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The Snow is Always Better on the Outside (And it Always is With You)

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Mikey is, he knows, kinda a little, like unfortunate. Mikey knows this because Gerard told him, when he was six and Gerard was going through a phase of Victorian Orphans and trying to persuade mom to make Mikey sleep in the garret (they didn't really know what a garret was and Gerard figured that it was probably like the garage and Mikey didn't want to sleep in the garage, because rats). But anyway, he knows he's unfortunate, he's known his whole entire life, and he's good at it. It doesn't stop Gerard fretting that Mikey's going to get his nose gnawed off by vermin, but Mikey's bought rat traps so he's pretty sure that's not going to happen.

Mikey has alleviated his base-level unfortunateness by having plans in place - like, he made sure that he got a job with health insurance before he stopped being covered by dad's (Gerard didn't. Gerard had to have a tooth pulled by a guy called Herb, who worked out of his kitchen and used pliers) and he has this list of important criteria for potential roommates, like understanding kitchens, knowing when to call 911, and believing that the structural integrity of a building is important.

Mikey is basically A+ at being an adult; he has a not totally-crappy job, serving coffee to morons that gives him both decent healthcare and almost enough caffeine to make up for having to get up at 4am sometimes, and a kind of okay apartment with the best roommate ever. Frank not only understands the kitchen, but can make shit in it. Like, not just poptarts and coffee (Mikey can make poptarts and coffee) but things with vegetables...Only with vegetables actually, which makes Mikey a little sad, but he respects Frank's decision not to eat anything with a face, because Frank always makes enough for him to share and he goes and mooches cremated steak from his mom when he feels that the chicken sandwiches he has at work aren't cutting it for his carnivore side. Frankie is also kind of amazing at first aid, but that doesn’t matter so much because Mikey’s never going to use the toaster again.

 

"Mikey..." Gerard is in the middle of a project, with three uncapped pens in his left hand and another resting behind his ear, drawing accidental splotches of color on the side of his neck. He is actually drawing on the paper with a pencil...Gerard’s creative process is messy and kind of weird and Mikey is pretty sure that Gerard hadn't even noticed when he'd arrived at Gerard’s place, but then he put on the coffee and that's usually enough to bring Gerard out of his creative-process zombie-mode.

"Yeah?"

"Coffeeeeeeeee." Gerard isn't even looking at him, just making grabby hands in his general direction and miraculously not dropping all of his art supplies on the floor. Gerard has some very specific, art-adjacent talents.

"Not until you look at me." He pours a mug for Gee, though, he's not actually cruel.

Gerard makes a whining noise, but he turns away from his drawing board. "Mean." He smiles at Mikey, when Mikey hands over the coffee.

"I'm really not. I bring you half my week's allowance of this shit. I could stop. I could keep it all for myself."

Gerard looks horrified for a moment, then he grins. "Nope, then you'd have to deal with an over-caffeinated Frankie."

Mikey shoves Gerard over a little with his hip and sits on the edge of Gee's drawing stool. It’s the only clear surface in the room. "True." He sighs heavily. "My life is very hard."

Frank is excitable at the best of times. Frank on too much caffeine is worse than a kindergarten class in a Pixy Stix factory. Mikey tries to keep him away from the coffee unless it's before 9 in the morning (Mikey is not a monster)...and... Maybe a little caffeine could help Frankie right now. "He's sick again, you know." Mikey doesn't know why he's telling Gerard, really, Gee will just want to visit and then he'll get sick, too, and Mikey will end up spending all his smokes money on Kleenex. Gee's got kind of a Florence Nightingale complex, except for how he's a fucking terrible nurse.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Mikey sighs. Frank is, like, the most awesome roommate he's ever had, but Frank has the worst immune system on the planet and every damn year he gets the fucking death flu at least once because he has to take the bus to get to work and fuckers can’t cover their mouths and noses.

