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Gerard is as surprised as anyone when his first heat finally hits him. Ok, yes, it is technically called a rut, but he likes pretty things like feather boas and marching band uniforms and blonde pixie cuts and Frank Iero. A pretty term, rut is not. So he calls it what he wants since he wasn’t planning on actually experiencing it anytime soon.
Then Frank Iero happened.
Gerard is an alpha. Even worse, he’s the frontman of a rock band. He’s used to strutting around with his chest puffed out and nose to the sky. He has thousands of adoring fans that would feign illness just to meet him. A bit weird, but it strokes the ego just right. Point is, he’s a classic alpha. He is overconfident, has a fat cock, and gets bitches. It suited him just fine up until then. Hell, he could even play it up on stage for his persona.
Then Frank Iero happened.
In the beginning Frank didn’t so much happen to him as happen around him. Frank was a needy omega, but they all knew that when he joined the band. He had big only child energy and craved attention and affirmation like a puppy. But, his heats were never really a problem so no one cared. Sure, he left the bus smelling like stale slick and the axe body spray their stage tech used on multiple occasions, but they never found him with like, drumsticks shoved up his ass, so they got over it.
But then Gerard had to go and pound that round, juicy ass into next week.
It started when Gerard found a used condom on his bunk. He confronted Frank about it, the omega’s heat scent still lingering in the musty tour bus. Frank’s response to his criticism was, “Well then fuck me yourself you coward!” He did. And then he went back for seconds. And thirds. And fiftieths. Sometimes he was on his back while Frank rode him like a steed. Sometimes he went diving face first between those plump cheeks. One time Frank was even upside down, but then he pulled a muscle so they tapped out of that idea until the tour was over.
Before he knew it, Gerard hadn’t so much as touched another omega in a month. He’d always been an equal opportunity alpha, giving it to whatever omega would throw themselves enthusiastically in his direction.
Now, Gerard was a one-hole man. He had committed to that hole. That silky, tight, hot hot hole.
He would knot that hole if he was asked and by god did he want to be asked. He’d have a dramatic commitment-phobic panic if it wasn’t working out so well for him. He likes knowing his way around a person’s body, memorizing the areas Frank loves being touched and touching there every chance he gets. And if he also likes the moments after when Frank lies weightless in his arms, orgasm-giddy and cuddly, then that was his business and he did not have to look deeper into it.
He didn’t expect to end up in a monogamous sexual relationship, but the alpha in him really, really likes it.
It’s better this way, more sustainable. He’s not throwing fucks away like used condoms anymore. No, he is a pioneer now, boning Frank into a Green New Deal of sexual sustainability. It’s like composting, but sexy. Gerard isn’t just throwing his used banana peels into landfills anymore. Now he has a hot, funny, tattooed, rhythm guitarist to lay his seed into. Comparing his dick to a fruit and Frank to a compost bin isn’t his greatest analogy, but that’s just something he’ll have to workshop later.
Onstage, Frank is doing his usual mating dance around Gerard. He’s kneeling at Gerard’s feet and cupping his junk reverently in his palm, looking at it with amazement. He looks laser focused on the dick before him, like he’s Frank Iero: Professional Cock Inspector. Gerard has to adjust a little in his pants after he rolls off to cause more chaos elsewhere cause yeah, that did more for him than expected.
The entire set, Frank’s humping his guitar and rolling around on the ground and panting like a dog in heat.
A dog in heat.
Gerard knows the smell as it hits his nose. It’s like Frank’s usual scent, but shoved into a loudspeaker and broadcasted with the volume turned all the way up. “I hear that loud and clear!” Gerard’s dick says in response. And yup, that was the quickest boner he’s ever popped.
Frank’s in heat, and from the looks of it, a pretty intense one. That could be a bit of fun, Gerard figures.
So, naturally, being the Aries Sun he is, he teases him about it live in front of the Projekt Revolution audience. They did come for a show, after all.
