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It’s been A Day. Capital A, capital D.
Well, more like A Week. Capital A, capital W.
Frank thinks it might have even been A Month (not just capital A, capital M, but also Trade Marked and Copyrighted), but he’s really not big on the idea of looking back on the experiences he’s been having hard enough to actually calculate time. Besides, with ADHD, time blindness is a thing, and figuring that sort of shit out is confusing and takes a lot more fucking energy than he has to give.
The point is that Frank is somewhere between “I’m gonna punch every single fucking brick wall from the bus stop to the apartment” and “I’m going to sit down on the ground right here in front of this crack head and cry until I puke, or pass out, or both”. And by inbetween, that means that Frank is rocking back and forth between the two like a fucking see-saw, fast enough he might puke anyway, because the contrast is enough to make him queasy and this ride is moving a little too fast for his liking, thank you very much.
By the time he makes it home, he’s punched a stop sign (better than a wall, to be fair, even though his hand is fucking aching now), and he’s literally in tears when he opens the door and throws his bag onto the floor, kicks his shoes off, and tosses his jacket on top of said bag all within the same 3 seconds as he slams the door closed. And he does mean slam. That’s not a figure of speech. Frank is fairly certain he heard one of the picture frames shake menacingly on the wall. (Neighbors are gonna love him for that one.)
Immediately, Gerard is in the room. Gerard, his boyfriend, the love of his life, the person who knows him better than anyone in the entire fucking world. Gerard who isn’t actually doing anything. Gerard who hasn’t said a word. Gerard who is looking at him, and now…
Frank makes a strangled sort of sound in the back of this throat, and grits his teeth together. He feels his nostrils flare as he tries to let out a slow breath, but it’s too late. The tears are hot and they’re coming down quick now, and he’s making that noise again because Gerard is walking to him and saying, “Oh my god, Frankie, what’s wrong?” in that voice that he always uses when he’s worried.
Frank doesn’t want him to be worried. He doesn’t want Gerard to ever feel anything negative ever, because he loves him, but he especially doesn’t want Gerard to feel negative things in relation to him. “M’fine.”
“You are not fine, Frank, you’re crying and–” Gerard takes Frank’s hand and the frown on his face deepens 10 fold when Frank winces and tries to draw it back into his body. “Baby, what happened to your hand?!”
“Hit a stop sign…” Frank tells him resignedly, sniffling. Maybe if he forces himself to be angry again, he’ll stop crying. (It won’t work, but he can definitely tell himself that it will.)
Gerard makes an odd sort of noise paired with a huff, and then he’s taking Frank’s non-aching hand and leading him through the house to the kitchen. He opens the freezer and promptly puts an icepack on Frank’s knuckles, which makes Frank hiss, but he can’t tell what feels better, the sting, or the way the cold is actually soothing the ache already.
They stand there in silence for a few moments before Gerard takes a single step forward and envelopes Frank in his arms. Frank takes a few too many of those staggered, hiccuping sort of breaths (the kind he takes when he’s having a panic attack) for his own liking, but leans his head in to rest against Gerard’s chest anyway. “What happened?” Gerard asks quietly.
“I…” Frank shakes his head and makes the same strangled noise from earlier but this time with a tinge more irritation behind it, because goddammit, he would so much rather be angry than crying like a little bitch over something this stupid. “He fired me.”
“For being sick?!” Gerard snaps suddenly, stepping back to look at Frank, his hands holding Frank by his biceps so he can look at him. “You can’t be serious.”
Frank makes a face and shrugs, “He told me I needed to go back on Monday, and I didn’t.” He says glumly, looking down at the ice on his hand so that he doesn’t have to see the growing anger on Gerard’s face.
“Oh, yes, of course, because having bronchitis is really a thing you can just shrug off and go to work with?” Gerard says, his tone dark, “That is absolute fucking horse shit, jesus christ.” He throws his hands into the air before running one of them through his hair. “What an absolute piece of garbage, who does that? Who the fuck does that?! There has to be something we can do. This is wrongful termination! Discrimination of someone who’s– Who’s–” He makes a motion like he’s going to gesture at Frank and then he looks sad for a split second, and then he waves both of his hands in the air again instead, “It doesn’t matter! He can’t just fucking fire you for being sick! As if you chose to be chronically ill and get bronchitis twice a year. No one chooses that! And you– We even got you a doctor’s note!!” Gerard is rambling now, and Frank isn’t listening because he looks up at him, and Gerard’s hair is all tousled, and soft, and his lips are all tense and he's talking animatedly with his hands and–
“Can you be mad at me?”