The buses aren't so much public transit as they are incubators for the Rage virus or some shit, especially right around the time the school year starts. Last year Gee had drawn Frank battling a bus full of snotty zombies to cheer him up. This year is worse, though... last year Frankie still had some meds left over from when he was sick on his mom's insurance but now he's got nothing, no insurance and no money either. Listening to his coughing through the wall is keeping Mikey up at night; what happens if it gets into his lungs again? His death bronchitis needs more than the Nyquil Mikey's scammed from his Grandma.

"I keep telling him to take off of work, but he won't, and all he does is cough and sleep when he's home. It's so fucking unfair, he's a teacher, you know? He has skill, but no one fucking values that at all, he'd be better off slinging coffee like me and keeping all his talent to himself."

Mikey has feelings about the lack of value society puts in creativity - Gerard's an artist and while he's beginning to get some success now he's still paid less per hour than Mikey, because Gee works, like, 24 hours a day with his brain while Mikey works at least half of his shifts with his brain entirely switched off. Gerard dreams in art, breaks off in the middle of making dinner to draw, and it took him years before he could even afford to move out of the basement and Grandma had had to cover his first and last. It’s so unfair that it makes Mikey grind his teeth, but at least Gerard's finally found a job that allows him to work from home, with a boss who doesn’t care that he only spends, like, half the hours he’s contracted for doing his corporate illustrations, because Gee is fast and his boss is kind of awesome really. The pay is shit, of course, but the benefits are awesome, with healthcare and a 401K and sick days and, like, employee discounts on movie tickets, and Gerard’s beginning to make actual bank with his personal work, so he can buy the good markers and smokes...Frankie doesn't get fucking any of that, and Frankie teaches kids, shows them how to get the music from their brains and out through their fingers in the tiny, shitty back room of Patrick’s music store, in-between hauling instruments and boxes of sheet music and strings and reeds and sticks, and delivering heavy fucking shit out to their customers in Patrick’s crappy van.

 

Mikey doesn't blame the store, it's run on a shoestring, and he doesn’t blame, like, 90% of the kids or their parents who mostly can’t really afford music lesson but scrape the money together anyhow, but he does blame the ivy-clad prep-schools that demand Frank brings them forty copies of Der Fleidermaus right now, and don't tip even though he just saved their ass with a fucking rush order brought over at ass-o’clock in the morning because someone forgot to make the order in advance of the fancy European professor dude visiting.

If those rich-guy schools tipped, Frankie'd have enough put by that he could maybe afford some meds, or to take a day off, or something and if they made regular orders at the store, instead of just calling in emergencies, then maybe Patrick could pay more...

Gerard puts his arm around Mikey and his head on Mikey's shoulder, endangering him with both coffee and marker. "You have talents!"

Mikey rolls his eyes. It's nice that Gerard always believes in him and shit, but really... "Not the point, Gee."

Gerard makes a noise like an angry cat and squeezes Mikey a little. "You gotta believe in yourself Mikes."

Mikey elbows Gerard in the ribs. Crusader!Gerard can be kinda exhausting.

"Yeah, yeah, okay. It sucks. Totally sucks that you can't, like, share your insurance like you do with your coffee or something."

Mikey sighs. "Yeah."

 

 

By the time Mikey gets home, four cups of coffee and two not very heavily disguised lectures on reaching for his dreams later (Gerard is not as clever with the dragon metaphors as he thinks he is), Frank is bundled up on the couch under his own comforter, Mikey's comforter and the shitty blanket they keep for throwing over Gerard when he visits and falls asleep mid-movie. There's a small mountain of used Kleenex next to him and he looks utterly fucking miserable.

"You look like shit, Frankie."

Frank glares at him and starts saying something, but all that comes out is a breathy, creaking noise.

"Sound like shit, too."

Frank throws a wadded up tissue at him.

"Nice. Is that the way your mom taught you to behave, Frank Anthony Iero?"

Frank scrabbles at the coffee table and grabs a ripped off pizza box lid and one of the sharpies that Gerard seems to shed, writes My Mother is a Fucking Saint and holds the lid up at Mikey.

