Frank drool.<\/i>

<\/a>shiningartifact<\/b><\/a><\/span> has recorded a totally incredible, totally filthy podfic of this story and you should listen to it immediately<\/i>! Check it out here<\/a>.





Gerard is totally disturbed, because he's sort of obsessed with making Frank drool.

It's not even the kind of obsession he can keep to himself, because Frank is an obnoxious asshole<\/i> who always catches Gerard watching when Frank takes a sloppy swig from a water bottle and it dribbles down his chin, Frank's fist rubbing wet and messy around his shiny red mouth. Frank also has no sense of decency because, even though Gerard is in the middle of a conversation with his brother, Frank grins from behind Mikey, alternating bringing his fist to his lips and poking his cheek out with his tongue.

It really shouldn't be sexy, but Gerard is troubled<\/i>, so he starts choking on his own saliva\u2014which he should have learned how to swallow by now\u2014and Frank keeps doing it, adding crossed eyes when Mikey turns around to see. His own brother is laughing now as Frank fake-gags and Gerard's belly twists hotly without his permission. For fuck's sake.

Half an hour later in the locked dressing room, though, Frank's gagging for real, lips stretch tight and wide around Gerard's dick, and it is so fucking worth it.

Gerard's in one of the make-up chairs, hands clenched white-knuckled on the armrests, slumped so low the bottom of his ass is hanging off the chair and his legs are bent, spread wide. The position puts the shoulder padding of his Black Parade jacket up around his ears, pinching tight in his armpits, and Gerard thinks his bare thighs look jiggly, white and awkward with their sparse black hairs but he also kind of likes the idea of keeping the jacket on.

Frank is on his haunches, Adidas folded under him, and he's got his shirtsleeves rolled up his forearms, hands braced on Gerard's pale thighs, elbows bending as he ducks and lifts. His eyelashes cast a soft shadow against his cheeks but it's deceptively vulnerable, with the swing of Frank's long hair messy and sweat-damp across his face and the muscles shifting in his forearms; all that ink against Gerard's skin, the darker tan of Frank's hands and arms looks really fucking good.

Gerard's grunting and breathing heavily, the hot wet slide of Frank\u2019s mouth winding him up slowly. In the empty room it's Frank that's the loudest, he always is, the wet smacking of skin-on-skin and sudden slurps whenever he breaks his suction. There's spit sliding down the bottom of Gerard's cock, the part that Frank can't reach with just his lips, and along Gerard's balls. The displacement of air as Frank moves cools it there and fuck<\/i> that feels good.

\"Frank,\" Gerard grits out, prying his fingers from their death-grip on the arm of the chair to fold over one of Frank's hands. Frank blinks up at him, eyes blown. Gerard places Frank's hand on the base of his dick, fingertips in short, wiry curls.

Frank doesn't waste any time, pulls off and works his cheeks before he spits into his palm. Gerard's mouth drops open as he watches it drip slow and wet from Frank's puckered lips. Frank grins at him, wraps his slippery palm around Gerard's cock, forefinger and thumb a tight, squeezing circle. He pauses, looking up, and Gerard stares. Frank's got a vice grip on him, right at the base, and Gerard's dick stands out impossibly hard and red as Frank angles it left and then right, licks his lips and leans back, like he's really looking at it. Veins are sticking out in relief, head a dark red-purple, and the whole length is fucking glistening<\/i>, wet and messy with Frank's spit.

\"You got a first-class dick,\" Frank says in an appraising voice, sitting back on his heels, holding his arm out straight and pushing down at Gerard's base so his dick is hard and still.

\"Shit,\" Gerard grunts, because he already feels like a bit of an asshole with the jacket on, but Frank's goading him on here. \"You like it?\"

Frank raises his eyebrows, shakes his sweaty hair out of his face. \"Do I like your cock?\" His mouth rounds out the last syllable, stays open.

Gerard narrows his eyes, nods slowly. He looks down at himself and Frank's hand, scribbled with tattoos, spread around him. And yeah, his cock does look fucking great<\/i> like that, jutting hard and long and red from circled fingers and dark curls.

\"Eh,\" Frank shrugs. \"I take it back. I don\u2019t see what\u2019s so\u2014\"

\"What's so fucking special<\/i> about it,\" Gerard interrupts, \"is that this dick\u2014\" his chin's on his chest because he's slouched in the chair but he schools his face, fierce, jaw set, \"\u2014is the dick\u2014\" Gerard meets Frank's eyes, which are shining with defiance (but Gerard knows he fucking loves<\/i> this), \"\u2014that you're going to choke yourself on while you come all over the floor of this dressing room.\"

Frank squeezes the tight ring of his fingers, grinning. \"Yes fucking please,\" he breathes, before lowering himself again. Gerard's chest hitches and he watches as Frank licks and then pouts his lips. Using his hand still wrapped around the base, he guides the head of Gerard's cock along his top and then his bottom lip, like fucking lipstick<\/i>, before running it back and forth across the seam of his lips, wet and shining red. The metal of his lip ring is a flash of cool that sets Gerard's skin ablaze, sweat breaking out across his lower back under the heavy fabric of the jacket.

\"Suck my dick,\" Gerard grinds out, bucking his hips up, and his cock slides wet and messy across Frank's flushed cheek, catching a few strands of his hair, \"motherfucker.\"

Frank groans then, loud and uninhibited\u2014which Gerard fucking loves about Frank, he'll annoy the hell out of you but has no reservations about enjoying it\u2014and sucks Gerard's length into his mouth. It\u2019s good in a new way, in a more immediate, brain-melting sort of way. Gerard can hear choppy breath, the wet sounds of movement, as Frank sucks up and down, fast and sloppy, his fist pumping at the base in time, spit-slick and impossibly tight.

\"Want to see you\u2014\" Gerard says in a hoarse voice, getting close, \"\u2014come all over the dirty floor.\"

Frank shuffles forward on his knees, not breaking his slippery suction, gets his free hand to his belt and sits up briefly to open his fly and pull his dick out. The dry slap-slap of his hand, the jerk of his shoulders and the sound of moving fabric is all the indication Gerard has that he's jacking himself off.

Frank's eyes are closed but he moans, vibration all along Gerard's dick, and his eyebrows draw together. It's so fucking hot, this inked, sweaty guitarist hunched over between Gerard\u2019s knees, left arm shaking with the movement of his hand in his lap, compact energy and strength all concentrated on getting them both off.

\"Fucker,\" Gerard groans, reaches down to skate his fingertips across Frank's hollowed cheeks. Fuck, he can feel<\/i> himself in there, the way Frank's cheeks suck in and then fill, that hardness that he knows is his dick.

Gerard's getting overwhelmed by the heat and wet of Frank's mouth, the tightness of the suction, and slips one finger inside the seam of his red lips just underneath his cock, alongside Frank's lip ring. Frank moans around him again, and shit<\/i> that feels good. Gerard pulls his finger out, saliva dripping down Frank's chin, and he smears it around Frank's cheek. The glistening wet on his skin and lips, all over Frank's knuckles and the letters there, makes Gerard's hips jerk. God, he is so close<\/i>.

\"Don't fucking stop,\" Gerard warns, fits his hand under Frank's ear and jaw, pulling Frank's head forward in time with his movement. Frank's moaning on every exhale now, hiccuping for breath, shoulders shaking as he fists his dick, eyebrows knitted together under the swing of his hair, sticking to the wet smeared across his face. \"Holy shit holy shit, don't even\u2014don't\u2014\" Gerard gasps, hands flying up, fingers raking down his own face. His knees jerk together around Frank's ears as he comes. \"Fuuuuuuuuuck.\"

Frank pulls off, coughing, face pressed into the soft pale of Gerard's thigh. Gerard's done, totally fucking done, but can feel Frank shaking as he speeds up the movement of his own hand, can feel a bit of wet\u2014spit, probably some of his own come\u2014dribble out of Frank's parted lips.

\"Christ,\" Frank mutters, \"ungh.\" And then he stills, moaning open-mouthed into Gerard's thigh, before slumping against him.

Gerard is dimly aware of his dick softening, saliva cooling on his skin. His thighs start to quiver, muscles failing him, and he hoists himself to sit upright in the chair with a grunt. Frank makes a noise, displaced.

\"Goddamn,\" Gerard smiles.

Frank grins up at him as he lifts onto his knees, pushes damp hair out of his face with his clean hand. \"Yeah?\"

\"Fuck<\/i> yeah,\" Gerard says without missing a beat, watching Frank wipe his other hand off on the linoleum floor and button his pants.

When Gerard's retrieved his pants from the other chair and is lacing up his boot, Frank flicks at one of the brass buttons on his chest. Gerard looks up at him.

\"That thing gives you an ego, you know,\" Frank grins.

Gerard shrugs, shoulder padding shifting up and back down as he stands. \"Maybe it's not the jacket. Maybe it's my first-class dick<\/i>,\" he ducks to whisper against Frank's cheek. It's still messy-damp and Frank turns, kisses Gerard quick before biting at his bottom lip. Gerard steps back, laughing, tucking his hair behind his ear before following Frank out into the hall.

Gerard does feel pretty good about himself right now. The thing he won't tell anyone is that it's secretly because of how awesome Frank is.



Thanks for reading! Feedback always appreciated.

<\/a>

"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:desfinado:6776","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/6776.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=6776"}}],"title":"desfinado @ 2010-02-18T12:15:00","published":"2010-02-18T17:15:19Z","updated":"2018-01-29T01:38:09Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"bandom"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"fic"}}],"content":"Title:<\/u> Your Man<\/b>
Author:<\/u> <\/a>desfinado<\/b><\/a><\/span>
Pairing:<\/u> Mikey\/Alicia, Mikey\/Pete
Rating:<\/u> R
Word count:<\/u> 3875
Disclaimer:<\/u> They don\u2019t belong to me; not making a profit.
Notes:<\/u> An alleged 'ficlet' that got away from me. For <\/a>listedheart<\/b><\/a><\/span>, who asked for Pete\/Mikey\/Alicia after the summer of like. It sort of took off in its own direction, so I apologize! Many thanks to <\/a>mrsronweasley<\/b><\/a><\/span> and <\/a>ivesia19<\/b><\/a><\/span> for making it readable. <3
Summary:<\/u> Alicia's trying to figure out why Mikey won't take charge, and ends up with a relationship intervention from Pete.



Alicia isn't complaining or anything, but she needs to get laid.

Sure there are moments behind stacks of amps, two of Mikey's long fingers on the line of her jaw, his tongue sliding against hers. Or in the back lounge, Ray's guitar bumping the backs of her legs, her fingers walking up the knobs of Mikey\u2019s spine and her mouth on his neck, drawing out soft noises as his fingers flutter from her hips to her hair and back. But it's been a few weeks of moments<\/i>, and she can't tell if there's ever going to be more.

Alicia feels like she's wooing a fucking virgin with how passive Mikey Way seems to be. It's bizarre because she sees him around backstage, the way he gets so animated that his voice cracks when he tells people stories from Belleville, or how he waves his hands around before tucking them in his armpits when he tries to convince people to listen to some obscure band.

She could read him well enough to know he was interested in her at the start of the tour, the way he'd always end up behind her in line at the food tent, the nonsense texts she'd get that would make her laugh sudden and loud from the back of some band's trailer. Alicia remembers the first time she caught Mikey looking: she was bent over double, pushing fingers through her hair, sweaty from carrying gear. When she stood up and shook her hair over her shoulder she saw him, hands in the tiny pockets of his jeans, one foot turned in, watching her. Behind his glasses his eyes seemed huge and dark.

In a way it's kind of sexy, because it's hard to get alone time on tour. Instead they pass each other throughout the day, between his interviews and signings and her sets. They duck behind tents, fingers curling into hoodie strings, hair, belt loops, always pulling closer. She knows they\u2019re both into it, knows it in the hot line of his dick against her hip and the way it makes her shift, rubbing her thighs together. Alicia likes that they sneak those moments when they can, but it's the build-up that makes it hot and she doesn't know if it's building up to anything.

\"Maybe he's self-conscious, or doesn't know what he's doing?\" Alicia lifts up her bottle of Heineken, swiping her palm across the wet ring on the bar table before wiping it off on her jeans. \"Or maybe he's nervous\u2014oh god<\/i> what if he's a virgin, is that even statistically possible on this tour?\" Her eyebrows draw together but she softens immediately. \"Or he's trying to take it slow<\/i> to respect me. Shit. I hope he wasn't traumatized.\"

\"No trauma, and Mikey Way knows what he's doing,\" Pete assures her, pulling the zipper of his hoodie up and down. Alicia had run into him backstage\u2014he was up visiting the tour for a few days\u2014and it hadn't been hard to convince him to come out to the bar the crew had taken over that night.

\"Yeah?\" She swirls her beer in the bottle, takes another swig, eyes scanning the crowd before falling back on Pete.

The corners of his mouth pull up. \"And he's not self-conscious. Mikey knows how hot he is.\" Alicia can't seem to make that fit with the Mikey she knows, who stands with his shoulders hunched and drops one-liners that most people don't hear about wrestlers and Britpop.

\"Then what's his deal?\"

Pete grins, bites his bottom lip. \"Maybe he's not into you. I know, I know! How is that even statistically possible<\/i>?\"

Alicia smacks the side of his head, and he ducks to rearrange his stupid bangs, smiling. \"I don't need any shit from you, shortstuff,\" she says in a fond voice. \"It's pretty obvious he's interested, okay?\" She thinks about the tentative way Mikey's fingers touch her skin, the soft way he says her name.

Pete swipes a broad thumb back and forth across his bottom lip, considering. \"Okay. Okay.\" He shifts on his seat, turning to face her, spreading his thighs and tucking his hideous orange sneakers behind the legs of the barstool as he plants his hands on his knees. \"How many texts a day?\"

Alicia laughs, loud and full, the kind she loves people pulling out of her. \"Are you serious?\" Pete's elbows are bent and he's leaning in, eyebrows raised. \"Fine. Jesus. Ten? Fifteen?\"

Pete wolf whistles, straightens his arms and sits upright. \"Any song lyrics?\"

\"Not like cheesy, romantic ones, but.\" Alicia twists her nose ring, runs her fingers back through her hair, thinks If a double-decker bus crashes into us<\/i>, and\u2014\"Yeah, there have been song lyrics.\"

Pete snaps his fingers then, grinning. \"Congratulations!\"

\"Fuck off,\" Alicia says, laughing. She sits up briefly to pull the back of her tank top down; she always flashes her ass on barstools. Fucking low-rise. \"I don't need you telling me that. I need you telling me why he won't go anywhere near my tits.\"

\"Mikey's got his own way of doing things... you just gotta operate on Mikey Time,\" Pete explains.

She takes one last pull off her beer bottle, sets it down only a little unsteadily on the bar. \"I wish I knew the fucking schedule.\"

\"Yeah?\" Pete's eyes are big and dark in the dim of the bar, in the shadow of the hair in his face, and he pauses. It's all the more noticeable because of the entropy of Pete, how he's always in motion. He looks back and forth between Alicia's eyes. \"Okay.\" His face splits into a grin and he flicks her right in the middle of her forehead.

\"Ow! Hey\u2014\" she starts, but Pete hops off the stool and he's pushing through the crowd before she can say any more. He takes a few waddling steps to get his phone out of his back pocket before the door bangs shut behind him and he's out into the night.

Alicia orders another beer and hopes to god Pete's got more tact now that he's nearing thirty; the last thing she needs is a fourth-grade intervention. She drops a handful of bills on the bar and slides off the stool, heading toward a group of familiar faces by the dart boards.



It's half-past one in the morning and Alicia's on her second pitcher with the merch kids; they're fun and she hasn't caught up with them in a while. She teaches one of the new girls how to play it cool when she's standing in line for the port-a-john behind a guy whose face she used to stick all over her high school binders. Alicia likes the respect she gets from the crew\u2014she knows her shit, and she's cool, friends with lots of the bands, been around a while. She's in the middle of telling two merch girls and a tech guy about the time she found a groupie hiding in an amp case when she sees familiar broad shoulders push through the door, the white flash of glasses frames.

Alicia must be a bit drunk because she's halfway across the room before she even realizes it, the three at the back table staring after her. The tight stretch of Mikey's Stone Roses t-shirt across his shoulders sets a low thrum through her, settling in the pit of her belly. She curls her fingers around his bony elbow and Mikey blinks and smiles down at her. His eyes are so fucking pretty; he's nearly wearing as much eye shadow as her. Damn, she is definitely<\/i> into this dude.

\"Hi,\" she says, soft and stupid, and only then notices who's standing in front of them: \"Pete.\"

\"'Leesh,\" he grins, biting at the corner of his bottom lip. She wants to be wary about what he's told Mikey, but when she slips her hand to the warm, solid small of Mikey's back and looks up at his face again she catches his eyes flicking up from her chest and Alicia can't seem to find it in herself to be concerned right now.

\"How was the interview?\" she asks.

\"Not bad.\" She feels the shift of Mikey's spine as he shrugs, and her hand slips under his shirt as it lifts, skin smooth and a bit sweat-damp under her palm. \"I didn't really say much other than my name.\"

\"Mikey's practicing to be a mime,\" Pete explains, plucks at the front of Mikey's t-shirt, \"but he's undercover now, he used to wear the stripy shirts all the time.\"

Mikey smiles in that way Alicia's noticed he does when he's being made fun of, like he doesn't really mind. It makes it hard for her\u2014especially<\/i> her\u2014not to join in. \"I heard from the techs that your French phase never caught on.\"

Mikey purses his lips and rotates his fists under his eyes, making a sad face. Pete's got his heh heh<\/i> frat boy laugh going as he joins in, drawing the bow back on an invisible violin.

\"Nuh-uh, Mikey's got the emotional thing down<\/i>.\" Alicia schools her face into a bored expression, squinting off into the back of the bar, slouching, turning one foot in and plucking at an imaginary bass.

Mikey grins down at her and says, in a small voice, \"Hey! I'm in the zone<\/i> when I play,\" and Alicia grins back before Pete is slapping them both hard on their arms.

\"Guys! Guys! We all play bass!\" Alicia nods. \"We should jam<\/i>, can you imagine how sweet that would be? We could have an acoustic side project.\"

\"Fuck yes,\" Mikey shifts his weight between his feet, warm up against Alicia as she slides her hand around to bracket his hip, \"three unplugged bass players, that's shit you can groove to.\"

Pete's grinning and looking back and forth between the two of them, and Alicia gets the chilling feeling that she and Mikey are suddenly, out of nowhere, about to receive relationship advice<\/i>. But instead Pete hops onto one foot, digs his hand into his pants pocket, and pulls out a keychain that he dangles in front of them. \"You guys are awesome. Want to come hang out at my place?\"

\"Your place?\" Alicia asks.

\"The van Dirty and I drove down in. It's seriously nostalgic.\"

Alicia feels Mikey's gaze on her for a moment, like he wants her to make the call. \u201cWhy not?\u201d



Pete and Mikey are settled at opposite ends of the backseat, leaning against the windows with their knees bent, dirty shoes on the seat. Alicia's reclined in the one in front of them, right arm across the vinyl of the seat-back, chin resting just above her elbow as she watches them catch up.

\"\u2014she was pretty hot, you know,\" Pete is saying, eyebrows lifted.

\"No, she was probably fourteen, okay?\" Mikey shakes his head, knocks his knees together. \"You are such a creepy old man. I felt bad, but I had to turn her down.\"

\"Having a conscience must suck, you should tell me about it sometime,\" Pete grins. \"Heartbreaker.\"

\"Dream maker,\" Mikey adds without missing a beat, \"love taker.\"

\"Don't you mess around with me!<\/i>\" the three of them sing, loud and off-key, before breaking down into laughter, Alicia's muffled against her inner arm. She's still a bit buzzed from the bar and was thinking about getting Mikey alone somewhere tonight, but Pete's an old friend\u2014of both of theirs\u2014and this is nice. She likes this little space they've got going in the back of a van that smells like dirty socks and spilled soda, the dark of the parking lot around them making it feel like they could be anywhere in the world.

Pete sits up on his knees and settles back on his heels, rubbing his hands up and down on his thighs. \"But rumour has it you've snagged the hottest chick on tour,\" he grins, nodding sideways at Alicia. She blows a raspberry into her arm in response.

\"Rumour, huh?\" Mikey quirks one thick, arched eyebrow at her and the corner of his mouth is pulling up in a way that makes her chest feel a bit full. His fingers are linked behind his head as he leans back against the window.

\"Is she putting out? I hear she can be a bit of a stony bitch.\" Alicia rolls her eyes at Pete's idea of tact.

Mikey raises his eyebrows but says nothing, and Alicia thinks this boy needs to get to know her a bit better if he thinks she's the kind of girl who keeps this kind of a thing secret. \"We'll see,\" she answers for him, looking at Pete. \"I'm no blushing virgin.\"

\"What, he's not sweeping you off your feet?\" Pete wiggles on his heels, and he is so<\/i> loving this conversation. Alicia can only imagine what a horrific relationship counselor he'd be.

\"Depends what you mean by that,\" Alicia says, trying to be vague, because she doesn't actually know what Mikey's deal is with all this no-second-base bullshit. She draws her knees into her chest and wraps her arms around them, shaking her hair back over her shoulders.

\"Like pinning you against a bus?\" Pete's looking at Mikey now, who is the master of unreadable expressions. \"One hand around your wrists? Fist in your hair?\" Alicia lifts her eyebrows, because she's not sure they're having the same conversation anymore. \"Thought you had bigger balls than that, Mikey Way.\"

Mikey looks coolly back at him as Pete shifts, tucking first one then the other hand under himself, between his ass and his orange sneakers. It makes his back arch, his chest pushed out, and Alicia thinks he looks sort of on display<\/i>. \"Did you tell her?\" Pete asks in that I-dare-you kind of voice Alicia knows well.

Mikey sits up after a moment, swings his legs off the seat and reaches out, placing a thumb under Pete's prominent chin, forefinger above. Pete's mouth is closed but his smile spreads wide anyway, wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. The gesture seems unfamiliar, not like the Mikey Alicia knows. His face looks darker, the angles more severe, eyes lined with sweated-out eyeliner, the shadow across the bow of his upper lip more pronounced. Pete's uncharacteristically silent.

Mikey lifts Pete's chin with his fingers, turns it side to side. Pete's eyes fall shut, breath hitching, and Alicia could swear he pushes his chest out that much more, deepens the arch of his back. She hears Mikey sigh and suddenly he\u2019s looking straight at her. She feels it like a flash of heat across her skin, and she knows<\/i> that look. She squeezes her thighs together where they\u2019re pressed up against her tits.

\"Pete wants you to know. I wouldn't have\u2014you didn't need to know, but.\" Mikey's fingers drop from Pete's face and land in his own lap. He leans forward, tucks his chin over the back of Alicia's seat, and it's a tender look as he searches her face. \"He and I. We...\" it's enough, and Mikey stops there.

She's hot all over again, a twisting in her gut that's the faltering of her pride, the confidence that she even remotely knows what she's doing with either of the boys in this van. Thinking about Mikey's fingers that slip across her skin on the tanned, taught lines of Pete's stomach instead.

\"He's got... energy. Lots of it, and. Lots of thoughts.\" Mikey hooks an arm over the seat back, palm folding large and warm over Alicia's knee. \"Needs someone to, um.\"

She gets the hint. \"Pin him to a bus?\" She has to swallow before she gets the words out, but she smiles, and the smile she gets back from Mikey lets her know it's okay. She kisses Mikey's hand, lips closing softly over a knuckle.

Mikey nods before sitting back, hand slipping from her knee. \"I didn't think I was really that kind of person, but.\" He lifts those wide shoulders as if to say I was with Pete<\/i>. People are a lot of interesting things when they're with Pete, Alicia's noticed. With him, she's a bit more outgoing and obnoxious; they rip on each other and she likes the feeling\u2014someone she can talk trash to with no feelings hurt.

Mikey turns to Pete again and he's still drawn back, sitting on his hands, but he's watching them. \"It started,\" Mikey clears his throat, lifts a hesitant hand in the air towards Pete, hovering above his chest, \"when he told me about his anxiety attacks.\" Mikey's hand falls back to his lap. \"I guess I helped him focus, feel in control of it, or whatever.\"

Alicia's waiting for more but it doesn't come, and Mikey's looking at his own hands. Finally Pete hums, extracts his hands and swings his legs over the side of the seat, sits down normally. He's looking at Mikey. \"Guess you have changed, dude.\" Pete blinks, turns to Alicia, \"Your man here was in control, that's how he helped me deal.\" He's got a soft, sad smile going that Alicia doesn't see on him often.

It's quiet, and Alicia doesn't know if there's animosity or whatever between them, but feels like she should at least be clear on her part: \"That's cool. I mean\u2014whatever, I don\u2019t mind.\" She smiles when they both look up at her.

\"So I guess that's not how it is with you guys, huh?\" Pete says on a small laugh, leaning back against the window and tucking his knees up to his chest, mirroring Alicia.

She stays quiet, because she has no clue. She already told Pete what she was confused about when they were at the bar earlier. \"You're both gonna make me answer that, huh?\" Mikey says to his lap, smiling.

Alicia smiles. \"If you want to hold me down, I'm game.\" He looks up at her and she raises her eyebrows at him.

Mikey settles his gaze out the window. \"There's stuff. I'm dealing with some shit right now, I guess. Whatever.\" Alicia thinks about conversations she overhears between My Chem's techs, thinks about days when Mikey seems to disappear into himself, no texts or smiles, and his brother\u2019s eyebrows draw together in worry. Alicia has to remind herself that knowing the feeling of Mikey's narrow hips in her hands doesn't mean she knows him<\/i> yet. \"I'm not trying to, like, unload. Or channel,\u201d Mikey explains, \u201cI just feel like I need, um.\"

Pete totally ruins this rare moment of Mikey sharing his feelings by shoving hard at his shoulder. Mikey carefully pushes his glasses back up his nose and looks over at him. \"You!\" Pete says, and he's grinning, which Alicia thinks is wildly<\/i> inappropriate at this exact moment. \"Dude. I didn't realize. I'm such a tool!\"

Mikey smiles a little, \"I dunno, maybe.\"

Pete barks out a laugh before\u2014pretty abruptly\u2014climbing over the back of Alicia's seat. \"Mikey is fucking set,\" he says, and wraps his arms around her without any warning. He smells like way too much cologne, which is par for the course with Pete. She laughs in confusion and pats his back before he's pulling the door open. \"Lock it when you leave, huh? See you guys around backstage tomorrow!\" The door slides closed behind him and he heads back off across the parking lot towards the bar.

\"Um?\" she ventures. The van is suddenly quiet in the aftermath of Pete's nonsensical outburst.

