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Halloween night. Frank was smoking, hunched against the cold, on the sidewalk outside his apartment. A pack of kids scurried by, giggling and whooping, a princess and a Vader and a pirate, candy threatening to overflow their plastic buckets, trailed by grimly speed-walking grownups in parkas.
“Happy Halloween!” he called after them, getting stink-eyes from the parents and “happy Halloweens” chirped back to him from the kids. Happy Halloween and Happy Birthday to him. He crushed his smoke under his Converse and shoved his skeleton-gloved fists into his hoodie pocket. Skeleton gloves, skeleton hoodie, slutty smudges of liner around his eyes and his kinda pumpkin-spice-colored fauxhawk gelled into an attempt at a devilock. He figured it was costume enough: a cuter, not quite as short Misfits-era Danzig maybe.
He'd always hated unseasonably warm Halloweens as a kid, they rotted your jack o' lantern and made you sweat under your shitty plastic drugstore costume, but fuck if he didn’t wish it wasn’t a couple dozen degrees warmer tonight.
Thankfully Mikey Way’s beat-up Subaru finally pulled up and shuddered to a stop nearby. Frank hurled himself at the car and slide inside, moaning at the rush of toasty warmth from the vents.
“Happy birthday, Frankie!” Mikey beamed, oblivious to Frank’s near-death from hypothermia. His weird oblong glasses were jammed on top of the long sections of flatironed hair protruding from his black beanie. Frank spied an appropriately gory Slayer shirt beneath his tight denim jacket and thought this beanpole might die from frostbite tonight.
He snorted and punched Mikey softly on the arm, turning down the music (it was the Smashing Pumpkins cover of Alice Cooper’s “Clones,” one of the gems on his Halloween mixtape.)
“Thanks, dude. Fuck, I thought I was gonna freeze out there.”
“Ready?” He nodded, and Mikey peeled out.
“Your present’s in the backseat by the way. You should go ahead and open it now so it won’t be weird when we get Gerard. You know, since he won’t have a present for you.”
Gerard was Mikey’s older brother, away at school in the city. Frank had met him a couple times this summer, once at the Way house and once at a show Mikey had dragged him to. He hadn’t really talked other than mumbled greetings, had seemed pretty uncomfortable actually, but Mikey had raved about him being this amazing artistic genius. Frank didn’t know about that, but he remembered thinking he was pretty, if a little crusty looking. Mikey had talked him into venturing out to this Halloween show, it was a Misfits cover band with a local deathrock act opening. Mikey was kind of into their singer, so tonight killed three birds with one stone: celebrating Frank, getting to see his brother, and possibly hanging out with his crush.
“Ok, Mikeyway.” Frank reached back behind the center console and came up with a black gift bag stuck with a bright green bow.
“Aw, you shouldn’t have.” He extracted a gnarly green Frankenstein head mug and the McFarlane Movie Maniacs box set of Jason and Freddy figurines.
“Fuckin A, these are fucking awesome, dude! I thought these were sold out like everywhere.”
“Comic shop had em,” Mikey grinned, turning the music back up to the Ramones’ “Pet Sematary.” “I got one for me too of course.”
“You’re the best friend ever and I’m gonna kiss you,” Frank announced, craning over against the strap of his seat belt to attack Mikey with a one-armed hug and cheek kiss.
“Hey, driving!” Mikey sputtered.
Frank grinned at his toys again before shoving them back in the bag and pushing the bag halfway under his seat. “Remind me not to forget those.”
They were in the middle of a heated discussion about abandoning their musical ambitions to become paranormal investigators when Mikey muttered “fuck” and screeched to a halt near a bus stop. Frank spotted a girl on the corner, smoking and looking theatrically nonchalant despite the cold temperature and her short skirt. His mouth fell open to say “dude, she’s cute, but I don’t think she’ll just get in with us” until the girl stared at the car, rolled her eyes, crushed her smoke beneath her boot, and sauntered over to Mikey’s car. He saw the pale moon of a face under a glossy sheaf of black hair, a glimpse of glittery doe eyes, and realized the girl was Gerard.
“You don’t mind the back seat, do you, Gee?” Mikey called over his shoulder as Gerard climbed into the Subaru.
“’s fine,” he sighed. “Hi, Frank.”
Frank grinned, surprised at the warm tingle in his stomach. “Hey Gerard. Didn’t think you’d remember little old me.”
Gerard giggled, and there were thuds and muffled scrapes that sounded like he was trying to get situated. Frank was dying to flip down the rearview mirror to watch, but that was too boldly creepy for even him.
“How could I forget?” he drawled. “Mikey’s been raving about you nonstop for the past couple weeks. Happy Halloween, by the way. I mean, Happy Birthday. Er, both.”
Frank laughed in delight, the tips of his ears burning. “Thanks.”
They fell into silence, and he noticed Gerard humming along with the tape. Siouxsie and the Banshees’ “Peek-a-boo.” When the chorus popped up he sang quietly, his voice high and melodic, with a bit of Siouxsie’s caustic edge.
Frank wanted to compliment his singing but didn’t want to embarrass him into stopping. Gerard struck him as skittish, like a half-tame wildcat. It seemed to be rare but rewarding to gain his attention and trust, and easy to lose both.
So he waited until the song was done to pick up the threads of his and Mikey’s earlier conversation, wanting to keep him engaged at least till they got to the club.
“So Gerard, me and Mikey were thinking about trying our hand at paranormal investigation instead of like, music. We’d still need a van, but wayyyy less gear. And we’d probably stay broke, at least for awhile, but it would kind of be like being in a band. We could name our team and have t-shirts made, and like business cards I guess, and travel around the country. We’d have a blog—”
“Oh yeah,” Gerard interjected with enthusiasm. “A blog would get more interest than a newsletter, but you’d have one of those too, like for old timers or people who are paranoid about the internet. But dude, a Myspace page would be amazing, and you’d have to video everything, like you would a show. I bet that would get a lot of attention. And you know, use a little artistic license. You know Ray Toro right? He’s In the film program at SVU, he could totally come up with something insane. Even do the music as well.”
“So maybe you could design our shirts and stuff. Paint the van? We could have some dumb name like The Scooby Crew.”
“No!” Gerard scoffed. “Well, no to that fucking name. But yeah, it would be awesome to paint a van. Mikey could come up with a better name, though. He’s good at like, band names and stuff.”
They were still tossing out name ideas (Demon Fighting Dudes, the Ghost Getters, and the Hexterminators were among the offerings) when they arrived at the venue, a low-slung graffitied bunker of a building.
Frank grumbled about having to get out into the cold again, but the small line out front was moving fast, and he was anticipating a crush of warm bodies inside and enough alcohol to sufficiently heat up his bloodstream. Plus, he hoped to get a proper look at Gerard.
He hopped out first so he could really get an eyeful while Gerard climbed out of the car. He was wearing a Night of the Living Dead tee, the zombie girl’s face faintly glowing in the dark under a black leather jacket. His black velvet skater skirt belled out gracefully around his pale and juicy-looking thighs, the hemline ending a few inches above his knees. Purple knee socks covered his rounded calves, and the spooky-bitch outfit was completed by shiny black Docs.