"Shame it didn't rub off."

Frank throws the pizza box lid at him.

Mikey goes over to Frank and puts a hand on his forehead...he's not entirely sure why, but his mom and Grandma always used to do it when he or Gerard were little and trying to stay off school. Frank feels warm and clammy and just not good. "Did you come home sick, Frankie?"

Frank shakes his head. He’s a stubborn little shit.

"Fuck, Frankie...” Mikey shakes his head and starts gathering up the blanket and comforters. “Bed, bed now."

Frank raises an eyebrow, in what Mikey's pretty sure is supposed to be some kind of come-hither expression, but Frank’s almost knocked over by a bout of awful, wet-sounding coughing as soon as he starts moving, so whatever effect he was going for is lost.

 

Mikey pours Nyquil and water and juice down Frank's throat, but they don't seem to help, and maybe they make things even worse because Frank coughs so hard that he ends up throwing up and then he looks even more miserable. Mikey doesn't know what to do, other than try to keep Frankie warm and not too sweaty and, like, rub his back. Frankie's not Emergency Room Sick, not yet, but he's going to get Emergency Room Sick if Mikey doesn't do anything, and they don’t have enough money for the doctor and.... Mikey doesn't sleep, just sits watching Frank sleep restlessly, watching Frank sniffle and cough and struggle to fucking breathe, and at 4 am he calls Gerard.

"Hey Mikes, what was the name of that Blue Monster in that book Grandma got for your fifth birthday?"

...And that's why he called Gee, not Frank's mom. Gee doesn't panic about getting phone calls in the middle of the night. Gee probably doesn't know it's the middle of the night. "Narselwood. And he wasn't a monster, he was just misunderstood."

"Don't judge a book by its cover, boys." Mikey and Gerard chorus.

"Gee, can you come over?"

"Sure, can I bring my sketchbook?"

"As long as you don't get so wrapped up in it you forget to watch Frank. He's so sick, still, and I gotta go to work in, like, an hour."

Gerard makes a sympathetic mmh noise. "You're a good roommate, Mikey."

Mikey snorts. It's nothing to do with being a good roommate, it's just... "It's Frank."

"Yeah. I'll be there before you leave."

 

Gerard brings more juice with him, and a box of pills that Gabe brought back with him from Uruguay that can apparently cure death. Mikey's not convinced that Gabe's weird drugs are the best idea, but Frank's so fucking sick that he's about ready to try anything. He still makes Gee promise not to give them to Frank while Frank can still breathe. Mikey really doesn't want to leave the apartment, but with Frank missing work today they'll need all Mikey's money to make rent. Maybe Mikey can pick up a couple extra shifts.

 

"Way, you're late!" Jon shouts, as Mikey hustles into the back room to stow his bag and put on his apron.

"Frankie's sick, I..."

Jon cuts him off. He's not a bad boss, really, but has to follow all these corporate bullshit rules "I'm sorry your boyfriend's sick, but Mark's made it in on time and his wife's sick too, and if you were five minutes later I'd have to write you up."

It's not the fucking same. Mark's wife has fucking cystitis and she gets Mark's fucking healthcare. Mikey's very sympathetic about the burning piss thing, but seriously. He doesn't say anything though, Jon could totally write him up now and Mikey doesn't want to make Jon regret cutting him some slack, he wants Jon to give him extra shifts.

 

The morning rush is fucking crazy with Every.Single.Fucking.Asshole coming in to order their off-menu mix of syrups and shots, and asking for everything extra fucking hot and then complaining that it burns, and after it finally dies down again Mikey is seriously pissed that he can’t kill people with his brain.

He texts Gerard on his break Why can’t I kill people with my brain? How’s Frank?

Because the paperwork is killer. Still breathing, he’s had water and one of Gabe’s pills.

Fuck. I asked you to come over and keep him alive, not poison him! :(

Fuck you, he needed SOMETHING and he’s got better color now

...