Mikey sighs, folds his hands on the back of Alicia's seat and rests his chin on them, settles those dark eyes on her. \"Pete is. Well, he's not entirely wrong<\/i>, but.\" Alicia is very proud of her patience at this moment. Mikey lifts his eyebrows, his forehead wrinkling, and the sad-dog look kills her. \"I can't be that person right now, taking care of someone else. Maybe that's part of why I'm into you?\"

Alicia sits forward, cross-legged, and feels like carding her fingers through Mikey's carefully-arranged hair. So she does, smoothing it back rhythmically off his forehead. He smiles into his hand, eyes on hers.

\"You're kind of like this Amazon, you know?\" The quiet, reverent way Mikey says it startles a big laugh out of her, all the way from her diaphragm. \"And,\" Mikey continues before she can say anything\u2014but she's grinning, she's not going to interrupt him, just continue to fuck up his perfect hair and listen\u2014\"and you scare the shit out of fans with fake passes, and you always know where everyone is supposed to be and you don't\u2014\" Alicia huffs a laugh, but she takes it, takes it and feels a bit like her chest is filling up with it, \"\u2014you don't go easy on me just because we make out or I'm in a band or whatever, and you can hold your liquor better than any of the techs, and there's always this little bit of skin showing above your belt.\u201d

They look at each other for a moment, and Alicia is so into him, this massive dork with his limp, straightened hair swept back over his forehead and his awkward legs and his pretty eyes.

\"You have these strong arms,\" Mikey reaches out, pulls Alicia's hand from his hair and touches the tips of her fingers to his mouth, talks against them, \"and these fucking strong hands. I feel like you could make me\u2014\" he swallows thickly around his words, and if Alicia has any idea of how Mikey was with Pete, she is starting to understand why it's new for him to be saying this, \"\u2014make me do whatever. Whatever you wanted.\"

Alicia sets her shoulders a bit more straight, smiles and looks down at Mikey, his chin still on the seat back, her fingers still on his lips. \"Yeah?\"

He nods, kisses the tips of her fingers gently. Alicia feels a surge of adrenaline, of want-to-fuck, of everything<\/i>, just gearing her up. This is something she can do\u2014she can't read signals for shit, but she can take fucking charge.

\"Okay.\" She rubs her thumb, chipped black with nail polish, over Mikey's full lips. His hand falls away, eyes slipping shut. Alicia inhales and pushes, feels the immediate give as Mikey lets her fingers into his mouth, beer-sticky from the bar, pushing against his tongue. He groans around her hand, sucks, and the sensation, the rough texture of his tongue, the heat of his mouth\u2014she's so fucking turned on already.

\"Shit, Mikey Way. You're kind of a ho.\" Alicia laughs at her own words, but Mikey makes more noises around her fingers and she thinks shit<\/i>, shit<\/i>.

She is so fucking done for this guy.



Constructive feedback is always appreciated!

(DVD commentary on this fic here<\/a>!)

<\/a>

"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:desfinado:5925","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/5925.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=5925"}}],"title":"desfinado @ 2010-02-11T00:11:00","published":"2010-02-11T05:11:46Z","updated":"2018-01-29T01:38:23Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"bandom"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"fic"}}],"content":"Title<\/u>: Like a Secret<\/b>
Author<\/u>: <\/a>desfinado<\/b><\/a><\/span>
Characters<\/u>: Mikey and Gerard
Rating<\/u>: PG-13
Word count<\/u>: 2253
Disclaimer<\/u>: They don\u2019t belong to me; not making a profit.
Notes<\/u>: This is my attempt at writing quick, impulsive fic from prompts from this entry<\/a>. <\/a>aneli8<\/b><\/a><\/span> asked for \"Mikey Way's awkward teenage makeouts! With... anyone. Or everyone!\"
Summary<\/u>: Mikey gets his first kiss in the kitchen that night, under a swaying yellow light fixture, one hand skidding through a wet patch on the counter behind him and Kurt Cobain in the tinny stereo in the next room singing <\/i>I need an easy friend.

<\/a>shiningartifact<\/b><\/a><\/span> has recorded a beautiful podfic of this story, because she's amazing<\/i> like that. Find out more (and download the file) here<\/a>!



The summer of 1994 is long and hot, spent on the baking asphalt of the skate park and the sterile tiles of the mall. It's a summer of boys vs. girls for Mikey, of laughing as his friends bail on the half-pipe while the girls, in a group by the water fountain, shriek with laughter and then self-consciously cover their mouths.

Sometimes in the evenings, when Gerard is home from art camp at the community centre, Mikey asks him why girls are so confusing, when two years ago they were so easy to talk to. Gerard laughs but his eyes are cast down when he says \"No fucking clue, Mikes. I\u2019m in grade twelve and they still are.\"

Late in August Mikey gets invited to a tenth-grade party by a kid who he knows from the store where he buys second-hand cassette tapes. It isn't boys vs. girls there; those giggling packs disband at the door and some of the girls stride into the house confidently, cornering boys on the sofa or in the hallway. The girls are tall and wear make-up while most of the boys still look like they belong in middle school, sleeves of their Soundgarden t-shirts sagging below their elbows. Maybe that's why one of the girls finds Mikey, the thirteen-year old, ninth-grade impostor whose wide shoulders and big hands don't seem like his yet but who has a few inches on the girls in their heels and their Docs.

Mikey gets his first kiss in the kitchen that night, under a swaying yellow light fixture, one hand skidding through a wet patch on the counter behind him and Kurt Cobain in the tinny stereo in the next room singing I need an easy friend<\/i>. She's wearing denim overalls and a white men's undershirt beneath, her hair messy and swept to one side, and she tastes like vodka. Mikey feels like she's devouring him, her hands splayed over his skinny chest like she's holding him in place, her tongue sweeping the inside of his mouth like an examination. It feels gigantic, and wet, and Mikey is so caught up in the absurdity of it that he doesn't find it all that sexy.

Later though, sitting on the back steps with a beer can at his feet and cicadas buzzing in the bushes of the backyard, one of her hands on his thigh as she leans over him, Mikey learns how to get lost in the feeling. He thinks about how warm and real her body is, and how easily her jaw fits into his broad, clammy palms. It's wet but Mikey likes that, can't really figure out why, and that night in bed he runs his tongue over his lips to chase that vodka taste while Gerard snores lightly across the room.



One month after Mikey turns fourteen, he's walking home from school in the cool October sunshine when Gerard flings both his hands out in front of himself and sighs.

\"What?\" Mikey listens to the sound of their feet on the pavement, the rubber of his Chucks and the clunk of Gerard's heavy black boots, the ones he got last Christmas for the snow.

\"I can't\u2014\" Gerard twists suddenly, looking left and right over his hunched shoulders before hitching his backpack up a little higher. \"I can't stop staring at this guy in my Lit. class.\"

Gerard doesn't elaborate as they step off the curb and cross a street, dry leaves in the gutter crunching underfoot, so Mikey asks \"Is there something wrong with him?\"

\"I dunno. He's just different. He's got, like, a weird haircut, like a girl haircut, it's shaved in the back? But then long in the front where\u2014\" Gerard jerks, looking over his shoulder again. \"Whatever. He wears these acid-washed jeans, they're like seriously tiny, I don't even think they're guy's jeans.\"

\"So you don\u2019t like him?\"

Gerard's hands go out again. \"Fuck, I don't know! It just. It just pisses me off that he never gets shit from anyone, looking like that.\"

Gerard gets a lot of shit at school. Mikey gets it too sometimes, but he has a couple of guys he hangs out with. There are girls in the grade above him who have heard things from their friends, who find him at parties sometimes, who tuck fingers into the front pocket of his jeans and pull him into hallways and kiss him. It earns Mikey a bit of respect from the dickheads at school, so they mostly leave him alone. Gerard doesn't really talk to any girls. Mikey figures that, in a way, he doesn't really talk to them much either.

\"How do you know he doesn't get any shit?\" Mikey asks.

\"I just know, okay?\" Gerard sounds indignant.

That night Mikey goes to the movie theatre with a couple of friends. Jordan hops over the two rows of seats ahead of them to sit with this girl he likes, but she's got a wall of girlfriends on the other side so Mikey and Adam are left in the back row of the theatre. The movie, Clerks<\/i>, ends up being hilarious, so it doesn't even matter.

\"I'm gonna shit in that motherfucker's bag!<\/i>\" Adam repeats after Jay in a stage whisper, raking his fingers through his bangs to push them out of his face as he meets Mikey's eyes, grinning, \"shit in his bag<\/i>?\" Mikey shakes his head, sides hurting from silent laughter.

After the movie, Jordan makes them play lookout in the alley behind the theatre while he takes the girl up the fire escape and into the projector rooms upstairs.

Leaning against the brick, Mikey and Adam laugh and trade lines from the movie. \"Oh, shit and when Jay\u2014when he says he'd go down on Silent Bob, like a circus seal? What the fuck?\" Mikey busts up laughing, nodding, hair falling in his eyes. He has no idea what that joke even means.

Adam huffs another laugh, playing with the buttons of his flannel shirt and kicking at some dirty cigarette butts with his boot. \"Hey man,\" he starts, and Mikey looks up but Adam's eyes are still on his feet, \"do you know anyone who's like that? Who's a fag?\"

Mikey shrugs, doesn't know what the right answer is supposed to be because he's always been crappy at reading into things. That's why he's never called any of the numbers that girls slip into his pocket or scrawl up his forearm. \"I don't know.\"

Adam looks up above them at the fire escape, even though Jordan and the girl disappeared into one of the upstairs doors a little while ago. His adam's apple bobs as he swallows. \"Do you think it's weird?\"

\"Not really.\" Mikey's eyes fall shut and he exhales, a cool wood-smoke breeze shifting the hair on his neck. Weird is a strange word. Normal is even stranger. Mikey's used to feeling like he never got to see the rules to high school. He doesn't understand why girls have to speak in code or why guys on the soccer team have to laugh in the locker room about the way his brother runs in gym class.

After a beat of silence, Mikey opens his eyes and startles because Adam is right there in front of him and he's saying \"Your, um. Your eyes are kind of like a girl's, you know?\" Mikey can smell Adam's sweat, feel the heat of his body inches away. He doesn't know what to say.

Adam suddenly barks out a laugh, which makes Mikey straighten up in surprise, and then Adam's leaning in with his eyes on Mikey's lips, one hand fisting in the front of Mikey's hoodie. Mikey feels like his eyebrows are creeping up into his hairline but he licks his lips, parts them just slightly as Adam does the same, closing the few inches between them to slant his mouth lightly over Mikey's. Mikey had no clue. Adam rides a skateboard and listens to Green Day and wears his jeans half-way down his ass so his boxers stick out. He always laughs the loudest.

Mikey feels Adam's chest hitch against his own, feels Adam's breath in his own mouth, and Adam slides his tongue out but doesn't close his lips against Mikey's. It's strange, Adam's hands braced on either side of Mikey's head, leaning his body weight forward, and then it's just the sensation of Adam's tongue slipping warm and popcorn-salty against his own. Mikey closes his eyes against the almost feral way Adam's lips are curled back over his teeth as he does it.

Their tongues slide wet and messy along each other, hot breath on each other's lips, and Mikey's eyes are closed but he's feeling it all, he's incredibly sober, and this is such a change from the girls at parties. Mikey can still visualize Adam behind his eyelids, sees his eyes shining with laughter in the dark of the movie theatre, sees him land an ollie on his board and run over grinning, the wheels still spinning as he holds it over his head in triumph.

Adam bends his elbows and leans in further, wrapping his lips around Mikey's tongue and sucking. It's overwhelming how good it feels, like Mikey is being stretched out taught like a wire, and he moans into it. Adam's hips push forwards to pin Mikey against the brick and it's just a lot<\/i> of sensation at once, being pulled one way and pushed the other and Mikey knows the solid warmth against his thigh is Adam's hard-on.

\"Shit, Mikey,\" Adam mutters against Mikey's lips, voice low like he\u2019s saying something dirty. Mikey can feel Adam's smile. Mikey is brave\u2014so fucking brave\u2014and he rocks his hips forwards with his eyes still squeezed shut, his breath hitching, making Adam laugh in disbelief again, that clear, full laughter that he never holds in. \"You're fuckin\u2019\u2014\"

\"Retreat! Retreat!\" Jordan calls, the door at the top of the fire escape banging open. He and the girl come clambering down the metal stairs, laughing and falling into each other. Mikey's eyes fly open but Adam is still there, still right there, grinning in a secret sort of way. Like Mikey's the secret.

\"Coast is clear,\" Adam replies, smoothly pushing off the wall and stepping backwards out into the dark of the alley, boots heavy on the gravel, smiling eyes still on Mikey. \"Let's fucking jet!\"

That night, Mikey sneaks in under the garage door and through the kitchen, lifting the bedroom door up as he pulls it closed behind him to avoid the squeaky hinge. He shucks his hoodie and jeans and lowers himself as quietly as possible into his bed.

\"What'd you see?\" Gerard whispers. With his glasses off Mikey can only make out that his brother's lying facing the wall.

\"Clerks<\/i>.\"

\"Good?\"

\"Yeah.\" Mikey turns away on his side too, but he's kind of buzzing, and his mouth tastes like concession stand butter. \"I'll see it with you, if you want.\" Mikey could ask him about the seal joke.

\"Cool, maybe.\"

Mikey doesn't know if Gerard means maybe he'll have someone else to see it with or maybe he doesn't want to see it. He shifts around a bit, closes his eyes, tries to settle his body down.

\"Mikes?\"

\"Yeah.\"

\"Do you think that it means I like that guy in my Lit. class, that I keep looking at him?\"

Mikey's eyes are closed and it's only been ten minutes at the most, but it's surprising how easy it is to remember his fingers twitching against brick, the strange feeling of another chest, flat and warm like his own, crowding him. \"Do you, like, think about him?\"

\"I guess, yeah. I can't tell if I'm thinking about him because he stands out, or because...\" Gerard trails off.

Mikey remembers Gerard saying the guy had girl hair and girl jeans. Adam said Mikey had girl eyes. \"Or because what?\u201d

There's a lot of rustling and Gerard's voice is clearer, which means he's rolled over. Mikey turns to face him too, squinting at him in the darkness. \"Mikey. Mikey, are you okay with that?\"

\"Oh my god. You don't need my permission or whatever.\"

Gerard's eyebrows draw up in the middle, and Mikey can easily imagine the expression he\u2019s making, his crinkly-eyed smile. \"Thanks.\"



Every day that week walking home from school, Gerard talks about the guy from his class\u2014Jason\u2014and Mikey spends a lot of time rolling his eyes. \"It feels kind of liberating, you know?\" Gerard is smiling, ducking out around a fire hydrant before falling into step with Mikey again. \"Like, when those assholes ask if I'm a fag, I kind of want to turn it back at them, like yeah, so what?<\/i>\" He laughs softly, crooked mouth twisted in a smile.

After dinner they're watching TV in the basement and in the commercials Mikey points out the creepy doll that pees water, and wonders out loud why girls are so weird. Gerard turns towards him suddenly, plucking his hoodie away from his chest, looking really serious. \"You know, maybe someday you'll like a guy too. You know I'll be totally cool about it, right?\"

Mikey thinks about sharp, clear laughter against his lips and the way Adam had grinned at him in the hallway that afternoon, pointing his thumb and forefinger at Mikey like the barrel of a gun as he walked away.

\"Thanks Gee.\"



Constructive feedback is always appreciated!

<\/a>

"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:desfinado:3684","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/3684.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=3684"}}],"title":"Writing","published":"2010-01-21T05:44:17Z","updated":"2018-01-29T03:15:37Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"naruto"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"bandom"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"fic"}}],"content":"Hi! My journal is friends-only. All my fic posts and picspams are public. I'm not on LJ anymore but am keeping old fics public. Follow me on AO3<\/a> to see anything I write more recently.

A note on podfic<\/b>: I love it! Please feel free to make it for my stories, if you are so inclined. I just ask that you let me know :D If you're interested in collaborating with me during the recording process, I would be excited to do it, but don't feel like you need to!

A note on sharing<\/b>: Please do not share my works with the people I write about or their colleagues\/family. I write for myself and this community, not for the real people who inform the characters in my stories (and I'm sure they don't want to see this!). Thank you for respecting that.



Writing Masterlist<\/b> - a list of all the stories I wrote 2008-2013.


Bandom<\/b>

Don't Fence Me In<\/u><\/a> | Frank\/Gerard | NC-17 | 7,100 words
\"We tried to have sex so great that no man should ever be able to experience it. These are the consequences.\"<\/i>

A Delicate Art<\/u><\/a> | Frank\/Gerard\/Mikey\/Ray | NC-17 | 7,055 words | Podfic of this story<\/a> by <\/a>xojemmaxo<\/b><\/a><\/span>
\"Yes,\" Gerard says, \"exactly like <\/i>The Godfather, only instead of his bed it'll be his favourite clothes and instead of a horse's head it'll be our motherfucking <\/i>jizz.\"

Heart On<\/u><\/a> | Frank\/Gerard, Frank\/Gerard\/Pedicone | NC-17 | 13,372 words | Art for this story<\/a> by <\/a>mrsronweasley<\/b><\/a><\/span> | Mix for this story<\/a> by <\/a>schneestern<\/b><\/a><\/span>
\"Okay,\" Cortez says on a Saturday night, sitting Frank and Gerard down on a picnic bench between the buses where some crew and band members are drinking from a keg. \"Are you or are you not fucking?\"<\/i>

Dem Dry Bones<\/u><\/a> | Gerard\/Mikey | NC-17 | 2,170 words
\"The patella,\" Mikey continues, \"protects the knee joint.\" A kiss on his right knee, then the left. \"Also known as the knee cap or kneepan, it connects to the femur, which joins to the hip.\" Mikey bites his lip and his fingers tighten on either side of his textbook as a warm tongue darts out to wet lips that are now dragging up the inside of his thigh, the soft skin there. <\/i>

Sink Right In<\/u><\/a> | Frank\/Bob | R | 460 words
Bob's fingertips fit to the bruises in a way that makes his stomach bottom out every time, in a way that makes him think:<\/i> mine.

Worst Ever<\/u><\/a> | Pete\/Mikey | R | 633 words
\"Pete,\" Mikey says into his mouth. Pete's forgotten to keep kissing him again, lips stilled against Mikey's.<\/i>

Proof<\/u><\/a> | Frank\/Gerard, Gerard\/Lyn-Z, Frank\/Jamia | NC-17 | 6,400 words | Podfic of this story<\/a> by <\/a>shiningartifact<\/b><\/a><\/span> | Art for this story<\/a> by Valeria
Gerard drops his hand to his lap again and slips the other one up to curl around the back of his neck, elbow bent. His eyes slip shut and he breathes, slow and deep. Frank pushes off the doorframe and takes just one step into the room so he can adjust the focus \u2013 Gerard's elbow, then the point of his nose, the curve of his lips.<\/i>

It's All Over My Face<\/u><\/a> | Frank\/Mikey | NC-17 | 12,200 words
Living with Mikey Way is kind of like what Frank imagines dorms at college would have been like, if he hadn't lived at home: they eat a lot of instant noodles, go home to do laundry, stay up way too late playing Zelda, brag about the shits they take, and hang socks on their doorknobs when they're getting laid. <\/i>

To Feel So Bright<\/u><\/a> | Gerard\/Frank | NC-17 | 8,090 words
\u201cWe\u2019re actually doing this,\u201d Frank says, shaking his head as they pull out onto the road. \u201cFuck.\u201d He bounces a little in his seat, hears the buzz of cicadas as they fly by the last of the houses and back out into the desert. He turns the volume up.<\/i>

Sit Tight<\/u><\/a> | Gerard\/Mikey\/Frank | NC-17 | 5,500 words
Gerard looks defeated and starts smoothing the pillowcase out. \u201cI don't even know what to do with what is going on in my brain right now.\u201d<\/i>

Drag Like Sandpaper<\/u><\/a> | Gerard\/Mikey | NC-17 | 4,900 words
On Gerard's eighteenth birthday, he watches his little brother buy his first razor.<\/i>

Backseat<\/u><\/a> | Gerard\/Mikey\/Frank | R | 1,560 words | Podfic of this story<\/a> by <\/a>knight_tracer<\/b><\/a><\/span>
Mikey spends most of twelfth grade watching Jersey from backseat windows.<\/i>

Because I've Only Got Two Hands<\/u><\/a> | Gerard\/Mikey | R | 950 words
That's when he remembers to school his breath and the squeak of the bouncing mattress under the jack-knife of his hips.<\/i>

On A Good Day<\/u><\/a> | Frank\/Jamia | NC-17 | 2,800 words
Frank can't really help it, he's been moving on impulse all night.<\/i>

First Class<\/u><\/a> | Frank\/Gerard | NC-17 | 1,680 words | Podfic of this story<\/a> by <\/a>shiningartifact<\/b><\/a><\/span>
Gerard is totally disturbed, because he's sort of obsessed with making Frank drool.<\/i>

Your Man<\/u><\/a> | Mikey\/Alicia, Mikey\/Pete | R | 3,870 words
\"Mikey's got his own way of doing things... you just gotta operate on Mikey Time,\" Pete explains. Alicia takes one last pull off her beer bottle, sets it down only a little unsteadily on the bar. \"I wish I knew the fucking schedule.\"<\/i>

Like a Secret<\/u><\/a> | Mikey\/OMC | PG-13 | 2,250 words | Podfic of this story<\/a> by <\/a>shiningartifact<\/b><\/a><\/span>
Mikey gets his first kiss in the kitchen that night, under a swaying yellow light fixture, one hand skidding through a wet patch on the counter behind him and Kurt Cobain in the tinny stereo in the next room singing<\/i> I need an easy friend.

The Kings of Glamor<\/u><\/a> | Frank\/Gerard\/Mikey | NC-17| 7,240 words
He's overwhelmed with the smell of sweat, hair product, lingering cigarette smoke and beer spilled on clothes and the sticky floor. It's kind of sour and rancid and Frank has fucking <\/i>missed this.<\/i>

Before and After<\/u><\/a> | Gerard\/Mikey | NC-17| 10,410 words | Podfic of this story<\/a> by <\/a>sylvaine57<\/b><\/a><\/span>
Mikey can't stop thinking about this confidence that Gerard has. He knows, rationally, that it must have been years in the making, that it can't just be a stupid hair colour and cut, that Mikey can't be such an inattentive brother that he didn't really notice this until now. <\/i>

Untitled<\/u><\/a> | Frank\/Gerard\/Mikey | PG-13 | 4,770 words
Eventually Frank just gave up, pushing off Ray's thigh to unfold from the too-deep old couch and march to the centre of the living room. He scrunched his eyes shut, neck of his beer bottle tipped slightly away as he held his arms out at his sides. \"Fuck it, now or never you whores.\" <\/i>

Pushing Into That Empty Space<\/u><\/a> | Jon, Ryan\/Brendon | NC-17 | 6,500 words
Brendon's eyes fell shut again, moaning, surprising Jon with how much he wanted and how much he was willing to let Ryan take from him.<\/i>

Naruto<\/b>


The Mediator<\/u><\/a> | Sasuke\/Suigetsu\/Karin | NC-17 | 7,880 words
\"Do you always watch your teammates fuck, Sasuke?\"<\/i>

Recovery<\/u><\/a> | Sasuke\/Suigetsu\/Karin\/Juugo | NC-17 | 6,840 words
Prompt: sharing is caring.

Surge<\/a><\/u> | Sasuke\/Suigetsu in water form | R | 1,980 words
Today, when Sasuke wades into the river to bathe, he knows he's not alone. <\/i>

Sensei<\/a><\/u> | Sasuke\/Kakashi | NC-17 | 8,050 words
Kakashi was there for Sasuke\u2019s revenge. But wasn\u2019t that obvious? Sasuke had created him, after all.

Six Months<\/a><\/u> | Kiba\/Shikamaru | NC-17 | 4,510 words
Shikamaru is entirely too concerned with responsibility and respect, and Kiba is fed up with giving and not getting\u2014he\u2019s starting to reach a breaking point.

Strategic Hedonist<\/a><\/u> | Shikamaru\/Kiba, Kotetsu\/Izumo\/Shikamaru | NC-17 | 7,180 words
Shikamaru resents the reputation he's earned that he's too lazy for sex. On the contrary, he is quite calculating about getting what he wants.

<\/a>

"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:desfinado:3363","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/3363.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=3363"}}],"title":"desfinado @ 2010-01-15T23:23:00","published":"2010-01-16T04:23:25Z","updated":"2018-01-29T01:38:30Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"bandom"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"fic"}}],"content":"Title<\/u>: The Kings of Glamor<\/b>
Author<\/u>: <\/a>desfinado<\/b><\/a><\/span>
Pairing<\/u>: Gerard\/Mikey\/Frank
Rating<\/u>: NC-17
Warnings<\/u>: Incest, drugs
Word count<\/u>: 7248
Disclaimer<\/u>: They don\u2019t belong to me; not making a profit.
Summary<\/u>: Frank is nostalgic about being a teenager at basement-bar Jersey shows. Early van days. Originally posted here<\/a> at <\/a>no_tags<\/b><\/a><\/span> (prompt: Gerard\/Mikey\/Frank, tour! shenanigans, preferably non-established\/first time). Epic thanks to <\/a>brooklinegirl<\/b><\/a><\/span> for beta and encouraging words!

He's overwhelmed with the smell of sweat, hair product, lingering cigarette smoke and beer spilled on clothes and the sticky floor. It's kind of sour and rancid and Frank has fucking <\/i>missed this.<\/i>






Frank is in his underwear and grinning at nobody in particular.

He's hunched over with his face mashed up against the gritty fabric of the seat in front of him, hands pushing through CD cases and empty bags of chips on the floor. He locates what are most likely his shoes and pulls them towards himself before curling forwards to grope around under his own seat.

The van changes lanes in that sudden, halting way that can only mean Mikey is driving and Frank topples sideways into Gerard's knee, but his fingers brush a familiar cargo fabric. Frank is up in his seat now, legs through the holes of his brown Dickies, lifting his hips to get them over his ass before wriggling into a CBGB shirt. Frank is toeing off his ratty running shoes and lacing up his Chucks, and he's still grinning.

They're going to a show.

Not their own, not someone else's watched from side-stage or from the tents in the distance. Just a regular, darkened-bar, sticky-floored, boozy, sweaty local show. Someone had left a flyer under the van's windshield wipers this afternoon, neon green with a clip-art skeleton on it, and with a day off and nowhere to travel overnight Frank had pushed this show on the guys like it was his job.

So right now Gerard may be passed out, chin on his chest, damp patch at the collar of his hoodie from his open mouth. So Ray may be rubbing his temples and sighing really obviously every once in a while. So Otter may be pulling his sleeping bag out on the back bench seat and arranging it already for the night. Frank's got two nice, tightly-rolled joints in his wallet and an itch behind his teeth, that burning feeling of wanting to just scream a little bit, maybe be obnoxious in the pit so the delicate scene queens frown and give him his space, so the old guys like him who remember what it used to be like will slam him back with big stupid grins on their faces.

Frank is going to a fucking show<\/i>.