Gerard slammed the door and whirled around to face Frank then, and his face flamed as he took in those long-lashed hazel eyes, framed by dramatic dark brows that resembled batwings, and his cold-reddened pouty little lips. A smudge of sparkly dark purple eyeshadow brought out the green in his eyes, and his skin looked so soft, not even a hint of stubble, tinged with pink underneath, reminding Frank of a ripe peach. Gerard Way was simply the prettiest goth girl he'd ever seen.
Gerard exhaled, his breath pluming out in the cold air, and he shivered a little, rubbing his thighs together as he did so.
“Aren’t you freezing in that?” Frank gestured at the skirt with a little half-smile.
Gerard shrugged, falling in step beside him and Mikey as they approached the club. “I’m not the only one doing it,” he said, gesturing to the line and the several girls in miniskirts and fishnets. “I’ll be good once I get inside, then a little alcohol will keep me warm. Besides,” he continued, the corner of his mouth quirking up, “hot girls don’t get cold.”
A sound came from Frank’s throat that was part strangled laugh, part choked-off “Ha!” and Gerard pressed his lips together, containing a giggle. He tipped Frank a wink, and it took all his strength to roll his eyes in response, trying to appear unaffected.
They had time for one cigarette while they waited, and the paranormal investigators conversation resumed.
“Hexterminators would be a cool band name too, actually,” Gerard said taking a drag with a dramatic sweep of the wrist, following it with a pouty, fluttery-lashed exhale like the Old Hollywood diva that he was.
“Dibs on that!” Mikey said quickly, filing it away into his mental list of cool band names.
Gerard giggled and shuffled forward towards the door.
“You should really keep doing music, though, Frank.” He twirled around, arms crossed, walking slowly backwards. “Mikey sent me the Pencey Prep demo, you’re really good.”
Frank shoved his hands into his pockets and grinned at the ground. “Thanks, man. It’s fun to dream, though. Maybe it could be a side gig. Wouldn’t you like to come with us? It would give you a lot of ideas for comics or whatever you’re going to do.”
“Oh, it would be so badass,” Gerard enthused. “I think I’d be really good at research and like, coming up with cleansing spells and stuff. Plus, the Scooby gang wouldn’t be the same without at least one chick running around in short skirts and knee socks,” he grinned, kicking one luscious leg out to nudge Frank’s shin with his toe.
Frank felt himself go up in flames, and flipped rapidly through his brain for a flirty yet laid back response, but the moment was ruined by the door guy asking for ID.
After they were waved through, Gerard immediately disappeared into the crowd, the darkness of the club and its liberal use of a fog machine making it all the more dramatic.
He laughed and shook his head, and Mikey side-eyed him, seeming to know his exact mental state.
His lip twitched and he shrugged. “He’ll turn up again at some point.”
Frank wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be reassuring or just factual, but he mentally shook off Gerard’s spell and tried to get into the Halloween spirit.
The venue had probably a 300 person capacity and it was pretty packed. There were cheap decorations strewn around the bar and along the walls, fake spiderwebs and plastic skeletons and glow-in-the-dark rubber spiders.
Mikey bought their beers after they sidled up to the bar (which was pretty easy, both of them being about as wide as popsicle sticks), and then they began the trek to the stage, nudging past black-clad punks like them, way too many Neos and Trinitys (more than one was too many), girls with cat ears and whiskers or vampire fangs, and even one tall, thin, adventurous soul dressed like Andy Warhol.
OF COURSE Gerard was talking to Warhol, gesturing wildly with his hands, beer threatening to splash out the top of his bottle of Yeungling.
Frank sighed at himself and followed Mikey to the front. The stage was low and shitty, so it would feel like the band was right in front of them, and honestly he loved these kinds of places. Just like the basement shows and tiny dive bars Pencey played.
The band was better than anticipated. They took the stage in a blur of mesh and vinyl and flying crimped hair, the banner behind them blood-red and emblazoned with their Misfits-ripoff logo. EYES THAT PARALYZE, it fairly screamed, above a grainy still from the Village of the Damned, the whited-out eyes of alien children unsettling.
And yeah, the singer was hot, muscular fishnet thighs testing the endurance of her PVC skirt, strutting in her spike-heeled boots like she'd just as soon slit your throat with them. She was not quite a Siouxsie cosplay in that her hair was purple and her makeup more Dave Vanian than Theda Bara, but her voice, sweet and clear when she wasn't growling, served their cover of "Spellbound" well. Probably not as well as Gerard's would, Frank thought with prejudice, but he was still bobbing his head and bouncing in his shoes.
And the crowd was eating it up, pressed close to the stage and pogoing in their Halloween finery.
Frank spotted a familiar shaggy black head of hair at the edge of a very loose circle pit. When the kids around Gerard spun away, Frank caught a flash of him, eyes closed and singing along, shaking his ass a little, the hem of his skirt bouncing. And just then the drums hit, the tempo became turbo charged, and Gerard's eyes flew open as his feet left the ground in an ecstatic leap.
Frank's face and neck flushed sunburn red. The force of Gerard's jump sent his skirt flying up when his Docs hit earth again, just for a split second. A split second that would be seared into Frank's memory forever. So much pale thigh...how long were his legs anyway? Pale thigh that ended in juicy, rounded butt cheeks with a scrap of purple fabric wedged between them. When he jumped again, Frank clocked that they were light purple, edged in black, polka-dotted, or perhaps tiny black hearts.
Possibly lace trimmed. But definitely, maddeningly, panties.
Gerard Way was wearing panties. Under his skirt.
A sound that he'd never made was wrenched from his throat, sort of a rusty whine, and he quickly faced the stage again, nodding along to the music and trying to pretend that he wasn't blushing scarlet, that the top of his head hadn't just been blown off by what he'd just seen.
He glanced at Mikey, sure he'd been caught drooling, and he was ready to apologize for being a creepy fucking voyeur, but Mikey's narrow face was stretched in a little closemouthed grin as he continued to watch his crush dominate the stage.
Frank bumped his shoulder as he brushed past. "Another beer?" he half-shouted in his ear, holding up his empty. Mikey nodded, barely sparing him a glance.
He cast a furtive look towards Gerard as he made his way to the bar, but he was still dancing, oblivious. Probably didn't know Frank existed then, nor cared, and that thought was far more comforting than the shame of being found out.
Some hours into Halloween night later, they were crammed into Eyes' drummer's apartment, hell maybe it was the whole band's, what with NYC rent. If they were still in the city. Frank had no clue. He dimly remembered doing a few shots and hitting a joint with the band, and apparently this was the after party. The walls were hung with tattered black cheesecloth and strung with ghoulish green lights. Rad decorations, he thought, until he found himself cradling an electric jack o lantern and seeing the months-old layer of dust on top. Still rad, though, he shrugged.