I’ll take him to the emergency room if he starts turning into a zombie

 

Mark walks into the break room holding a glossy magazine. “Mikey, d’you think Anna’ll like this?” He points at an ad for something shiny from Tiffany’s.

“Ummm.” Mikey shrugs. He’s met Anna twice and he doesn’t know her taste. “It’s Tiffany, that’s good, right?”

Mark makes a whining noise. “You gay guys have it so fucking easy, I bet Frank doesn’t demand gifts just because you were late home a couple times last month.”

“Ummmm.” Mikey doesn’t know how to unpack that. He’s given up trying to explain that he’s not gay, that he and Frankie aren’t together, because no one ever believes him. Jon’s friend Spencer keeps giving him aggressive lectures about how he doesn’t need to deny his sexuality and that Jon’s very supportive, isn’t he. Mikey doesn’t know how to give marital advice to a co-worker anyway (especially when the advice would be that maybe staying married to someone you don’t even like is probably not, like, the way to fairytale happiness, and a pretty necklace isn’t likely to fix that).

Mark continues to bitch about his wife until the lunch rush starts and they’re too slammed to speak, more slammed than usual because Emily’s called out sick. Mikey kind of hates the whole, entire, universe, and every time Gerard texts a Frank update (Still not dead.... Only coughing like he’s sick, not like a monster...Asked for soup) the clock on his phone seems to be further and further away from three o’clock and blissful freedom.

“Mikey, d’you want to stay and cover the rest of Emily’s hours?”

“Uhhh.” Mikey does not want, but the money would be useful.

Jon raises an eyebrow at him. “I asked Mark already but he has to get home to grovel.”

Mikey barks out a sarcastic laugh. “I can work, sure. I don’t get why Mark married her in the first place, he seems to hate her.”

Jon rolls his eyes. “Married housing, she’s a student and it’s cheap but Mark only gets in on the benefits if they’re married.” Jon looks over his shoulder to check where Mark is, then he says in a quiet voice that’s much, much subtler than whispering. “It wasn’t exactly a romantic proposal – they were in here and she was complaining about needing dental work and her student insurance not covering existing conditions, and he was complaining about how his apartment had roaches, and they worked out they could share benefits if they got married and it costs, like thirty bucks to do it at city hall so why the fuck not. I’m pretty sure she’ll divorce his whiny ass the instant she’s graduated, but it suits them at the moment.”

 

By the time Mikey gets home from work he’s seeing double, he’s so tired, but he’s been thinking all afternoon and he asked Jon for a copy of their health insurance benefits documentation to bring home.

Frank is sitting up on the couch; he’s got a cup of tea in his hands, and only one comforter wrapped around him. By the noises and the smell, Gee is in the kitchen cooking.

“Hey Frankie.” Mikey goes to sit next to him on the couch. “Looks like the kill-or-cure worked out this time, huh?”

“Yeah.” Frank croaks, but he is at least able to make noises. “Gave me some super fucked-up dreams and Gabe says my piss might turn blue for a while, but.” Frank blows out a breath. “It’s better than suffering.”

Gerard comes out of the kitchen, hair wild and tomato on his face. “I think we need to call for pizza.”

“You better not have fucked up my kitchen, Gee.” Frank tries to make a fierce face, but all the talking makes him start to cough again, and it’s not as wet as it was but it still sounds awful. Mikey takes Frank’s tea out of his hands and rubs his back and makes up his mind.

“Frankie.” He hands Frank back the tea and Frank takes a big mouthful. “We need to get married.”

Frank spits his tea all over Mikey.

 

It takes about twenty minutes to get Mikey mopped up and for Frank to stop his laughing/coughing cycle, not helped by Gerard asking insistently what kind of toppings are appropriate for an engagement celebration.

“Married? Did working an extra shift break your brain, Michael James Way?”