The five of them are lined up with their backs against the bar like the fucking Jets, elbows on the grimy wood, surveying the room. Otter points out kids who look like they're out past curfew while Ray mutters about his headache and Mikey complains about the shitty nu-metal station on the radio. Jesus, Frank feels old.

\"Fuckin' trip, huh?\" Frank drops his head to the side, shoulders up around his ears, looking over his raised eyebrows at Gerard.

Gerard's black leather jacket creaks a bit as he shifts, taking a long pull off his beer bottle and staring out at the crowd. \"Eh. Seems way less glamorous than it used to.\"

Frank snorts at the dainty-looking wrinkle of Gerard's nose and has to lean over to butt Gerard's shoulder with his forehead. \"Fuck you and your fucking 'glamorous,' what shows were you<\/i> at?\"

Gerard's mouth pulls up at the side, slightly unfocused gaze fixed on the empty stage and the crew moving around on it. \"Same ones as you, probably. Like, it was the grittiness that made it great, you know? Made you feel like you were living a cooler life, just while you were there.\"

Frank smirks to himself but doesn't feel like ripping on Gerard in case he bails on the show. Even if he is being a fucking poet about nasty basement-bar Jersey shows. \"Miss being on this side of the stage,\" Frank says eventually, emptying his bottle and tapping it against his bottom lip, metal clinking against glass.

Gerard hums his agreement. There are kids starting to move up front to claim a spot, girls who look uncomfortable in their bodies with slumping shoulders and hair in their faces, boys in too-big or too-small pants, wallet chains and studded belts. Frank wonders, like he always does, if he was that awkward when he was their age.

Finally, finally<\/i>, the crappy radio music fades out and the lights go down all around them. The opening band launches into some pop-punk that Frank finds pretty underwhelming considering how much energy they have. Still, Frank's chin is lifting up and down with the heavy slam of the guitar and when he cuts his eyes to the side he sees Mikey tapping his thumb against the side of his rum and Coke.

By the time the band's done, Frank's eying the circle pit and the pale flashes of kids' elbows in the air, dreadlocks whipping around and gelled-up 'hawks wilting slightly. He wants to get in there and get slammed into, lose his breath and grin through it as he slams back.



Frank had lured everyone outside for a smoke between sets in the hopes that they wouldn't head back to the van to crash out. It was a lost cause with Otter, who had taken the keys and told them to \"Enjoy getting manhandled by underage chicks with raccoon eyes,\" but Mikey, Gerard and Ray had stayed to help Frank with his first joint.

He's feeling warm and focused after he finishes the second one himself, only noticing how high he is when Ray catches him zoning out over Mikey's spidery hands twisting his lighter around and around and around. Mikey stops then, carding his fingers through his bangs, pulling them carefully to the side.

\"So fucking ready to mosh,\" Frank says the moment he thinks it, swimming happily in that way he gets when he has a good combination of chemicals in his blood. Not too mellow and not too keyed-up.

\"Oh my god, Frank's reverted to fourteen.\" Mikey puts his hand over his eyes.

Gerard huffs a laugh through his nose, folding a hand over Mikey's shoulder and curling in against him slightly, eyes on Frank as he adds: \"He said it was a 'trip'.\" Gerard and Mikey's shoulders shake together in laughter that Ray catches on to soon enough and Frank loves it, can't wait to take the bait.

\"Sorry, sorry, it's glamorous<\/i>.\" Frank grins and runs one poised, straight finger across his forehead to sweep imaginary hair over his shoulder. Mikey drops his hand and his eyes are squeezed shut behind his glasses, wincing and smiling all at once. \"Let's go in there and show these kids some fucking glamor<\/i>, guys.\"



In the pit, Frank feels good. Frank feels so<\/i> good.

He's not so tall that he feels like the adult he is amongst the kids, not so famous that anyone's looking at him twice in the darkness, not so sober that he's hung up on the asshole skinhead who keeps pissing everyone off or the chick with the labret whose hands keep lingering on the sweaty small of his back. There's just enough ink and metal on his body to fit in but not too much to look like he tries hard.

He had headed towards the stage with Mikey and Gerard behind him and Ray watching their coats at the bar. With his bare forearms up in front of him to clear the way, Frank had pushed through to the front, ignoring the scene kids who huffed in frustration as he elbowed past. Mikey and Gerard had stood there uselessly for about a song and a half, getting bumped into and rolling their eyes at each other whenever Frank slammed over to them, spine curled and shoulder dropped to butt them in the sternum, grinning wide.

Eventually Mikey shoves Frank back, eyes on his feet but a small smile on his face, bony points of his collarbone shifting under his t-shirt, glasses slipping halfway down his nose. Almost immediately the kids around them start shoving into him, like they know he's fair game now, and Frank loses him for a while as he spins off of a chick swimming in an over-sized Megadeath shirt and steadies himself on a guy's denim vest.

He hasn't looked at the stage in a while but he feels the music like a wall of noise, like a slow burn in his gut every time the singer rips into another verse. And okay, yeah, maybe Frank got a bit more stoned than usual and it's mixing with the two beers he had during the opening set, because he keeps finding himself staring dumbly at the dirty toes of kids' sneakers against the stained black floor as they shove into each other. Frank fucking loves<\/i> being blindsided like that, just bowled over when he has no idea it's coming, catching himself at the last second to lurch back in the other direction.

There's a chick who's been meeting Frank's eye when he looks up, remarkable because she looks so unremarkable compared to the other girls, no makeup or piercings. Her t-shirt rides up over the curve of her hips and the soft round of her belly, bright red elastic of boy-briefs sitting high above her own Dickies and her green eyes flitting over Frank under messy brown bangs. Frank wonders when he started finding girls that dressed like him attractive or if he had, at some point, starting dressing like the girls he thought were hot?

Over sweaty heads and surging bodies Frank spots Mikey's broad shoulders slumped low, glasses crooked and teeth showing as he bumps, eyes closed, off the kids around him. Frank stumbles on a shoelace--maybe his own, who knows--and reaches out to the nearest body to keep him upright, which appears to be Gerard. His jacket's with Ray at the bar, dark patches of sweat soaked into his shirt, and Frank's fingers squeeze briefly at that fleshy give above where Gerard's belt digs in. Gerard grins stupidly at him, black hair stuck wet across his face.

\"GOTTA PISS,\" Gerard announces way<\/i> too loudly into Frank's ear, lurching forward as the bodies around them continue to move, one broad, warm hand pressed to Frank's clavicle. Frank's overwhelmed with the smell of sweat, hair product, lingering cigarette smoke and beer spilled on clothes and the sticky floor. It's kind of sour and rancid and Frank has fucking missed<\/i> this.

\"Me too,\" Frank mouths more than speaks, gesturing towards the far wall. He slams into Mikey on his way past and nods towards the bathrooms. Mikey blinks like he hasn't opened his eyes in a while and follows.

The door to the men's room swings shut behind them and it's like stepping into a tube, the sudden drop in volume and sensation, the air cool on Frank's sweat-slick skin and the space around his body.

\"Fuuuuuuuuck.\" Frank unzips and aims the best he can, with his head tilted back and eyes closed. Funny, when he stops moving he feels dizzier than when he was going at it in the pit. \"I don't give a shit, I wanna<\/i> be fourteen again.\" His voice feels hoarse and too loud in his ringing ears.

Mikey just laughs from somewhere to Frank's left. Gerard takes a huge breath before contributing: \"Holy shit, yes. Frank, this was the best idea ever. God, I forgot all about this.\"

Frank tucks himself up and washes his hands, wiping them dry on his pants and looking into the grimy mirror. His yellow t-shirt is completely saturated and he loves the way his ink shows through, loves to think maybe some kids saw, maybe gave him a bit more respect because of it. He buzzed his hair the other week, just 'cause it's low-maintenance, but it already makes him feel more tough.

\"Fuckin' told you, fuckin' told you<\/i>.\" Frank rubs a palm back and forth over the crown of his head, sort of grossed out that his scalp's sweating but liking the feeling of the short hairs. He turns to face Mikey and Gerard. \"Shitty band, though. We could have these kids fucking brawling<\/i> if we were onstage.\"

Mikey's back is to them, hands waving uselessly under a hand dryer that won't seem to turn on. \"Dude, Mr. Chainmail was brawling anyway, fuck everyone else.\"

Gerard turns from the sink, shaking his his hands out like he's doing spirit fingers. \"God, yeah, the one with the--\"

\"--fuckin' four belts on, right? Jesus. It was like he took it personally every time I touched him.\" Frank shakes his head, heel tapping the floor in time with the thud of the drums beyond the bathroom door. He feels simultaneously destroyed by the pit and like he wants to get the fuck back in there.

\"No sense of mosh pit etiquette,\" Mikey sighs, giving up and walking over to wipe his hands off on Gerard's t-shirt.

\"What's the etiquette for groping?\" Gerard asks.

\"You fuckin' dog, Gee,\" Frank laughs and stuffs his hands in the pockets of his Dickies, bouncing up onto his toes a few times. \"Taking advantage of underage ladies when it's dark and confusing...\" He pauses just long enough for Gerard to frown and open his mouth before raising one finger and an eyebrow. \"I'm so proud!\"

\"Like fuck I am, come on. I mean, like, I got a couple stray hands below my belt...\" Gerard breaks into a grin suddenly, looking down at the grimy tiled floor and plucking his damp t-shirt away from his chest a few times. \"Guess that's just people trying to keep their balance, huh?\"

Mikey snorts and lunges across the room to slam into Frank with his left shoulder dropped. Frank barks out a laugh in surprise--\"Shit!\"--hands trapped in his pockets as his back hits the concrete wall and he gets a face full of sweaty, fruity-smelling hair. Without warning, Mikey grabs Frank's ass hard enough to lift him up onto his toes for a minute.

Mikey's gone in another second, grinning, slumping back against the wall next to Frank. \"What?\" he asks his brother, drawing his mouth into an 'O' that exaggerates the bow of his upper lip. \"I lost my balance. From beside the hand dryers. Had to grab Frank to keep from falling over.\"

Frank's laugh comes out kind of choppy as he swallows at the same time, choking a bit. When he stops, his eyes are getting teary and he has to rub at them with the heel of his palm. Shit, how is he still so fucking high<\/i>? Gerard's smiling, arms crossed, hips cocked out to one side. \"Uh huh?\"

\"No, check this out. My favourite--\" and Frank isn't going to tell them that he tried this one out just two songs ago on Miss Boxer-Briefs, but he can still show them, grabbing Gerard's elbow, pulling him around to stand facing the wall next to Mikey, \"--my favourite is the 'I'm just protecting you from all those assholes' grope.\"

Frank bounces on his feet, shoving into Gerard's back a few times like they're in the pit again. \"Oh shit, there's this dude... this dude behind us trying to obectify<\/i> you...\" he pauses because he and the brothers have to take a moment to snicker, and Gerard throws his hands up in submission, one palm braced against the wall as Frank jostles him, \"...total sexist asshole, but it's no big deal, I'm here.\" Frank presses himself up against Gerard's back from chest to hips, and it's only up close like this that Frank remembers how much taller than him Gerard is.

\"I just gotta--\" Frank frowns in mock-concentration and continues to move up against Gerard\u2019s back, Mikey grinning all the while, \"--make sure you don't fall over.\" Frank slides one hand up under Gerard's armpit to grab at his pecs, massaging the flesh there obscenely and making a gross turned-on face.

\"Christ! My virtue!\" Gerard laughs, high-pitched, and snaps his arm down over Frank's, but it only pins him there and Frank breaks down into giggles, eyes closed and forehead bowed to press against the sweaty, smelly middle of Gerard's back. He doesn't stop his fingers squeezing and releasing on Gerard's chest.

\"Protection my ass,\" Mikey says. \"You have no<\/i> tact, Frank. You gotta work up to it.\" Before Frank has a chance to lift his head, Mikey's behind him, the warmth of his long fingers curling over Frank's hips.

\"Gee, you're brother's taking my<\/i> virtue now,\" Frank stage-whispers into Gerard's shoulder blade, and he should really be grossed out about his lips moving over the damp fabric but he can't even be, he's grinning too stupidly. Gerard's back muscles shift and Frank's totally forgetting about the groping, just clenching aimlessly at the front of Gerard's shirt now.

Frank kind of wonders how the three of them would look, if anyone came into the bathroom right now. He's half thankful it's the main set that the kids paid money to see, half disappointed because he'd love to scar a few of the prissy kids out there who just cross their arms and nod when the band is busy thrashing around on stage. There's a chance that even when Frank is in the audience, he still wants to command it.

\"Just... just take it slow,\" Mikey explains, smile in his voice, shifting Frank's hips slightly side-to-side with the rhythm of the guitar pounding through the walls of the bar, \"she won't even notice.\" He squeezes then, and his hands are so big it feels like they're bracketing Frank's hips entirely. He keeps grinning stupidly into Gerard's back, star-bursts behind his closed eyelids, but it's kind of comforting to be held like that. He's still feeling high enough to miss that constant contact with other bodies in the pit, that feeling of sweat and slick skin and scratching metal belts rubbing up against you, even if you don't know who they belong to.

\"Think it's working, Mikes,\" Gerard says, \"he's so distracted he's forgotten all about my tits.\"

Frank giggles and worms his other hand under Gerard's arm so he's got both on Gerard's upper chest, grabbing erratically, forcing Frank to lean all his body weight against Gerard's back. \"Sorry! Sorry. Shit, I'm a terrible student.\"

Mikey heaves a sigh and his right hand shifts down a bit, two fingers slipping between Frank's pants and boxers, thumb rubbing up under his t-shirt to sweep back and forth over the sweat drying on his skin, near the dimples at the base of his spine. \"Never gonna get any tail this way, Frank.\"

Frank feels swimmy again, and he's not gonna admit how much he likes how tiny Mikey's hands make him feel--Jesus, apparently he dresses like one chick and he's now turning into<\/i> one. \"So what, you'd stick your hand in her pants this soon?\"

\"Hell no,\" Mikey huffs. He steps up to Frank's back, warm points of contact where his knees touch the backs of Frank's thighs, chest against Frank's shoulders. \"Just makes her think about it, y'know?\"

Gerard shifts his weight onto his other foot and Frank rolls his forehead against his shoulder blades with the movement, eyes still shut. He runs one hand down Gerard's chest, over the soft give of his belly, and tucks one thumb behind his belt buckle. \"So what are you<\/i> thinking about now?\" Frank asks him.

\"Mmmmm... thinking about how gross you smell, and how you couldn't fuck me 'cause your dick doesn't even reach my ass, midget.\"

Frank feels air puff across the back of his neck as Mikey laughs and he involuntarily shivers when the sweat there cools suddenly.

\"Shit, she wants me so bad she's shaking, Gee,\" Mikey says and Gerard laughs. Frank loves this Mikey, when he's drunk or stoned or whatever enough to be outgoing. He pushes his hips back just to goad Mikey on, intending to rub against his crotch but really Mikey's crotch is closer to Frank's lower back.

\"Daaaamn, baby,\" Frank says in his best porn-star voice, one hand slipping up under the hem of Gerard's shirt and rubbing back and forth at the sweaty skin of his abdomen, the curl of hair trailing down.

\"There's usually no first base in mosh pits,\" Mikey explains, and Frank feels the point of his nose at the crown of Frank's head, rubbing back and forth at the buzzed-short hair there; it's weirdly intimate. \"But that means you can go straight to second.\"

Frank's high is unfocused, he's just lost in the press of warm skin in front and behind him, the rise and fall of chests and shoulders with their breath and laughter, smiling into Gerard's shirt. But then Mikey's pinching his left nipple over his t-shirt and Frank fucking gasps<\/i> when all he was trying to do was inhale, and his whole being is just the sensation from that one spot and how it shoots through his spine and it feels sexy<\/i>, what the actual fuck? When Frank finally lets out a measured breath he realizes Mikey's fingers are gone and Gerard's stomach is tensed under his hand.

\"Frank, what--\"

\"What's next, man?\" Frank says in a monotone, not moving. Mikey's other hand is still curled over his hip and he hasn't stepped away. Gerard doesn't say anything.

\"Um, you--\" Mikey swallows and his free hand falls lightly to Frank's side again, \"--pretend to be pushed or whatever, and your hand, like, slips<\/i>.\" As he says it the fingers of his other hand move just under the elastic of Frank's boxers. His thumb's brushing the edges of Frank's pubes.

\"You sneaky perv,\" Frank says, shifting his hips slightly under Mikey's grip. \"I barely even noticed.\"

\"My brother is pretty creepy like that,\" Gerard says knowingly. \"Don't underestimate him.\"

Mikey's shifting again now along Frank's back, curling his fingertips back and forth through short, wiry hairs. \"Fuckin' mosh-pit-groping ninja,\" he agrees. \"I'm like two inches away from third base now.\"

\"Shit, I'm like ten inches away, I suck at this, sorry Gee.\" Frank laughs softly and shoves his hand into Gerard's pants with way less finesse than Mikey had, but he hasn't got those long fingers anyway, fuck it. The short, curly hairs there feel really, like, soft<\/i>. Silky. What the fuck. Frank's giggling against his back now.

\"Hey, hey, I'm trying to--\"

\"Mikey? Your brother conditions his pubes. Just, you know, sharing an important discovery.\" Frank laughs into Gerard's t-shirt and feels him immediately try to twist out of Frank's grip with a \"Hey!\". Frank just pulls him tight against his chest with the hand still on his stomach.

\"Oh my god, shut up<\/i>, I don't want to know about...\" but Mikey's laughing too as he trails off. \"Better not be my<\/i> fucking conditioner.\"

The three of them are giggling stupidly now, and that's exactly what Frank is doing when Mikey's fingers touch Frank's dick for the first time. \"Oh, Jesus! My virtue!\" Frank splutters, but Mikey just keeps going, and Frank is laughing while Mikey curls his fingers around him, pulling up and down as much as he can under his Dickies. Frank's choking on his laugh again, because it feels good<\/i> too. Shit.

\"Mikey, Mikey, wait. Damn. I have to... catch up, I gotta--\" Frank is struggling though, because apparently he left his co-ordination behind when he stepped outside for a smoke, \"--your fucking brother's pants are too fucking tight<\/i> to get at his well-protected dick.\"

Gerard drops his hand from the wall and flips at his belt buckle, thumbing open the button on his jeans. \"It's only protected from retards<\/i> who can't undo zippers<\/i>.\"

\"Don't call me a retard<\/i>, fuckwad--\"

\"You are seriously not getting to third base if you call her a fuckwad, okay? Jesus.\" Mikey's got a tight ring with his thumb and fingers going, and Frank's getting hard now. He should really be dealing with this more--he's giggling like an idiot, Gerard is calling him names while Frank struggles with his fly, Mikey is fucking jacking him off<\/i> and berating him at the same time--but he's just gone completely stupid with the weed and the pit out there and the bass thumping in his bones, and Frank's fucking enjoying this.

\"Fuck, finally,\" Frank mutters. Gerard's pants are open and Frank's got both hands inside, curling around him like a champ, like it isn't his first time getting this friendly with another dude's dick. There's a chance that it helps he's getting some action too, though.

Gerard groans really loudly, which probably shouldn't be a surprise, but Mikey's fingers tighten around Frank and it makes Frank grunt, jerking his hips back instinctively. Yeah, that's definitely the hard line of Mikey's dick against his lower back, through denim, and Frank realizes Gerard's pretty much hard now too, and there's a lot more of him for Frank to curl his fingers around.

For a few moments the three of them are quiet, Mikey pulling Frank back against him with the hand on his hip, other hand jerking up and down in the confines of his pants, thumb sweeping over the sticky tip of Frank's cock and pulling a low noise from his chest. It feels like Mikey's working every inch of Frank's spine when he does that, warmth pooling out to the tips of Frank's toes flexing and curling inside his Chucks.

Frank's got more space to work Gerard's dick with his pants now open, one hand curled over the other to squeeze even tighter, the way he likes it on himself. With Gerard in front of him it's almost like doing it to himself, except for the way Gerard's hips stutter forward into the touch and he mutters shit into his armpit, where he's shoved his face. Frank still thinks it would be sweet to freak some teenagers out if they came into the bathroom right now, but part of him is thinking it might also be a bit embarrassing, that they might just look like an awkward circle-jerk but, like, in a conga line. He sort of hopes the band is good enough to keep the kids out there.

\"Mikey,\" Frank says in a voice that's a lot more strung-out than he'd thought it would be. \"What, uh... what should I be doing? Thought you were teaching me, here.\"

\"Oh! Shit, um.\" Mikey's hand swivels and it makes Frank's jaw drop open, eyes slipping shut, but Mikey doesn't even seem to realize what he's doing to him as he continues. \"Um. Maybe they like when you go a bit... uh, lower.\" Mikey sounds kind of distracted.

Frank waits for Mikey's hand to move lower but it doesn't happen--how could he anyway<\/i>, when Frank's pants are still done up--and that's when Frank realizes Mikey was telling him what he should try on Gerard<\/i>.

\"Jesus, yeah, okay.\" Frank uncurls one hand and shoves Gerard's pants a bit further down his thighs to cup his balls, drawn up close to his body, rolling them lightly in his palm.

\"Shiiiiiit,\" Gerard moans on one long exhale, squirming under Frank's hands, pushing his hips back but curling in on himself at the same time. Frank sort of feels like doing the same thing, the way Mikey is working him in short, hard pulls. Frank understands some semblance of hand job etiquette that suggests no one is taking care of Mikey, but fuck it. His blood is laced with awesome and it's like every cell in his body is feeling everything on hyper-drive; how can he think about anything but his dick and pulling those noises out of Gerard?

\"And, like, sometimes it's too dry, so you gotta...\" Mikey trails off, short of breath behind Frank. Frank pulls one hand off Gerard's dick automatically and lifts it to his mouth, but Mikey catches it with the hand that had been on Frank's hip. Frank's wrist feels tiny under Mikey's long fingers.

\"What?\" Frank asks, and opens his eyes in time to see Mikey lean over Frank's shoulder, eyes shut and eyebrows drawn together as he licks a slow, obscene swipe across Frank's palm and up, pulling the tips of Frank's fingers into his mouth and swirling his tongue around them. Gross, my hand probably tastes like dick<\/i>, Frank thinks, Gerard's sweaty dick<\/i>, and then he's thinking that all over again when Mikey breaks away from his hand, chest hitching on his breath, spit-slick lips and a trail of saliva snapping between his mouth and Frank's fingers. Only this time Frank thinks that 'gross<\/i>' might be the wrong word for it. Damn<\/i>.

Mikey guides Frank's hand back around Gerard's hips, into his pants, and even though his fingers are only curled around Frank's wrist, Frank is still thinking holyshitholyshitholyshit<\/i> as his thumb and forefinger slide in a perfect, slippery ring down Gerard's cock and back up under the direction of Mikey's hand.

\"Unghhh.\" Gerard sounds like he's been wounded and Frank really wants to see him, is trying to lift up onto his toes to look over his shoulder, but he's too fucking short. The angle of Gerard's head and his muffled noises make Frank think he's probably drooling and mouthing at his own arm. Nice<\/i>. Mikey's hand stopped moving on Frank's dick a while ago but he's barely noticed because Mikey is like, jacking his brother by proxy right now--by proxy that is Frank<\/i>--and is rutting up against Frank's back, breath hot and heavy on the base of his neck.

\"Mikey, Mikey,\" Frank says to ground himself, feeling a little bit overwhelmed but more than anything else feeling really fucking awesome<\/i>, \"Mikey, what do I. What do I do to make them, um.\" Why is Frank having so much trouble breathing right now?

Mikey's grip on his wrist is like fucking iron, and he's jerking Frank's hand up and down even faster now. \"This is the part where I usually--shit--um, I usually ask them<\/i>.\"

\"Oh,\" Frank says dumbly. It takes him a full minute of kneading Gerard's balls and pulling at his dick, grinding against Mikey's forgotten hand in his own pants, before he gets it. Frank is having serious tunnel-vision problems right now, he is such<\/i> a fucking pothead. \"Oh! Fuck, uh. Gee?\"

Gerard chokes a little, and Frank feels kind of like Gerard hasn't done much talking this whole time. Maybe it's because he can't<\/i> talk. Frank definitely understands that. \"Nnngggghhh, um. Um. Just--just faster.\"

Mikey's moving Frank's wrist like a fucking pro, although Frank had been doing it just fine by himself. Gerard's got a low moan going on now that doesn't really seem to end except when he hiccups on an inhale.

\"Maybe, like, ungh--\" Gerard's hips jerk forwards and Frank thinks he's gotta be close, thinks he'd<\/i> be close too, \"--shut me up. Like, with your fingers or something.\"

Frank's skin flashes hot all over at Gerard Way<\/i> talking like a fucking slut<\/i> and his dick twitches in Mikey's hand. He's just about to take his hand from Gerard's balls to shove into Gerard's mouth--whatever, if he's okay with tasting his own balls then Frank's not gonna stop him, it looks like the Way family is not that concerned about these things--when Mikey wriggles his other hand out of Frank's pants and hooks his arm up over Frank's shoulder. Frank can't see, but he can hear the muffled sound Gerard makes when his brother shoves his fingers--his long, warm fingers from Frank's pants<\/i>--into Gerard's mouth.

Frank is blinking like there's sweat in his eyes or like he's hallucinating, but he can't see anything anyway, he's not tall enough, stuck staring at the wide slope of Gerard's shoulders hunching over and his thick neck, the mess of black hair obscuring his face. Frank focuses as hard as he can on tightening his grip around Gerard's cock as Mikey wrenches his hand up and down, and it's barely a minute more before Gerard is gurgling and coughing and spitting around Mikey's hand, curling over and coming hot and wet across Frank's knuckles and down the front of his jeans.

\"Fuck, fuck, Gee--\" Mikey chokes out, and Frank, despite being a bit of a stoned retard right now, can't help noticing that's the first time Mikey's talked directly to his brother since they started, \"--you fuckin'...\"

\"Mikey, come the fuck on<\/i>,\" Frank grits out, feeling a bit more desperate about the hard-on tenting his Dickies and the fluid warmth in his spine. He shakes his hand out of Mikey's grip and extracts himself from Gerard, stepping back. Frank wraps his fingers around Mikey's wrist and pulls it towards his own zipper, uncoordinated and hurried. Gerard's come is getting smeared all over their hands and the front of Frank's pants, but what the fuck ever<\/i>. If Mikey would just--

Mikey twists his hand out of Frank's grip easily, and Frank is about to protest when Mikey wheels Frank around by his shoulders and slams him, hard<\/i>, back against the concrete wall.

\"What the fuck<\/i>?\" Frank frowns. He hasn't seen Mikey's face until now but it's so intense it's kind of weird to see, and before he can do more than just register Gerard slumped face-first against the wall next to them, breathing heavily, Mikey is crowding him, pinning Frank's shoulders back against the rough concrete with the pressure of his chest. Frank's eyes widen at this version of Mikey, and it's making his body buzz with anticipation, like getting slammed into in the pit before you spin around to slam right back.