"Happy Halloween!" Steph, the purple-haired singer, bellowed, brandishing a jug of Fireball as she stood atop their milk crate coffee table. She took a swig and passed the jug around. Frank shrank away from the communal alcohol, not wanting cooties for his birthday.
"Happy Halloween!" Gerard cried, suddenly pressed to his side, and Frank leaned into his leather-jacket warmth. He was freezing, despite the bodies. Either the heat hadn't been turned on yet, or the bill hadn't been paid.
"And happy birthday, Frankie!" Gerard swallowed cinnamon whiskey from the jug, and Frank watched his lovely pale throat work as he swallowed.
Swallowed. Haha.
Gerard shoved the Fireball to a nearby punk and grinned at him, moss-green eyes sparkling like gemstones against his smudged makeup.
"Birthday?" Steph had heard him. Frank nodded sheepishly, shrinking further into his hoodie.
"That's cool as fuck. Happy birthday! Frank right?"
He nodded again, and she led the room in a drunkenly rousing rendition of "Happy Birthday." Frank blushed with pleasure as it ended on a boisterous "Happy Birthday, DEAR FRANK--ENSTEIN...HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOUUUU!!!!"
Gerard's giggle became a cackle, and he threw his arms around Frank, drawing him into a heated softness that smelled like cinnamon and sandalwood and cigarettes and booze. Frank hummed happily, hugging him back, not ever intending to leave.
"Mwah!" Gerard exclaimed, planting a wet kiss on his cheek, and Frank snickered, utterly smitten by the fact that the guy made kissy sounds to go with his kisses. He returned the kiss, his cold lips brushing Gerard's warm petal-soft cheek.
Gerard gave a quiet giggle, like a secret under his breath, and rubbed the pointy tip of his pixie nose against Frank's cheek as he squeezed his sides gently.
"You're cold," he stage-whispered.
"This is helping," Frank laughed, trying to appear casual as he wrapped his arm around Gerard's waist under the coat, greedily soaking up more of his warmth.
"I bet Steph would give you birthday spankings if you asked. That would warm you up," Gerard snickered.
"I'll pass," Frank murmured. Feeling bold, he added, so deadpan and so cool and uncaring, "I could go for a lap dance, though."
Gerard laughed, and Frank wished he could see his expression, but he wasn't giving up the way his face was now smushed into Gerard's smoky, silky hair for anything. "If Dirty Black Summer by Danzig comes on, you've got yourself a birthday dance."
Frank pulled back in shock, and Gerard laughed at him again, cheeks round and full, red as apples. "For real?" he asked dumbly. Gerard nodded, still grinning, and Frank popped up on his tiptoes and craned his neck above the crowd, turning this way and that.
"Alright, I'm taking charge of whosever ipod that is right fucking now." He crouched low and made as if he were about to dart off like a superhero, and Gerard was doubled over now, gasping between breathless giggles.
Mikey appeared then, the hair sticking out under his beanie slightly less than flat and a hickey the color of raw meat just above his collarbone. "Time to motor," he said. *It's like almost four."
"But I didn't get my birthday dance," Frank whined, gesturing at Gerard, who crossed his arms and looked perfectly innocent.
"I don't even wanna know," Mikey rolled his eyes. "Let's go."
Frank was pretty tired, and didn't even feel like hitting a diner to get pancakes as was his usual preferred way to end a rad night out. Not even birthday pancakes. Mikey offered him the consolation prize of sleeping over in the Ways' basement, accompanied by leftover veggie pizza, and he enthusiastically accepted. He had a tiny hope that Gerard would come back with them. He imagined passing out curled up next to him, bitterly aware that the fleeting attraction he'd felt had somehow blossomed into a full-grown ache.
Gerard insisted on being dropped back at school, though, and Frank hopped out of the car before he could slip away into the night. He pounced on him with a puppyish hug that Gerard leaned into, rubbing his back in small circles.
"Hey, don't forget, I have a show next weekend. And it's in an actual bar this time."
"Oh yeah, I think Mikey mentioned it. Maybe I can come." Gerard released Frank, and somehow he was gently holding his hand. "I hope you had a nice birthday, Frankie." He leaned in for another cheek kiss, and Frank stood there, all aglow inside, feeling like it was the end of a rather charmed first date.
"Yeah, it was rad." He smiled and squeezed Gerard's hand. "See you soon, Gee."
"OK," Gerard nodded, his lips quirking up, and turned away in a twirl of skirt. "Happy Halloween!" he called back over his shoulder as he flounced off to the residence hall doors.
"Happy Halloween! Drink some water!"
Frank climbed back into the Subaru with a shit-eating grin and was greeted by Mikey's deadpan face.
"What?" he asked innocently.
Mikey just shook his head and pulled away from the curb, Danzig issuing from the speakers. It was not Dirty Black Summer.
Frank totally didn’t obsess over Gerard during the week, truly he didn’t.
Sure, maybe he found himself staring off into space while imagining black velvet sliding up lush pale thighs as a parallel universe version of himself had a lapful of writhing stripper Gerard. And maybe that ass in those purple panties featured in the steamy mind-movies that accompanied his wank sessions, but really, he was totally normal about Mikey’s older brother. He’d totally refrained from asking Mikey for Gerard’s number about thirty times, or pestering him to get his brother to the Pencey show by any means necessary.
So he had a crush. And maybe he was developing a weird fetish or two. But he shoved it down and kicked himself in the ass during rehearsal all week. The show was Friday night at a local dive, so Thursday, after sharing a few gig-eve beers with the guys, he trudged home, guzzling a liter of water just cause it was good for him, chasing that with a cup of green tea with honey cause it was good for his screaming pipes, and plugged his clippers into the bathroom socket. He frowned at his reflection briefly. The faux hawk was cute and low maintenance, but he wanted something cooler, more dangerous. He flicked the switch and the clippers buzzed to life.
He woke up around two, cracked a bleary eye at his phone (I told G I would pawn his hobbit sword if he doesn’t show, Mikey had texted, can’t wait for 2nite frankie!) and grinned. Hot brother or not, Mikeyway really was the sweetest. He had time for a bowl of cereal and a couple of chapters of the new Stephen King before he needed to get ready, so he padded to the kitchen in his boxers and grabbed the Lucky Charms.
“Hot damn, Frankie!” Hambone exclaimed when he showed up to load the van. “You look like a porn star. Like if there was a porn site for hot gothed out twinks.”
“Think I’m hot, huh?” Frank wiggled his eyebrows. “Good, cause I did it just for youuuu.” He chased his band mate around the garage, making kissy sounds.
He was preening at the validation, though. He’d covered up the orangey bleach job with a $2 box of black hair dye and buzzed the sides off. He had a proper mohawk now, and the wannabe devilock, flopping loose and casual over his forehead, definitely looked better in black. A little eyeliner, a lot of smudging, and a well-worn youth large tee that was sure to sweat through transparent and ride up over his hips, and he was ready to wow…whoever might show up tonight.