Mikey huffs. “No.” He hands Frank the health insurance document and points at the bit where it talks about spouses. “We live together, everyone at work thinks we are together and I have fucking excellent healthcare. This way I can share and you can be healthy and I won’t need to pull extra hours at work to make fucking rent.”

Frank looks guilty. “I’m sorry, I can ask my Mom to lend me...”

“Not the fucking point I’m making Frankie. I hate it when you’re sick and there’s nothing I can do, I want to do something, this is me doing something.” He takes hold of Frank’s hand. “Please let me do this, Frankie.”

“I’m fine Mikey, I can just…”

 

“You can just what? Keep taking Gabe’s fucking illegal imports until one of them kills you? Keep coughing and choking all fucking night long until you’re spitting up blood? Keep on not taking fucking care of yourself until I come home one day and you’re dead on the floor?.” Mikey takes a deep breath and feels it catch in his chest. Why won’t Frank understand? “I fucking love you Frankie and not being able to help is fucking killing me.”

“Oh.” Frank bites at his lip and starts petting over Mikey’s fingers. “Okay, Mikes, okay. Let’s get fucking married.”

There’s a sniffing noise from the corner of the room where Gerard is standing, holding the phone. “That was really fucking romantic. Fuck it, I’m ordering mozzarella sticks.”

 

Over pizza and celebratory cheese sticks, Mikey checks on the internet and finds out what they need to do to get married in New Jersey, and it’s easy. He’s really fucking thankful that they live in a state that’s pulled its head out its ass and lets dudes marry dudes, because he loves Frankie at least as much as Mark loves Anna, more probably, and it’s only right.

Twenty-eight dollars, valid ID, a witness and a three day wait. That’s it, that’s all they need and then he can start saving for copays and take Frank to all of the doctors. Hell, he can probably get his eyes and teeth checked, too. Frank will be healthy and Mikey will be able to relax.

Mikey and Frank call James and ask him to meet them at City Hall in the morning, before they fall asleep on the couch together, and when they wake up to the noise of rush hour starting, Mikey’s draped over the top of Frankie.

Mikey is comfortable until Frank starts shoving his shoulder. “Get the fuck offa me, heavy-assed fucker.”

“I’m protecting you from the cold.”

“You’re squashing me. I’m your fiancé, you’re supposed to take care of me now.”

Mikey hauls Frank into a hug and squeezes, really hard, before kissing his nose. “I am. Warm is good.”

Frank tickles him. “In one, unmolested piece is good.”

Mikey snorts. “I thought the point of marriage was that I get to molest your fine ass all of the time.”

“Not for three days, Michael James Way, and not for four if we don’t get our fabulous asses down to city hall very, very soon. I’m not that kind of boy.”

 

They text James and then get the bus to City Hall, Frank clutching a folder with all of their paperwork, Mikey clutching Frank and trying to stop the cold getting to him. Fucking city buses.

James is late and Mikey’s weirdly nervous, walking into City Hall and asking where to apply for their licence, like people are going to know that he’s just trying to scam his insurance, and he grabs Frankie’s hand while they’re waiting for James to arrive. Frank squeezes his hand and laces their fingers together, ignoring Mikey’s sweaty palm.

In the end, it’s very anti-climatic, filling in the paperwork and getting an appointment to come back before Mikey’s shift starts in three days time, and Mikey doesn’t really know how he feels when he has to put Frank on a bus to work and head in to start his own shift. Frank is totally not well enough to be at work, but he's very stubborn and James promises to hand him safely over to Patrick. It still worries the shit out of Mikey.

 

Are you dead yet?

Nope. this fucking kid might be, soon, tho

Is he being a shit? We’ve got a bunch of cookies that fell on the floor, you want?

He was born being a shit, but at least his mom tips. COOOOOKIES? You loooooooooooove me, floor cookies FTW

I am the best fiancé

You are. Still not putting out

:( :( :(

After work they curl up on the couch under Frank’s comforter again and finish off the pizza Gerard bought them. Frank is exhausted and still coughing and he falls asleep on Mikey after just two slices. It’s... it’s kind of nice, now that Frank’s not wheezing so much.