Gerard thrusts and shimmies and groans into the mic. And Frank eats it up like whipped cream off Gerard’s thick cock. He would know. He’s seen him do it. It’s a gorgeous sight to see. Frank looks so lost in his heat, Gerard almost feels bad for teasing him. Almost.
At one point, he’s curious just how far gone Frank is, so he walks over and lets the man lick his neck, only to shove his hand down the back of his pants. He pokes around, curious, and is met with wetness almost immediately. Frank is fucking dripping. His face is red like he’s running a fever. He’s got it bad.
Gerard plays with his ass a little bit and almost gets caught up in the tight heat that is Frank. If Ray’s guitar solo hadn’t ended when it did, he couldn’t have guaranteed he wouldn’t have finger fucked Frank’s soaked hole on stage with everyone watching.
He thinks of how many songs they have left to play and the average length of each to conclude there is about thirty minutes left in their set. Thirty minutes and forty-five seconds before Gerard could find a secluded corner to shove Frank into and rearrange his guts for the fourth time that day. Maybe even fuck him with his tongue until he has that same slick currently coating his fingers dripping down his chin. Horny alpha brain is very good at math when it needs to be.
Frank’s off in omegaland so Gerard takes the opportunity to slide his hand into his shirt while he sings about vampires or something. He gropes Frank’s small tits in his palm. Frank would be so into it if his mind wasn’t currently overloaded with thoughts of cock, Gerard knows it. He loves having his tits played with. It's why he wears the deep v-neck shirts. It’s a cry for help. Help in the form of someone motorboating his boobs. Gerard is usually happy to lend a helping hand or mouth in that regard.
His tits are soft in his palm. Gerard can’t wait to feel them once they are bigger, bouncy and filled with milk. Wait, what? These were thoughts Gerard Way had never thunked before. Sure, he likes a warm titty. Who doesn’t? But, milk? That’s something brainless Chad alphas in rut babble about in between the words breed and mate and... oh no.
Gerard thinks of mating Frank and precum oozes out of the tip of his dick. Fuck, and these are his good torn pants, too.
He rips his hand out of Frank’s shirt and pushes him away. The guitarist spins but manages to stay on his feet and begin playing.
Inside his too-tight boxer briefs, his knot throbs and the entirety of his eighth grade sex ed class flashes before his eyes.
He’s exhibiting all the signs of alpha heat. Increased stamina - they’d each come at least six times that day already, a new record for Gerard. Presenting - he was prancing around on stage like a peacock showing his feathers and thrusting with every line, presenting his alpha cockiness for everyone to see. And, unfortunately, the desire to breed - just the idea of filling Frank up is making him lightheaded and woozy with all his blood racing from his brain head to his other head. The downside of having a massive cock to fill, he guesses.
Gerard feels nauseous and hot and sweaty and overwhelmed, all of which would normally be sexy, but he’s still got the rest of the show to play and that’s like, his job. He fans himself with his hand in a futile attempt to cool his burning hot skin. The audience interprets it as sass and lets out a cheer in response. Fuck.
Frank scent is still flooding the area. In the waves of it, he can feel how hard Frank is begging to be fucked. Gerard’s exhibitionist side is begging him to just bend him over an amp and call it a political statement. But at the same time he feels like he’d rip apart anyone who even looked at Frank sexually, another sign he was falling deep into the throes of rut. Baby’s first alpha heat is not going to plan at all.
Not that he’d planned to kick his mating instincts into high gear live in front of their fans, the holy spirit, and multiple cell phone cameras pointed in his direction. Most alphas don’t even get their heat until they bond with an omega. And ay, there’s the rub.
It all ties back into his adventure into sustainable monogamy. Frank’s heat must have triggered his own. They must have bonded. Gerard doesn’t have time to unpack all of that because the here and now was his knot growing in his pants screaming MATEMATEMATE in Frank’s direction.