The show was a whirlwind, and one of the monitors went out and he sliced his cuticle open on a string, but it was perfect all the same. A perfect mess, just like him, and between screams he glanced out into the crowd, spotting Mikey and Gerard about five rows back by the bar. Mikey was singing along and throwing his fist up in the air, bless him, and Gerard's face was split with a dazzling grin, not quite covered by splayed fingers as he cradled his face in an almost comical and definitely adorable display of delighted surprise.
Tingly butterflies made of glitter and tv static exploded beneath his ribs, and Frank grinned madly before he launched himself into the air about two feet and spun around when he hit the stage. It seemed like a good idea to throw himself to the floor then, and he thrashed around wildly, pulling the mic stand down with him and rising to his knees when the next verse hit. He leaned into the crowd, sharing his mic with the three or four kids who surged forward, and he was pelted with their spit as they sang-shrieked to him, and he spit on them as he screamed back, and it was the best fucking feeling ever invented.
When he came offstage after the set, Frank found himself caught in another whirlwind, and almost forgot his preoccupation with Gerard's possible attendance and possible wardrobe. A couple of his cousins and an uncle had showed, Shaun was yammering at him about doing a gig video as a tie-in to their album, oh and by the way he had some lyrics to write for that new song. He was accosted by about thirty people and sucked down a beer and a half and a couple of shots before he was able to make it outside for a smoke.
The chilly night air was refreshing as fuck and he hadn't even bothered with a jacket. He smiled up at the stars, pulling his pack from his jean pocket.
"Hey Frankie," Gerard chirped, and Frank squeaked in surprise. He hadn't spotted him and Mikey out here yet, on one of the concrete benches the smokers usually claimed.
"Hey guys," he grinned, sauntering over with his cig hanging from his lip, trying to avoid looking at Gerard below the neck. He'd seen a blur of black and fishnet before he'd glanced away, not ready to go insane quite yet.
"That was a great fucking show," Mikey said, huddling deep inside his jacket, a ridiculous red and blue trucker cap jammed onto his skull.
"Yeah, it was something," Gerard beamed. "You get so crazed up there. I love it."
"Aw, thanks," he blushed, scuffing his toe over a suddenly interesting piece of sidewalk.
Gerard offered his lighter up, and Frank touched his cig to the flame, taking a drag and exhaling straight up in the air.
"I'm gonna--go get a beer," Mikey announced, and Gerard snorted. "Catch you inside?“
"Sure," Frank said, pulling his friend's bony frame into a side hug. "Thanks for coming, Mikeyway. You're the fucking best."
"I know," Mikey laughed.
Frank plopped down beside Gerard, leaving a good foot of space between them, and of course he saw then that Gerard was leaned back on his hands, staring up at the sky, his cigarette dangling forgotten between fingertips and pluming smoke as he pondered cosmic mysteries or whatever the fuck he was doing. He was wearing the same leather jacket, a Misfits tee beneath, and a black denim miniskirt with a fashionably ragged and frayed hem. It was short, really fucking short the way he was sitting now, legs crossed with casual grace, revealing an expanse of pale thigh between the hem of the skirt and the tops of his FISHNET FUCKING THIGH HIGHS.
"The way you are up there," Gerard finally said, "makes me a little jealous. I wish I could do it." He frowned at the long ash on his abandoned cigarette and tossed it to the sidewalk, stamping it beneath his boot.
"Are you kidding me?" Frank laughed. "Look at you. You totally could. I mean uh, I've heard you sing a little too. Your voice is great."
Gerard snickered softly, eyelashes kissing his cold-reddened cheeks. "Thanks, Frankie. I don't know, though. I think I like hiding behind a paintbrush better though. Don't know if I have the guts to get up there."
"Art is amazing. It really is, and I admire what you do. There's no bigger high than being up there playing and screaming your heart out, though. Really exorcises the demons."
"I sure could use some of that," he said wryly, the corner of his mouth quirking up. His lips were so pink and soft-looking. Surely they would be rose-petal velvety and honeysuckle sweet. He tugged at his stockings, sighing in exasperation.
"Should have worn tights, I guess," he said. "These keep rolling down. But I thought this looked more death rock, you know?"
Gerard stood and propped his right leg up on the bench, skirt riding up even higher. He groaned as he yanked on the top of the stocking, shimmying it up to the soft and delicious looking bulge of his inner thigh.
"Yeah," Frank croaked, dimly aware there had been a question mark at the end of Gerard's sentence and thinking it might require a response.
All the blood in his body had drained to his cock, and he was instantly stiff and throbbing in his sweaty briefs. He was staring straight into Heaven, or rather, straight at Gerard Way's bare inner thighs and panty-covered crotch.
He could see almost everything. The panties were black with red cherries printed on them. They were boy-cut, just like the purple pair (so his balls don't slip out, Frank realized.) A thin strip of black lace trimmed the leg bands, and most likely the waistband, too. The cherries were stretched out a little over Gerard's junk, and Frank was absolutely salivating, dying to reach over and squeeze, stroke Gerard into hardness over his panties, shove his head under his skirt and blow him right there if he wanted.
"It looks great," he slurred, looking hastily out into the street so Gerard didn't catch him staring at his crotch. "I like your outfit." He sucked down more nicotine desperately.
"Thanks," Gerard said, and when Frank hazarded a glance over, his left leg was now propped up as he worked the stocking into place, panties now shielded from Frank's view. Thank fuck.
Gerard looked up from beneath his hair as he struggled, eyes twinkling and lips curled up in a smirk.
Frank's gut twisted. Was Gerard doing this shit on purpose, putting on a show for him?
"And I like your new look," he said quietly. "It's hot."
"Thanks," Frank gulped, crushing his smoke out and jamming the butt in the overflowing ashcan by the bench.
So maybe the panty flash hadn't been intentional, but Gerard was definitely flirting now. Frank thought. Maybe. Probably not. "It was time for a change.'
He heaved himself off the bench, oh so grateful for the bagginess of his jeans.
"Ready to go back in?" He offered his arm like a true gentleman, and Gerard giggled, linking it with his own.
Frank treated him to one of his comped beers, and they clinked bottles, toasting to punk rock without a hint of irony. Frank considered announcing to Gerard that he was going to get the sound guy to play Dirty Black Summer, play it off as a joke, but he already felt like a creepy peeping deviant, so he swallowed his beverage in the brief lull. Gerard quickly filled the silence by reminiscing about a band he had Mikey had played in for two months in high school, then that of course became a monologue about the riot grrrl movement, which meandered into a discussion of DnD campaigns. At this point Mikey got dragged into the conversation, and then Frank had to go help with load out.
When they were done, he popped back in to look for the Ways. Half the place had emptied, and Gerard was engaged in rapt conversation with Jess, the barback, a heavily tattooed redhead in a leopard print tank top. He was batting his lashes and tucking his hair behind his ear in a way that read as flirty, but could also just be Gerard. Mikey emerged from the bathroom just then, and he spotted Frank.
“Hey, me and Gee are about to head out.”
