Work Text:
Let me lay it on the line
I've got a little freakiness inside
And you know that a man has gotta deal with it
I don't care what they say
I'm not about to pay nobody's way
'Cause it's all about the dark in me
*
"Isn't this kinda weird?" Frank says conversationally. He's sat at the dressing table, hunched over their piece of slightly tattered paper. "Like, writing it down?"
Gerard shakes his head, even though Frank isn't looking at him. "Clarity. Helps you remember."
Frank is quiet for a moment, writing. Then he says, "I don't think I'd forget."
There are times Gerard wants to be interpreted literally, but this isn't one of them. Frank's probably being flippant anyway. It's harder to read when Gerard's turned on. He pulls his shirt over his head and drops it on the floor.
"The rules should be in order of importance. And make sure you put our safewords on there somewhere, too."
Frank sighs, but he's smiling. "You're so annoying."
Gerard smirks a little as he clinks his belt open, lolling back on the bed. "Yeah?"
Frank's eyes flick his way, subtle but noticeable. His hand slows. "Yeah," he confirms. "You're fucking infuriating."
Their hotel room door isn't locked. The odds are slim someone would just walk in, but it's enough. "I piss you off?"
Frank cracks his knuckles and stands up, leaving the paper on the desk. "Sometimes," he says mildly, kicking off his shoes. "Like when you leave your fucking shit everywhere. I get so damn sick of having to kick your dirty socks out of the bathroom, y'know? And, like, the fucking crumbs all over the bus? How hard is it to use a fucking plate when you make toast?"
Gerard watches Frank pull his own shirt off, start on his jeans. Gerard doesn't move, bare toes fidgeting on the scratchy carpet. "But it's mostly, like. It's annoying when you're sad, just because I can't do anything about it."
Frank's not wearing underwear, and Gerard wets his lips, mouth dry. "You get mad at me a lot?"
Frank steps into Gerard's space, between his knees, looking down at him properly. He doesn't touch him yet, but Gerard appreciates the heat of him, all that bare skin and ink. "That's what you wanna hear, right?"
It should totally kill it, Frank breaking the wall like that, but it doesn't. It amps up the heat in Gerard's gut and feeds the pulse in his dick, pressed against the front of his jeans. He leans back on his forearms, sprawls his thighs. He's no hard body, he knows that, but he knows how to do this; how to make people want him anyway. It's an addictive rush to play at shameless when he's on stage, but it's even more so to do it for real.
He holds Frank's eyes. "Y'know, sometimes I think I deserve to be sad." Frank breathes in slowly through his nose, eyebrows furrowing, and Gerard knows he's got him. "Sometimes I wonder why I ever fucking bothered quitting drinking, should've fucking stayed exactly the way I was--"
Frank's hand darts out, grabs him by the hair and yanks his head back. Gerard chokes on his words, his breath, fisting his hands in the cheap coverlet, "Should've just fuckin' accepted I was a piece of shit that could do no better, that deserved to fuckin' suffer--"
Frank shoves the fingers of his other hand in his mouth, and Gerard moans around them, sloppy and grateful. "You wanna suffer, Gee?" Frank asks, voice simmering with anger. Gerard looks up at him, breathing hard, and he knows Frank gets it. Finally, he understands. "Oh," Frank breathes. He pulls his fingers out, wraps his spit-wet hand lightly around Gerard's throat instead. His eyes are burning. "I was right. You are a fucking freak."
Gerard moans again, tilting his head back under Frank's slowly tightening grip. "Tell me again. Please."
*
It's pretty much an accident, how it starts. Gerard's not exactly in the habit of talking about his sexual preferences with his band mates, but he's not going to try and dissect how these conversations end up happening. It's just touring.
They're in Bumfuck, Nowhere-- a small rural town a few miles from the venue they're playing the next day. It's dark, probably about three am, and if you asked Gerard why he and Frank are wandering aimlessly around in the overgrown patch of nothingness behind their motel, he couldn't tell you. There's some vague notions about going back, but neither of them are really in a hurry. It's quiet. Still, except for them.
And Frank's a little drunk, which means he's more than a little handsy. "Oh man, this chick let me spank her as I fucked her, once," he's saying, grinning and grabbing at Gerard's ass. "And, like, sometimes I get them to slap me a little, or-- no, y'know when they scratch the shit out of your back? That's fucking--"
"That's not what I mean," Gerard interrupts before he can stop himself. He hadn't wanted it to go this far, but for some reason it seems really important that he explain himself. "It's not just about the pain, not really. It's about, like, giving up control. Feeling helpless." He takes a breath. Frank's hand is still on his ass, but he's not swatting at him playfully anymore. It's a little weird. They've slowed almost to a stop. "Like, surrendering."