\"Just, fuck, let's do this right,\" Mikey says, and looks down--down<\/i>--his nose because he's so close and Frank has to look all the way up<\/i> to meet his eyes, as Mikey matter-of-factly unzips his jeans and pulls his dick out. Frank's gaze drops, looking right at it--because he's a total fucking chick<\/i> now--and gapes a little bit at the darkened pink length of it, the raised veins mirroring the ones sticking out in stark relief on Mikey's forearms.

\"Frank<\/i>.\" Mikey's actually pissed<\/i>! Wow. Frank only realizes how much he likes this when he finds himself grinning right up into Mikey's stern frown. He's lightheaded from all of this, from Mikey and Gerard fucking using<\/i> Frank to touch each other, from the satisfying feeling of getting pushed roughly against the wall. Well, fuck it. Frank drops to his knees.

\"No fuckin' way,\" Gerard breathes, and Frank looks over, sees Gerard leaning against the wall with one hand frozen pushing the hair out of his face, eyes wide and lips red, all around his mouth and chin glistening with spit.

\"I can totally<\/i> be a ninja at this too, come on,\" Frank grins, loving their reaction. He plants a hand around the base of Mikey's dick and just goes for it before he can think twice.

He can hear Mikey making noise but it's distant, like he's underwater. Frank tries to get his lips over his teeth but they catch on the dry skin of Mikey's cock so Frank has to gather all the saliva he can, he has to get his tongue down the sides as far as he can without choking. It's fucking messy<\/i>, and of all the things Frank could have guessed about sucking dick he never would have thought that. But it is, it's like there is always drool dripping between his fingers and out the corners of his mouth, and he sucks on the way up but doesn't know what to do with his tongue, so he's just kind of swirling it around all over the place. He keeps forgetting to move his hand, and gives Mikey a few pulls when he remembers.

Mikey's got an actual taste<\/i> too, like a distinct one, and it's not as nasty as Frank would have thought, just a bit like sweat, but not the raunchy stale-armpit kind. And the feeling of it is surprising; he's already tracing the raised veins with his tongue, thinking about Mikey's arms and the veins there.

\"Frank<\/i>, fuck, can I... can I...\"

\"Whatever, man, whatever,\" Frank mumbles against the head of Mikey's cock, lips rubbing wet against the spongy texture there, eyes closed and feeling hopelessly, hopelessly lost in this as he goes back down again. As he descends, Mikey steps forward and Frank feels his shoulders and then his head hit the cement abruptly, enough to shock him into choking a bit around Mikey's dick.

\"Jesus, shit, holy shit, Gee, fucking look at him...\" Mikey is babbling like a fucking teenager but he feels a lot more substantial in the way he's crowding Frank and forcing himself deeper.

Frank's eyes are welling up and he is totally, totally overwhelmed, his chin's dripping with his own spit now, hand moving sloppily. He can't even push his head down but he finally just relaxes enough to take it as Mikey jerks his hips forward, fucking into Frank's throat. Each time he doesn't know if he's going to be able to suck in a small breath or swallow all the saliva collecting in his mouth, and god it is fucking amazing<\/i>. It's like being blindsided, like being slammed into from behind when you can't anticipate what's next and you feel that rush of adrenaline when you catch yourself, when you push back into it hard.

Mikey's coming way before Frank's started thinking about what would happen when that became an issue, and he doesn't even make any warning noises like his brother. Frank splutters and finally lifts his hands to shove at Mikey's hips, slipping off his dick loud and wet and dropping hard onto his ass on the floor, legs out in front of him. Frank's dizzy from lack of air and shocked at the bitter taste in his mouth. He plants a hand on the nasty-ass tile next to him, leaning over heavily and spraying out Mikey's come on an exhale, a fucking Pollock on the bathroom floor.

\"Fuck,\" Frank mutters to himself in a voice that seems to have gone through a cheese grater since he last used it. He rolls his head back against the concrete, feeling the thump of the bass through it, and looks up, where Mikey's braced against the wall above him, hand cupped over his dick and eyes squeezed closed, breathing heavy. Who knew Mikey Way was such a kinky little shit.

Frank's eyes slip shut and okay, yeah, it's kind of hot what a kinky little shit Mikey is, and what a whore his older brother is, and Frank is feeling strung the fuck out<\/i> at this point, he is so ready to come<\/i>. He gets his pants undone, spitting another mouthful of bitter-tasting saliva into his palm before getting his hand in there and curling around his dick.

\"Frank, do you--\" Gerard asks in a voice that is way<\/i> too polite. Frank cuts his eyes up at him and suddenly Mikey and Gerard feel closer--they're looming<\/i> over him--with their eyes huge and their mouths hanging open.

\"I can handle myself,\" Frank grunts, not really giving a shit now, just wanting to come already. It feels too good, the soreness when he tries to talk, the spit drying on his chin, the numbness of his lips, the twist of pleasure in his belly, the soft sound of skin slapping skin as he works his cock just the way he likes. And the brothers, who are staring down at him with their broad shoulders and dark eyes, but who he totally took to pieces<\/i> a few minutes ago. Frank feels used and grimy and small, on the floor at their feet, and this time the thought of getting walked in on makes his thighs tense and snap towards each other, makes his back bow off the cement wall and his jaw lock.

\"Nnnrgh,\" Frank grits out and slams his head back, jacks it as fast as he can, chasing it down until he's finally coming, prickling waves of fuck yes<\/i> tensing through every muscle in his legs and ass, through his curled stomach and hunched shoulders. \"Shiiiiiiiit.\"

Frank feels sort of delirious. He is so<\/i> fucked out right now, and he know he has that lame smile stuck on his face that girls have told him about before. If he's not careful he's gonna start giggling again. Frank pulls his hand out of his pants before it begins to get tacky and wipes it unceremoniously on the concrete wall beside him, a mere foot from his artistic rendering of Mikey's jizz.

\"Someone needs to shine a fuckin' blacklight on this shit, huh?\" He laughs, pulling himself to his feet. He forgot about the brothers looming over him and suddenly he's all up in their space, the stink of spilled booze and sweat on their clothes and their intense fucking stares. Why does he have such creepy friends? He grins up at them because his face is incapable of doing anything else right now.

\"You probably got crabs from sitting on that floor,\" Mikey finally says, taking a step back, tucking himself into his jeans and zipping up, \"just in case you were wondering.\"

\"Awesome, that's why I was there.\" Frank still pushes between them to go wash his hands, though, or he'll feel like a first-grader peeling glue off his skin later when everything dries. He could flick it at Otter's sleeping bag though, which would be pretty rad. Three dudes' spunk on him and he wouldn't even know.

Frank looks at Gerard and Mikey in the mirror. They're frowning at each other. \"Jesus, get the fuck over it,\" Frank says loudly, \"the set's not even over yet, and we're at a show<\/i>, guys.\" The word 'show' has been used very significantly all day while Frank's been reminding everyone of their plans this evening.

Mikey smiles and puts his hands up, palms out, \"Okay, okay, we're at a show<\/i>.\"

\"Fuckin' right.\" Frank yanks the door open to a wall of noise and the reek of sweat and beer. It makes him smile as he ushers Gerard and Mikey back into the bar. \"We're fuckin' glamorous<\/i>.\"

END



Thanks for reading. I would love any constructive feedback!
<\/a>

"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:desfinado:3008","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/3008.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=3008"}}],"title":"desfinado @ 2009-11-06T01:44:00","published":"2009-11-06T06:47:29Z","updated":"2018-01-29T01:38:39Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"bandom"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"fic"}}],"content":"I wrote a tiny fic over at <\/a>pearl_o<\/b><\/a><\/span>'s journal. Prompt: hickeys.

Pairing<\/u>: Gerard\/Frank\/Mikey, MCR
Disclaimer<\/u>: They don\u2019t belong to me; not making a profit.
Rating<\/u>: PG-13
Word count<\/u>: 4,775

Eventually Frank just gave up, pushing off Ray's thigh to unfold from the too-deep old couch and march to the centre of the living room. He scrunched his eyes shut, neck of his beer bottle tipped slightly away as he held his arms out at his sides.

\"Fuck it, now or never you whores.\" <\/i>

Read it here<\/a><\/b>.

"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:desfinado:2782","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/2782.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=2782"}}],"title":"desfinado @ 2009-11-06T00:16:00","published":"2009-11-06T05:24:58Z","updated":"2018-01-29T01:38:54Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"bandom"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"fic"}}],"content":"Title<\/u>: Before and After<\/b>
Author<\/u>: <\/a>desfinado<\/b><\/a><\/span>
Pairing<\/u>: Gerard\/Mikey, MCR
Disclaimer<\/u>: They don\u2019t belong to me; not making a profit.
Rating<\/u>: NC-17
Warnings<\/u>: Incest
Word count<\/u>: 10,412
Summary<\/u>: A minor obsession with bleach jobs and a lot of frottage.

Mikey can't stop thinking about this confidence that Gerard has. He knows, rationally, that it must have been years in the making, that it can't just be a stupid hair colour and cut, that Mikey can't be such an inattentive brother that he didn't really notice this until now. <\/i>

Wonderful podfic of this story<\/a> by sylvaine!





\"What are you staring at?\"

Mikey startles, metal scraping across tile as he jolts the chair he's hunched over in, Blender<\/i> lying open and forgotten on his crossed knee.

Gerard is sitting with his head tipped back, make-up artist hovering over him, her thumb on his right cheek pulling the skin down. Mikey's eyes sting slightly from not blinking. \"Zoning, Mikes?\"

Mikey huffs an affirmative, rolling his shoulders. He drops his gaze to his magazine.

\"Spaaaace case,\" Frank sings from somewhere behind him.

\"Your head is like one of those lights,\" Mikey explains to Gerard, not looking up. \"That, like, attract bugs? So they go zap<\/i>.\"

Gerard makes an absurd \"PFFT\" sort of sound and Mikey sees the make-up artist stand up to let him rearrange his face, sighing slightly before bending back over him.

\"Bzzzzzz.\"

Mikey looks up in time to see Frank\u2014wearing only his Black Parade jacket and grey boxer-briefs, one white sock pulled up his shin and the other around his ankle\u2014approaching. His elbows are bent at his side, fingers fluttering. His shoulders are up around his ears, and with the jacket's padding he looks like Frankenstein with tiny white thighs.

The make-up artist is standing up again, now smiling too, making \"shoo\" hands at Frank as he circles Gerard's chair. Gerard's grin splits wide across his face, bunching the corner of his eyes, one charcoal-grey and the other naked.

He brings a hand up behind the brilliant white of his hair, pulling his lips into a little 'O' before going \"Bing!\" and opening his palm wide above his head.

Frank shakes from head to toe in response and falls to the floor grinning, one hand twitching at his side.

Gerard looks up, meeting Mikey's eyes. Mikey's not used to the short hair, to seeing so much of his brother's face like that, so bare and on display. When Gerard smiles he sees how it pushes up his cheeks and thins his lips and scrunches his nose; it's like seeing something private.

\"Zap?\" Gerard asks, looking to the ceiling as the make-up artist crowds him again.

\"Zap,\" Mikey confirms, flipping a page.



They're in the men's bathroom at the venue, flickering fluorescent light overhead and scribbled-on stall doors.

Gerard's standing at the sink peering into the mirror while Mikey dries his hands and Bob and Frank come up on either side of Gerard to wash their hands at the row of sinks. When Mikey's done and the white noise of the hand drier dies out, he hears suppressed laughter, like little staccato exhales.

Mikey looks in the mirror, where Bob and Frank purse their lips against smiles and pull at the hair at their temples, meticulously curling it forwards with their fingertips. His brother stands between them, completely oblivious, doing the exact same, tilting his head slightly to the side and frowning before grabbing another bit of white-blond between his thumb and forefinger.

Gerard pauses.

\"Fuck you both.\"

Bob and Frank curl over the sinks, laughing and stepping away from the counter.

\"Fuckin' Liza Minnelli,\" Bob says, grinning as he pulls the door open and leans back against it.

\"Liza never looked this good.\" Gerard takes a step back, but his eyes are still on the mirror. \"'Sides, she wasn't blonde.\" He turns his head to the left, hollowing his cheeks and making a kissy face in the mirror. He looks up, meeting the reflection of Mikey's eyes.

\"Mikey's got more of a Liza cut than I do! He even has the\u2014the bits...\" Gerard turns, hands rising to either side of Mikey's face, grabbing the hair at the tops of Mikey's cheeks and rubbing it back and forth between his fingertips. His hands feel warm.

\"See?\" Gerard turns back to face the others.

\"Yeah, no. Mikey's got, like, the undead look going on, totally non-camp,\" Frank explains from the doorway, wiping his hands dry on his jeans.

\"Frank just said you're non-camp.\" Gerard repeats, raising his eyebrows.

His eyes flit around the perimeter of Mikey's face now, fixing his<\/i> hair, sweeping pieces one way with his left hand and then pulling a few strands back with his right.

Mikey blinks a few times, dropping his gaze. There's a line of wet across Gerard's shirt from leaning against the counter, bisecting the fabric right above where it's tucked into his black jeans. Mikey can't tell if it's Gerard's belly that pushes out a bit from the top or just the fabric bunching there.

\"I'm okay with being non-camp.\"

\"You two are like fucking night and day, you know.\" Frank walks between them and wraps an arm around each of their shoulders, steering them to face the mirror. They droop a bit on the side Frank's standing, to accommodate his height.

They all take a moment to look at the two of them: Gerard's round face and short fringe of white, his jaw set a bit and chin tilted up slightly, eyes fierce and green. Mikey's hair is black, strands left where Gerard had pulled them inwards. Face long, dark eye shadow. He still surprises himself without his glasses sometimes, like his eyes are too deep in their sockets.

\"You always make that face now,\" Mikey says, eying the long line of his own nose.

\"It's the hair.\" Gerard sticks his jaw out a little more, narrowing his eyes and pulling in the corners of his mouth. \"Makes me feel camp, but like ass-kicking-camp. Like indestructible-camp.\"

\"Like superhero-camp?\" Frank asks, lifting his hands to muss up the hair at the back of their heads before punching one fist in the air Superman-style and flopping the other wrist down in front of his chest. Mikey snorts.

\"Like\u2014\" Gerard says immediately, as if he knows they're not going to take him seriously, \u201c\u2014like swooping down into the schoolyard and beating the shit out of jocks calling a kid a fag, but doing it in tight white pants or something. And a Tom Selleck 'stache.\"

\"Being '80s doesn't mean being gay,\" Mikey points out.

\"But, like, embodying all those things that get called<\/i> gay,\" Gerard struggles, meeting their eyes in the mirror. Frank is making a triangle over his crotch with his hands like he's holding a belt buckle, thrusting his hips slightly and grinning. Gerard continues, ignoring him, \"and then totally kicking ass.\"

\"I've never felt like dying my hair gave me superpowers, but\u2014\u201d Mikey frowns. But he gets it, he gets what Gerard is saying: his brother is different<\/i> blond.

\"Even if it's like a placebo or whatever...\" Mikey trails off, smiling crookedly at Gerard in the mirror. Between them Frank is gripping the counter top and air-humping it, Bob's chuckles clearly encouraging him. \"You're totally ass-kicking camp.\"

\"Thanks, Mikes.\" Gerard smiles at him in the mirror, squeezing his eyes shut for a second before opening them, like the way Alicia's cat does when it's happy.



\"It's time, guys.\"

They all rise from the lounge of the bus where they'd crashed out after the show, the swishing sound of everyone's winter jackets as they bustle out the door to the meet-and-greet filling the entrance way.

Mikey's eyes are on his own toes and he bumps heavily into someone before he reaches the door, stepping back in surprise.

\"Sorry.\" He straightens up, standing close and just behind his brother, whose hair seems especially blinding in the dim light of the bus and against the black of the parka rising up to his ears. His head is ducked, hands at his mouth.

\"Are you lighting up on the bus?\"

Gerard looks at Mikey over his shoulder, pouting and running a stick of chapstick exaggeratedly over his lips before smacking them together.

\"Such a queen,\" Mikey snorts, bumping their shoulders. Gerard's pout squishes up to the side: part diva, part sneering Mafioso. Mikey sighs. \"Right, ass-kicking<\/i>-queen. Freddie-Mercury-Queen.\"

\"Fucking right. Fight from the inside<\/i>!\" Gerard sings, hopping down the bus steps and into the night.

After the meet-and-greet, they're out the back door getting a moment of quiet and fresh air.

Gerard smokes a silent cigarette, tipping his head back and blowing skywards, toeing the dirty snow and gravel with his boot. Mikey taps away on his sidekick, comparing notes with Alicia on the new Simpsons movie.

He looks up after a while, sees Gerard with his back against the wall, spine straight, shoulders squared against the brick. His brother's pale face is turned up, eyes fixed on the night sky and a heavy boot braced flat on the wall, one knee bent.

\"You stand different,\" he says in a rush, surprising himself in the quiet that had settled over them, the way that a layer of snow on the ground and stars in the sky seem to mute everything.

Gerard rolls his head to the side after a minute to look over at Mikey. There's something tired and intimate in the way he rests his cheek and forehead against the brick, strands of white hair catching on the rough surface and sticking up. He doesn't say anything, just looks.

Mikey shrugs and drops his gaze back to his sidekick. Alicia tells him she had to finish an extra-large popcorn alone without him there to man up.

\"Does it bug you?\" Gerard's voice is soft, most likely from screaming his lungs out on stage earlier.

Mikey shrugs again. Bugs? It occupies, more like. It occupies his mind, like he keeps thinking of things in 'Before and After' shots, making comparisons, since Gerard bleached his hair.

He's been texting Alicia about a bizarre quilt that a fan had given them the other day, but his thoughts have been occupied with how Gerard used to smoke before: with his shoulders hunched up and his head hanging low and forward, like the long weight of his hair pulled it down. His chin would be tucked to his chest so his face would be obscured by black, one hand hanging limp from his wrist at his chest, only the small of his back touching the brick. He'd be looking down at the snow but thinking about something else\u2014about being somewhere else.

Tonight, Gerard feels totally present.

\"You know I'm still the same person, Mikes.\"

Mikey rolls his eyes and doesn't look up to meet Gerard's because he's using his Comforting Big Brother tone of voice. \"Don't be dramatic.\"

\"But I'm a queen<\/i>.\"

Gerard's still got his face resting against the brick but he brings his cigarette to his mouth and Mikey finally looks up, smiling, as Gerard purses his lips to hold the cigarette in place while he cups his hand, rotating it in mockery of a royal wave.

\"It's okay if you're not<\/i> the same person, you know.\" Mikey's voice cracks a bit\u2014it always does when he wants to speak calmly about something he's actually got a lot to say about\u2014and he drops his eyes to flip through his inbox, deleting a few old messages.

He sighs after a moment of silence, like Gerard is forcing him to continue\u2014which, if you know him, he is<\/i> doing with his silence and his big tell-me-your-feelings eyes.

\"It's cool to see you being, like, confident. And stuff.\"

\"Fuck yeah, confidence is sexy.\" Gerard drawls out of the corner of his mouth, cigarette dangling from the other end, hoisting his belt up with his thumb and forefinger and tipping his head back to look skywards again.

\"And it's just fucking weird, okay? You've had long black hair for as long as I can remember. I'm used to my brother being a basement nerd, not a blond, like, twink.\"

Mikey squeezes his eyes shut as Gerard barks out a laugh, hears the heel of his boot hit the slushy pavement.

\"Did you seriously just call me something from gay porn<\/i>?\"

\"That's not the only place people use it. God<\/i>,\" Mikey huffs out but can't help smiling as he does so.

He feels like explaining: it's the way you swing your hips<\/i>, or your eyes look brighter and your face looks like angles and lines<\/i>, or it's the way you pout your lips without realizing every time you fix your hair<\/i>. But he knows it would dig him deeper. Sometimes Mikey likes to dig himself deeper because it makes everyone else laugh, but something about these words feels like they might be awkward.

Mikey doesn't meet Gerard's eyes as he turns to the door, but he props it open with his now-damp canvas shoes and does a little bow, one hand extended to the side.

Gerard laughs under his breath, flicking his cigarette out past Mikey's peripheral vision, and passes by him, skipping and swinging his arms back and forth. Mikey coughs away a startled laugh and follows, letting the heavy door bang shut behind them.

\"Yeah, well, I don't take it back,\" he says.

He thinks, this is what my brother's confidence looks like<\/i>.



\"You know, you make the bathroom smell weird when you shower,\" Mikey says from behind his laptop screen at the table in the kitchenette.

Sunlight slants sideways through the bus windows and Gerard blinks in confusion, pausing in place, wet hair sticking up in the back and catching the light like a halo.

\"Mikey<\/i>,\" Frank hisses from the couch, hunched over his Xbox controller and not looking up. \"Don't give him a reason to stop showering.\"

\"Whatever, it's really weird. Are you cleaning yourself with strange new chemicals or something?\"

Gerard frowns, sitting down opposite him. Their knees bump under the table before Mikey opens his to the sides, sliding his feet out across the floor.

\"Industrial strength soap,\" Frank suggests. \"It's brave, trying to find something to tackle the Way Funk.\"

\"I still use my\u2014\"

\"Your Pert fucking Plus? Yeah, I saw it in there.\" Frank leans to the right, swearing at the screen.

Gerard shrugs and scratches at his arm, cheeks still pink from the shower. When his hair's wet Mikey notices the beginnings of dark roots, and he imagines the 'Before' Gerard growing back in, slow and gradual. He sort of likes it though; it grounds him, reminds him that this is just a dye job.

\"Maybe it's me?\" Gerard eventually supplies, planting his elbows on the table to pull his torso across it and lean over Mikey's laptop, bumping their foreheads. Mikey rears back. \"Smell me!\" Gerard demands, butting Mikey's sternum and shaking little droplets of water onto his keyboard.

\"Jesus, okay, okay.\" Mikey brings his nose close to Gerard's temple, and then Gerard pushes forward again and into Mikey's neck, so he gets a face full of wet hair, scrunching up his nose, and\u2014oh. That's<\/i> it. \"Yeah! Yeah, okay, you can\u2026\" He pushes Gerard off by lifting his shoulders up to his ears. \"It's totally your hair, dude.\"

\"Really?\" Gerard rubs his hand back and forth over the crown of his head and then smushes his palm against his face, inhaling. \"I don't\u2014really? What's it smell like?\"

\"It's chemical... I dunno.\" Mikey sits back, rubbing the soles of his socked feet back and forth on the floor as he struggles to place it. It's like a wide, expansive smell. It's chemical but in that kind of interesting way that gasoline is, like it fills your lungs slowly, and it has this element to it that's kind of organic, kind of woody.

\"It's like the pulp mills on the coast,\u201d Mikey settles on, \u201cor like that smell sometimes from the brewery\u2014\"

\"Hops?\" Gerard's eyebrows rise.

\"Yeah, hops. That's seriously weird. Does it always smell like that, even when you wash it?\"

\"I guess?\" Gerard's eyes are crossed, trying to pull a section of hair down to smell it. It's way too short, and Mikey huffs a smile to himself, eyes dropping back to his keyboard.

Later, Mikey takes a nap in Gerard's bunk because he has a huge pile of laundry they just did in his. The pillow smells like his brother's hair, that woody chemical aroma.



They're in the first class cabin on a red-eye flight, lights out and mostly everyone sleeping as they cross the Atlantic. Mikey and Gerard have a two-seater to themselves, playing a half-hearted game of Hang Man on the airline napkin on the arm rest between them.

\"No 'R's,\" Mikey whispers, the dull roar of the pressurized air and the engines even more deafening now that no one is talking in the cabin.

He draws a stick leg and fills in a big black boot with detailed laces, his left arm on the partition. He feels the air displaced over his skin as Gerard laughs softly between them. It's dark but they haven't turned their reading lights on, letting their eyes adjust to the dim.

They don't say anything for a moment. Gerard's gaze is on the napkin but kind of unfocused, and Mikey blinks after watching him for a minute. His brother's got his arms crossed and his hands tucked into his armpits, black jeans stretched tight as he sits with one leg crossed over the other at the ankle, knee jutting out into the aisle.

He looks sort of young in that moment, and reminds Mikey of the way some little kids look, the ones with white-blond hair shorn straight across into bowl cuts, and how the soft whiteness of that colour always seems to change with age, turns more sandy and dull.

\"Can I feel your hair?\" Mikey whispers, right hand tucked between his thighs, pen still resting in his left. His fingers twitch towards Gerard slightly, and the napkin shifts underneath them. He's not sure why it feels like he's asking for something he's not allowed to do.

\"Mmm?\" Gerard hums absently, heavy-lidded gaze still on the napkin between them, either lost in thought or half-asleep.

Mikey props his left elbow on the arm rest and shifts over in his chair to line his shoulder up above it, nudging the side of Gerard's head. Gerard lowers it slowly onto his shoulder, eyes slipping shut, Mikey's shoulder blade just below and behind his ear.

Mikey lifts up his right hand and tentatively pinches a bit of blond between his thumb and forefinger. It doesn't feel like much, so Mikey pushes three fingers into his brother's hair, light pressure along his scalp, before curling back to his palm.

Gerard goes \"Unh,\" and lowers his head just a little bit, the tip of his nose a small point against Mikey's upper arm, baring the crown of his head. Mikey smiles to himself and curls and uncurls his fingers a few times in place, thinking about the texture. It\u2019s a bit like straw, like something dry and dead, like short grasses yellowed in the sun.

\"Your hair feels so weird. I guess 'cause it got fried, right?\" Mikey whispers.

\"Mmm, they bleached it three times to get it white enough and<\/i> used some toner shit. 'Specially 'cause it was black before,\" Gerard mumbles into Mikey's arm. \"Stung like a motherfucker.\"

Mikey presses the pads of his fingers lightly to Gerard's scalp, expecting the skin to have a different texture after being bleached, but it just feels like skin and hair wax.

\"Hurts?\"

\"No, it's\u2014\" Gerard inhales, hands still tucked in his armpits but shifting a bit further away in his seat so he can rest more of his weight on Mikey. \"Feels nice.\" When he exhales, it's humid and warm on Mikey's bicep through his thin t-shirt sleeve.

Mikey rubs little circles like a head massage, pushing his thumb into Gerard's hair to knead more at the crown of his head. Mikey's skin feels scratchy all over from the recycled air. He closes his eyes and drops his head back against the seat, fingers still moving in methodical circles.

After a few minutes of Gerard breathing warm and steady against him, Mikey wonders if he's passing out. Mikey's feeling tired too, but it's hard to ignore the engine noise and the way the air conditioning makes his skin feel cold but like he's still hot inside. His one-handed head massage is starting to cramp his fingers a bit.

\"You asleep already, asshole? Thought you were gonna stay up with me,\" Mikey whispers.

Gerard doesn't respond, so Mikey tightens his hand into a fist and tugs lightly, stiff hair prickling his palm.