Gerard stops now, and looks at Frank. It’s like he’s completely frozen for a moment, and then it sort of clicks in his head. He blinks at Frank, slowly dropping his hands. “Hm?” He makes the noise, which anyone else would probably see as dismissive, or maybe even passive, but Frank knows that’s not what it means. That’s not what it means at all. He’s confirming that he’s heard Frank correctly. That he’s understanding the meaning beneath the words.
Frank nods, “Could you be mad at me instead?” He asks again, dropping his hands to his sides. “Because I’m mad at me. I’m just… I’m just mad. Except I’m not really mad at all. I’m- I’m sad, and I hurt, and I want to be mad, but I can’t, so I need you to be mad for me. At me.” Frank worries at his lip, watching the thoughts flip through Gerard’s eyes.
Finally, Gerard nods, and there is a silent exchange between the two of them. It’s a shared look, that they’ve practiced for years now.
‘I'm going to say things, and I don’t mean them,’ Gerard says with his eyes.
‘I know you don’t mean them, but I want you to say them anyway,’ Frank replies.
“Here.” Gerard says the singular word and there is authority dripping in his voice that wasn’t there moments ago. Frank moves immediately. “Hand.” Gerard demands, and Frank gives the injured appendage up in response. There is one more shared glance between the two of them.
‘Are you ready?’ Gerard’s gaze is intense.
‘Please.’ Frank pleads without a voice.
Gerard’s hand locks around Frank’s bruised knuckles tightly, and the pain shoots up Frank’s arm like a bolt of lightning. He lets out a whimper, and his body instinctively tries to back away despite the fact that he fucking asked for this. Gerard does not let go. “This shit?” He says, yanking at the hand and causing Frank to wince, “This is unacceptable, and you fucking know it.”
The look on Gerard’s face is scathing, and his words are dripping with venom. There’s an extra little kick to Frank’s heartbeat that has nothing to do with the pain in his hand. “What are you?” Gerard asks now, his voice low, dangerous. Frank looks at him trying to formulate an answer around the pain that’s yelling over his ability to speak, but it’s taking too long, apparently, so Gerard fists his other hand in Frank’s hair and pulls. The sharp sting against his scalp makes him yelp, and Frank is pulled forward into Gerard’s body again, but this time not for an embrace.
This time when Gerard pulls him in, crushing Frank’s hand in his larger one, it brings the two of them into direct eye contact. “I said, what are you?”
“Yours.” Frank gasps out, and is granted relief when Gerard releases the grip he has in Frank’s curls.
Gerard grabs him roughly by the back of the neck, though, and presses their foreheads together. It’s a position that would normally be tender, but right now it’s coupled with the motions and the weight of Gerard’s hand, and it is something so fucking vulnerable between the two of them. Frank is already emotionally wrecked, and Gerard knows that. Frank needs some sort of release, and Gerard knows that too. Frank loves him for that.
Still cuffing the back of Frank’s neck, Gerard gives him a little shake before he pulls their faces apart and lifts Frank’s injured hand between the two of them, looking at it angrily. “And what is this?”
“M-my hand–”
"My hand.” Gerard corrects him, and with that correction comes the sharp sting of a slap to Frank’s cheek. He gasps, the force of the strike fully turning his head. His eyes burn with the tears that flood them again suddenly, and he’s gasping as the adrenaline courses through him in a sudden wave.
When Frank finally looks up, a stray tear falls down his cheek. He watches Gerard’s eyes follow it, watches the way that the resolve almost cracks. Frank sees Gerard’s free hand twitch at his side, resisting the urge to wipe the streak from Frank’s face. The moment is gone within a second.
“You are mine. Your hand is mine. Your face,” Gerard snatches Frank by the jaw in one hand, squishing his cheeks together in something that, at any other time, might have been funny, but right now it’s painful and humiliating, and perfect. “Your stupid little fucking face? That’s mine too. You belong to me.”