“Looks like Gee has other plans.” He gestured at the pair.
“Nahhh.” Mikey waved the notion off, and Frank wanted to grab him and shake him and go WHY? WHY? IS HE INTERESTED IN SOMEONE ELSE? SOMEONE FRANK IERO SHAPED MAYBE? TELL ME HOW TO PULL YOUR BROTHER PLEASE, WHAT IS THIS FUCKING COCKY AND FLIRTY ONE MINUTE, AWKWARD AS HELL THE NEXT THING HE HAS GOING ON.
“Anyway, It was awesome, dude, congrats.”
Frank grinned as he was pulled into an awkward Mikeyway hug.
“Love you dude. Please don’t wear that hat again though.”
The way too loud but somehow musical bray of laughter could only be Gerard.
“He’s got you there," he grinned. "The hat is awful, Mikes.”
“I don’t know, he pulls it off,” Jess smirked, giving Mikey the once-over.
Mikey quirked an eyebrow at his brother, who sighed.
“The inexplicable Michael Way charm strikes again. You need to be studied by science. Come on, it’ll be light outside before I get back and you know I turn into dust when sunlight hits me.”
“Bye guys.” Frank gave them a little wave, trying not to let his heart sink too much.
“Bye Frankie.” Gerard blew him a kiss before he was hauled away, and Frank dove to catch it.
Near dawn, right as he was about to crash, too tired to even jerk off to the image of red cherry panties, Mikey texted.
G has a project due Monday and he’s freaked about it
otherwise he would have stayed the weekend
it’s a big deal that he even came to the show
…
u gotta be more direct
he doesn’t pick up on flirting
or like, vibes
night frankie
Frank groaned and rolled over, smushing his face into the pillow. He’d answer in the morning. Or, well, after he slept. How the fuck was he going to ask Gerard out anyway when he’d been eyefucking him like a giant perv. Did pervs go on coffee dates? “Hi, you want to go for a mocha sometime? And by the way, I fantasize about rimming you nightly.”
With that thought, his body reminded him that he was indeed not too tired to jerk off, and he pressed his hips into the mattress, sighing harshly as his dick shot fully awake. He flipped onto his back, snaking a hand inside his boxers and getting straight to the point. He sank his teeth into his bottom lip, tongue flicking out to worry at his lip ring.
He was on the bench in front of the club again, and Gerard was adjusting his stocking, and dream-Gerard asked for his help, with an irresistible pout. He stroked the coolness of the flesh bulging out over the stocking top, thumbing the velvet of his inner thigh. "Can I?” He asked at Gerard’s gasp, and Gerard said “Fuck, please,” and he fastened lips to skin and sucked, aiming to mark him, and mouthed his way up, hands clutching at his ass under the skirt. His cock would be thick and hard and throbbing under the thin cotton panties, twitching beneath his lips, and Gerard would whine as he cupped his balls and sucked firmly on the head of his cock. He’d buck his hips forward, pleading for more and Frank would taste him through the cotton, would feel his balls draw up and then the pulse kick against his mouth, and his cum would soak the fabric, he would, he’d...
“Fuuuuck,” Frank groaned as the pleasure hit, curling his toes and stuttering his hips up off the bed. He continued stroking himself through it, his thighs fucking shaking with it.
He sighed when his body began to calm itself, blindly fumbling for the tissue box in the dark, knocking something, probably his phone, off the nightstand. He mopped off his messy hand and tossed the used tissue at the floor, hopefully not hitting his phone.
“Jesus, Gerard,” he whispered, conjuring up one last memory of sparkling hazel eyes before sleep pulled him under.
Mikey had promised that Gerard would be home for Thanksgiving in a couple weeks, so Frank spent the hours when he wasn’t working on Pencey record coming up with seduction scenarios and date ideas, mining his friend for important Gerard info like his favorite foods and animals and flowers.
“Look,” Mikey sighed as they took turns on Resident Evil 2 at Frank’s place one afternoon, “I’ll invite you over when Gee gets home, then just fucking ask for his number and ask him out or whatever. This is all stuff you should be finding out for yourself. On an actual DATE.”
“OK, MOM,” Frank groaned. “He likes me, though, right?”
Mikey tossed the controller onto the coffee table after succumbing to a zombie. “I guess? I was texting about Pencey the other day and he literally said ‘I like Frank.’ For Gee that could mean you’re a pal or he intends to propose, so—”
“I think he likes me,” Frank said with confidence. “Dude, he flashed me his underwear.”
Mikey sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Did NOT want to know that, but it could have been on accident. Or, since he doesn’t know how to flirt, it could have been like…air traffic controllers waving you in to land. Just stop obsessing. You’ll find out soon enough.”
“I guess,” Frank sulked. Then, eyes brightening: “Hey, can I see the text where he said he liked me?”
Mikey groaned and flopped back against the couch, covering his face with his hands.
Days later, Thanksgiving looming near, Frank was microwaving a bowl of mac & cheese, Pulp Fiction queued up on DVD. His manager at Staples had been a real dick and the band had been running him ragged all week but they had two new songs ready to go, so he was treating himself to a relaxing evening. His phone buzzed on the peeling formica kitchen counter. Mikey.
You are cordially invited to The Way Brothers’ Thanksgiving 99 Zombiethon
Friday 11/26 8pm till whenever, byo pumpkin pie (and fave zombie movie)
Frank grinned at his phone, a tingly warmth blossoming in his gut.
What the fuhk Michael he texted back.
do I need to wear a tux? this sounds like a formal event
wear pjs or sweatpants or something, it’s a sleepover
and can you bring non thanksgiving food PLEASE for real me and G are going to be so sick of holiday shit
on it :)
vegetarian lasagna?
YES I WILL MARRY YOU
or maybe G will…u should propose while waving it in front of him & I guarantee he’ll say yes
don’t joke about that cause I will do it fucker
byo movie? Is this like zombie potluck
it could be, G is pushing for a Romero fest but if the other contenders are interesting enough he might cave
oh it’ll just be you me G and toro btw
ray toro??? the legend himself?
yeah, you met him at that eyeball party right? he’s in school with G, for filmmaking though
oh yeah that's right
he should really stick to guitar tho, he can really fucking shred
yeah he’s great
anyway my mac & cheese is getting cold so I better go
but see you friday my darling Michael you are a true angel sent to earth
shut upppp dork
see u friday
Frank tossed his phone onto his ratty plaid couch and gripped the counter for support, knees going weak as the enormity of this event hit him. A zombie movie marathon SLEEPOVER with Gerard. Frank mentally called shotgun for sitting next to him and wondered what the fuck he’d be wearing. Silk pajamas? A lace nightie? Maybe Frank should wear his really disgusting oldest sweatpants with the shot elastic and the giant hole in the crotch. It would provide easy access AND he’d be able to return the flashing favor. If Gerard had indeed been flashing him and if he wanted to see Frank’s junk. Maybe he should buy new underwear. Not panties though, maybe like, a leather thong or something? Did they make those?