\"Ah<\/i>,\" Gerard gasps, face pushing forward and open mouth wet against Mikey's arm, lips and teeth through cotton. Mikey can hear the denim-on-denim of Gerard squeezing his legs together. He quickly releases his brother's hair, hand hovering above his head for a second.

\"Sorry, sorry.\"

Mikey opens his eyes and pats the wayward pieces of Gerard's blond hair back down. Gerard's face rolls forward, rubbing his nose against Mikey's t-shirt sleeve, then back to the headrest. His hands are tucked between his thighs now, body hunched forwards slightly. His eyes open for a moment, blearily looking at the back of seat in front of him, then close again.

\"'S fine, don't worry about it.\" Gerard's voice is almost lost under the engine noise, lips barely moving.

\"'Kay.\" Mikey closes his eyes too, hoping it will help him fall asleep. They breathe in silence for a moment, and the sleepy middle-of-the-night sensation makes Mikey feel like he's back in their old room, tossing thoughts out into the dark space between their beds at night.

\"Gee?\"

\"Mmm?\"

\"That's not, like, a thing<\/i> for you, is it?\"

A soft huff of breath out. \"It's nothing.\"

Mikey rolls his head towards the window and tries to fall asleep.



Overseas, the fans can't shut up about Gerard's hair.

They scream that they love it, that they hate it, that they miss his old hair; some have even copied the cut and colour themselves. Gerard has developed a habit of lifting a hand to the back of his head when he's prowling the stage between songs, pushing thick fingers up through the short hair there to muss it up.

Leaning over fences or bending over meet-and-greet tables, young girls reach tentative hands towards his brother's head and Mikey exchanges smiles with the guys as Gerard nods and says yes, yes they can touch it\u2014gently<\/i>.

Mikey runs his fingers over the denim on his thighs and thinks of the texture, the prickle like straw under his palms, the way Gerard turns into the touch and asks Mikey for head rubs almost daily now.

It's strange for the fans to know what it feels like. Somehow, to Mikey, it's like giving away the secret behind his brother's strength and poise, the secret behind squared shoulders and bright, happy eyes. Before and after.



One night at an over-decorated, Victorian-style hotel, Mikey stays up stupidly late playing games on his phone with Alicia.

He knows how early they need to get up, but there's something about the dark of Frank and Ray's hotel room (they had long since passed out) and the blue light of his screen that makes Mikey feel like he could be awake forever, like time is suspended.

Eventually Alicia goes to bed after kicking his ass three times in a row, and Mikey sits up with a small smile to himself. He uncurls from his spot on the carpet, leaning against the foot of Frank's bed, and uses the light of his phone to search the floor for his wallet.

\"Shit,\" he whispers to himself as he comes up empty-handed, afraid to wake the guys by turning on the light.

Without the keycard, he's not sure how to get into his and Gerard's room next door. But when Mikey takes one last look behind the TV set, the light from his sidekick glints off the knob of a door set in the wall\u2014a door that must connect to his room.

Mikey slides his phone into his pocket and turns the doorknob carefully, trying not to make any noise. Eyes on his feet, Mikey slips through into the room and closes the door behind him as carefully as he can.

The lump of blankets and shock of white hair is a pretty clear indicator of which bed is taken, so Mikey is about to move over to the empty bed when the shifting of Gerard's blankets stills him. Not wanting to wake his brother up, Mikey pauses in place to wait until Gerard settles back into sleep.

But Gerard doesn't stop shifting, one leg sliding down so a black-socked foot pokes out from the bottom of the duvet before sliding back up under it again. Mikey frowns and then the blanket is drawn down slightly by the movement of his brother's legs and he sees the soft pale skin of Gerard's arms. He\u2019s face down on the mattress with both hands tangled in the back of his own hair.

Gerard's hands shift around, pushing his hair up against the grain and back down, fingers curling into fists and releasing. Mikey is caught up thinking about that texture again, the dry-grass feel of short strands against his palm, the warm hair-product feel of Gerard's scalp under his fingertips.

Gerard makes a noise, just a \"Hahh\" sound that is nearly lost under the rustle of shifting blankets, but it feels like cold water down Mikey's spine. Mikey gropes behind himself for the doorknob.

Gerard's face turns to the left, eyes squeezed shut but mouth wide open, wet lips dragging down the length of his own pale upper arm, teeth grazing skin as his hands twist even tighter in his own hair. His hips are moving against the mattress and Mikey has to close his eyes.

He slips back against the wall, finally finding the doorknob and letting himself back into Frank and Ray's room as quietly as he can with his eyes still shut tight. Mikey isn't sure if that makes it better or worse. All he can see behind his eyelids is the dark shadow of his brother's mouth sliding wet and desperate against his own arm, tufts of brilliant white between thick, curling fingers.



Mikey's thoughts keep coming back to it the next day. He'd let it go, but he feels tied up in this somehow: the head massages he's been giving Gerard so much lately, the way his brother had snapped his legs together on the plane, hunched over in his seat, when Mikey had accidentally tugged on his hair. Mikey knows it's not about him<\/i>, it's about the hair. But Gerard doesn't really ask anyone else to play with it except Mikey, doesn't let fans or even the other guys go beyond a quick touch before laughing and slapping their hands away.

He doesn't say anything about it at the bar after the show, but watches the way Gerard laughs so loud and talks so fast and leans back in the booth they're all sitting at, stretching both arms out across the back of the seat. Mikey can't stop thinking about this confidence Gerard has. He knows, rationally, that it must have been years in the making, that it can't just be a stupid hair colour and cut, that Mikey can't be such an inattentive brother that he didn't really notice this until now.

He trails Gerard outside for a smoke. Gerard is quiet right down to the filter of the cigarette, at which point he says softly that he's kind of exhausted and might just crash in the car until everyone's ready to leave. Mikey follows, says he wouldn't mind a breather either. The limo driver is leaning against the hood, smoking and reading the paper, and lets them in the back.

\"Limos are so different like this,\" Mikey says as he ducks through the door, pulling it closed behind them and settling down a few feet from Gerard on the black leather bench seat. \"When the lights are out and the TV's not on, it's kind of like a well-furnished coffin.\"

\"Mmmm, it's made<\/i> for sleep then.\" Gerard already has his eyes closed, stupid contented smile on his face as he swings his heavy scuffed boots up onto the leather and settles on his side, folding his hands under his head.

\"If you're a vampire,\" Mikey points out, stretching his legs out ahead of him and slouching down a bit on the seat, crossing his ankles.

\"Perfect.\"

After a few moments of quiet, Gerard opens one eye and shuffles down the seat to put his head on Mikey's right thigh, tucking the tips of his fingers under Mikey's legs. He lets out an expansive breath, like it's the first time all day he's had a chance to relax.

Mikey smiles at his brother\u2019s head, pats it, and Gerard pushes his head back against Mikey's hand immediately. Without thinking, Mikey slips his fingertips into the rough strands and massages slightly.

When Gerard's bottom lip drops away, his mouth open and breath hot across Mikey's thigh, he's reminded of Gerard's mouth and teeth sliding wetly down his own arm the night before.

\"You said it wasn't a thing.\"

\"Mmm, what?\" Gerard's eyebrows draw together slightly but he doesn't open his eyes, Mikey's fingers making light circles on his scalp.

\"The... the hair thing.\"

\"'S'not,\" Gerard mumbles.

Mikey's fingers still, and after a few moments Gerard heaves a sigh, lifting his head from Mikey's leg and sitting up. He rolls off the bench seat to the carpeted limo floor, shoving Mikey's legs apart to lean back against the seat between them.

\"I just like a fucking head rub. Jesus, Mikes.\"

Mikey looks down at Gerard, head tipped back on the seat between his knees, the point of his nose visible in the darkness of the car and the white of his hands on his thighs, legs stretched out across the floor in front of him.

Mikey's hands hover over his brother's head for a moment before dropping tentatively into his hair again, making the same small, light circles.

\"'Kay.\" Mikey drops his own head back against the seat, eyes closed, fingers moving methodically with the prickle of hair against his palms.

He feels kind of frustrated about letting Gerard get away with lying. Especially when the head rubs are something the two of them always do, and now Mikey doesn't know what it means to his brother, and what it means that Mikey<\/i> is always the one to be doing this, and he can't stop thinking in before and after<\/i>.

\"Really?\" Mikey whispers, like they're not alone in the limo, like if he asks a second time he'll get a different answer. He tugs lightly, to remind them what they're talking about. Gerard doesn't respond. Mikey looks down at him and fists the dry-grass hair in his hands, pulls hard and feels the resistance of his brother's scalp.

It's only when Gerard says \"Don't<\/i>\" in a sharp voice that Mikey realizes his own body is tensed, spine curved away from the seat and knees locked in place, nearly clenching Gerard's ears between them. Mikey stops pulling but doesn't let go, forcing his body to relax again.

\"Why not?\"

He wants Gerard to talk about this, to explain why he kept it from Mikey. Maybe what he wants is an apology, for Gerard to admit that he lied. Mikey can't stop thinking about the way his brother's hands looked tangled up in his own hair last night.

\"Fuck.\" Gerard sounds agitated but he hasn't moved, like Mikey's grip is keeping him in place. All Mikey can see is the back of his head, the bright white between his own long fingers, Gerard's hands still flat on his own thighs. \"It hurts, okay? I told you the whole dye job set my scalp on fire.\"

Mikey releases his grip slightly, feeling bad for a moment, and rubs the flat of his palms back and forth against the two spots where he'd pulled before. Gerard's head dips forward slightly and he lets out a breath, baring the pale line of his neck.

Mikey presses the heel of his left hand to the base of his brother's neck almost without thinking, keeping his head bowed, sweeping his palm up to Gerard's hairline and back down to the collar of his t-shirt.

\"Why didn't you tell me?\" Mikey asks in a tight voice, the strange sensation of Gerard bending to his touch throwing him off.

Gerard is impossibly silent, and Mikey is starting to feel a little wild, because Gerard won't admit<\/i> to it and he lied<\/i> and Mikey knows it but can't get it out of him. Mikey feels like a teenager again, like indignation is bursting through his body and he can't rein it in. Sometimes there's no one who makes Mikey feel more like a teenager than his older brother.

\"Why didn't you tell me you liked this<\/i>?\" Mikey asks in a stage whisper, spreading his hand wide to bracket the back of Gerard's neck with his thumb and forefinger, fisting bleached hair in his other hand and pulling hard.

Gerard groans loudly, like the sound he makes when he's exhausted or fed up, but it swoops high at the end and cuts off as he swallows thickly. His knees bend slightly off the floor, one foot sliding towards them before straightening back out again.

\"Mikes\u2014\"

\"I don't, I don't...\" Mikey feels a little out of control of the situation, while at the same time getting the sense that Gerard is handing it over to him. \"I do this all the time, what the fuck<\/i>.\"

Mikey squeezes Gerard's neck slightly\u2014his skin is so warm<\/i>\u2014and grips another fistful of hair, using the resistance between his hands to pull. Gerard's shoulders hitch and he quickly pulls his knees into his chest, heavy boots dragging on the floor as he wraps his arms around his legs, forehead pressed into his knees. He doesn't say anything. Mikey rubs his thumb back and forth, like the way you might do to reassure someone, but he can't stop shifting his other hand around Gerard's hair to grip in new places. His brother's breathing is heavy, muffled against his jeans.

When Mikey slides both hands up into Gerard's hair, though, gripping hard and pinning his face against his knees, Gerard gasps, both palms landing flat on either side of him on the floor of the limo with a soft thump.

Mikey is completely and utterly in over his head. He tries to picture him and Gerard ending up in this situation before\u2014with Gerard's long black hair\u2014and he can't, all he can focus on is the way his brother's fingers curl and scrabble uselessly at the limo carpet every time he grabs a new section of short hair and holds just a little bit longer, just a little bit tighter.

\"I can't\u2014\"

\"Shut the fuck up,\" Mikey says quickly, on an exhale that makes him realize just how heavily he's breathing.

He doesn't want to hear Gerard say yes<\/i> or no<\/i> right now, can't deal with either. He's sitting up straight on the leather seat, legs spread wide, tendons in the backs of his hands sticking out in sharp relief as he alternates pulling and rubbing across Gerard's scalp.

Mikey fists both his hands at once in his brother's hair and pulls hard enough to lift Gerard\u2019s head up slightly, then shoves it back roughly into his knees, hears his brother choke out a low noise in response. Gerard's right hand snaps to his lap and his entire body tenses, shoulders hunched forward. Mikey's stomach bottoms out and he can't see, doesn't know for sure, but then\u2014

\"\u2014I'm gonna. Don't, just, just don't\u2026 I'm gonna\u2014\"

\"Shut up shut up shut up<\/i>,\" Mikey grits out, and he has to close his eyes against the image of his older brother curling in on himself between Mikey's spread thighs, one hand tensing between the shadow of his legs.

He doesn't know why they\u2019re still whispering, but he knows that if Gerard keeps talking Mikey is going to high-tail it out of the limo.

Mikey shifts his hands to grab another fistful of hair, to pull just a few seconds longer and Gerard goes, \"Ah, ah, ah<\/i>.\" Even as Mikey is muttering at him to shut up again\u2014eyes squeezed shut, not wanting to hear his brother's voice\u2014Gerard's whole body convulses against the seat, shoulders bumping Mikey's knees.

He's fucking pissed. Pissed at Gerard for making noise and for lying all along about the head massages and for making him react<\/i> like this. Mikey wrenches his brother's head back against the seat hard with a fistful of blond. His eyes fly open by accident, and there is Gerard's fucking face<\/i>, staring wide and overwhelmed up at him, the point of his nose, his mouth impossibly wide open, jaw locked. Both of Gerard's hands are cupped gingerly over his own crotch, and Mikey can't handle this.

\"Fuck, fucking asshole, shit\u2026\" Squeezing his eyes shut as hard as he can, like they're going to open on their own again, Mikey grabs Gerard's hair even harder as he presses the heel of his other hand hard against himself, thumb to pinky. In the time it takes for Gerard's breathing to hitch on an almost-whine, Mikey is bursting apart under only five fingers through fucking denim<\/i> in the backseat of a limousine with a hand twisted so hard in his brother's hair there are a few strands under his fingernails that he might have pulled out.

Mikey lets himself take a few deep breaths\u2014frozen in that position\u2014before letting go, lifting both hands to scrub over his eyes. \"Shiiiiiiiit. Shit shit shit shit<\/i>.\"

\"I'm sorry, Mikes. I told you not to\u2014to\u2026\" Gerard mumbles in a tiny, strung-out voice from somewhere between his knees. Mikey feels like his spine has turned to liquid but his stomach sours at the sound of the nickname.

\"What the fuck<\/i>?\" He doesn't take his hands off his face, simultaneously horrified and embarrassed and kind of tacky inside his jeans.

\"It's not a big deal, okay? I promise.\"

\"Not a\u2014\" Mikey can't even find words anymore, and he sort of feels like he's about to revisit his vodka and red bull.

He opens his eyes just to swing a leg over Gerard and scramble for the limo door, and he feels Gerard's hand fall warm and heavy on his calf but he pulls out of the grip. He shoves at the door handle and falls out onto the pavement, not looking back.

\"Later,\" he says, because he can\u2019t shut a door in his brother\u2019s face without saying something first, and makes a beeline for the bar. Gerard doesn't follow.



The next two days aren't as weird as they could be, considering.

They don't really talk except for passing cans of Coke or asking when sound check is. Mikey only looks at Gerard when he knows he can't see, which is mostly from the rear of the stage. He tries to read the lines of his brother's body to figure out what he's thinking, but Gerard falls so easily into his stage persona that it's the same as ever, even when he slides occasional fingers into the back of his hair to mess it up.

Mikey sees a tech go by at one venue, head hanging low and greasy black hair falling in their face, and feels wistful. He realizes that he misses before<\/i>-Gerard, how uncomplicated he was even when he was fucked up; how uncomplicated they<\/i> were. He never really knew the feeling of his brother's stringy black hair under his fingertips, never knew just how hard he could pull it before Gerard would make a noise.

Mikey overhears Frank and Bob backstage, right before he rounds a corner: \"I dunno dude, fucking brothers,\" and \"they'll get their heads out of their asses soon enough.\"

Mikey turns on his heel and goes the other way, but all he can hear is fucking brothers<\/i>. Fucking brothers. He smokes two cigarettes even though he doesn't smoke much anymore and lies when Alicia asks why he sounds so distant on the phone.



On the third day he walks into their dressing room a few hours early, hoping to have a nap, and finds Gerard alone, cross-legged on the cement floor with a sketchpad and pencils. Mikey tries to leave before he's noticed.

\"Don't.\"

Mikey sighs and turns from the door to face his brother. \"What's up.\"

\"Stop running away from me,\" Gerard says in an even tone, eyes on the paper in front of him. He hasn't put his wax stuff in yet and his hair sits kind of white and fuzzy in a straight line across his forehead.

Mikey takes a moment to think and decides to get right to the point. \"What the fuck, Gee. Am I not allowed to freak out? You used me to\u2026 y'know.\"

\"Jesus, I told you to stop, okay? I'm sorry.\" Gerard is frowning at the sketchpad, still not looking up as he reaches for an eraser. \"If this had happened when we were, like, awkward and twelve, this would be no big deal.\"

Mikey sighs, leans back against the door, crossing his arms. \"Okay, so no more head rubs.\"

Gerard's eraser tears the paper and he swears violently under his breath. \"Yeah, fine, sure.\"

\"'Kay.\" Mikey feels weird, like they\u2019ve had the conversation they needed to have but it hasn't cleared the air in the room. He doesn't want to stick around, though. \"See you for sound check.\"



By the next afternoon, Gerard is meeting his eyes again and Mikey has made fun of his bizarre facial expressions and things feels exponentially more normal. Mikey thinks of it like the millions of tiny stupid fights they've had: they avoid each other for a few days but they always know they'll get over it, they can't not<\/i>. He tries to think of the whole hair thing now as just something about his brother\u2014something like finding his jerk-off lotion, or having Gerard walk in on him and a girl making out\u2014that they can mutually pretend never happened, because you never want to think of your brother as anything but asexual.

A hotel night puts them in a room together a few nights later and Mikey doesn't even think twice about it, relegates the late-night shifting of blankets and fingers curled in hair to a totally different place and time. He crashes face-down onto a bed the second they arrive and calls Alicia, on the phone with her for a long while. When he finally hangs up he hears the shower running and realizes he hasn't gone to the bathroom since they got back from the venue.

\"I'm gonna piss,\" he announces to Gerard as he pushes the bathroom door open, blinking against the steam.

\"Don't flush,\" Gerard says from somewhere behind the plastic curtain. Water hits the tub erratically as he moves under the spray.

Mikey is just shaking off when Gerard says, \"Hey, wanna feel something weird?\"

Mikey snorts, zipping up his jeans. \"Who says that kind of shit when they're naked<\/i>?\u201d

Gerard laughs loudly and stupidly, and his head emerges from the around the edge of the curtain, hands bunching the plastic and holding it up around his chest. His birthmark is bright pink on his cheek, eyelashes matted together. \"Just feel my hair, I swear, it's so fucking weird\u2014it's the complete opposite of how it feels when it's dry.\"

Mikey's stomach twists, and he thinks about how his hands have been nowhere near Gerard's head for at least a week. The air feels humid and thick in his lungs.

Gerard rolls his eyes and shifts, lifting the curtain slightly higher, feet squeaking on the tub. \"Get over yourself, Mikes. Nothing funny, I promise.\"

Mikey shoves his sleeves up his forearms to keep his hoodie from getting wet, reaching out and gently rubbing a few pieces of hair between his thumb and forefinger. He frowns; it feels smooth, fine and limp between his fingertips, nothing like the rough-straw texture he remembers.

\"Like fucking silk, right? I don't even get it!\" Gerard sounds excited, like he's been waiting for a chance to share this with someone. It makes Mikey smile.

\"Totally, that is so bizarre.\"

\"\u2014and the roots, you can't really see them when it's dry, but look, look...\" Gerard drops his head slightly, showing the shorter hair at the back of his neck. \"It's growing out so fast!\"

With Gerard's hair wet, Mikey can see the black underneath the blond even more prominently. It's stupid, but it makes him think about how he kind of misses his brother's old, gross hair. Mikey reaches out and curls three fingers through the wet strands at the nape of his brother's neck, exposing the dark roots.

Gerard sags almost instinctively under his touch, head hanging low from his shoulders, a few drops of water landing wet on Mikey's socked feet. He can see the first few knobs of Gerard's spine, the twin points of his shoulder blades, heat-pink skin of his thick neck and wide shoulders dotted with beads of water. Mikey cards his fingers back through the hair at the base of Gerard's neck once more, curling the velvet-smooth strands softly into his palm, and freezes when he feels Gerard's forehead bump his sternum.

\"Gee...\"

Mikey is tall enough that he sees the way Gerard's broad shoulders rise and fall with a heavy breath, the tiny freckles there. After a few seconds frozen like that, Mikey's light touch almost seeming to hold Gerard's head to his chest, Gerard pulls back up, eyes on the wall to the left of Mikey's face.

\"Don't flush. I'll be out in a few and we can get food or something.\"

Mikey's hand falls away, wet up to his forearm, and Gerard turns back to the spray, pulling the curtain closed between them. Mikey nods to himself but doesn't move, staring at the spot where the curtain now hangs. He feels the warm wet points on his body where Gerard's forehead pressed to his chest, where his hair dripped all over Mikey's socks. He opens his wet palm wide, staring down at it and trying to figure out why he felt like he could guide Gerard anywhere just with the press of his hand to his neck or the crown of his head. Why Gerard bent to his touch like that.

\"Mikey?\" Gerard pokes his head out again, sideways this time, and Mikey surprises himself by reaching his hand up and grabbing a fistful of Gerard's wet hair. \"What the fu\u2014\"

\"Shut up,\" Mikey says, voice cracking on the second syllable, and pulls slightly to the right. Gerard's hand slaps wet against the shower wall to keep from falling forwards, his mouth dropping open and his eyes wide.

Their eyes meet, Mikey challenging Gerard to say something. But he's totally silent, not fighting the tug of Mikey\u2019s hand. Mikey pulls Gerard towards him slightly, Gerard's foot squeaking on the tub as he turns to face him. Water drips down Mikey's forearm into the bunched-up sleeve of his hoodie. It tracks down Gerard's forehead\u2014he blinks his eyes blearily to clear them\u2014and drops run down over his open mouth, pooling in the sagging hollow of his bottom lip and dripping off his chin to the floor by Mikey's feet.

Mikey wrenches Gerard's head forward so their foreheads bump, noses smashed together. He pauses, feels his brother's warm, erratic breath against his own lips, hears him panting over the sound of the shower. Mikey pulls back a few inches, his hand fisted in Gerard\u2019s hair, eyes on Gerard's wet lips, Gerard's eyes on his own. They trade heavy breaths, neither one closing the short space between them.

\u201cShit,\u201d Mikey swears under his breath. He can't do it.

He drops his head to Gerard's neck and presses his mouth against the hot skin there, teeth clenched and bared. Gerard\u2019s chest hitches against Mikey's collarbone and Mikey can't even think about this rationally, just pushes mouth-first and lets his body follow him.

He climbs into the tub, pushing until he has his brother backed against the tiled wall, crowding him with this body, water soaking into his clothes from the hot shower to his left. Mikey's hand is crushed between the base of Gerard's skull and the tile, still fisted hard in his hair, and he uses it to wrench Gerard's head to the side and bare his neck.

Mikey's free hand grips Gerard's bicep hard, the soft skin there, and he finds himself opening his mouth wide to slide wetly and without purpose against Gerard's neck in an imitation of what he saw his brother doing to his own arm so many nights ago.

\"Unh,\" Gerard grunts.

His chest and head are impossibly still under Mikey's grip but he's twisting his hips frantically to the side, away from Mikey. Mikey slides his fingers through soft-wet strands and grips a new fistful of hair, harder this time, pressing his body up against Gerard's from chest to knees, trying to keep him still.

Gerard moans desperately and Mikey freezes, panting hard against Gerard's clavicle, when he registers the warm, solid length of his brother's dick against his thigh. Too much too much too much,<\/i> Mikey feels like he's made a huge fucking mistake, and he steps back like he's been burned, fingers splayed wide in the air on either side of him, huge eyes on Gerard's.

Gerard stares at him from under his lashes, animal-like, like he's going to fucking hurt someone, bleach-white hair a wet mess against the tile. The long pink line of his neck is still bared and his own arms are still flat against the wall like they've been pinned there, his chest rising and falling with his breathing.

\"I can't\u2014\" Mikey starts and shakes his head.

He\u2019s grabbing behind himself for the plastic curtain when Gerard flips around to face the shower wall, back to Mikey. He's braced on his elbows, forehead pressed against his overlapping fists, gaze down. \"You don't have to\u2014\" Gerard's voice is barely audible, water streaming down his left side, pink lines criss-crossed down his back from pressing against the shower tiles. \"Just... just pull.\"

Mikey feels like he can't breathe with the warm, wet weight of his clothes and the steam in the air. He tentatively presses his palm between the jut of Gerard's shoulder blades and slowly runs it up the length of his neck into his hair, gripping hard.

Gerard gasps. Mikey can see his brother's eyes squeezed shut, mouth hanging open and drops of water falling from his red, red lips. Mikey takes one step forwards, holding Gerard's head in place\u2014bowed so low it's almost level with his shoulders\u2014and skirts light fingertips over the pink grooves along his back from the wall tiles. He trails a line down to the dimples at the base of Gerard's spine and his thumb fits perfectly in one, bracketing Gerard's left hip with his long fingers and squeezing. Gerard is impossibly still as Mikey looks down. The swell of Gerard\u2019s ass is pink and considerably more pale than the rest of him.

Mikey can't figure out how he can spend more than two decades with this body and feel like this is the first time he's seen<\/i> it. The white flash of his brother's ass as he turns away and bends over, pulling on a pair of boxers in their bedroom\u2014it doesn't feel like the same body, the same skin, that's in front of him now.

Mikey's thumb sweeps lower to follow the rise of flesh there, digging his fingers in and making Gerard gasp. Gerard's hips\u2014at least a foot away from the wall\u2014hitch forward slightly and Mikey lets go again, overwhelmed. He plants his hands on the wet tile on either side of Gerard's shoulders, closing his eyes. He leans forward just to press his forehead to the space between his brother's shoulder blades, the only point of contact.

\"Gee, this is\u2014\"

\"I know. I know.\"

They both just breathe like that for a while, Gerard's shoulders rising and falling and Mikey's head rising and falling with it, the insides of his arms brushing the outsides of Gerard's with the sagging wet fabric of his hoodie.

\"You can...\" Gerard trails off. A few now-wet strands of Mikey\u2019s black hair stick to his skin. \"You can do whatever you want,\" Gerard finally says, his voice a near-whisper.

Mikey swallows hard. He opens his eyes and looks down at his wet jeans and the imprint of his dick against the heavy fabric, at the swell of Gerard's ass and the sparse hair on the backs of his thighs and calves, the frail-looking narrowing of his heels.

