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Mikey pressed Frank against the wall - not violently, not even quickly, just a slow push, hands sliding down to pin Frank's wrists, hips fitting easily against his.

"Don't say anything," he whispered, and Frank bit his lip desperately. This wasn't even backstage proper, they were a corner and a curtain away from the fucking crowd, and Mikey was dropping to his knees.

Sometimes Mikey let Frank hold him still, fuck his mouth, but tonight he kept a vise grip on Frank's hips, sucking him down immediately, not bothering to tease. It was probably pretty gross, sweat and stink, but Frank thought maybe that was part of the appeal, maybe Mikey needed to be dirty.

Then Mikey dug his fingernails into Frank's skin and swallowed hard around him, and his thoughts fragmented. "Please, Mikey, please," he whispered -

And Mikey pulled off, rocking back on his heels, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Shh," he said, holding a finger to his lips, and stood up.

He leaned forward until his lips just touched Frank's ear, carefully holding the rest of his body away, and whispered, "I told you to stay quiet. You wanna fuck me, or do I have to gag you?"

Either. Both. Frank tried to reach for him, but Mikey was there first, holding his wrists together.

"I'm ready," Mikey said. He kissed Frank's cheek chastely. "I kept myself ready for you. Don't move."

He was almost shaking with the effort, but Frank managed to stay dead still when Mikey shimmied out of his pants, bracing himself against the wall, legs spread. They stayed like that for an agonizing moment, Mikey moving a hand down to jerk himself off slowly, Frank repeating a litany of don'tmovedon'tmovedon'tmove and trying hard to look away from Mikey, to stop staring at his ass and his back, his fucking hand.

"Okay," Mikey said, so quietly Frank wouldn't have heard it at all if he was moving.

He was there in an instant, running his hands up and down Mikey's back, touching him desperately until Mikey pushed his ass back and said, "Fuck me, Iero, or I swear to God..."

Frank obeyed immediately, pushing in, closing his eyes against the feeling of Mikey all around him, as slick and stretched as he'd said. Fuck, and he couldn't risk talking, had to lean forward and bite Mikey's shoulder, stretching himself along the length of Mikey's body and thrusting minutely, desperate for contact.

"No," Mikey said, grinding his hips back. His fingers were pale against the wall, red where the tips dug into the wood. "Fuck me, Frank, hard. Now."

So Frank did, thrusting as hard as the angle would allow, leaning back and clenching his teeth. It was noisier than Mikey's whispering, noisier than his own begging had been, but it didn't matter. The fucking band could show up with an entire cheerleading team to egg them on and it still wouldn't, not when Mikey was clenching around him, his own hand moving frantically. Not when he could snap his hips and reach around to help Mikey, not when Mikey let go of his dick just to scratch Frank's wrist. His world narrowed and narrowed again, MikeyMikeyMikey filling his thoughts until he had no choice but to come, hard enough that for a few seconds he lost track of up and down.

"Oh," he whispered into Mikey's back. He winced immediately, but it didn't matter: Mikey was coming into both their hands, shaking under Frank.

"Fuck," Mikey said, and laughed a little. "There's no way we're hiding this. They'll know."

Frank thought of how Gerard had felt, his lips and his hands. "Let them," he said, because Mikey might not like a crowd, but he obviously still liked showing Frank off.

Mikey pushed him off gently and pulled his pants up, crowding them against the wall and buttoning Frank's pants, kissing him in the process. He was good at it, Frank thought, grinning.

"Let's go show them, then," Mikey said, pinning him for one last kiss. Frank wiggled out, glee already forming. Bob was going to turn bright fucking red.

"Hell yes," he said, and ran for the dressing room.