Work Header

i can't slow down, i can't stop now

Work Text:

It started out as a joke, and then it morphed into a stupid bet that he didn't think he could lose and now Gerard found the damn things on top of his sketchbook in his bunk. Fuckers.

He stuffed them into his pocket, ignoring how silky they felt in his hand, debating briefly with himself about actually wearing them. They were ridiculous. They were soft. Gerard stuck his hand in his pocket to touch them again and then yanked his hand away like he'd been burnt. No. Definitely not wearing them. They were going into the next trash can he ran across.

The next time he took a piss, he thought about them. He pushed his jeans to his thighs to look at his worn briefs, poking his finger through the hole near the waistband. He rubbed his fingers across the fabric; it was soft with age and repeated washings, but not soft like the silk underwear. He trailed his fingers down to trace the outline of his cock, keeping his touch light, feeling the beginnings of arousal skitter across his nerves. His breathing grew a little louder, a tiny bit faster as he curved the palm of his hand over his dick, pressing gently. "Ah." Yeah, maybe he'd try them on, just to see how they fit.

They didn't fit very well. Women's panties weren't designed for all the junk that guys had; there was no way it was all going to fit in there. It looked ridiculous with the little bow on the front and stuff was spilling out and the fabric was sinfully slick against him and—

The loud knock on the door had him frantically shimmying his jeans on and dashing out of the bus to keep from being late.

He peered into the dressing room mirror, expertly applied eyeliner and shifted his hips, feeling something else shift, too. He breathed out a silent "ah" and tried to think about something, anything else.

They might not have been designed with man parts in mind, but his jeans were tight enough to keep everything from shifting around too much; it was just the slide of soft fabric that was distracting him. He flicked his eyes to the mirror, saw that no one was watching and quickly palmed his cock through his jeans, feeling the smooth slip of the fabric rubbing against the length of him. Another quick squeeze and the satiny cloth ruffled against his growing hardness.

Sweat bloomed on his face but he could blame that on the spotlights. He let go of his cock and tried to focus on getting ready for the show.

He moved under the lights, singing, screaming, dancing, getting high off the energy from the audience. Everything came together perfectly and the sensations were razor sharp. The feel of sweat sliding down his back, the coolness of the water that he drank between songs, the physical push of sound in front of the big speakers.

And the brush of sleek material as he moved to the driving rhythms of the music. Fuck. He groaned under his breath during the pounding intro and turned away from the crowd to run a casual hand down his body, not lingering but at least pressing against his cock. He looked down to see if it was noticeable, but luckily these jeans were a little loose.

The rest of the evening was torture; every move just seemed to accentuate the glide and slip of the silk against his cock. He was panting and breathless, not just because he was was moving around on the stage, but because of the ever-tightening twist of arousal that was coiled in his stomach.

Gerard wouldn't let himself touch again because he wasn't sure he would stop. Desperation was starting to make him dizzy but he only stuttered over lyrics twice, earning him puzzled looks that he waved off with a sassy hand. Other songs came out a little...growly, but that fit with the songs and his mood so that was fine.

He was either going to die or come in his damn pants like a teenager and at this point he wasn't sure which was worse.

After the show, Gerard gritted his teeth and searched the backstage area for an empty bathroom, broom closet or even just a shadowed corner. It wasn't going to take much; the skim of glossy silk had taken its fucking toll on him. He didn't think he was going to last more than a stroke or two before he came.

He just needed like five minutes of alone time to jerk off in these stupid silky women's underwear and be done with it. Maybe not even five whole minutes. Three and a half, tops.

Every bathroom, broom closet and shadowed corner was filled with people and they were on a very tight schedule; he barely had a chance to peer behind a couple of doors before he was being ushered out to the meet and greet.

Where thankfully, he could wear his winter jacket which came down far enough to cover what felt like an absolutely visible-from-space hard-on. He just wished the cold would cool him down, but no such luck. Walking make things worse, the rhythm of his steps teasing him with the slip of fabric against his cock, rubbing rubbing and driving him mad.

Gerard signed as many autographs as he could, glad that his signature was normally unreadable, because his hands were visibly shaking. No one noticed.

By the time he climbed on the bus, his jaw was sore from clenching his teeth for so long and his balls ached. He carefully squeezed his way past post-show-adrenaline-high bandmates and crew and staff, pushed his way back to the bunks and slid into his, drawing the curtain shut.

There were people wandering around, loud and rambunctious, brushing against the curtain on his bunk; the chances of getting caught jerking off right now were pretty damn high, but Gerard found he didn't give a fuck. Plus, he's spent years on tour; you learned to jack off fast and quiet.

He put the corner of his pillow in his mouth and bit down on it, braced one hand against the low ceiling and undid his jeans. He reached in, felt wet silk and heat, grabbed his dick and started stroking. A strangled moan escaped in spite of the pillow and the feel of silky fabric surrounding him, sliding against him had his back arching in seconds. He tried to hold off for just one more second, ride this dangerous pleasure for a little longer but couldn't. It was an electrifying feeling as he came, balls tight and cock throbbing, stealing his breath like a punch in the gut.

He held onto his dick as he wheezed into his pillow, blinking the spots out of his eyes and starting to wonder about the "Gerard? Gerard?" he was hearing.

Suddenly his brain kicked into gear and he shoved his dick back into this pants, zipped and rolled out of his bunk in time to talk to someone who had questions about the next day's show. He nonchalantly wiped his hands on a rag and hoped to God he didn't reek too much more than normal.

Eventually, he was going to find out who put those panties in his bunk and they were going to die. After Gerard found out where they got them from.