It's deathly still in their field, barely even any wind. Gerard can see the main road up ahead, buildings cast in shadow by the streetlights. It barely illuminates anything over here; they're relying mostly on the moonlight.
"Yeah?" Frank says quietly. He's warm all along Gerard's side. "How come you wanna surrender, then?"
Gerard wasn't expecting the question. "What?"
"Why do you want to give up control?"
Gerard's heart thuds. They walk in silence until they reach the motel, and everything is suddenly brighter. Frank squeezes his ass once before letting go. "I'm gonna smoke. I'll come inside in a sec."
Gerard could do with a smoke too, but he recognizes the subtle command in Frank's voice. He gets it. He needs a little space, too.
A little time to get used to the idea.
It's not like Gerard's never thought about fucking Frank before, but this is different. When Frank kisses him on stage the next night, he bites Gerard's bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. Gerard drags him away afterwards, shoves him into some tiny storage closet backstage and goes to his knees, yanks Frank's jeans down his thighs.
"Pull my hair," he tells Frank, clearly. "Fuck my face. Make me choke on it."
Frank doesn't do it at first, and Gerard thinks it's because he doesn't believe him. So he does it himself, instead, going down on Frank so far he gags, again and again. Frank's cock isn't huge, but it's big enough to make him heave, spit and precome clogging thickly on his tongue. Frank leans against the wall and lets him do it, breathing heavily but otherwise not participating, though he doesn't say anything. He doesn't try to get Gerard to stop choking himself, and it's been so long since Gerard's had anything, that it's enough.
He shuffles closer, whining a little in his throat. He's got both hands on Frank's bare hips, taking him to the base over and over; his voice is going to be so wrecked, and he doesn't care at all. Eventually he has to pull off fully, hacking for air. Frank's cock is satisfyingly flushed, pressed tight to the paler, inked flesh of his belly, dripping with Gerard's spit.
Gerard looks up at him and smirks a little, panting. He can feel how far he's under, skin thrumming, pulse hard in his own dick. It's so thick, so consuming, that his vision is almost blurred.
Frank looks back down at him, maybe in awe, maybe disgust. It's hard to tell. "Christ. You really do like this, huh?" He grabs Gerard by the hair, and Gerard moans, instantly giving himself over to it, letting his mouth drop open so Frank can guide his cock back in. "Y'know, this is pretty fucking sick, Gee."
Gerard groans, muffled and needy, and drops a hand to palm at himself through his jeans. Most things got better after he got clean, but not this. If anything, it got worse.
Frank fucks his face slowly at first, swearing and going harder when Gerard takes it easily, holding his head still with a firm, unrelenting hand. "Always liked your mouth," he grits out, almost absentmindedly, and Gerard comes in his pants, whimpering around Frank's cock. Frank pulls him off, jacking himself hard and fast until he comes over his own belly and hand with a groan.
"Really?" Gerard rasps.
Frank doesn't answer, slouching against the wall and panting. They were both a mess from the show, before, but now they're something else. Frank offers him a hand and Gerard takes it, lets Frank pull him to his feet.
"It's just control, right?" Frank asks, as he pulls up his pants.
Gerard exhales slowly, and nods.
"How, I mean. What else do you want to do?"
Wow, okay. They're really doing this. "You can fuck me," Gerard finds himself saying. "If you want."
Frank shuffles forward, crowds him in the tight space. "What else?" he whispers. "What else can I do?"
Gerard's throat is raw. "Choke me. Hit me. Slaps or fists, I don't care. Pull--" Frank sucks on his neck, and Gerard's breath stutters, "--pull my hair, a lot. Bite me."
Frank scrapes his teeth over the skin. "Shouldn't we, like. Safeword?"
"No," Gerard says, because they're doing this, but they're not doing that. "I-- if I want to stop, you'll know."
Thankfully, Frank doesn't push it. "I never knew. All this time, you never told me." He slides a hand up Gerard's spine, winds a hand through his hair, tighter and tighter until Gerard yields to it, gritting his teeth. "You never told me why, either."
Gerard just breathes, blinking rapidly at the dank closet ceiling. After a long moment, Frank hums, like Gerard said something after all. "Okay."