Frank tries to nod, but he can’t move his head well enough to do so. He simply ends up mumbling out a soft repetition of “I belong to you…” that’s barely distinguishable as words.
“Don’t. Break. My. Shit.” Gerard says fiercely, grabbing Frank’s poor, abused hand and squeezing it harshly again. “Go to the room. Now.”
When Gerard releases his face, Frank takes a moment to try and regain his composure. Gerard is very good at switching himself on and off, but this is the fastest Frank’s ever seen it happen. He’d gone from 0-60 in no time, and Frank feels so much fucking love for this man. This man who knows exactly what he needs, and how to give it to him. This man who would move heaven and fucking earth just to make Frank feel better after a hard day.
Gerard gives him a warning look, and Frank ducks his head as he moves past his boyfriend out of the kitchen and down the hall. “I want your clothes off by the time I get in there,” He calls after him, but Frank doesn’t hear him follow right away, which means he doesn’t necessarily have to disrobe in a hurry. Frank decides he’s not going to tempt fate anyway.
He loses his shirt on the way to the bedroom, and is already getting out of his pants by the time he actually makes it to the bed. Frank lets his mind focus on the aching of his right hand and the sting that he’s still feeling in his left cheek. It was a hard slap, a good one that connected all the way across the cheek. Frank thinks there’s no possible way that he doesn’t have a handprint, and he hopes that maybe Gerard will take a picture as a little keepsake. Just so Frank can see when he’s not actively ‘in trouble’.
Once he’s got his clothes off, Frank stands there, a bit awkwardly. This is the point in the game where he has to weigh his choices. There are several options that he can come up with. He can lay down on his back with his dick exposed. He can lay on his stomach with his ass out. He can get up on his hands and knees and have his ass in the air, ready for whatever Gerard wants to dish out. He can also stay standing and lean over the bed. The fun part, though, is figuring out what he wants to do, doing that, and then finding out if he’s made the right decision.
Frank is, however, spared this difficult choice making process, when Gerard comes into the room. He’s carrying a long, slender, dark stained wooden box, and he’s not sparing Frank a single glance. Frank is both offended and elated, and therefore settles his face into a minor sort of pout, because that seems like a pretty happy middle ground.
“Wipe that stupid fucking look off of your face, Frank.” Gerard says sternly, and Frank schools his features immediately. Maybe not quite so happy of a middle ground after all.
Gerard sets the box on the bed and opens it, but Frank doesn’t fucking dare turn his head to look to see what’s inside. He stands there, hands at his sides, chewing at his lip until he hears something move as it's lifted from the wood. “I got you something.” Gerard tells him, but his voice is a bit softer this time.
Frank’s brows crease, and he wants to look, but he knows better, so he waits for Gerard to move into his field of vision to investigate. When he gets that chance, he’s pleased to see it’s a new flogger. They have a few to choose from, but Frank is always excited for new toys. This one, it seems, is a bit harder than their others. It’s still rope, but not the soft cotton he’s so used to seeing. The pieces are nylon, and thick, and they’re intermingled with straps of leather. It seems like it’ll be a good mix of things, and Frank is really admiring the thought that’s been put into the gift.
That’s when Gerard really moves it, though, and something bright catches Frank's eyes. A little flash of silver and bronze that he wouldn’t have even seen if the lamp at the nightstand hadn’t been on. Gerard intentionally runs the tendrils across the back of his hand and–
“Fuck.” Frank whispers the word with his heart suddenly in his throat.
In amongst the leather and rope, the bright metallic shine that he’d seen… Is the ball end of a guitar string. There are a ton of them, actually. He hadn’t seen the silver of the roundwound strings mixed with the royal blue rope and the black of the leather, but now he’s got a chance to look, and he can see them clear as day. Thick, and steel, and textured, and making Frank shiver at the thought of what is about to happen.
“What do you think?” Gerard asks, and when Frank looks up to meet his gaze, Frank finds him smiling. “It’s custom.” There’s a fondness in Gerard’s face that is reserved only for Frank, and he finds himself smiling a little as well.
“You didn’t have to–”
“I wanted to. Your birthday is next week anyway.” Gerard tells him, and now he moves a few steps forward so that their bodies are nearly touching. It’s then that his expression shifts again. “Besides, we both know I don’t do anything I don’t want to do.” He lifts the flogger and touches Frank’s cheek with it lightly.