He nuked his pasta for another 30 seconds & flopped onto the couch, picking his phone up again.
btw I call shotgun for sitting beside G during the zombiethon, he texted Mikey.
not surprised
if you fuck this up u have no one but urself to blame franklin
so get it together
I know, I know
srsly if u fuck it up u owe me a new gameboy
and if u get lucky u owe me a weekly lasagna
to be paid every Sunday until u & G move in together
I owe u DICK Frank typed, then realized that sounded kinda gross and backspaced through it.
I am poor & BUSY motherfucker
if I fuck it up u will drink free at my shows 4 life
if I get lucky u get our firstborn
ew
whatever
deal I guess
Frank showed up at the Way house at 7:55pm on the dot, carrying his famous lasagna in its pyrex dish, his DVD of Cemetery Man balanced on the lid. He realized his skeleton gloves made rather excellent and stylish potholders, and mentally patted himself on the back.
He’d showered, moisturized, pulled a pair of ex-girlfriend-gifted burgundy silk boxers on underneath only slightly holey sweatpants, and topped his very thin and very tiny plain white Hanes tee with a burgundy thermal. He knew the color looked good against his skin and dyed-black hair, and he’d smudged the tiniest bit of black carelessly around his lashline to make his eyes pop. Casual punk boyfriend elegance was the vibe he was going for.
Toro answered the door, and Frank was yammering at him about guitars before he even crossed the threshold, only pausing when Gerard sauntered up, treating Frank to his most dazzling smile, eyes lighting up as he spotted the food. He took the dish from him, thank god, because no doubt Frank would have dropped it once he got a good look.
Gerard was wearing a black long-sleeved sleep shirt, which Frank might have taken for an oversized mens’ top if it weren’t for the deep v neck (which revealed a lot of lickable collarbone and smooth, moon-pale chest) and the little satin bow sewn to the V. It was longer than the skirts he’d worn, but slit up the sides, exposing plenty of thigh. He was wearing scrunchy gray socks, and he looked like the weird girl at the middle school sleepover, who might break into her parents’ liquor cabinet or talk you into doing candlelit love spells and making voodoo dolls instead of makeovers or prank calls.
He scrunched his nose up at the DVD after he’d set the lasagna down on the kitchen table.
“Hey I think I saw some of this on cable one night when I was wasted. I don’t remember much about it,” he shrugged.
“It’s a good movie,” Toro piped up. “Kind of all over the place, but unique.”
“I think you’d be into it,” Frank said. “It’s kind of gothy and weird and has dark humor, and Rupert Everett is fucking hot.”
Gerard arched one perfect, dramatic brow, his full cheeks faintly pink. Frank didn’t think he was wearing makeup—fuck, with those lashes, it was hard to tell sometimes—although the pouty little curve of his lips seemed faintly glossy.
Frank ached to kiss them, could see himself sliding his hand under the satiny fall of black hair, cupping his jaw, pulling Gerard’s mouth to his.
“Sounds cool,” he decided. “I think we should give it a try.”
In true sleepover fashion, they took the lasagna (and foil-wrapped garlic bread, and a bottle of cheap red wine, and a 2 liter of Diet Coke, and a roll of paper towels) downstairs to Gerard’s room, which had been chosen as Zombiethon headquarters due to his bed being bigger.
“Don’t worry, I helped him clean,” Mikey said, and Gerard sighed at Toro and Frank’s snorts of laughter. Frank had only poked his head in there once before, and it hadn’t seemed that horrible to him, but the messy state and foul odor of Gerard Way’s bedroom was something of a local legend. Geoff Rickley had described the smell as “a haunting miasma of centuries-old sweat, grandma ashtray, and demonically possessed jockstraps.”
“Wow,” Toro exhaled as they entered Gerard’s room, looking around as if they were touring Buckingham Palace. Frank cackled, but he recognized that it was a vast improvement. He saw that the room had carpet, and the carpet was imprinted with fresh vacuum tracks, and there were no piles of clothing or trash in sight. Books and videos and games were organized into neat stacks on shelves and in cabinets, rather than spilling haphazardly onto the bed and floor. It smelled faintly of cleaning products, fresh air (the single tiny window was cracked open), and the stick of strawberry incense that was burning on the desk.
“Yeah, we actually found a dead possum under G’s clothes,” Mikey deadpanned, and Gerard smacked him over the head with a pack of red Solo cups.
“It was a possum SKULL that someone gave me, and it was like perfectly cleaned off and sanitized or whatever,” Gerard said haughtily, his lips pushed out in an adorable pout that Frank wanted to lick.
He was definitely wearing gloss.
They stuffed themselves with pasta, beginning the marathon with Frank’s pick, and his insides glowed every time Gerard laughed or made a positive comment. When they were done eating, Mikey ran the leftovers and dirty plates upstairs so the room wouldn’t smell like an Italian eatery all night. Gerard leaned back against the headboard on the farthest right side of the bed, uncapping the wine, and Frank dove in beside him, grinning at Gerard’s giggle and Toro’s eye roll. Toro was to his left, and Mikey took the spot next to Toro. There was a soft, freshly laundered fleece blanket at the foot of the bed, and Frank pulled it up over all their laps, wiggling happily once he got settled.
“Now we’re all tucked in, wine time?” Gerard took a swig from the bottle and passed it to Frank.
“Mmm,” Gerard’s eyes fluttered closed as he swallowed. “Tastes kinda like cherries. Like real cherries, not fake candy cherries.”
Frank did a doubletake. Cherries, huh. Like the ones printed on the panties you flashed at me, Gerard?
“I like cherries,” he said casually.
Gerard regarded him, a lock of black hair curling just so against his pink cheek, and bit his fucking lip. Frank willed his mouth not to hang open, or emit drool, or anything equally embarrassing.
“So we’re just gonna drink straight out of the bottle, pass our cooties around?” he finally managed to say when he trusted his voice to speak without moaning or stuttering.
“Sure, it’s fun. Like bonding or whatever. We’ll be the Cootie Club.”
Frank shrugged and took a swig. It was pretty damn good stuff, for three dollar wine. He passed it to Toro, who held up his hand in refusal, then offered it to Mikey, who winced.
“Guess the Cootie Club only has two members,” he said, taking another drink before handing it off to Gerard again.
“I can live with that,” Gerard said. He rested the bottle on the nightstand after another sip, winestained lips smirking a little.
They finished the bottle by the end of the movie, and Frank was pleasantly warm, and somehow he and Gerard were leaning against each other. Gerard’s head was fully on his shoulder, and every now and then Frank bent his head the tiniest increment to get a whiff of Gerard’s hair: tobacco and coconut shampoo and maybe a slight hint of garlic bread.
“That was really fucking good,” Gerard announced when the credits rolled, sitting back up against the headboard. “Like fucked up but also romantic and artistic. I liked it. Thanks, Frankie,” he beamed.
“Hey, glad you liked it.” He threw back the blanket, wiggling out of his slot so he could go take a piss.