 

Mikey wakes up to Frank kissing his forehead. “Wake up, fiancé. Two more days.”

Frank sounds better, not so rough and sore, and Mikey grabs him into a hug.

“Ahrg! I’m engaged to an octopus! Help! Help!” Frank flails his arms around like some kind of B-movie victim.

“My Husband, The Sea Monster.” Mikey intones in his best 1960s announcer voice and Frank goes limp in his arms...or, at least, collapses into a giggling heap and Mikey starts tickling his ribs, because Frank giggles are awesome.

 

The next two days are a blur of extra hours at work, and persuading Gerard that confetti won’t be allowed at City Hall and really they’d just prefer he stayed home and drew them something, and begging James not to fucking tell Frank’s mom yet, and cuddling with Frank on the couch at night. Their couch is comfortable enough but Mikey’s neck is killing him by the time he wakes up on the morning of their wedding. They’re both quiet on the way to City Hall, Frankie guarding their paperwork and Mikey guarding Frank, even though he’s mostly better, and both of them clinging to each other’s hand. It’s.....Mikey feels like it should be terrifying but he’s with Frank so it’s not, it’s fun, an adventure. He smiles at Frankie as they walk in to their appointment behind James and Frankie fucking beams back at him.

“Let’s get married, Mr. Way.”

“Yeah, let’s.”

 

Mikey does not want to go to work once their appointment is over and James has bear-hugged them both before saying goodbye. Frankie’s got a day off and Mikey wants to go back to their apartment with Frank and stare at their marriage certificate for a while. They’ve just done something so fucking huge and working is so mundane.

“I need to go to work.”

Frank squeezes his hand. “I’ll walk with you, I’ve got a book with me, I could hang out for a while, sit with you on your break maybe?”

Mikey pulls Frank into a hug. “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be. Yeah.”

Frank kisses the underside of his chin. “S’what husbands do. Come on now, you can’t be late, you’ll lose your job and if you lose your insurance you’ll totally have married me under false pretences.”

“Yeah, yeah, you love my ass.” Mikey squeezes Frank.

“Well, yeah, but I totally married you for your stuff.” Frankie squeezes back and untangles himself from their hug and starts dragging Mikey towards work.

 

 

Mikey gets put onto dishwasher duty as soon as he arrives, which is hot and damp and smells of hot detergent and means he can’t even see Frankie. It sucks, but he manages not to huff at Jon when Jon comes in to help him stack the clean mugs. Jon is in charge of extra shifts, and the health insurance admin, and assigning things that are not dishwasher duty, and Mikey is going to be a fucking model employee.

“Jon, uh, how do I add someone to my insurance?”

“You got a secret kid somewhere, Mikey?”

Mikey frowns. “No. Fuck. I hope not...” Nah, he can’t have, he always wrapped it up. “I, uh, got a husband.”

Suddenly he has an armful of bouncing manager. “Seriously? You and Frank got married? ”

“Ummm. We have a certificate?”

“Oh man, that’s so awesome. Spencer’s going to be so fucking mad, he figured you’d never come out.”

Jon is pretty much dancing them around the room. It’s fucking weird.

“Fuck, Mikey, when did you guys do it? Like...” Jon trails off, looking kind of worried. “Have you been married all this time? Is Spencer right, did you feel discriminated against, ‘cos I know Mark can be a douche, but I’d never...”

“No! No, we just. This morning. We did it this morning.”

 

Mikey’s pretty sure that his feet don’t hit the floor after that, Jon shoves him out into the store to sit with Frankie, and then he brings the insurance forms for them to fill out and gives them, like, half Frank’s body weight in cake and extra coffee for the energy, and sends them home, and tells Mikey not to come back in until Friday. It’s exhausting, but pretty much no weirder than the rest of the day has been and Frankie grabs his hand again and it’s all pretty much okay, so... Mikey’ll take weird, especially as Jon yells something about extra shifts to pay for the honeymoon as they head down the street.