Mikey keeps one hand braced on the tile, removing the other to fist Gerard's hair and push down, low enough to hurt, and presses his face into Gerard's spine, lips moving against the warm skin there. \"Shut up<\/i>.\"

Mikey flips open the button on his jeans, shoves one-handed at the wet material enough to push it and his soaked briefs halfway down his thighs. Mikey doesn't look so he can't see what the hard, red curve of it might look like jutting from between his thighs, next to the pale pink swell of his brother's ass.

Mikey presses his palm down lightly on the base of his dick, feels raised veins and sensitive skin under his hand. He doesn't curl his fingers, just runs his palm lightly up the length to smear around the head, and he sighs into Gerard's skin, other hand slipping on the tile in front of them.

Gerard hasn't moved, and Mikey has to stand up a bit to regain his balance but keep his hips clear of Gerard's ass. When he removes his hand briefly from the wall he remembers what Gerard had asked of him, when he first turned to face the wall. Mikey shoves his fingers roughly into the hair at the crown of Gerard\u2019s head and grips hard, leaning his weight on it. Gerard moans and Mikey pants into his skin, wrapping his thumb and forefinger loosely around the base of his own dick.

Mikey feels stretched apart all over, like he\u2019s in two places at once. There are his lips wet against Gerard's spine, his brother's shoulders lifting and falling with measured breaths, water beating down their sides. And then there's Mikey's hand working between his own thighs, twisting up and over and down in a blur, like when he's alone or clutching the phone to his ear, Alicia breathing heavy on the other end.

He feels slightly insane when he tries to picture the two of them in the shower right now\u2014how they must look\u2014and he can't, he has to focus on breathing in and out, clenching and releasing his fist in Gerard's smooth, wet hair.

\"Are you\u2014\"

\"Fuck.\" Mikey cuts Gerard's question off and bares his teeth, biting down lightly on the wet skin stretched tight across his brother\u2019s vertebrae.

Gerard makes an \"Unnh\" sound and pulls against Mikey's hand in his hair, resisting. Mikey grips even harder, tighter than he has before, and slides his open mouth up to the wide, freckled expanse of Gerard's shoulder to bite hard into the muscle there.

\"Motherfucker<\/i>,\" Gerard chokes. His hips hitch back so quickly that Mikey doesn't realize it until the sticky-wet tip of his cock skids across Gerard's lower back, knuckles of his curled fist brushing the top of his brother\u2019s ass.

They both moan, and Mikey snaps his hips forwards just as Gerard grinds backwards, Mikey's fingers trapped between Gerard's back, his dick and his own stomach, rough wet cotton of his hoodie against sensitive skin.

\"Don't\u2026\" Mikey pleads, but slides his mouth blindly over to Gerard's other shoulder to bite hard. Gerard moans long and low, the noise tinny in the small bathroom.

Gerard presses forward and Mikey loses his balance, letting go of his dick to brace himself on the wall, other hand still locked into Gerard's hair. His eyes fly open to right himself and all he can see is the broad wet expanse of Gerard's shoulders, a ring of red teeth marks on either side, the ridge of his spine and the brilliant white of his hair. Mikey closes his eyes before he can look up or down. Gerard gasps and Mikey can\u2019t see but can imagine his brother\u2019s dick, hot and untouched, sliding up against the cool shower tile. He can feel Gerard's hips rolling forwards, his brother's fists still clenched at the wall above his forehead.

Mikey grunts, no longer touching himself, and shuffles forward, wet socks on the base of the tub, to press up against Gerard's back. He's just tall enough that his cock slides along the dip of Gerard's lower spine, between the dimples there. The feeling of holding Gerard's body in place, of just rubbing himself off all over his brother\u2019s back, makes the bottom drop out of Mikey's stomach and he feels fucking high, like he can't pay attention to anything else no matter how hard he tries to rip his focus away. He's not gonna last long.

\"Oh, shit,\" Gerard mumbles like his mouth is full of cotton, like his tongue isn't working properly, pushing forward into the tile and then back against Mikey, over and over again.

Mikey bites again, higher on Gerard\u2019s shoulder this time, closer to his neck. Maybe to shut him up, maybe to make him louder. Gerard makes a high noise in his throat and his right arm drops from the wall, reaching behind him. Mikey panics but Gerard just grabs a fistful of wet cotton at the side of Mikey's torso and awkwardly pulls him closer, holding him flush up against Gerard's back. Mikey breathes out heavily against Gerard's skin, pushes his face so hard into his brother\u2019s shoulder that he's seeing spots of light behind his eyelids.

Finally, trapped between the press of two bodies and the friction of fabric, Mikey comes, letting out a long noise that he'd be entirely embarrassed about in any other circumstance. His hips circle in place as he rides out nerve endings imploding in a wave up his back, out across his shoulders, down the backs of his thighs and his clenched ass.

Gerard is still moving underneath him, hands on the wall, and he rises up onto his toes, hitching his hips back. Mikey's cock slips through his own come that\u2019s dripping from Gerard's lower back and slides just barely between the taut flesh of Gerard's ass cheeks. They both moan at once\u2014like a simultaneous holy shit<\/i>\u2014and Gerard's hand drops from the wall to between his legs, his arm pumping fast and his shoulders shaking with the movement before he goes \"Ah, ahh,\" and slumps forward against the wall, hips still rolling gently forwards.

Mikey is suddenly completely unable to stand, staggering to the side and landing heavily on the bottom of the tub. The metal is cold on the exposed skin of Mikey's ass, his legs bent awkwardly in front of him, hands braced behind him to hold himself up. He can't open his eyes, just pants heavily, now directly under the shower spray, water coursing down his face. He feels the shift of Gerard's weight, then the slump and squeak of bare skin on the tub.

Mikey waits as long as he can, a little surprised at his brother's ability to stay quiet, before finally opening his eyes. He has to blink away the water but he looks across to Gerard, sitting at the opposite end of the tub to face him, elbows resting on bent legs, head tipped back against the tile.

Gerard\u2019s adam\u2019s apple bobs as he swallows, mouth hanging open and pieces of white-blond hair sticking up on one side. Mikey doesn't look down the length of his brother's naked torso, or between his open legs, just meets Gerard's eyes.

\"Seriously?\" Mikey finally asks, blinking furiously against the water, scrubbing a hand over his eyes and pulling his sopping wet hood up over his matted-down hair. \"Are we seriously\u2014\"

\"Don't fucking freak on me,\" Gerard says quickly, eyelids slipping shut for a moment, breathing still heavy, chest rising and falling visibly. He looks like he just ran a marathon. \"This doesn't have to be a big fuckin'... you know.\"

\"How can it not<\/i> be a big fucking\u2014\"

\"'Cause it's just us<\/i>, Mikes. Shit. It's not anybody else, it's not their fucking business.\" Gerard's eyes are still closed but his tone is hard enough.

Mikey doesn't know what to say. He leans forward slightly, struggling but eventually pulling the wet denim of his jeans back up over his ass and taking a few moments to finally zip and button them up in his lap. When he looks up, Gerard is cross-legged, pushing one hand over his forehead and back through his hair, like he used to do to get it out of his face.

\"Your fuckin' phantom hair,\" Mikey says, cocking one eyebrow, the edge of his mouth lifting up slightly. He pushes the wet sleeves of his hoodie back up his forearms.

Gerard directs a soft smile at his lap, bowing his head and pulling invisible hair down over his face with his fingers. \"Can you even believe this shit? I miss it so bad.\"

They watch as Gerard tugs at a few phantom strands, his shoulders hunched in that old familiar way. It looks more vulnerable when he\u2019s naked, when Mikey can see how it folds his brother's belly.

\"Dunno if I can make it as a blond twink,\" Gerard finally says in a quiet voice, looking up at Mikey from under the screen of invisible hair. \"Sometimes I don't really feel like me<\/i>.\"

Mikey licks his lips, tastes the water there with the salt of his own sweat.

\"Nah.\" Mikey shakes his head and a few drops of water fly loose. He only really comes to understand it as he says it, but it feels like clarity that's been months in the making: \"It\u2019s always been you, Gee, you just needed an excuse to try it out.\u201d

They smile stupidly at each other for a few moments before Mikey lurches forward and twists one of Gerard's nipples.

\"Fucker!\" Gerard swats his hand away, groping blindly at the sagging wet cloth covering Mikey\u2019s chest, and they fall apart laughing under the warm pressure of the shower spray.

END



Constructive feedback is always appreciated! Thanks for reading.<\/a>

(DVD commentary for this fic here<\/a>!)

"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:desfinado:2408","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/2408.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/desfinado.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=2408"}}],"title":"desfinado @ 2009-06-02T02:11:00","published":"2009-06-02T06:20:53Z","updated":"2018-01-29T01:38:58Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"bandom"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"fic"}}],"content":"Story:<\/u> Pushing Into That Empty Space<\/b>
Author:<\/u> <\/a>desfinado<\/b><\/a><\/span>
Pairing:<\/u> Ryan\/Brendon (\/Jon), Panic at the Disco
Disclaimer:<\/u> Do not own them, do not profit from this.
Warnings:<\/u> NC-17, voyeurism, mild kinks, weed
Summary:<\/u> Jon finally understood where it was that Brendon could be himself, where he took comfort in yielding; gained confidence from being told what to do.
Brendon's eyes fell shut again, moaning, surprising Jon with how much he wanted and how much he was willing to let Ryan take from him.<\/i>
Notes:<\/u> Thanks a million times over to <\/a>reni_days<\/b><\/a><\/span> for giving me fantastic, useful feedback and correcting all my rookie canon mistakes!




There was always something so big<\/i> that Brendon wore, that he carried with him in public.

His voice seemed larger than the compact width of his ribcage should be able to accommodate, moving towards the center of everything always, pushing his shoulder up against someone else's so he could nudge his way into the conversation, the light.

It was difficult for Jon not to notice these things; when he joined the band, he had that distance that not<\/i> being with those three through everything granted him. It was something he had loved about being a tech, and it wasn\u2019t so different on bass: letting others take center stage but being there just to provide a part of the whole, to provide that steady support, that company. And as he settled into the band, a process made much easier by the fact that he already knew<\/i> them so well, Jon\u2019s mind wandered to the person he most often found himself watching from behind \u2013 on stage and off.

In crowds, he would see the ribbed rubber of the underside of Brendon's shoes as he lifted up onto the balls of his feet, calf muscles flexed through the clinging denim of his jeans, just to get that much closer to the center of it all.

In conversation, it seemed to Jon that Brendon made it his responsibility to fill every silence, pushing himself out into those quiet spaces like a bubble of air, expanding always, filling any empty corners. It sometimes made Jon uncomfortable to see how hard he tried, to see Brendon always pushing, pushing, pushing to be near the center of things \u2013 to hear the blurted comments or abrupt, out-of-place jokes Brendon sometimes made that rendered others speechless, nodding, awkward. He filled every empty space and sometimes the air he filled it with was a bit off, a bit uncertain.

It reminded Jon of being eight years old, walking around in his dad's tan-colored loafers, heavy and long on his feet like clown's shoes. He had worked hard to fill the empty space in them, to carry their weight and make himself big enough to do so in a way that appeared effortless.

At meet-and-greets he would watch Brendon leap onto Zack's back, arms wrapped around him with a smile but dark brown eyes darting up and out, always looking to see who was watching, who was taking a picture. To Jon, it was no different from curling and flexing his toes, tendons in his feet straining, taking baby steps with stiff legs just so he could walk through the kitchen in his dad's shoes.

Brendon worked hard to command that bright, hot, important center of everything - but it was the uncertainty with which he did it that made it clear to Jon just how much that wasn't<\/i> Brendon, not really. He never seemed entirely at ease, or calm, in that space.

Jon could see the way he bent his foot outwards, lifting up and down on the outside of his shoe nervously as he stood, could feel the cool damp of Brendon's palms and fingertips when they caught and released his forearm in passing. It was such a contradiction; it was intriguing. He wondered where it was that Brendon actually felt confident, relaxed, and sure of himself.

Out of all the situations Jon saw him in, he felt like maybe it was the stage \u2013 it seemed to him that Brendon commanded it and carried it with much more grace. But it was more of a rehearsed performance than anything else, and when Brendon would move beyond his self-prescribed script, share something in between songs, Jon saw his hand shake on the mic, heard his loud and steady voice drop an octave to the low tone it took whenever Brendon was out of breath and slightly out of key.

He began to realize that what relaxed Brendon so much about the show was how planned and practiced it was \u2013 how his eyes would flicker to an invisible marker on the stage in the moment before he'd stalk over to it, how he did the same ad-libs every night, how he'd snap his fingers and flick his wrist when he sang the same words, right on cue. Comfort in boundaries, in repetition, in structure.

In Arizona, Jon learned that there was another place where Brendon left his insecurities, his imperative to fill every empty silence, at the door.



The hotel they were planning on staying at in Phoenix had mixed up their booking, meaning when they arrived they would have to wait it out while Zack made new arrangements, all for a city they weren\u2019t even playing in, just a pit stop.

On the way there in the hot afternoon sun they stopped at a gas station to stretch their legs, and when Spencer tossed out the kind-of-impulsive idea of staying at the vacant motel there, in the middle of the desert, it caught like bushfire. Despite Zack\u2019s pestering, the place was in fact empty and there were no towns for miles, so there really wasn\u2019t much to worry about.

Jon and Ryan spent the evening eating a dinner of pepperoni sticks and Mr. Pringles from the gas station, talking instruments amongst comfortable lapses into silence under the shade of the patio umbrella. It kind of felt like a vacation, albeit a budget one, to Jon. It was harder and harder these days to just hang out<\/i> around a patio under faded umbrellas like this in a busy urban hotel.

As they sat looking out across the small, abandoned swimming pool to the highway and the flat nothingness of the desert beyond, shimmering heat distorting shapes and colors, Jon noticed Ryan had unbuttoned his shirt, loosened his tie and rolled up his pants. It was as good a sign as any that he was relaxed.

The sun set too soon. Jon watched as, after chatting with Spencer all evening, Brendon reluctantly pulled his dangling legs out of the pool, peeling wet grass and leaves off of his skin to flick at Zack when he warned of Hep. C and other mysterious abandoned-pool diseases. Nobody argued about the idea of turning in early, or stretching out on real beds.

Jon showered and lay on his back for a long time just listening to nearby highway sounds, the chorus of crickets and cicadas in the sun-bleached grasses beyond his window.

He must have drifted off, but soon after he awoke he decided to get up. The prickle of the rough wool comforter was starting to become uncomfortable, his fingernails scratching at the skin of his neck.

In the late-night air, Jon stepped out of his room quietly. He cupped his hand over his mouth and hunched slightly, knobs of his spine curved against the cold wood of his door before he straightened up again, cherry glowing red a few inches from his fingertips. It relaxed him almost instantly, days of little sleep and cramped quarters washing through and out of him. He exhaled, scanning the nearly-empty parking lot and the dark windows of the two dozen or so other rooms that opened onto it, their curtains drawn shut.

No cars passed on the highway anymore. Jon splayed a hand on the door behind him, pushing himself off of it to pad barefoot down the length of the walkway. He reached the end of the building and rounded the corner, the scent of dirt and dry grasses on the air and making him feel a bit more awake, a bit more adventurous.

Although he couldn\u2019t see, he could remember from when it was light out: behind the building there was nothing but desert \u2013 something Jon wasn\u2019t used to, something that seemed so empty but which overwhelmed him with its sheer size, the extreme way in which everything in it survived.

It was much darker back here, no lights lit behind the long, low building. Aside from two dumpsters at the opposite end it was relatively empty, the same rectangular windows facing out into the desert, equal distance from each other all the way down.

From here it looked like none of the lights were on, which didn\u2019t surprise him. Everyone had seemed so tired, even Zack. Jon wasn\u2019t sure why he was so awake, himself \u2013 but it was nice out here, and as he stepped off of the pavement he liked the feel of the dirt under his toes, the occasional small rocks and grasses.

He walked slowly along behind the motel, held his last inhale for a full six paces before flicking the butt against the concrete wall and tipping his head back, stopping in place to look up at the startlingly clear night sky as he blew thick gray smoke upwards.

He heard a sound, then - it was quiet but out of place in the still desert darkness that Jon's eyes had adjusted to. A voice, low like a grunt. Jon scrubbed his hand over his face before stepping softly towards the wall, careful not to drag his bare feet in the dirt.

And then again - a grunt and the teeth of a zipper undone. Jon was sure it was someone inside, just beyond the window he was now standing next to.

The window was about his height although it started a foot from the ground, and had been opened a few inches, mosquito netting obscuring Jon's view through the bottom. But he moved closer and, with his eyes accustomed to the low light, could see fairly well.

He looked more just to satiate his curiosity as to who it was than to actually watch<\/i> what they were doing. Maybe if someone was awake they\u2019d want to share a second joint, enjoy the calm nothingness of the desert night with him, talk about stars and the universe and all the abstract ideas on Jon\u2019s mind.

Inside the room the bathroom light was the only one on, the door at a right angle to the window slightly ajar but the sliver of light bisecting the floor and casting a dim yellow hue across the room. Around the edge of the bathroom wall there was the bed partly obscured at the opposite wall, the room arranged in the same way as Jon's: a twin bed, the large front window to its right with the blinds pulled closed.

On the bed he could tell someone was lying above the covers, moving. The corner of the bathroom wall was in the way, Jon couldn't see his face, but whoever it was had unfastened his pants. Jon thought maybe he should wait until he was finished getting changed before he rapped on the window, just to be polite.

He glanced away into the night but the squeak of a bed spring brought his eyes back instinctively. Whoever it was arched their hips off the bed, shoulders and heels pushing back into the mattress as they shoved their pants down their thighs. The movement caused the fabric on their chest to shift, and Jon saw a thin, dark-colored tie falling to the side into the space between their arm and their ribcage, buttons of their pale, patterned shirt straining against the bend.

It was clearly Ryan \u2013 who else wore ties and button-downs when they traveled on the bus<\/i> \u2013 and Jon smiled in amusement as he watched him struggle, sitting up slightly to get the tight fabric of his pants down over his knees. He stretched back out on the bed, white elastic of his boxer-briefs ending just an inch below his shirttails.

\"No.\"

Ryan's voice snapped Jon upright, like cold water at the crown of his head. He had been staring so closely through the glass that he felt utterly detached from his own body, the dry night air, the cicadas. The high from his joint had sneaked up on him somewhere between gazing at the starry sky and the cold press of the concrete wall against his right side.

Jon remembered himself again and realized that Ryan must be on his phone, out of sight behind the bathroom wall, so it might be better to wait until he hung up before knocking on the window. Jon scratched his fingertips through the stubble across his right cheek, lifting his eyes to the dark night, the cold flat wall extending down the length of the motel to the dumpsters at the far end.

\"Not yet.\"

Jon didn't move but his eyes flicked back to the window. He knew Ryan wasn't speaking to him, that between the soft light in the room and the darkness outside, Jon was close to invisible at the window. But the clarity of Ryan's voice, the proximity, startled him and rooted him in place. He had forgotten the window was slightly open.

There were Ryan's fingers now, long and spidery as he slipped his thumbs under the waistband of his underwear, just inside his hipbones in the hollow spaces that Jon knew were there, that Jon saw often enough when his pants hung low. Ryan lifted the fabric up high, holding it away from his body but not pulling it down.

Jon's breath was so quiet, his heart feeling heavy and slow like it always did when he was high. He shifted onto his right foot, leaning more of his weight against the rough concrete of the wall. He felt like he shouldn\u2019t be watching this, whatever this was, but the fact that he was near invisible in the dark night was like an invitation to stay hidden, stay watching.

Now Ryan slid the underwear down, pulling bony knees into his chest to hook the fabric over his feet and kick them off. He stretched his bare legs out again on the bed, settling back into the mattress, hands long and limp at his sides.

Jon\u2019s eyes settled on the darkness of the hair below Ryan\u2019s navel, the pale length of him laid bare across his abdomen, angled to the left. He rarely ever looked so directly at other guys like this, but the fact that he couldn\u2019t see Ryan\u2019s face \u2013 that no one knew he was looking \u2013 made it easier, and made him more curious.

The tip of it brushed the hem of Ryan's button-down shirt, and something seemed off about it all to Jon, unnatural. There was something in the angle it lay at, flush against his body, the way it had moved when Ryan had kicked his underwear off, just a slight jostle to the side, nothing sharp or taut about it.

He's not hard. <\/i>

Jon's tongue felt too full in his mouth for a moment, swallowing around the dryness that had settled there. A warm spread of jealousy-surprise-fascination spread, tingling, across the back of his neck. That pale length curved up to almost where the top of Ryan's jeans often sat on his hips, so long and not even hard<\/i>.

\"Now.\"

Jon's eyebrows creased for a moment. He had assumed Ryan was on his cell phone, but now the words seemed paced between his movements, connected somehow. As Ryan remained still, Jon heard the metal-on-metal of a belt buckle, and then fabric sounds.

There was breathing, controlled and heavy, that Jon was surprised he hadn't noticed until now, coming from a place closer to the window and on his side of the room.

Jon wondered who?<\/i> because they were in the desert and the motel was empty aside from them. Then, just as he thought - aside from them<\/i> - one more time, the words dropping heavily into his mind, there was a body crawling over Ryan's. It was naked, pale, the unmistakable swing of a dick between those legs before he settled back onto his heels over Ryan's thighs.

This time, Jon didn't have the luxury of having his band mate's face obscured. The short length of muscled legs and strong thighs, the pale and compact torso, the strong hands with fingers spread wide, braced on his own thighs. Jon's eyes fell to Brendon's hard cock in the shadow between his legs before flicking away, out of discomfort, up to his face.

From behind and to the left, it was the profile of features John knew well. What Jon didn't find familiar was the way in which Brendon sat so quietly, his hands still, his voice and personality not pushing out to fill the quiet, the space in the room, like John was so used to him doing. It was this surprising calm that kept Jon from averting his eyes, from giving them the privacy a part of him felt they deserved.

\"Touch it.\"

Ryan's voice didn't startle Jon so much this time, the syllables clipped and less nasal than his voice usually was. Jon couldn't make out Brendon's eyes but he could tell from the way his head tilted down, thigh muscles shifting, where Brendon had shifted his attention to.

His pale, short fingers wrapped effortlessly around Ryan's base, pulling up slowly before moving down again. Ryan's long fingers stayed on the bedspread but his forefinger curled in, tip brushing along the outside of his narrow, bony hips.

Jon's body felt hot all over, like he should be sweating but instead he was simmering from the inside, skin scratchy. This intimacy was so overwhelming that he felt a part of it standing just feet away, invisible in the still night air.

His high was making it hard to stay aware of multiple things at once; it kept tunneling his focus so thoroughly on Ryan and Brendon that he hardly noticed his body, the smell of the grass outside, the fact that had he been more awake he might be gone by now.

In the soft light Jon saw Brendon's forearm muscles flex, saw those veins protruding, saw the brief flash of skin, the darkened head of Ryan\u2019s cock, disappear and appear again through the ring of Brendon's thumb and forefinger. Jon swallowed once more \u2013 it helped root him, bring him back to his body, feeling his muscles move, the inside of his throat working against his too-hot skin.

\"God.<\/i>\"

It was Brendon's tenor, soft and reverent, so close and intimate that Jon's eyes fell shut for a moment, breath ghosting across his lips, like Brendon had just spoken to him<\/i>. His voice had never sent such liquid warmth through Jon's limbs, had never settled heavy in his core like that.

Jon's body swayed forwards an inch, just an inch, but it made him open his eyes. He had to be careful. Even if tried to leave, he was high and bit less co-ordinated and now it would really<\/i> be the wrong moment to make a noise.

His upper arm was pressed up against the rough coolness of the wall, supporting his right side, and as he looked back into the room his right hand slid up to curve around the side of his neck, fingers in the curling hairs at the nape of his neck, stilling there. It was getting harder for him not to watch.

Brendon sat upright and motionless, twin shadowed dimples of muscle above the swell of his ass, the long darkened line of his spine. Jon now saw why he had spoken. His left arm was extended, hand wrapped tight around the base of Ryan's cock, holding it away from his stomach, upright.

Jon's fingers tensed, pressing against the corded muscles at the back of his neck. Ryan's dick\u2026 earlier it had seemed so big and he wasn't even hard. It was even longer and fuller now, as wide as Jon's but so<\/i> much longer, darkened head, and Jon knew he couldn't see them but he imagined veins running up the length, raised in a slightly darker relief to the pale flesh and the skin stretched so taut.

\"Your mouth.\"

Ryan's voice was firm and low, controlling. Brendon shifted back on his knees without removing the grip he had on Ryan, hard cock swaying in his own lap, before kneeling over Ryan's calves and bending down.

Jon's eyes trailed up the tensed and muscular flex of Brendon's ass to the ridge of his curved spine, shoulder blades protruding, head lowered, strong line of his jaw opened wide, full lips stretched, taking Ryan in. Jon had never seen another guy... it was new. So<\/i> new.

Ryan hummed and to Jon it sounded like an affirmation, Ryan's hand closing into a fist, tendons on the back standing out. Brendon's head raised and fell in response. Jon caught a glimpse of Ryan's length, the skin between Brendon's fist and his lips that he couldn't fit in his mouth.

Jon's other hand was up at the base of his neck now too, heel of his palm pushing hard into his collarbone, and it felt good. It didn't distance him from Ryan and Brendon but made him feel closer \u2013 the pressure, the steady heavy pressure that echoed the heavy thrumming through his body.

The bed creaked as Brendon found a tempo, uncurling the fingers of his left hand to plant both palms on either side of Ryan's narrow hips, arms bent at the elbow like he was doing push-ups.

Jon could see how his stomach muscles expanded and contracted with his movement and with each breath, the definition of his biceps and his jaw so wide to accommodate the girth of Ryan's cock, Brendon\u2019s chin bumping his chest each time he ducked down to capture as much of it as he could.

At the edge of his awareness, Jon knew he was turned on. He knew it in the way he always did when he was high, when it uncurled and bloomed outwards from the base of his spine, his belly. It was so slow and warm like the rest of his body felt that he often didn't realize until his wrist brushed the hard contours of his dick through his jeans, crossing his legs uncomfortably to will it away when he was in public.

While he knew they deserved privacy, Jon also felt such a part of their intimacy, reacting to every touch and sound, that it was difficult to imagine closing his eyes and stepping away. He interlocked his fingers behind his head, just to keep them there, just so he wouldn't touch.

As he leaned against the wall, hot breath ghosting across his bare forearms, he noticed Ryan's fingers twitch on the blanket, reaching out for a moment before curling back into a fist. His hips rose and fell as he clenched and relaxed his ass, skinny thighs drawing together slightly.

Jon didn't wish the bathroom wall wasn't there, because it gave him a distance that he felt he sort of needed from the Ryan he had spoken to in the shade of the patio umbrella that evening. But he wondered. He wondered what shape Ryan's features might take, how his lips might look, red and obscene from worrying them between his teeth, Adam\u2019s apple bobbing, eyes hot and intense.