Gerard's not so sure, at first. He thinks maybe Frank doesn't fully understand what he's getting into, what Gerard's asking, but after a few stolen moments, a few hotel nights, he can't help but feel his doubts fading.
Until about a week later, when he's in his bunk trying to read. His curtain is suddenly pulled back and Frank is wriggling in beside him, elbows and knees and giggles. Gerard grumbles and shoves at him automatically, but Frank's laugh is kind of infectious. They end up making out, even though Gerard feels a little weird and guilty about it when they're not on stage. They've done things since the closet, yeah, but not this. Frank's willingness to hurt him had reassured him about this, but with Frank on top of him now, kissing him almost unbearably gently, he's not so sure.
But then Frank worms his hands under Gerard's shirt and clamps down hard on both his nipples, and he realizes why Frank wants to keep his mouth occupied. He almost cries out when Frank pulls back to sink his teeth into his neck; he's a really fast learner, fuck.
"I was thinking. About fucking you," Frank breathes in his ear as he scrapes his nails roughly down Gerard's stomach. "You said I could."
Gerard's got his teeth buried in his bottom lip, trying to breathe through his nose. They're alone in the bunks but not on the bus, and the last thing Gerard wants to do is explain this shit to the rest of his band. He can't decide if this was a really bad idea or a really fucking good one. Probably both.
Gerard's shirt is rucked up to his armpits, and Frank is undoing his belt with swift fingers. "I was thinking I'd wanna rim you," he says, low. "But then I was like, hm, maybe he's not into that." He pulls Gerard's jeans open, slides a hand inside. "But then I remembered, y'know. It's not up to you."
Gerard whines through gritted teeth, fisting handfuls of the blanket. Frank is rubbing him through his underwear, slow, deliberate. Gerard's already fucking hard, leaking through the fabric against Frank's palm.
"So, I'm gonna. Thought I'd maybe spank your ass first, get you all red and sore, and then eat you out while you're still crying from it." He eases Gerard's briefs down enough to pull out his cock, leaving his balls still caught in the fabric; Gerard has to bite his own fist to stay quiet as Frank starts stroking him roughly. His other hand is still busy on Gerard's exposed chest, pinching and scratching, raking fire over his skin. "What d'ya think?"
Gerard groans, muffled against his own palm. Even if he could talk right now he's not sure what he'd say. He's pretty sure Frank doesn't actually want an answer, anyway. Heat swells in his stomach and his dick pulses in Frank's hand as he comes, dripping over tattooed knuckles. Frank takes his hand away and licks at it almost casually, head dipped under the rungs of the bunk above, sat with his thighs spread over Gerard's knees. He looks intent, turned on.
Gerard tilts his head back, panting. If Frank wanted to fuck his face right now, there's nothing he could do about it.
"And I would," Frank says. Clarifies, "Make you cry." He wipes his messy hand on Gerard's bare stomach, rubbing into the marks he's left, and Gerard hisses a little. "But why?"
"Fuck." Gerard huffs a breath, blowing hair out of his eyes. "Does it matter?"
Frank slaps his face. Lightly, not even hard enough to hurt, but Gerard gasps anyway. "It matters," he says firmly, and rolls out of the bunk. Gerard doesn't fall asleep for a while.
It only takes a few more days before Mikey corners him alone in the lounge and asks him if he's fucking Frank.
Gerard knows better than to try to lie to him. "It's not a big deal."
He's got his nose buried in his sketchbook, but he can tell when Mikey's eyebrow is subtly raised. "I thought you weren't gay."
Gerard shakes his head. "It's not about that."
"No?" Mikey says mildly. "What is it about, then?"
Gerard's closer to his brother than anyone else. They're the same in so many ways, but Gerard also knows the ways in which they're fundamentally different, and this is one of them. "I can't-- I'm not talking about my sex life with you, Mikey, Jesus."
"I'm not asking for fucking details," Mikey says, and Gerard can picture the slight curl of his lip, indicating distaste. "You know what I'm asking."
Gerard is quiet for a long moment, hand still moving across the paper despite the fact he's not really paying attention now. "I don't know," he says eventually, and it's pretty much true. "It's complicated."
Mikey sighs. "Either it's not a big deal, or it's complicated. Which."
"Both."
Mikey has his own little moment of silence. "Do you love him?"
"Mikey."
"I mean, it's one thing if it's just sex--"
"I don't-- it's not a problem, okay? Like, for the band, or anything." He forces himself to look at Mikey properly. "I promise."