 

Back at home Gerard’s left them a huge box on the coffee table. It’s wrapped in newspaper and ribbons that look like they’re made from an old bed sheet and it’s sitting kind of precariously on top of the pizza box mountain that usually lives there.

“Oooh! Presents! I forgot weddings get presents. We should totally have fucking registered, Mr. Iero,” Frank yells as he leaps from the door to tackle the box.

“Mr. Iero?!”

“Mmh.” Frank shrugs. “Or Iero-Way, maybe? We could hyphenate.”

“Frankie, have you lost your damn mind? Do you have a secret hankering to be Frank Way? Do you think I look like a Mikey Iero-Way?”

Frank screws up his face. “Eww. No.” He sticks out his tongue. “No, you’re right, that sounds really bad. We can just be modern and shit. Keep our own names.”

Mikey rolls his eyes. “Yeah. We’re two dudes who married each other, modern’s kind of our theme.”

Frank grins at him. “Get your modern ass over here and help me open this box.” He holds one end of the bow up to Mikey and they pull it open together.

Inside the box is, like, a fuckton of lube and condoms – all the colors and flavors of the rainbow – a pair of Mr. & Mr. handtowels, and, right at the bottom, a picture of Mikey and Frank, standing on top of a wedding cake and staring at each other, all heart-eyes, like a fucking cartoon. The note from Gerard on the back says you’re fucking married now, so get with the fucking, you’re legally obligated not to be awkward about it tomorrow. Use lots of lube, anal fissures fucking hurt.. There’s a pencil sketch of something that Mikey thinks might be Gerard’s interpretation of an asshole.

“Your brother-in-law’s really fucking weird.”

Frank looks affronted. “He’s your brother.”

“Yeah, but I was born into his family. You married me by choice. He’s all your fault now.”

“Fuck.” Frank lifts up a handful of condoms and lets them slip through his fingers like water. “Do you think he has, like, a point, maybe?”

“Umm.”

“Like. We could. Like. Umm. Wedding night sex, maybe?” Frank is looking at his shoes, and is curved in on himself, like he’s trying to make himself smaller. Mikey hates when Frank doesn’t look like his ridiculous, bratty, obnoxious, confident, loud self.

“Umm. We could be... Umm. They say everyone experiments, right? Everyone’s a little gay or whatever? We could be each other’s like... Yeah?” Mikey’s heart is beating really fucking fast and really fucking high up in his chest, but this doesn’t feel like a terrible idea or anything, Frankie’s like his total safe space, he can’t imagine feeling anything other than 100% okay with Frank touching him or whatever, and fuck, Frank’s totally objectively hot. He’s got a fucking amazing ass, and these weirdly cute feet and the curve of his jaw is just.... Mikey reaches forward and nips at the curved bit just where Frank’s head becomes his face. Yeah. Fuck it. He got fucking married today and now he is going to have all of the fucking sex with his husband. Even if he’s not 100% on the two dicks logistics. He grabs a selection of condoms and lube. “Come on, we’re fucking doing this on a bed; that fucking couch hates me.”

 

Getting naked with Frank is...it should probably be strange or awkward or something, but they live in a one bath apartment and neither of them like pajamas, so there’s nothing much new. Except for the erection thing, but Mikey’s fucking flattered that Frankie’s hard for him and of fucking course Mikey’s hard. There’s fucking sex about to be happening, with someone really fucking hot.

“Uhh.” Frank takes Mikey’s hand and pulls him over to sit on the bed. The pile of lube and condoms slides into the dip they make on the mattress and feel cold against Mikey’s ass. “What should we do, like, first?”

“Umm.” Mikey thinks. He’s got some game, and so does Frank, they can totally figure this shit out. “I, like, usually, like, kiss and then, uhh... go down on them?”

Frank’s dick, bounces when Mikey mentions oral. It’s kind of hilarious.