\"Stop.\"

It was high, like a whine, the most affected Ryan had seemed all night.

Both Jon and Brendon froze in anticipation. After a moment filled with heavy breathing, the tails of Ryan's shirt shifting with the rise and fall of his chest, he wrapped his fingers around the base of his own cock. They looked so appropriate, so long and sure and familiar taking their place where the heavy-looking shaft rose from the dark shadow of hair.

In that one gesture, Jon knew this was how Ryan looked when he was alone, when he tangled his legs in his blankets, curled against the wall, forehead sweaty, strands of hair clinging to his brow. This was how Ryan looked as he pushed his face down into the mattress to stifle the small sounds Jon had heard him make, mouth open and full of cotton, skinny fingers fast and efficient along that impossibly long cock, toes spreading and curling in the mess of sheets.

Brendon rose just as Jon's forearms started to quiver from overexertion and he let his arms drop to his sides, thumbs tucking into his pockets. Jon's shoulders hunched, tensed when he saw Brendon's face, hovering a few inches from Ryan's glistening wet head, those full lips wet and filthy-looking, eyes heavy-lidded.

Stopping, just like Ryan said.

This side of Brendon was so rare, and that was part of what made it so wanton, so intriguing. Ryan dragged his hand up, one slow pull of his own cock, and in that languid stroke Jon saw his lower back lift slightly off of the bed, arching into the movement, the touch. Brendon moaned softly, a low throaty sound, but was abruptly cut off when Ryan pressed the length of one long forefinger up the top of his shaft, pushing his cock forward to rest on Brendon's hanging lower lip.

Those long fingers turned around Ryan\u2019s base, shifting so he could control the movement of his length better. He slid the glistening dark head along the length of Brendon's wet bottom lip, side to side. Brendon was quiet this time but he moved into it, pushing forward on his knees, back straightening slightly.

Ryan waited a moment before moving it again, now pushing the wide tip of his cock along Brendon's top lip before the bottom again, like painting him messily with lipstick. It was so hot and dirty, Jon couldn't stop his body from responding, from curling inwards a bit. Finally, with much less thought than he had devoted to not<\/i> touching himself, he pressed the heel of his right palm hard against his jeans.

Ryan kept pushing, pushing until the head of his wet cock moved past the edge of Brendon's mouth to slide, skidding on the dry skin of Brendon's cheek. Jon saw how Brendon's lips reached out to mouth at the side of Ryan's length, how he turned his face into the heavy thick hardness against his flesh. Jon blinked, still processing the total relinquishing of control that Brendon seemed to seek in this late-night, motel-room space.

Ryan pulled his dick off of Brendon's face for a moment before letting its taut weight pull it back, slapping Brendon's skin softly and causing him to totally deflate with a quiet noise, right arm buckling. His mouth slid down the side of Ryan's cock, red lips like a seal as he sank down to lie across his legs, eyes closed and dark eyelashes a shadow against his cheekbones.

Jon's fingers splayed wide, running the V of his thumb and forefinger up the length of his own cock through his jeans, feeling its weight and warmth, imagining the soft, yielding flesh of Brendon's cheek, of his lips.

Brendon curled his hand around a narrow hip as Ryan held his dick in place, Brendon\u2019s fingers digging into soft flesh as he sloppily mouthed up and down the side of Ryan\u2019s shaft. He moaned, hips bucking against the side of Ryan's leg, detaching his lips to turn his cheek against his length once more, rubbing back and forth. Jon wondered what the texture felt like against his face, the silky-slick skin, the impossible hardness and the ridged veins.

\"Want you to \u2013 \" Ryan swallowed around the tightness in his voice, steadying his monotone. \" \u2013 right here, all over my cock.\"

The last consonant hung heavily in the air and Jon couldn't even imagine Ryan's lips forming that word, couldn't imagine him talking about himself like that. It felt like fire spreading across Jon's shoulder blades, prickling in the hair at his scalp. It sounded filthy and dangerous and commanding.

Brendon was fast, pushing up onto his knees, crawling forward until he was straddling Ryan's thighs again, closer this time. He licked his palm with a long wet swipe of his tongue before curling his fist around himself, in the dark area between his thighs that Jon couldn't identify with the speed of his movement.

His chest rose and fall, that compact frame shifting with muscles tensed and relaxed, tensed and relaxed. He tipped his head back as he flexed his ass, pushing his hips forward enough to rub the length of his own cock along Ryan's, still held in place, firm and tall and perpendicular to his body, by those long, long fingers.

Jon's heart didn't feel slow or heavy anymore, although he knew he was still high. His chest hitched every few breaths as he shifted against the wall, turning into it more, pressing his cheek to the cool concrete. Jon\u2019s eyes remained on Brendon, fast and indulgent, so comfortable with bringing himself off, rubbing up and down and along the length of Ryan's cock as he fisted himself.

Jon's right hand still moved across the tightened denim of his jeans, not going inside, not enough friction to get him anywhere, but a background sort of sensation that kept his skin buzzing. It made him feel like a small part of what was going on inside the room, his breath beading moisture across the wall.

\"Now. Do it now.\"

Ryan had full command of his voice this time, clear and direct. Brendon's eyelids fluttered and his head fell back on his shoulders, mouth open and jaw locked in a silent scream. His torso simultaneously hunched inwards, abs clenched, thighs jerking towards each other as he emptied himself in diagonal ribbons across the fuller length of Ryan's dick and along Ryan's knuckles and wrist.

A pause, and Jon blinked heavily, disbelieving. It was so intimate, so dirty, for Ryan to let Brendon use his own cock, his own fingers like that. For Ryan to say \"now\" and for Brendon to just do it.

Jon's fingers danced along himself, alternating pushing down hard and rubbing lightly along the denim. Brendon sat up after a moment, swallowing loudly before letting his mouth hang open once more, breath loud but slowing.

\"Get back down here.\"

Brendon obeyed, stretching out to lie in between Ryan's legs, right arm bent to pillow his head on Ryan's side, left arm across those narrow thighs. It brought his face close to Ryan's hand and dick, still glistening obscenely with his come.

Ryan moved, finally. He slid his fingers out to direct his hard length, pushing it against the side of Brendon's face, sticky-wet trail shining in the dim light as he slid it up and down. Brendon's eyes fell shut again, moaning, surprising Jon with how much he wanted and how much he was willing to let Ryan take from him.

Wet and slippery, Ryan's long fingers rose up his own shaft, pumping himself now with long strokes, pushing the head of his dick into the sticky mess along Brendon's cheek every time he reached the tip.

Jon's left hand rose to his own cheek, rubbing the short hairs there, feeling the warmth of his fingers spreading outwards and through his nerve endings to his core. His attention was so focused on Ryan and Brendon that the feel of his own touch seemed slightly removed, like it wasn't his own.

Ryan grunted, a short but guttural sound, his hips losing their rhythm for a moment before he stilled them again. Brendon pushed the hem of Ryan's shirt up with his left hand, bunching the patterned fabric above his bellybutton, tie caught under his elbow that was planted in the mattress for leverage.

Brendon looked up at the space that Jon couldn't see, the space where Ryan's familiar features would be twisting into entirely unfamiliar shapes.

\"Yeah.\"

Ryan sounded breathless, more intimate this time, and the corner of Brendon's lips pulled up in a smile that seemed both affectionate and lecherous at the same time. It was that confidence Jon saw him so rarely carry in a genuine way, which in itself seemed to take Jon\u2019s arousal further through his limbs to spread, tingling, out to his fingertips.

Brendon rose onto his elbows and ducked to lick a long line up Ryan's cock from base to tip, swiping through his own come, over the ridges of Ryan's fingers still moving up and down its length.

Jon inhaled heavily and slid his fingers around to the back of his head, winding into his hair, pulling tight, pulling out those prickling sensations in his scalp that kept his skin feeling hot and buzzing.

Brendon lifted up to swirl his tongue around the head of Ryan\u2019s cock, followed by another grunt from beyond Jon's field of vision. Then Brendon set to work ducking and maneuvering his mouth around Ryan's hand which was now speeding up, licking his come from the flushed, taut skin and pale knuckles with broad swipes of his tongue.

\"Yeah, just. There. Just \u2013 \"

Ryan choked on the last word, and then all he did was groan, low but seemingly forever, releasing his cock and shoving his palm hard into the mattress, bunching it in his fingers. His hips rose up, clearing the bed, hard wet cock slapping up against his belly. Brendon immediately wrapped his own shorter fingers around Ryan's base, lips wrapping around the tip.

Even with just the head of Ryan\u2019s dick in his mouth, Brendon's red lips seemed stretched impossibly wide, fisting the exposed length as Ryan came, hands twitching and legs tensing, feet flexed. Brendon didn't move back, let him push as far in as he could, breath hitched, before he fell heavily back down, bouncing once before his fingers released the blankets, his body still.

Jon exhaled, realizing he had been holding his breath, and it came out shaky enough that he worried for the first time about being heard. But neither Brendon nor Ryan seemed to notice anything.

Brendon was quick to rise, sliding off the side of the bed and standing, stretching tall for a moment, arms above his head. Jon blinked, feeling like he hadn\u2019t quite caught up with himself yet, or the fact that it was over.

His body sated, his cock soft, Brendon looked even more confident and sexual to Jon \u2013 it was in that innocent nudity that he now saw the muscles that had shifted and tensed, the fingers that had curled and uncurled, the jaw that had opened so wide, accommodating. Jon released the grip he'd had on his own hair, rubbed his hand back and forth across his chest, tried to pull himself out of this.

Brendon was changing now, out of sight once more, and Ryan had rolled to his side, the small swell of his buttocks, the bunched fabric of his shirt, and his back to Jon. The sharp jut of his hipbone and the narrow width of his frame appeared so fragile, but it seemed only to put into starker contrast the commanding tone Ryan had assumed, the control he had wielded.

Jon was still rubbing at himself through his jeans with the heel of his palm, eyes fixed on the shadow of Ryan's lower spine.

Control.<\/i>

And Jon kind of understood, now. Kind of got why in this weird space, this late-night, motel-room space where the air from the bedroom hung heavy with the scent of sex, Brendon didn't try once, not even once, to fill the empty space like he usually did. Jon understood why his movements seemed so comfortable and certain, why he seemed so at ease.

This was one of those rare spaces where Brendon was just Brendon<\/i>, where he found certainty in direction and structure, where he found confidence in being told what to do. And Ryan, whether he understood this about Brendon or not, took responsibility for providing those strong words and directions. Jon blinked with awareness, with those moments of clarity that come from a good high.

Jon never saw Brendon leave but he heard the door open and close. He turned to face away into the dark night, back against the wall, hand still cupping himself, eyes falling closed. His limbs felt fluid and warm, his sustained arousal buzzing a little closer to the surface than it had a while ago, guilt about intruding upon this intimacy between his band mates easier to ignore beneath this distraction his body was providing.

It was dark and quiet and Jon could still smell, or imagined he could smell, the heady scent of come and sweat. He popped the button on his jeans with his thumb and forefinger, zipper falling open easily as he slid a clammy, hot palm around the heavy weight of his cock.

He didn't need to think too much, didn't need to replay scenes or imagine anyone's lips around him. He just focused on the miles of flat darkness in front of him, the air distilled around his moving hand, the huge empty space of the desert and the night and the sky that seemed devoid of anyone or anything but him, bringing himself closer to that emptiness.

The sound of Brendon's rubber soles on the pavement just on the other side of the building seemed loud in the night, but Jon didn't stop, high and buzzing enough with arousal to ignore the possibility of being caught. He listened to Brendon's footfalls, to the swing of his door and the heavy weight of it closing.

It was distant but felt somehow closer to Jon than anything in Ryan's room had been. In that instant, Jon and Brendon had both been breathing the same cool night air, listening to the same cicadas, separated only by a few feet of furniture and concrete. And they had both been there in that immense, dark, empty night, Jon's fingers tight and fast on his cock, his other palm flat on the wall beside him, grounding him.

His breath caught and his eyebrows drew together as he pulled his bottom lip into his mouth, fingertips pressing into the concrete, toes curling in the soft dirt. The spreading warmth crashed outwards from his fist, flushing his veins, his spinal fluid, and his mind blank and replacing them with hot molten liquid, tingling and overwhelming, coursing through his body in waves.

He swallowed hard, opening his eyes to look down at the splatter of white, tacky droplets beading in the dirt by his feet.

Jon felt empty, wide and wiped clean like the flat expanse of dark desert ahead of him \u2013 his body, his energy, his sense of clarity and comprehension absolved in that moment.

He went to bed.



Thanks for reading my first foray into bandom! I am always open to constructive feedback.

<\/a>

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Author:<\/u> <\/a>desfinado<\/b><\/a><\/span>
Characters:<\/u> Sasuke, Suigetsu, Karin
Disclaimer:<\/u> Characters belong to Naruto, and I do not profit from this story.
Warnings:<\/u> Yaoi, het, threesome, light d\/s, NC-17
Summary:<\/u> \"Do you always watch your teammates fuck, Sasuke?\"<\/i>



Notes:<\/u> Another story from the Naruto Kink Meme \u2013 the prompt was Suigetsu\/Sasuke\/Karin dom\/sub. Thanks for a great prompt, it gave me the incentive to try writing d\/s, which I had been thinking about a lot lately! Also thanks so<\/i> much to <\/a>animeaddict666<\/b><\/a><\/span> for beta help! I really appreciated it, and will be able to take a lot of your feedback and use it for future stories, so thanks for helping me continue to improve.




Their first night as a team they sleep in the hideout that they found Juugo in earlier that day, cell doors hanging open into empty hallways, mildew dampening the cold stone walls.

Sasuke is walking through the complex, thinking about this team - about the responsibility of team captain.

Leader.<\/i>

He is ready. It is nothing he isn't capable of; at sixteen, he is as much of a leader as he'll ever be. He selected the team specifically for their abilities. They don't need to see him as their superior, but they do<\/i> need to acknowledge his strength and skill to respect him as their captain.

Sasuke's steps falter as he picks up the sound of raised voices echoing down the bare corridors. He rolls his shoulders, adjusts his katana, and heads towards the sound. He sincerely hopes that Suigetsu and Karin are not so much of a problem as to seriously compromise their objectives. Sasuke understands antagonism, but there are priorities when working in a team.

This is why Sasuke will play mediator tonight.



The sun beats heavy on the back of Sasuke's neck as he picks his way down the rocky slope towards the dark shade of the forest below.

Karin is panting lightly, Suigetsu sipping noisily at his water bottle. Juugo steps so quietly that Sasuke, not for the first time in the week he has been travelling with these three, forgets he is even there.

Karin misses her footing and sends a loosened rock tumbling down below them, disappearing into the tangle of bushes below.

\"If you spent less time watching Sasuke and more time watching your feet<\/i> -\"

Suigetsu's sneer is cut short by the large chunk of stone Karin has hurled at him, followed by a string of curses.

Sasuke clenches his jaw. He never would have anticipated that this<\/i> aspect of leading a team would prove the most frustrating.



It is their third night in the woods, and it is nearly time for Sasuke's watch, the moon climbing high above the trees.

He has been awake for some time now, his mind categorizing weapons, sorting strategies - his battle with Itachi seems much more immediate now that he is finally on the move, above ground. Sasuke has been waiting for Karin to come back so he can relieve her, but he can't sense her chakra anywhere nearby. As he scans the area, he notices Suigetsu's bedroll is empty.

Sasuke shoves his palms into the grass to push himself to his feet. Time to go mediate.

When he finds them from his vantage point in the canopy, however, Sasuke is rather unsure what a team leader is supposed to do in this situation.

In the blue-white dappled moonlight that falls through the leaves, Suigetsu's pale arms suspend his weight and his hips drive down hard, fucking Karin into the dirt. Her eyes are screwed shut, cheek pressed into the soil as she bares her neck to him, hair a messy halo. Suigetsu moves his mouth up against her ear, low and steady tones suggesting that he is muttering words to her.

Sasuke watches them for a minute more, wondering how exactly the two of them managed to stop fighting long enough to recognize they were attracted to each other.

Suigetsu's shirt rides high over his spine, the dimples of muscle in his lower back shadowed against his skin as he moves into her. Karin\u2019s stillness \u2013 her apparent compliance<\/i> \u2013 is unsettling. Sasuke\u2019s face flushes hot seeing her like this, so vulnerable and submissive to Suigetsu.

Sasuke drops noiselessly from the branch and returns to the camp.



Between the planning, the travelling and the preparation, Sasuke has also been wondering how Suigetsu and Karin work. He has caught them twice more since that night in the forest.

Once, Karin was on top and Suigetsu's hands were awkwardly tucked behind his back, head hung between them. The curtain of his hair obscured his face as she held him propped against a rock with one splayed palm between his pectorals, the other on his shoulder for leverage as she rode him. The second time Sasuke saw them, Suigetsu had a fist in Karin's hair as he fucked her mouth, roughly smearing grit and dirt from his other palm across her face as he watched her.

Sasuke doesn't understand romance, nor does he understand love<\/i> \u2013 not the kind that lifts your spirits, anyway. Sasuke understands control and power, and was familiar enough with exercising it in creative ways while working under Orochimaru.

Sasuke sees glimpses of this in his teammates. But who's in control: Suigetsu or Karin? When one lashes out, the other fights back with double the strength. Their skills as shinobi are nearly matched, if not complimentary because they are so different.

\"What's your problem?\"

Sasuke narrows his eyes, remembering himself and shifting his gaze out over the stream by which they are resting.

He is seated on a log, hands hanging limp from elbows on his knees while Suigetsu kneels in the grass before him, cleaning his sword. Sasuke had been watching him, unseeing, lost in thought.

\"Hm. Hurry up.\"

\"Yes, taichou.\" Suigetsu leers at him, pointed teeth flashing. He manages to sound obedient and derogatory at the same time.

Sasuke rises to his feet, adjusting the rope around his waist, before walking off to find the other two.



They are here because of Karin. She wanted the onsen, the real bed, and the chance to restock her supplies and check maps in an actual room with a desk. Sasuke had nodded his blessing, and she had paid. They are not in a high-risk area, nor have they detected any pursuers. They can afford to spend one night in an inn.

Sasuke does not know how his teammates have sorted their rooms out, only that he demanded his own and has spent most of the evening there. He has been sitting cross-legged on the cool tatami mat with maps spread out before him in the light of his lantern, the window open to the sound of cicadas in the garden as a light, warm breeze shifts his hair against his cheek.

After a few hours have passed Sasuke notices that a quiet stillness has settled over the inn and its inhabitants. He rises to his feet, muscles stiff from sitting in one position too long. He decides to stretch his legs before he goes to sleep.

The garden is dark and silent, still pools of inky black water lined by ferns and mosses in neat circles and semi-circles. Sasuke breathes in the scent of the bonsai pines and lifts his gaze to the starry sky.

A yellow square of light catches his eye.

On the upper floor of the inn there is a sole lantern lit, illuminating a room whose layout appears identical to his own. The door to its balcony is open to the warm night air. Shadows dance across the wall inside, and Sasuke watches closely as two figures appear, facing each other.

They are silhouetted as the lantern casts them into shade against the backdrop of such a dark night, but Sasuke knows his teammates' profiles well.

He narrows his eyes and feels a warmth spread across the back of his neck \u2013 this is now the fifth time he has seen them. He is not going to confront them because he doesn't think he needs to, nor would he know how<\/i> to if it became a necessity.

Watching Suigetsu and Karin fuck makes Sasuke simultaneously furrow his brow and hesitate in place. He needs to remove himself from situations like this, because he feels like he is not in control of the flash of heat that spikes in his belly or the sweat that breaks out across his lower back when he sees them.

With a slow exhale, gravel crunches ever-so-slightly underfoot and Sasuke is back inside his room before he can glance up once more at those silhouettes.

However, Sasuke has only just had the opportunity to divest himself of his weapons and shoes when he hears the loud, unmistakable sound of a solid body making contact with a hard surface.

He is upstairs and sliding the door to their room aside in seconds.

Suigetsu turns to him, and his smile of greeting belies the position he is in: his right arm is doubled in size, hand at the base of Karin's throat as he holds her up against the wall, her feet dangling a few inches above the floor.

\"Can we help you?\"

Sasuke searches Karin's face but she won\u2019t meet his eyes. She won't meet Suigetsu's either, gaze trained on her own feet. Sasuke feels that twisting in his gut again: is this normal? Karin should be snarling and fierce, heel in Suigetsu's sternum and arms braced against the wall to push herself off of it.

The triangle of belly visible between her shirt and shorts shifts with her breathing, and Sasuke blinks at the realization \u2013 Suigetsu is not strangling her, nor is she resisting. Is this just part of what they do? Why is Sasuke rendered so uncomfortable by this, when he has been exposed to much more compromising sexual situations in Orochimaru's facilities?

Suigetsu's fingers let go at the same moment his arm shrinks back to its normal size. Karin slumps to her feet, head still hanging and arms at her sides, uncharacteristically sedate. Suigetsu turns confidently to Sasuke, squeezing and releasing his fist as he meets his eyes.

\"Do you always watch your teammates fuck, Sasuke?\"

Sasuke's eyebrows draw together at the accusation, or perhaps more at the implication - fucking is something normal people do, but hiding out and watching<\/i> suggests self-indulgence and even worse, envy.

\"No. I was just checking to make sure you don't kill each other.\"

Why is Karin still so silent? A small part of Sasuke wonders if she has been seriously injured by Suigetsu. Shit<\/i>, why is this so uncomfortable? If Sasuke understood how this thing \u2013 this sex<\/i> \u2013 worked between his teammates, he could speak more confidently, or he could feel more at ease about turning on his heel and just leaving them like this.

Suigetsu approaches Sasuke, and the lantern flickers as a breeze from the balcony disrupts the still air in the room.

\"That's not what this is about. I'm sure you understand how it works.\"

Sasuke steels his shoulders, choosing to remain silent.

\"Tonight...\" Suigetsu licks his lips, one corner of his mouth tilting up slightly as he jerks a thumb over his shoulder, \"is my turn.\"

Sasuke frowns for a second before he catches himself. Do they take turns being in control? All the partners Sasuke has been with were simple to work with. Either they were superior or inferior, and he knew where he stood; he knew where his hands should rest and what words should fall from his lips. However, this is complex - and it makes sense, in a way, for Karin and Suigetsu. Sasuke would never be able to discern who would take which role.

Suigetsu's head is tilted as he narrows his eyes at Sasuke.

\"Why are you here?\" Suigetsu glances back over his shoulder at Karin's still, submissive form and as he does so, his left hand moves south of his waist to adjust himself, seemingly as an afterthought.

Sasuke's breath catches when Suigetsu turns back suddenly and catches Sasuke's eyes flicking up from his hand. Suigetsu's face splits into a grin and he is stepping forwards, crowding Sasuke suddenly with his body heat.

\"I'm not. I'm going,\" Sasuke mutters quickly.

\"Hm. You've already made your decision, Sasuke.\" Suigetsu melts at Sasuke's feet and materializes behind him within seconds, blocking the door that he has slid shut behind him. The smile on his face is unnerving because it looks predatory<\/i>.

\"I am the only one that decides what choices I make,\" Sasuke sighs.

He doesn't want to fight Suigetsu, not so late at night with paper-thin walls separating them from sleeping civilians on all sides. He turns to Karin because he can't help it, being responsible for them as their team leader, and asks in the most clinical way possible: \"Karin, are you hurt?\"

Her silence provides him with his answer. Sasuke is at her side immediately, lifting her chin carefully with his thumb and forefinger, searching her neck for bruising. Her eyes dart from side to side to avoid meeting his, a blush creeping over her cheeks.

\"Karin. Drop it. I have an idea.\" Suigetsu says calmly from the door.

Karin's eyes meet Sasuke's immediately and she turns her head to the side, so his fingers fall away. She smiles sweetly, batting her eyelashes.

\"Thanks for checking on me, Sasuke-kun.\"

Sasuke is confused, but he isn't sure he wants to understand anymore. He doesn't like that suddenly the air in the room has shifted; it feels like the two of them are turning on him.

\"Did you ever play games<\/i> with Orochimaru?\" Suigetsu asks from the door, hands behind his back as if to remind Sasuke that he is still blocking his escape. It also has the unnerving effect of making him look coy and just a little bit innocent. At Sasuke's threatening gaze, Suigetsu smiles in a lop-sided way, eyes presumably meeting Karin's behind Sasuke, above and to the right of his shoulder.

Sasuke is not answering Suigetsu\u2019s question. There is a humming in his blood, like his body is vibrating all over just slightly, at the thrill of being invited into this thing<\/i> between his teammates \u2013 this dynamic that he has been watching and wondering about and which brings forth reactions from his body that he cannot control.

He needs to leave.

Sasuke makes a move for the open balcony, but Karin grabs his arm. He twists out of it, but by the time he has reached the other side of the room, Suigetsu is there, standing in front of the now-closed door, infuriating smile on his face once more.

Karen is behind him \u2013 close, too<\/i> close \u2013 and Sasuke can feel her energy, her body heat coming off of her in waves.

\"Come on... whatever you want me to do, I'll do it.\"

Karin's voice doesn\u2019t waver when she speaks, but rolls off her tongue firm and a little bit husky. Sasuke's eyes are fixed on Suigetsu's, and he is feeling swept up in the electricity between his teammates.

\"I know you like being in charge, Sasuke.\" Suigetsu raises his eyebrows and pushes himself off from the door. \"Karin.\"

She moves around Sasuke smoothly and as she nears Suigetsu he places slim, long fingers on her shoulders, turning her so she is in front of him, but facing Sasuke. Karin grabs her glasses, tossing them across the room to land on the futon. Sasuke is hesitating in place, weaponless, unable to overpower these two without waking up the rest of the inn.

But Sasuke can\u2019t take his eyes off of the two of them now, because Suigetsu's left hand slides up from Karin\u2019s shoulder, fingering the zipper of her jacket that is up around her throat. And then he is pulling it down, until the delicate lines of her collarbone are exposed, then down further still, and Sasuke can see the darkness of the area under her breasts. Suigetsu reaches the bottom, giving a light tug so the zipper is fully undone and Karin's jacket falls open, column of bare skin exposed from her neck down to the bare expanse of her stomach. She breathes deeply, chest rising and falling, eyes trained on Sasuke's.

Suigetsu pulls aside her collar and drops his mouth to the juncture of her neck and shoulder. Karin gasps, arching up slightly, head falling to the side as her hands grasp the outsides of Suigetsu's thighs.

Sasuke blinks.

\"Your turn,\" Suigetsu says in a low voice that Sasuke is unfamiliar with. He walks Karin forwards until she is inches away from Sasuke, whose eyebrows are drawn together but who isn't moving, caught between the heat spreading across his body and the fear of losing control.

Suigetsu runs the back of his hand down the side of Karin's face, regarding her as he speaks.