Mikey looks doubtful, but he doesn't say anything else. Gerard is grateful. If it wasn't himself, he's not sure he'd be so lenient.
*
"Tell me why you like this," Frank pants in his ear.
It's hard to talk with his face smushed into a pillow, but Gerard's not sure he'd have the words anyway. Frank's in so deep he can't think, fucking him so hard he can barely breathe, hips smacking brutally against his sore ass. "Please, fuck, please--"
Frank fists a hand in his hair and yanks his head back so hard Gerard's eyes water. "You really like to fuckin' beg, huh?" Frank grits out, and bites down hard into Gerard's shoulder. Gerard hisses, thrashes against the ties binding his wrists to the headboard; he's not trying to get away, not even trying to touch himself. His thighs are spread wide, wedged open by Frank's knees, his ass up and chest chafing against the bed. It's good-- too good.
Frank smacks him again, right on the meatiest part of his ass where his skin is still burning from earlier, and Gerard gasps, throat dry and raw. "Tell me why," Frank demands. "Why do you-- fuck, Gerard, why do want me to hurt you?"
"Please," Gerard rasps, and Frank practically snarls, pulling out roughly and shoving Gerard over onto his back, twisting the scarves around his wrists even tighter. Painfully tight. They shouldn't be doing this, Gerard knows. They haven't done anything properly. It's too soon, too messy, and Frank's wild-eyed, angry; Gerard's not sure he'd stop.
He whimpers and spreads his legs, fingers clenching around the taut fabric. "Please."
Frank doesn't hit him. He gets his hands behind Gerard's knees, pushes his legs back until his knees touch his chest, exposing him. Gerard pants and squirms, distracted from pleading again by being folded up, his soft stomach bunched up and his hard cock leaking all over himself.
"Okay, different question," Frank says quietly, slowly shuffling forwards until they're pressed together. "Why me?"
Gerard groans. Frank's like a little fucking kid; he always wants to know everything. It's infuriating. It only makes goading him that much easier. "'Cause you're a fucking cunt," Gerard spits, with as much venom as he can muster.
Frank rubs his dick up under Gerard's balls, slick and hot even through the rubber, presses the head against Gerard's hole hard enough to make his heart thud. Frank's got Gerard's legs hooked over his shoulders now, and he turns to bite lightly at a knee, holding his eyes.
"And you like that? You want a fucking cunt to fuck you?"
Gerard smirks, arches up until their chests slide together, easy with sweat. "Only a fucking cunt would fuck me like this."
Frank inhales through his teeth, but he doesn't take the bait. "You like the way I fuck you," he says lowly. He pushes back inside slowly as if to punctuate the point, inch by inch until he's balls-deep, and stays there. Gerard turns his face into his pillow, closes his eyes and tries to breathe. "Don't play games with me, Gee." His voice rumbles under Gerard's ear like the vibrating of the stage underfoot. "This is what you want, and I think you chose me because you knew I'd give it to you."
This is dangerous. Everything's hazy. Gerard's entire body is thrumming, throbbing. Everything aches.
"Please," he breathes desperately, and this time, Frank listens.
After, when they're boneless on the bed, Gerard says, "We need rules. Like, proper rules."
Frank exhales smoke at the ceiling. He's surprising, Gerard will admit. "You're a fucking freak," he says mildly. "You know that, right?"
Gerard can't help but laugh, hoarsely. He feels exhausted, bruised. "Yeah."
Frank spoons up against his side, holds the cigarette to Gerard's lips so he can take a long, satisfying drag. "S'okay. I like it."
Gerard looks at him a little warily. "You like me, right? I was wondering, you know. What's in this for you."
Frank is quiet, just smoking. He says, "It's never been a secret."
"No," Gerard says. He pauses, takes the cigarette from Frank when he hands it over. "Guess we're both kind of freaky."
Frank huffs a laugh. "Even if I didn't-- you know. I still would. It would probably make it easier, actually."
"...You don't?"
"Of course I enjoy it, Gee. But, y'know, I'm hurting you. It would help if you told me why." Gerard inhales smoke deeply as his pulse quickens. Frank sighs tiredly. "You don't have to tell me right now. I'll find out anyway, one way or the other."
Gerard smiles. "Always so sure of yourself."
Frank slides fingertips down his arm, traces the angry red ring encircling Gerard's wrist. He kisses Gerard's cheek and mutters, "You know it," and Gerard feels his face flame.
Yeah. They definitely need rules.