Frank feels his eyes fall closed, and when he inhales, he can smell Gerard’s cologne flooding his senses. Gerard traces the line of Frank’s jaw, and Frank clenches his teeth together almost out of instinct. He can feel his heartbeat just beneath the skin of his neck, fluttering like a caged bird, waiting for him to open his mouth and release it on a breath.
When Gerard leans in, pressing his lips to Frank’s forehead, and whispers, “Turn around for me and put your hands on the bed, baby boy,” Frank does just that. He releases his pulse and a moan into the room and they both fly away into a memory as he turns, doing exactly as he’s told. He doesn’t have to be reminded to spread his legs, he does that automatically, and his hands are splayed out flat over the covers.
Gerard runs two fingers down Frank’s spine when he finally gets into the right position. Frank can feel goosebumps erupting all over his skin, and Gerard is humming a tune of approval under his breath. “What are you?” He asks for the third time this evening, his tone low and husky.
“Yours,” Frank responds without any hesitation this time.
He has absolutely no warning before Gerard cracks the flogger across Frank’s ass and it rips a yelp out of the younger man’s mouth before he can stop himself. “Oh, fuck!” Is all he can manage, his hands ball up quickly into tightly gripped fists, crushing the plush comforter between his fingers.
“Safeword.”
“Red,” Frank blurts out, already panting. “Red for stop, yellow if I need a second.” He swallows back another moan, and his toes curl in against the carpet. Oh shit.
“Don’t hesitate. This is new–”
“I won’t,” he starts, but Frank realizes interrupting his boyfriend was a mistake. He realizes this because Gerard lays another hard lashing against Frank’s skin, but this time it’s his back. The sting of the metal sends electricity racing through Frank’s body, singing in every nerve, and he mutters another curse to himself.
“Don’t you fucking dare, ” Gerard says, slashing the rope and leather and strings across Frank’s back again, near his shoulders this time, “Interrupt me.”
Frank simply nods his head over and over again, taking in ragged breaths. “I won’t,” He whispers out a promise to the bed sheets, “I’m sorry.”
Gerard takes a moment to sooth his hand over the angry skin on Frank’s ass cheek, “You’re goddamn right you are.” There’s 2 seconds of tender caressing before Gerard hits Frank again, 3 times in quick succession, and Frank can’t do anything but moan.
It’s not until Gerard catches him just a tad too far to the left that Frank’s moan turns into a sob. The tendrils wrap around Frank’s side, against his ribs, and he feels the unmistakable sensation of skin tearing open.
“Fuck!” He shouts, but Gerard doesn’t relent. Frank will have to thank him later.
There was a time in their relationship where Gerard would have stopped immediately, but they moved past that long ago. If Frank doesn’t tell him otherwise, it’s a green light, no matter what sort of noises or exclamations he’s giving.
The blows are harsh, and they tear a various mixture of sounds out of Frank’s mouth. He’s only vaguely aware that he’s got tears streaming down his face, and if he focuses for more than two seconds, he can feel that his back is wet beneath the lashings. He thinks it might be sweat at first, but Gerard lands one particularly weighted blow, and Frank feels his skin split again. In his haze, he must have blocked that bit out. He’s got to be bleeding from a myriad of tiny wounds across his back. Death by a thousand cuts, Frank’s brain uselessly supplies in a haze.
Before he even has a chance to speak, the blows stop, longer than before, and suddenly Gerard’s arms are around him. Apparently he’d lost his shirt somewhere, because Frank can feel the contact of their skin pressed together. The pain in his back flares from the sweat of the other man’s chest, and he squirms, fighting the urge to pull away. This is what he wants. Pain. Release. Something to make him not feel. Or rather, something to make him feel too much to actually think. This is doing quite the job.
“My sweet boy,” Gerard is whispering in his ear, and Frank moans, even just in response to the words. There is absolutely nothing compared to being praised after having the shit beat out of him. “You did so good, Frankie, you took it like a champ.”
Pressing a kiss to the back of Frank’s head, Gerard pulls away now, and Frank feels dizzy suddenly from the lack of warmth. He’s left to stand there in silence, the cuts and bruises on his back pulsing with every beat of his heart, and he isn’t completely sure why he’s standing in silence until Gerard reappears with a clean towel and starts laying it flat on the bed. When he finally has it situated, he pats the terrycloth, and Frank doesn’t need to be told before he is climbing (on very shaky legs) onto the bed and laying down.