\"She's being so obedient for you, Sasuke. Funny, with me she can be such a bitch<\/i>.\"

At this, Suigetsu\u2019s fingers tangle in her hair and yank her head back roughly onto his shoulder. Her eyelashes flutter but she doesn\u2019t make a sound. He grazes his sharp teeth over her jaw.

\"Do you know how much she gets off on this? On being treated like dirt<\/i>...\"

Suigetsu's free hand grasps Karin\u2019s slim wrists, yanking them together to pin them at her lower back. She makes a high noise in her throat and the position forces her to arch her back, stomach bumping Sasuke\u2019s slightly as she does so. The brush of her body feels like flame, spreading out from Sasuke's stomach to all of his limbs, awakening his muscles.

Suigetsu is holding Karin in that position, waiting.

Sasuke is in limbo, in slow-moving water, in lava. They breathe, so still, the world around them impossibly quiet.

Finally, Sasuke brings his hand up and pushes just his thumb into that delicate-looking hollow at the base of Karin\u2019s throat, above her collarbones, applying enough pressure that her breath hitches. He drags his thumb down slowly across her breastbone, between her ribs, down along the softer, more yielding flesh of her stomach, to catch at the hem of her shorts.

\"Yeah, fuck, she wants that so<\/i> bad, I bet she's wet for you already,\" Suigetsu murmurs against the side of Karin\u2019s face, peering down over her shoulder to the place where Sasuke's thumb rests. \"But she's a little shit sometimes, steps out of line. You gotta make her work for it.\"

Sasuke is still a bit thrown off when Karin doesn't respond, just takes those words. But as he rubs his thumb back and forth at the top of her shorts, eyes on the soft curve of her belly, he can imagine how this works on other nights: Karin's hand in Suigetsu's<\/i> hair, spitting curses in his<\/i> face, immobilizing him, riding him.

Sasuke knows he shouldn't get involved with his teammates \u2013 not least because they have to work together, he is their leader<\/i>, and because he really<\/i> does not want to give Karin any ideas.

But the way these two take on these roles, relinquishing control and then taking it the very next night\u2026 Sasuke gets the feeling that Suigetsu and Karin understand that what they are doing is just play. There is something undeniably enticing about the fact that they have invited Sasuke to join them, and are letting him choose what role he wants to take.

Sasuke lifts his other hand to the bottom of Karin's jacket, tugging lightly, just enough so that the fabric falls aside, exposing the left half of her torso. He sees her chest rise and then pause \u2013 she is holding her breath.

\"Such a little whore, not even wearing a bra under that jacket,\" Suigetsu grins, watching as Sasuke curls his fingers under the bottom of her breast, cupping and pushing up slightly, thumb sweeping briefly across a hardening, pink nipple.

Karin lifts her head enough so she can see, eyes cast down to where Sasuke is touching her, and she pants quietly. Suigetsu yanks suddenly on her hair, pulling her head back to his shoulder again.

\"The fuck do you think you're doing? Did Sasuke say you could watch?\"

Sasuke looks up at this exchange, at Suigetsu's angry eyes, snarling mouth, grinding the question out into Karin's ear.

Did Sasuke say you could<\/i>...

The words surge through him, and the edges of Sasuke\u2019s mouth turn up just slightly.

\"Suigetsu?\"

Suigetsu turns back to meet his gaze, surprised etched on his face. Sasuke hasn't spoken yet and it looks like Suigetsu had not expected him to start.

\"Get on your knees and close your eyes.\"

The thrill that spikes between Sasuke's shoulder blades and drives down hard to twist in his abdomen is not so much from speaking those words, but from Suigetsu's reaction. He hesitates a brief second, eyes widened, before releasing Karin and dropping immediately to the tatami mat behind her. He rests on his haunches, slouched over slightly, hands limp on the floor on either side of him.

That posture alone<\/i> excites Sasuke \u2013 suggesting that Suigetsu is so ready and willing to hand over the control.

\"Karin. You too.\"

She silently complies, taking a moment to peek up at Sasuke from under her eyelashes before closing her eyes.

\"Hm. You two never shut up.\"

Sasuke steps to the side and they both follow the quiet sound of his bare feet on the floor, turning on their knees so they are facing him, eyes still closed and heads hung.

Sasuke feels a power that is new to him. Not the power that comes with wielding a chakra blade or activating his sharingan, but the kind that comes with simply being someone's leader, of having followers that respond to his every word. The two bodies before him are powerful too \u2013 capable of massacring hundreds in mere minutes. It makes it all the more thrilling that they are now here on their knees, in front of Sasuke.

After a few moments of silence, Suigetsu speaks without raising his head, voice small but steady from behind a curtain of hair.

\"What do you want us to do, master?\"

Sasuke snorts. \"Don't call me that.\"

\"Whatever you want\u2026\" Suigetsu pauses, \"taichou<\/i>.\"

\"Hm.\"

Sasuke doesn't mind that. Doesn't mind being reminded that Suigetsu is following Sasuke\u2019s own path willingly, his team captain and the one in control<\/i>.

\"I want you to\u2026 to touch yourselves.\"

Sasuke's neck flushes hot with humiliation at his own words but the sight of his teammates wordlessly complying, hands making quick work of zippers and buttons, turns that heat into a heady desire.

Karin's shorts are undone, dark patch of hair exposed as she slips her middle and forefinger down inside where they move in a slow circle. Her shoulders rise at the sensation, mouth falling open as breath ghosts across her lips, her eyelashes a dark shadow across her face.

Suigetsu has his pants undone in one fluid movement with his left hand, and he rises off his haunches to shove the fabric down his thighs before sitting back down. He's already hard, circling the base of his thick width with long pale fingers as he pumps up once, then back down. The fire pooling in Sasuke's belly is concentrating lower now, and he knows he is hard too.

\"Both hands.\"

Karin's free hand darts up to push aside the open fabric of her jacket and grab roughly at her own breast, kneading it, while Suigetsu's other palm slides across the tip of his cock.

Sasuke's tongue darts out to wet his lips. His hand has been resting at the knot of rope at his waist indecisively and he finally tugs at it, sending it coiling to the floor along with the loose cotton of his pants. He steps out of them, closer to his teammates. His cock sways with the movement, hard as it juts out from between the now-dangling fabric of his open shirt.

\"Faster.\"

He is only watching Suigetsu now, approaching him, bare feet on the cool reed of the floor mats. Sasuke is more familiar with Karin submitting to him, but there is something intriguing about this other man \u2013 the one who carries Zabuza\u2019s sword, whose strength is immeasurable when he calls upon it \u2013 on his knees, head hanging, pumping his cock, puffs of breath blowing the hair out in front of his face, disturbing it.

Sasuke lifts his foot and plants the bare sole in the centre of Suigetsu's chest, pushing hard enough that the other man loses his balance and has to splay his palms on the floor behind him to stay upright. Sasuke can see his face now, eyes closed but frowning.

\"Up. On your knees.\"

He removes his foot, allowing Suigetsu to rise off his haunches. Karin's light breathing catches Sasuke's attention, and he looks over to her.

\"Don't stop.\"

Karin nods and Sasuke wonders how turned on she must be, her hips pushing up against her own hand, shoulders hunching slightly.

\"Yes, Sasuke\u2026\u201d she pauses for a breath, \u201cSasuke-sama.\"

Her face is flushed pink, strip of thighs visible between her shorts and her tights quivering.

\"Don't come,\" Sasuke adds.

Sasuke turns back to Suigetsu, whose eyes are closed, arms at his sides as he remains on his knees. Suigetsu's lips are parted slightly and his pants are around his knees, cock pink and hard, slightly shorter but thicker around than Sasuke's own.

Sasuke smiles to himself. He wraps a firm hand around the base of his own cock and steps up to Suigetsu, pushing the warm, blunt head into the other man's cheek before slapping him lightly with it. Suigetsu groans and Sasuke feels his spine tingle as he sees Suigetsu's cock twitch, untouched.

\"Hm, you like that?\"

\"Mmm\u2026 yes, taichou.\" Suigetsu's voice is rough and low, his mouth hanging open as his tongue runs slowly across his bottom lip.

Sasuke takes the invitation, sliding the tip of his cock along that wet lip, side to side, muttering \"Keep those fucking teeth out of the way\" before pushing inside. He hums deep in his chest at the feeling of wet warmth, head rolling back on his shoulders, before returning his gaze to Suigetsu.

\"Karin. Watch.\"

Suigetsu's mouth ducks low, hands still at his sides, as he sucks slow and long from the base to the tip of Sasuke's cock.

Sasuke doesn\u2019t look up, but he can feel the weight of Karin\u2019s eyes on the scene, can hear the small moan that she bites back. Sasuke fists a hand in Suigetsu's hair but lets him continue moving on his own.

\"Feels like your boyfriend\u2019s done this before.\"

Sasuke doesn't know where his words are coming from, they are borrowed \u2013 he sounds like Suigetsu \u2013 but it is just so fucking hot<\/i> with these two submitting to him right now. The two that he is always trying so hard to manage and mediate. Sasuke feels like maybe he has always been a natural at this, because the words come so easily.

\"I wonder how much he can take?\"

Sasuke's other hand is in Suigetsu\u2019s hair now, thumbs braced behind his ears and fingers gripping hard into the base of his neck as he shoves forward roughly into that mouth, tip of his cock bumping up against the back of Suigetsu's throat. Suigetsu hums around it and Sasuke can\u2019t help moaning, lost inside this wet heat.

It\u2019s good, but it could be so<\/i> much better.

\"Do you want to taste?\"

Sasuke\u2019s eyes fall shut but Karin knows he is addressing her. She doesn't even hesitate, voice breathless - \"Yes. Yes, taichou.\"

\"Then help Suigetsu.\"

Sasuke untangles his hands, lets them fall to his side, and Suigetsu pulls back, releasing the heavy, wet length of Sasuke's cock so it slips out from between his lips noisily. Sasuke hears the movement against the mat: Suigetsu moving aside, and then hot lips press against the side of his cock, mouth open, tongue tracing the ridge of a long vein. Another mimics it, mouthing the other side, sucking lightly, and those lips meet around him, sealing him into their wetness.

Sasuke is moaning so loudly now, and there are civilians next door and he doesn't care because his entire being is focused on the seemingly endless wet slide of lips and tongues and suction, messily moving up and down the length of his cock.

And Sasuke can't look, not yet, not when it's so hot like this, not when his balls are drawn up tight against his body and he is pulling long, measured breaths through his nose just to cool down.

He needs them<\/i> to feel this hot, this on edge \u2013 because it's nearly torture.

\"Touch each other.\"

Sasuke can't see because he needs to keep his eyes shut, but he can feel them moaning around his length while he hears bodies shifting on the floor mats and fabric rustling. Their mouths meet when they both slide up to the tip of his cock, kissing each other sloppily with the head of Sasuke's length sharing the space in their mouths, tongues swirling across the tip and licking away the precome gathering there.

Suigetsu chokes out this deep sort of guttural noise, jerking forward, and without thinking, Sasuke opens his eyes to see \u2013

Shit shit shit<\/i>, Karin's hair is everywhere and both her and Suigetsu\u2019s eyes are closed, one hand each cupping the other's face as they kiss hungrily, messily, wantonly, while their other hands grope around frantically in each other's pants. The sway of Karin's breasts, the hard points of her nipples, the muscles shifting and tensing in Suigetsu's shoulders and bicep, it's too hot, Sasuke can't, he can't\u2026

\"Get off.\"

He has to keep from shouting, pushing them both away quickly, and then adding \"Stop\" because he doesn't want them to take his first words too literally. Sasuke\u2019s cock pulses - so hard, so close.

Karin is panting, breasts heaving, one leg bent inward, the other splayed out ahead of her on the mat as she rests on her arms. Her heavy-lidded eyes are trained on Sasuke's.

Suigetsu is on his haunches, legs folded under him, hands braced sideways on each thigh, elbows bent \u2013 and he is hunched over, shoulders heaving, sweaty strands of hair stuck to his face. His<\/i> eyes are trained directly on Sasuke's cock, glistening wet from their spit, dark and so hard, and it twitches under his heavy gaze.

Sasuke groans. Things got too hot, so fast, he doesn't\u2026 doesn't want this to end like that, not so soon at least.

Sasuke had an idea, when this thing had started, that he wanted to slip into the wet heat of Karin's body like he had watched Suigetsu do at least five times before. Sasuke had wanted to take her like Suigetsu did and fuck her so hard that she couldn\u2019t make those goddamn doe-eyes at him anymore without remembering him fucking her raw, face down in the floor mats.

But now Sasuke doesn't want to do what Suigetsu can do every night \u2013 and will probably keep doing every night after this one. He wants to do what Karin can't, and that\u2019s what Sasuke desperately needs to see: he needs to see Suigetsu get fucked.

\"Karin. Get on the desk.\"

Sasuke\u2019s words are breathless, and he feels like he has just run a marathon - like he is just about to run another - but he feels strong still, in control. These teammates on the floor before him, looking flushed and so turned on with his precome smeared on their lips - they are his<\/i> subordinates.

The arm that Karin plants out in front of her shakes momentarily, but she manages to push herself up and walk across the room to the small desk strewn with weapons, supplies and charts. She sweeps it clear with one hand and as it all clatters noisily to the floor she hops up backwards to sit on the desk's edge, legs dangling. Her fingers grip the table edge tightly, and the jacket slips down her left shoulder. She looks like she wants to get fucked so<\/i> bad right now - by Sasuke<\/i>.

The side of his mouth tilts up.

Sasuke turns to look back down at Suigetsu, who is still eyeing Sasuke's cock like he wants it back in his mouth, like he wants Sasuke coming all over his face, his lips, in his hair.

Sasuke has never been turned on so much from someone just looking<\/i> at him like that. Part of him feels smug, like perhaps Karin isn't the only one harboring a stupid crush on Sasuke, because maybe with men it's a little more complex, a little more tied up in respect and strength and taboo.

\"Suigetsu, go fuck your girlfriend.\"

Sasuke reminds Suigetsu of which person in this room he has chosen to spend his nights with; that Sasuke is not<\/i> a part of this thing between them. Part of Sasuke also hopes that Karin and Suigetsu are in denial about the idea that they might be dating, so that those titles make them that much more angry \u2013 anger that they can't release, not while they have handed over their control to Sasuke.

Suigetsu pushes himself up onto his hands and knees, then rises. His face just barely misses sliding along Sasuke's cock as he stands and Sasuke can't tell if that was on purpose or not, but it reminds him of how badly he wants to come right now.

\"Hurry up.\"

Suigetsu pulls himself up to his full height, lifting his chin and looking Sasuke in the eye for a moment before walking over to the desk.

Sasuke turns and watches them; their eyes are no longer on him now, they are turned down between their bodies as Karin lifts her hips, Suigetsu pulling the shorts down her legs and off over her shoes, where he drops them to the floor. They are silent but fast and efficient.

Sasuke enjoys this part, enjoys reminding them that this thing is about the two of them<\/i>, not about him. Sasuke is only what he's ever been \u2013 the mediator.

Karen spreads her thighs on the wood, tilting her pelvis back and scooting her ass to the edge of the table as Suigetsu licks his palm and slicks himself, guiding his length to her entrance. He steals a look back at Sasuke from under his eyelashes, just for a split second, before gazing downwards again, pushing into Karin to the hilt.

She gasps, braces herself with her arms on the wood behind her, her legs rising to wrap around Suigetsu's hips with ease and familiarity. Sasuke watches, licking his lips as he runs his thumb up the length of his cock lightly.

He is back on that branch the first night in the woods that he saw them, watching them fuck \u2013 the teammates that bitch constantly, such polar opposites, such antagonistic personalities. He is watching, pumping his cock slowly, and Suigetsu's ass clenches each time he thrusts in hard, his hands gripping tight on Karin's hips as he pulls her in to meet him.

Suigetsu grunts and Karin's breaths have reached a higher pitch, like a small sigh each time she exhales, head rolling back between her shoulder blades, eyes screwed shut. They are going to come soon if Sasuke's isn't careful. He must have underestimated how close they had been earlier.

\"Stop.\"

Suigetsu stills inside Karin. He doesn't move but inclines his head slightly, watching Sasuke in his peripheral vision. Sasuke can feel those eyes on him, and Karin's have opened as well. Her ankles uncross and fall from Suigetsu\u2019s back, legs wide and dangling off the edge of the table. Sasuke\u2019s hand is still moving slowly on his own cock as he approaches them slowly.

\"Suigetsu?\"

The other man meets his eyes over his shoulder, still deep inside Karin's heat. Sasuke smirks, thinking that maybe Suigetsu expects Sasuke to take his place, ask him step aside. Karin's eyebrows are raised.

\"Spread your legs.\"

Suigetsu's face is controlled, but Sasuke sees the breath that catches in the other man's chest as his shoulders tense. Suigetsu slowly walks his heels and then his toes apart, careful not to pull out of Karin.

Sasuke steps in closely and rests his heavy, broad hands on the exposed small of Suigetsu's back, just for moment. Just to remind them both whose body belongs to who right now.

\"Suigetsu. Do I need to prepare you?\"

Sasuke doesn't feel generous; he feels like he doesn't want blood on his cock.

Suigetsu's eyes bore heavily into Sasuke's over his shoulder, and Sasuke sees the other man's headstrong personality just below the surface, wanting his control back. And Sasuke thinks maybe there is a part of Suigetsu here that the other man doesn\u2019t particularly want Karin to know about.

But Sasuke returns the gaze coolly and shifts his hips so that the head of his cock slips up against the cleft at the very top of Suigetsu's ass, bumping lightly into his lower back. Suigetsu's eyes finally drop, downcast. He shakes his head, hair tossing into his face.

Sasuke smiles and feels a surge of strength, of satisfaction. He was going to get Suigetsu to spit into his hand, but Sasuke feels like he has given Suigetsu just the perfect amount of humiliation right now, and doesn't want to ruin this moment. Sasuke spits into his own palm, slicking his length. He spits once more on the tips of his fingers and slips them messily over Suigetsu's entrance, other hand parting his cheeks slightly, thumb digging into the firm muscle and soft flesh there.

Sasuke lines himself up, hands returning to Suigetsu's lower back, squeezing now, and pushes in slowly.

Suigetsu's exhalations are long and shaky but he does a very careful job of trying not to react. Sasuke watches himself \u2013 watches the width and length of his hardness disappear inch by inch into that impossible tightness, and Suigetsu takes him so<\/i> well. He grunts when he is balls-deep, hips coming to rest flush against Suigetsu's ass.

\"Hm. Wonder who's been fucking you<\/i>?\" Sasuke can't keep the smile from his voice.

He finally tears his eyes away, looking up, and Karin's face reflects her shock. Sasuke\u2019s hands slide down to Suigetsu's hips, and fuck<\/i> they are so narrow and slim like the rest of his body, lithe with muscle, and Sasuke pulls out and pushes in hard. He forgot how close he already was to coming \u2013 it thrums through his body like electricity. Suigetsu gasps, and is pushed up against Karin. She sucks in a breath and shifts her palms on the wood, finding support again.

Sasuke leans close to Suigetsu as he speaks, bare chest pressed along the warm sweaty length of Suigetsu's spine, loose fabric of his shirt hanging down their sides, and he speaks hot words into Suigetsu's ear.

\"Fuck your girlfriend, Suigetsu. She's jealous you're getting it and she's not.\"

This is the closest Sasuke has been to Suigetsu's body tonight. Sasuke feels the shiver run down the other man's spine, and it is so<\/i> satisfying to have that reaction. Sasuke pistons his hips in hard, and Suigetsu finally remembers himself, gasping for air as he shoves his ass back into Sasuke, driving him deep inside, to get enough distance to pull his own length out of Karin before pushing in again. Sasuke lets go of Suigetsu's hips as soon as he understands how the other man is moving.

\"You like impaling yourself on my cock?\"

Sasuke runs his palms up Suigetsu's sides, over the fabric of his shirt, and then around to his chest, pulling the other man\u2019s torso back hard against Sasuke's chest. Karin is watching and her cheeks are pink, mouth hanging open. Sasuke shoves his face into Suigetsu's hair, sweaty strands clinging to his neck and the side of his face that Sasuke pushes aside with his nose.

\"I asked you a question,\" Sasuke ducks his head to lick a long wet line up the side of Suigetsu's neck, biting his earlobe, \"bitch<\/i>.\" The word is so unlike Sasuke, but there is a part of it that also make so much sense, because every goddamn day he hears Suigetsu throw that word around while fighting with Karin.

Suigetsu moans uninhibitedly, the loudest sound he has made tonight. He pushes back into Sasuke hard, before driving into Karin again.

\"Fuck<\/i>. Yessss\u2026\"

\"Yes...?\"

\"Fuck yes,\" Suigetsu\u2019s hands slip from Karin's hips, sweaty, and he struggles to grip them again as he picks up speed, \"taichou<\/i>.\"

Sasuke grunts, loosening his hold slightly so Suigetsu has more room to move his torso with his hips, and Sasuke shoves a hand up under Suigetsu's shirt, pinching and rolling a nipple roughly between his fingers.

\"Good. Now fuck Karin and me until we come.\"

Sasuke likes Suigetsu like this \u2013 a hard, muscled, trained body pressed up against his own, driving back onto his cock \u2013 but facing away from him, not having to deal with Suigetsu\u2019s expressions.

Suigetsu struggles to pick up his pace, but it's hard with Sasuke's weight against him, so Sasuke takes one last pull on Suigetsu's nipple, a bit too hard, and as Suigetsu gasps and stills, Sasuke pulls his hands away and stands upright, bringing his fingers to the edge of the table, just inside Karin's thighs and gripping there.

Suigetsu immediately repositions himself, bending forwards more over Karin's body, hands flat on the wood on either side of her torso, and he bows his back so his ass rises that much higher, and drives back so hard<\/i> before pushing forward. Sasuke's knuckles are white, gripping the table to keep from following Suigetsu forward whenever he slips out of that tight heat.

\"Mm, yeah.\"

Sasuke had wanted to avoid getting talkative, but he doesn't care anymore, not with the coiling heat in his belly, remembering the sight of his teammates greedily sucking his cock into their mouths, or lying back and panting hard, so turned on, on the tatami mats.

Suigetsu is holding every breath he takes in before letting it out in choked grunts \u2013 Sasuke can tell how hard he is working, can feel the muscles clenching in Suigetsu's ass, in his thighs, can see them shift in his biceps.

Karin pants heavily, breasts bouncing with the jolt of Suigetsu entering her harshly again and again, and Sasuke feels her thighs against the outside of his hands on the table, quivering. He looks up at her and bites his bottom lip, feeling magnanimous, like giving her what she wants: Sasuke staring at her with that heavy gaze, so hard, so turned on \u2013 and her eyebrows lift in surprise. Suigetsu's hand dips between their bodies and makes quick work of her clit.

She comes, crying out, hopeless, mouth open wide, her thighs clamping together hard \u2013 Sasuke doesn't move his hands from the table, and the soft muscles of her legs grip his forearms with surprising strength as she freezes for a moment, and then circles her hips slowly, eyes shut. She drops back heavily onto one elbow, then the other, chin resting on her chest as she sucks in breaths.

\"Don\u2019t even think about stopping,\" Sasuke growls, and Suigetsu remembers himself, palms shifting to the surface of the table outside Karin's hips, and he pulls out of her with a noisy wet sound, bending over deeper, so his cock bobs free under the table. His back is bowed impossibly as he drives himself back onto Sasuke's cock.

\"Faster,\" Sasuke demands, and he knows he could just grab Suigetsu's hips right now and do it himself, but forcing Suigetsu to do the work is so<\/i> much better. Suigetsu is bent nearly at a right angle now, back spread out before Sasuke, arms braced as he drives himself backwards, face resting on Karin's stomach, panting across her still-shaking muscles.

Sasuke is wondering whether he should get Suigetsu to touch himself or whether he should deny him \u2013 play with him a bit more \u2013 when Suigetsu lifts himself up onto his toes and raises his ass that much higher onto Sasuke's cock, choking out a breath at the angle, muttering \"fuck\" as he bites roughly into Karin's belly.

Sasuke removes one hand from the table, grabbing Suigetsu's hair roughly, bending over to shove his mouth into the man\u2019s ear, teeth scraping along the cartilage. Suigetsu becomes something nearly frantic, eyes screwed shut, hair splayed out across Karin's stomach, mouth open as he pants, pushing himself back onto Sasuke's cock so<\/i> fast and hard.

\"Don't talk unless I tell \u2013\" but Sasuke's words are cut off as Suigetsu's breath catches and he stills. A long, low moan falls from his lips, his hips pushed back and his body clenched tight around Sasuke's cock.

Fuck. He came under the table.

\"Did I \u2013 \" Sasuke shoves one hand hard into Suigetsu's lower back, flattening him, holding him down, \"tell you \u2013 \" the other grips Suigetsu's hip impossibly tight, \"you could \u2013 \" Sasuke fucks him hard<\/i> and fast, a little angry, mostly so goddamn turned on at this point, \"come yet?\"

And Sasuke wishes he wasn't so close to the edge, wishes he could keep doing this, watching Suigetsu wince slightly at the hyper-sensitivity of nerve endings coming down from his own orgasm, watching Suigetsu's body jolted forwards, face shoved into Karin's torso.

But Sasuke is already there, and he grinds forward in tight circles as he comes inside Suigetsu. He grunts, and Suigetsu moans again, that long, low sound \u2013 shit<\/i>, just at the feeling of Sasuke coming inside him? \u2013 and Sasuke feels like his body is imploding, fuck fuck fuck fuck<\/i>...

Sasuke takes a moment, swallows thickly, and pulls back, slipping out of Suigetsu with an obscene noise. The other man winces, curling in on himself as he simultaneously rises up off of Karin's body. He puts an arm out ahead of him on the table, elbow locked, and leans heavily against Karin's open thighs as he shifts, legs shaking, to watch Sasuke.

Sasuke turns his back to his team mates, carefully pulling his pants on and retying the rope. They watch him so closely \u2013 was he that<\/i> good? Or is this some part of this thing they do, is he supposed to say something to end the \"game\"?

Fully dressed, Sasuke turns to face them. Karin is staring, open mouthed, reclined on her elbows with her legs spread wide in such a vulnerable way, exposed to him. Suigetsu's hair is in his face but his one visible eye is fixed on Sasuke as well, tips of pointed teeth showing as he pants. When Sasuke walks towards the door, Suigetsu's arm buckles and he collapses onto Karin's body again, his eyes never leaving Sasuke.

Now Sasuke knows<\/i> he shouldn't say anything. They are both waiting to hear what happens next and Sasuke really, really needs them to stop giving him those heavy looks. He stops at the door, fingers wrapped around the edge of the sliding frame. He huffs out a breath before sliding it open and closing it just as quickly behind him.

Sasuke will only be who he has ever been \u2013 he's not going to be anything for them<\/i>. Anything more than a mediator, that is.






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