“Dawn of the Dead next,” Gerard announced, getting up to change the movie. “Just in case this fizzles out and we get too sleepy or whatever.”
Piss and smoke breaks taken, they all settled back in to view the Romero classic.
Gerard threw off the blanket mid-film, claiming he was too hot, and Frank got up to pee again, flipping Mikey off when he informed Frank that he had a bladder the size of a walnut.
“Well I’ve got a dick the size of an eggplant!” he belatedly yelled through the closed bathroom door, giggling at his own delayed comeback. Raucous laughter came at him through the door, Gerard’s high-pitched little bray louder than anyone else, and Frank grinned as he pissed. Nothing was as validating as making your crush crack up laughing. Well, except maybe for making them cum their brains out, and holy shit this is not the time to get a boner, Iero, he told his dick sternly.
When he emerged, Gerard was still leaned against the headboard, right leg crossed over left, knees up. The sleep shirt had ridden way, way, up, the slit revealing an entire length of thigh, the creamy skin, dotted with a few beauty marks, gleaming in the lamplight. When he climbed onto the bed, he was hit with the frontal view: Gerard’s entire crotch, covered this time in red panties, the leg bands trimmed with lace, or perhaps they were all lace, he couldn’t tell due to the shadow of his crossed leg and nightshirt.
He exhaled shakily, settling back next to Gerard, trying to leave a couple inches of space between them. He pulled the blanket back over his lap, very fucking grateful for its existence now. He hazarded a side-eyed glance at Gerard, but he seemed to be fully absorbed in the movie.
Frank had no fucking idea what he was blankly staring at on the tv screen. He was mentally arguing with himself over the intent behind Gerard's panty flashes. They seemed to be deliberate, but there was just enough room for doubt that Frank was nearly convinced that Gerard simply wasn’t entirely used to wearing skirts around people, didn’t know he was showing off the goods. Maybe it was his inner self hatred that led him to painting a portrait of Gerard as a hapless, doe-eyed innocent being violated by Frank’s lecherous, perverse, upskirting eyes. He fumed at his inner creep, fists flexing in stress under the blanket, and had pretty much talked himself into fleeing the house after the movie was over and not talking to Mikey or anyone associated with Gerard Way for the next 10-12 business days.
Just then Gerard uncrossed his legs, stretching them out straight, scootching down in the bed a little, his head finding Frank’s shoulder nook again. He pulled the blanket up over himself, absently smoothing the fabric, fingertips grazing Frank’s thigh. The smoothing stopped though, and his hand settled there, half on his leg, half on Frank’s.
Frank stopped breathing. You would expect Gerard’s hands to be soft, dainty, and dimpled, but they were large and veined, strong-looking, often paint-stained. His nails were bitten to the quick, but they were clean.
It’s just his hand, dummy, he told himself. It’s no more intimate than his head on your shoulder.
A couple minutes passed, and Gerard stretched again, humming a little, and this time his leg pressed against Frank’s, and he rubbed the top of his foot against the sole of Frank’s. Again, not a big deal, and Gerard’s eyes were still on the screen, and the thigh touching and foot rubbing was probably just a fidget thing he wasn’t even aware of.
When Gerard dragged his hand over and off Frank’s thigh, and snuggled against his side, linking their arms together and looking up at him, eyes enormous and liquid in the half-light of the room, and lips murmuring, “You’re comfy, Frankie,” with a sweet little smile, Frank simply stared down at him, his brain utterly devoid of thought.
First he licked his lips, and then he bit them, and when he saw the slide of Gerard's eyes to his lips, he exhaled, deep and slow. His head was buzzing pleasantly, and he only dimly heard Mikey say, “Heyyy, I didn’t notice how late it was, wanna crash in my room, Toro, we can play video games if you’re up for it” in a very loud and very fake customer service voice.
The sound of Gerard’s bedroom door softly closing was just as far away, but Gerard’s head perked up, watching the other guys leave with a pleased smirk.
“Movie’s over now,” he said, blinking at the scrolling credits.
He rolled away from Frank, kicking the blanket away again.
“Oh yeah,” Frank said intelligently, dumbly staring at the TV.
“I’m getting kind of tired too. But we could put another movie on to sleep, if you want. And you’re welcome to crash in here, by the way. Bed’s big enough.”
“Oh…thanks.” Frank felt as if his brain was wrapped in about thirty layers of the cotton shit that his grandma had used for fake snow in her miniature Christmas village. He figured all his blood had pooled in his groin, heating his belly, stiffening his cock, sizzling his nerve endings. He was practically twitching with anxious arousal.
“No problem, Frankie.” Gerard gave him a glossy-lipped smirk, eyes lighting up underneath that feathery sweep of lashes, and then he gave the fakest yawn Frank had ever heard, sliding down in the bed as his arms reached towards the headboard in a massive, back-arching, near-feline stretch.
The stretch and the slide hiked his nightshirt up around his waist, and Frank finally relocated some form of coherence.
“Jesus Christ, Gerard,” he spat out, cheeks flushed a dull red.
“Hmmm?” Gerard asked innocently, biting his lip.
Frank gestured to his fully exposed, panty-covered groin. They were boy cut again, and they were indeed red, with lace trim. They were red MESH and they were completely sheer. Frank could see that while Gerard shaved his legs smooth, he didn’t shave EVERYTHING. There was a dark shadow of neatly shaped hair framing his half-hard dick, and it was somehow more erotic than bare skin.
“Oh,” Gerard giggled. “Sorry.”
“Sorry?” Frank returned flatly.
“Well…do you like them?” Gerard slid his hand over his hip, over the red mesh, and down his thigh.
“Son of a…you’ve been flashing me this whole time, haven’t you?” Frank rubbed his furrowed brow, his mouth going dry.
Gerard bit his lip again and nodded, hips twitching up slightly on the bed. Frank could see his cock swelling fuller, could see a little wet spot darkening the sheer fabric, and actually believed he might go stark raving mad from the sight.
“Well, at that after party on your birthday you were trying so fucking hard to look up my skirt, and you made that crack about the lap dance, so I figured you must have gotten a peek when I was jumping around at the concert. And…I think you’re cute, and funny, and smart, and sexy as fuck when you’re onstage. And I thought it might have worked at the Pencey show. But you didn’t even ask for my number,” he pouted.
“I thought it was an accident,” Frank laughed. “I felt like a huge creep.” Cute and funny and smart and sexy as fuck onstage???
“You were a huge creep. You were counting every cherry on those panties,” Gerard grinned, but his breathing sped up and he ran his hand down his body again, fingertips stopping just above where his now fully hard cock was attempting to peek above the waistband of his panties.
Frank crawled on top of Gerard, balanced above him, their bodies not yet touching. He stroked errant black strands away from his forehead, callused fingertips trailing over his cheek, marveling at the softness of his skin.
“So you like me, huh?” he quipped softly, lost in those incredible eyes.