He could do this. He could make it through the set. He was granted with the gift of performance and star quality, baby. He just has to act the hell out of it. He is the leader of this band, the conductor, the drum major, the lead singer. He’s just going to have to channel this unexpected excess energy into performance. He couldn’t fuck Frank, so he’s just going to have to fuck the audience instead.
And fuck the audience he does. He fingers them with a vocal rift here and strokes them with a high note there. He flicks his sweaty hair around, getting his musky scent all over stage. He poses and gestures and wags his hips more than necessary but the crowd is loving it and Gerard is loving them. By the end of the song, he’s come all over them. Metaphorically. With his voice, of course. The audience goes wild. Their energy isn’t making him any less horny, though. Quite the opposite, actually.
He’s at the point where he’s using the microphone stand as his own personal stripper pole when he hears the whine. It’s not actually loud but his senses are hypersensitive to all things Frank.
Frank’s on his knees by a stage monitor, still half-heartedly humping his Epiphone. He lost so tired, but still so desperate. He keens at Gerard and Gerard grips the stand until his knuckles turn white. He feels about to burst. He needs something, anything to give him relief.
He wails the lyrics into the microphone as he snakes his hand down his body. The lights turn low and he’s less in the spotlight and so he makes the decision to just do it. He’d considered doing it in the past for the shock value of it, but had never given it a serious thought until now. It always seemed like a step past what he was willing to do for the sake of entertainment, but now with hormones and the roar of the crowd and the overwhelming need from his heat hanging over him, it seems like a logical decision.
So, Gerard sticks his hand down his own pants. He at least pretends it’s a part of the performance (which doesn’t make it any less ew) to excuse doing it on stage. He rubs his cock against the palm of his hand and feels pure relief wash through his veins. It feels so good, so he keeps going, only letting his voice hitch a little as he keeps up with the song he’s meant to be paying more attention to.
But, the friction and the drag is exactly what he needs. Well, not exactly what he needs. What he needs is to be balls deep in Frank’s wet asshole, fucking him into the next dimension, knotting him until he’s stuffed only to take him again a cigarette later, before his cum has time to drip from his hole.
Masturbating on stage is just going to have to do for now. He’s an adult, he can get over it. And hopefully, he can get through his first heat alive with his dick still intact at the end.
The exhibition thing, all the eyes watching him, Frank watching him and not being able to do anything about it - it really hits the spot for him. He doesn’t stop until he feels it, senses it with everything in his bones. Smells it from the other side of the stage.
Frank just came in his pants. He’s still on his knees, panting like he’d just run a mile. But there’s more embarrassment on his face than anything else now. Gerard fucking his own hand to the tune of their own song and thousands of hoots and hollers got him to blow his load on stage. Gerard’s knot throbs. Fuck, he’s so glad Mikey isn’t here watching it all go down. That’s a memory he deserves to be spared.
Because, yeah, it's a performance! He swears! They’re just really caught up in the moment. But, it’s also really, really not.
Ray goes over to help Frank up, which, fair. The guy looks like he’s in distress. But a flare of jealousy and mine jumps out of him at the sights and he hisses, literally hisses, at poor Ray. The man just backs away slowly not wanting to get in the middle of whatever in the fuck is going on there.
Gerard is still so fucking hard and needy and twitching in his jeans. Frank whines from the ground. Two more songs, he reminds himself. It’s going to be a long night.
*
Bob watches the whole sick scene play out from his drummer’s perch. He hits the cymbal like it’s Gerard’s stupid face. He stomps on the kick drum pedal like it’s Frank’s little body. Below him the two idiots chase each other around on stage, rubbing various parts of their bodies against the other like this is all a horny game. Like a bad movie, it keeps going.
At the end of their set, Frank leaves a noticeable trail of slick on the floor as he practically drags Gerard off the stage by his belt. Disgusting. Bob thinks of the miserable, unlucky janitor that will have to clean that up. He shakes his head.
He hates this fucking band.