“Yeah..” Frank’s voice has gone kind of husky. “We have, like, a million flavored condoms, we could try with those, maybe?”

Frank has awesome ideas. Mikey leans in to kiss him on the nose, but half way in he remembers what they’re doing and he changes direction and pecks him on the mouth instead. Frank lets out a groan and... Oh. Oh, that’s kinda hot. Mikey kisses Frank again, flicks out his tongue to lick at the seam of his lips and then Frank opens his mouth and fuck, yeah, Mikey fucking loves kissing and Frankie is a fucking awesome kisser and Mikey shoves himself forward on the bed, pushes Frank back and climbs over him, straddling him and fuck that’s Frank’s dick bumping wetly against Mikey’s stomach, the coarse hair on his thigh rubbing against Mikey’s cock and his tongue in Mikey’s mouth and this is his fucking husband, this is his and... “Mine,” he pants into Frank’s mouth.

Frank nods and bucks his hips up a little and they both groan at the contact. Frankie is making these little hitching breath sounds and his hips keep moving and fuck, fuck, fuck, it’s... fuck. Mikey wants to go down on him, wants to suck and lick him and make him fucking come, wants to take him fucking apart with his mouth, he fucking loves going down on girls and this is just, he fucking wants to do this. Frank is so fucking sexy and it’s not that Mikey didn’t know that, but he didn’t know he wanted to act on it... Mikey slides down off the bed, wincing when his knees hit off of the floor and the pushes Frank’s knees back, open, and just stares at Frank’s junk. It’s so utterly not a pussy, it’s hard and out there and Mikey wants it in his mouth.

He licks at Frank’s balls, nosing into the soft, hot skin there, and Frankie whines and trembles, pushes down at his own thighs like he’s trying not to buck. “Mine. Mine now.” Mikey licks a path up Frankie’s dick. It’s strong and thick, and solid, like Frank, and Mikey can’t go slowly with this, can’t treasure the moment, can’t stop, can’t... he covers the head of Frank’s cock with his mouth and sucks. It’s fucking amazing, he flickers his tongue over the slit, teasing, and sucks and strokes the bottom of Frank’s dick with his hands and he feels incredible. Frankie is making all of these noises and squirming like he’s trying not to move and it’s Mikey that’s doing this to him, Mikey’s mouth and Mikey’s hand, and Mikey’s own hips pump, trying to find friction for his cock and fuck. Frankie groans and Mikey can feel it, feel the pulsing travel up through Frankie’s dick as Frankie comes and as the hot, bitter come fills Mikey’s mouth he comes himself, just from the feeling of power and the barest whisper of friction from the hair on Frankie’s leg.

Mikey collapses forwards, face-first in Frankie’s junk.

“Fuck.” Frank is panting. “Fuck..... That.....Fuck

Mikey lifts an arm and flails it around over Frankie’s belly until Frankie takes his hand.

“Fuck... We... Fuck, we had sex Mikey.”

Mikey nods, rubbing his nose over Frank’s balls. Frank shivers and lets out a moan.

“We. Fuck. We need to do that again.”

Mikey nods again and he can feel Frank’s dick start to thicken slightly, like he wants to go again but he’s not quite there yet.

“Like. All the time?”

Mikey nods. “Once we sleep.” He just... all his energy just, like, got spunked up over the side of the bed and Frankie’s leg.

Frank curls his free hand in Mikey’s hair. “Yeah. Once we sleep. Then I can blow you.”

Ohhh. Yeah.

Frank starts tugging on Mikey’s hand. Mikey groans, Mikey could sleep right here.

“Come on, come on, hubby, I’ll wake you up with a blow job later if you get your ass into bed now.” Frank sounds like he’s smiling. Mikey’s probably going to have to kill him if he’s always this chirpy after sex, but... blow jobs... Mikey kinda half-drags, half-slithers onto the bed, climbing over Frankie and face-planting sort of near the pillows. He’s out before Frank pulls up the comforter.