“Good boy,” His boyfriend coos at him again, and Frank doesn’t even try to suppress the shiver that overtakes him. From the top of his head radiating all the way to his toes.
His head is swimming with the fuzzy edges of subspace, his brain and body trying to disconnect themselves in response to the pain. He’s high on his own adrenaline, a feeling he will never get used to, nor get sick of.
Gerard is climbing up onto the bed as well, and Frank realizes with sudden elation, that he is also naked. Frank has absolutely no idea when Gerard had lost all of his clothes, but he isn’t about to complain, because that means that things are about to get so much better.
“Legs,” Gerard says, tapping a light finger against one of Frank’s knees, and the smaller man lets his legs spread apart as wide as they can go. Gerard is grinning down at him and leans in to press a kiss to the same knee. And then he starts to move down.
Kisses are being left in a trail down the inside of his thigh, and Frank closes his eyes, fingers idly fidgeting with the edges of the towel. His breathing has picked up again, and he has to swallow against that same pulse in his throat (hadn’t he gotten rid of that earlier?). He lets out a long, low noise of pleasure when Gerard kisses the place where Frank’s thigh meets the rest of his body, wet and open mouthed. His legs are tense, and when Gerard starts sucking at his balls, Frank’s fidgety hands stop being idle and fist themselves into the towel. His knuckles are aching as he clenches the muscles, and his back is so insanely sensitive, and he can’t do anything but moan.
Gerard’s tongue is smooth and wet, and gone way too soon for Frank’s liking, until he feels his cheeks being spread. His breath hiccups and he gets out a weak, “Gee–” before Gerard is tonguing at his asshole, and Frank shifts his entire body to let the other man gain better access.
The way Gerard chuckles sends little puffs of air across Frank’s skin has Frank whimpering. On top of the physical pleasure, there’s the laughter, the notion that Gerard thinks his desperation is funny, and Frank wants to wallow in the degradation. It takes every ounce of willpower he can muster up not to tangle his fingers into the dark, messy strands of his boyfriend’s hair. He knows better, but the urge is almost too strong to resist. He wants to grab Gerard by the head and press his face inward. Instead, he opts for the thing he knows will get him exactly what he wants.
“Please,” Frank says in a mewling tone, “Baby, please…”
The noise that comes out of Gerard is low, close to a growl, and it takes no time at all before Frank feels Gerard’s tongue push past the ring of muscle and into his ass. Frank gasps, and he’s thankful for the fact that Gerard had thought to grab hold of his thighs beforehand, because otherwise, Frank wouldn’t be able to control himself, to keep his body still and not fuck himself on Gerard’s tongue. Granted, he wouldn’t have to anyway. Gerard has taken to pushing his tongue in and out of Frank’s ass, and Frank is almost positive that his heart is going to give out at any fucking second.
Gerard keeps at it like this for a few minutes and Frank is both horrifically disappointed and somehow relieved when Gerard removes his face, wiping at the spit that’s dripping off of his chin. The loss of contact is what brings on Frank's disappointment, but the fact that he can finally unclench his hands brings relief.
Frank is so hard it’s painful, and his dick throbbing is just another sensation that is exacerbated by his traitorous, racing heart. His entire body is on fire, his pulse sending blood flowing to all the right and wrong places. He feels every single opening on his back, the way they feel warm with the rhythmic waves running over his body. He can feel the same steady metronome of circulation in his injured hand, and now, every fucking breath sends blood coursing through his veins and it makes his cock jump.
He’s completely unaware that he’s whining until Gerard leans in and presses a gentle kiss to Frank’s hip bone. “Easy, sweetheart, I’m right here. I’m not done with you yet, I promise.” Gerard is saying, and Frank is probably making the same stupid noises again, but he can’t hear himself. He’s too busy focusing on his boyfriend, and his words. Even if he can’t hear all of them. Certain things stick out, though. “You did great,” and “my sweet baby boy,” and “so strong,” and “I’m so proud of you.”