Gerard nodded, his giggle choked off by the heated press of Frank’s lips. Frank moaned into the kiss, the feel of those soft lips sliding against his, Gerard’s mouth opening immediately for his tongue. Frank tasted strawberry lip gloss and growled in his throat, and the kiss became a thorough devouring as he lapped up every whimper and whine, as he licked at the darkly sweet inside of his mouth, as he sucked fevered sighs from those pink and sticky lips.
“Oh fuuuuck,” Gerard groaned when Frank finally came up for air, and he wrapped smooth thighs around him, hooking his ankles around his waist and bringing his body crashing down against his.
“Yeah,” Frank breathed, nuzzling his neck, nipping at the gorgeous arc of his collarbone. They both rolled their hips against each other in synchronous ecstasy, moaning as their erections ground together.
“You—too many clothes,” Gerard gasped, and Frank flew off the bed, yanking both top layers over his head and stumbling out of his sweatpants. Gerard’s eyes raked over his body, branding him, and he smiled, lust-drunk.
He grumbled in protest when Frank tried to slide the nightshirt over his head, so Frank kissed him again.
“Can I touch you under it?” he breathed in his ear, catching his earlobe in his teeth.
“Fuck—fuck yes,” Gerard whimpered, arching up against him, desperate for more friction on his dick.
“I’m leaving these on too,” Frank said, fingering the tiny red satin bow at the waistband of the panties. “Wanna see you cum in them.”
“Oh FUUUUUCK,” Gerard groaned, eyes rolling back in his head, cock twitching in his panties. “Not—not gonna take much,” he gasped with a breathless little laugh.
“Mmmm.” Frank slid down so he was eye level with heaven (Gerard Way’s panty-clad crotch), and he inched the waistband down until the patch of dark hair against Gerard’s soft pale belly was revealed. He dragged his nose across it, moaning as he inhaled deeply, chasing the odor of fresh sweat and skin musk and the vanilla-sandalwood lotion Gerard used.
He followed his nose with his tongue, enjoying the texture, and Gerard was moaning a lot for someone just getting his pubes licked. He glanced up and saw him leaned up on his elbows, watching Frank, face and neck bright scarlet.
“Fuck…Frank, please…”
Frank smirked and spread Gerard’s thighs wide, kissing the smooth skin gently, grazing his teeth up to where the panties cut into his inner thighs, sucking in sweet mouthfuls of flesh and leaving a trail of blue-purple blossoms.
“Thought I’d go insane if I didn’t get to sink my teeth into these thighs,” he said, looking Gerard in the eye. “Or get my mouth on this.”
He traced the shape of his cock, rigid and thick, shoved down and to the side in his panties.
“God…fucking yeah, need your mouth on me, please, fucking—”
Frank dove down, starting with his balls, full and plump as small peaches, trying to get his entire mouth around them, soaking Gerard’s panties with spit, eyes rolling back in his head as Gerard keened and bucked his hips up. He pulled back, digging the point of his tongue into the seam in between, then flattening it out and licking a broad path over Gerard’s blood-hot dick. The mesh was drying and rough against his tongue, but it was the hottest fucking thing he’d ever done, and he wasn’t going to stop till Gerard came apart.
The mesh was darker now, damp as it was with his spit and the copious amounts of precum Gerard was leaking, but it was even more transparent than before.
“Your panties are so fucking wet now, baby,” he breathed, catching Gerard’s eye again, his pupils black and enormous, a low continuous whine coming from his throat. “I’m about to get them a lot fucking wetter.”
He cupped Gerard’s balls firmly, tugging them down a little, rubbing his thumb over them, feeling them swell and throb in his grip.
“Jesus…fucking…close, oh please...” Gerard was no longer leaning on his elbows and was instead propped up on pillows he’d shoved under his head, and he slid his hands up under the nightshirt, tweaking his nipples as his hips thrust up against Frank’s hand.
Frank was barely aware of his own hardon, twitching in thin silk, but he couldn’t give a shit if he came or not, he just had to SEE, had to watch Gerard’s cum soak those panties.
He sat up, still lightly gripping his scrotum, and wedged his thighs open further, keeping them pinned there with his knees. Gerard gasped at the manhandling, hips bucking up again. His cock was flexing in the wet mesh and Frank thought he might spurt from nothing, from a little dirty talk, but he wanted to touch him anyway so he wrapped his left hand loosely around his shaft, giving him something to hump against, leaving the wet and swollen head of his dick untouched.
“Yeah,” he breathed. “Look so fucking gorgeous like this, wanna see you cum all over yourself. You can do it, Gee. Come on, come for me baby.” Both his hands squeezed, and Gerard let out a ragged, strangled cry, and Frank wanted to focus on his gorgeous fucking orgasm face, brows knitted together and eyelids fluttering shut over those gemstone eyes, but his eyes flew back to his dick. One more squeeze and three more thrusts of Gerard’s hips and he saw it, Gerard’s cock jumping, pulsing under his grip as semen shot out in bursts, pooling at first before it began soaking into the fabric. He pressed his mouth there finally, sucking Gerard through the aftershocks, prolonging the pleasure, trying to suck up his cum through the mesh. He could taste it, warm and a little salty and a little bitter, and he moaned, rutting his hips against the bed and coming in his boxers as drooled onto Gerard’s wet red panties.
Gerard laughed in bewilderment, struggling to catch his breath, his whole body trembling as he clasped his hands over his face.
Frank gently peeled the panties over Gerard’s softening dick, slid them off his hips and over his legs. He looked at the wadded material in his hand and shrugged. In for a penny, in for a pound. And like the disgusting perv he was, he sucked the remaining puddle of Gerard’s cum off the fabric before he tossed them on the floor.
He licked away the streaks of jizz on Gerard’s belly before they dried, pressed a gentle kiss to his dick and crawled up to him, prying his hands away from his face.
“Hey, you okay?” he asked softly, taking in the beautiful wreck of Gerard. His cheeks were splotched red and tear-streaked, hair plastered to his forehead, eyes wide open and raw, tender bottom lip quivering a little.
He nodded, cupping his hands around Frank’s jaw, blessing him with a hot and desperate kiss.
“It was…intense,” he smiled shyly, glancing up from beneath sooty lashes, and Frank’s stomach swooped. Guess I'm in fucking love, then, he mentally shrugged.
“Yeah,” Frank returned the smile, stroking Gerard’s hair away from his forehead. “I think I really, really like you, Gee.”
That got him a huge apple-cheeked grin, Gerard’s full complement of tiny teeth on display.
“I think I really, really like you, too, Frankie.”
They kissed sweetly, and when Frank pulled away, he smacked the heel of his hand against his forehead in mock exasperation.
“Fuck!” He exclaimed. “I told Mikey that if we hooked up, I’d promise him our first born.”
Gerard giggled, then trailed a fingertip down Frank’s bare chest, his gaze heated under lowered lids.
“Well,” he said demurely, “guess you better knock me up then.”
Frank groaned, his dick definitely twitching back to life in his messy boxers.
“Challenge fucking accepted,” he replied, rolling Gerard onto his back and taking his mouth in a kiss he hoped would last forever.