As tears build up in his eyes, Frank can do nothing more than simply pray that Gerard doesn’t pick this moment to look up at him. Frank can feel them slipping out of the corners of his eyes, sliding down his temples where they disappear in his hair. He takes in a shuddering breath and curses himself for the way that it is very fucking obvious in its portrayal of emotion.
Gerard does, in fact, glance up at the sound of the (in all painful honesty) gasp, and his face becomes a mask of worry. “Baby, Frankie, oh my god.” He closes Frank’s legs and shifts so that he can crawl up next to the smaller man. Frank sniffles, still irritated with his own body for the way it is fucking ruining everything. “Sweet boy, what’s wrong?” Gerard asks, cupping Frank’s face in his hands, wiping at the tears anxiously.
“Nothing,” Frank mumbles, his voice tight. “S’stupid.” He says, chewing at his lip before casting his gaze in the exact opposite direction from where Gerard is sitting.
“Was it too much? Did I go too hard? I got too enthusiastic, shit, I am so fucking sorry, Frank. Baby, I didn’t mean to–”
Despite the earlier warnings, Frank cuts the flow of words with a soft “sh” noise, and reaches up a hand -that is trembling from adrenaline, apparently- to touch Gerard’s cheek. “I’m f-fine.” Again, he curses himself and his stupid body that decided it needed some sort of stupid whimpering breath at the exact moment he was attempting to speak. “M’okay.” He tries again, relieved when he finds his voice to be at least a little bit steadier than seconds ago when he’d tried out his first pathetic excuse for a sentence. “It’s good.”
He watches Gerard’s face work through a few different emotions -some of them more than once- in rotation. Eventually, the other man’s face settles on some sort of confusion, and it leaves Frank having to elaborate, which he absolutely does not want to do, but he will because it’s Gerard, and if Frank doesn’t fill in the gaps to the questions for him, he’ll spiral out of control with worry and guilt.
“You were just… You were being sweet,” Frank says, letting his hand fall away from Gerard’s face and down onto his own tattooed chest. “I… I don’t guess I realized how much I needed to be told that I didn’t fuck something up today.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong. I can take it easy on you, I didn’t mean to–”
Frank cuts him off again, but this time it’s by grabbing the back of Gerard’s neck and pulling him down for a kiss. That, apparently, is enough to let Gerard know that he should shut up. Frank loves it when he figures that out on his own. After being together for years, they’ve gotten really good at this non-verbal communication thing, and Frank gets this stupid warm, fuzzy feeling every time he’s reminded of that.
They slide into a lazy make-out session, all tongue, and spit, and Gerard has to pull himself away with a drawn out groan so that he can fumble around in the top drawer of his nightstand for a bottle of lube and a condom. Frank’s heart skips, and his stomach does an excited little flip as Gerard coats his fingers generously before he sets the bottle back down (lid firmly closed, because they don’t want another mishap involving an entire fucking bottle seeping into the carpet again).
“Still want it rough?” Gerard asks for clarification, and Frank gives him an enthusiastic nod, several times over. “Good. Flip over, I want your ass in the air. Show me how much of a slut you are for me.” Again, the sudden change in demeanor and tone is enough to send Frank’s mind absolutely reeling.
It takes a bit of effort for Frank to sit up, the towel sticking to a few of the still open cuts on his back, but he manages, and gingerly turns to be on his hands and knees. The second his back is exposed, Gerard runs a gentle hand over it and Frank hisses out a breath. Once again his hands are clutching at the towel beneath him. “Shit...”
Gerard is quiet for a moment, his hands running gingerly across Frank’s skin. His fingertips trace over -what Frank can only assume are- the tiny wounds littering his back. “You’re still bleeding a bit on some of these,” He says, and there is something that sounds a bit like awe in his voice, and maybe something a little darker. A lot darker. “Would you mind–” The way Gerard clears his throat gives Frank a very distinct, very familiar, visual of the man shaking his head, eyes closed, trying to re-focus himself. “Tell me if I need to stop.” Is what he finally decides on, and Frank isn’t entirely sure what that means until he feels the increasingly familiar sting across his back.
Several wounds feel as though they’ve split back open, Frank jolts forward, rocking a bit on his knees before he leans down, shifting his weight from his hands to his elbows and pressing his face firmly into the pillow in front of him. Gerard doesn’t stop him, only whips his back again, three times, quickly in a row, and then again, and again, and again, until Frank isn’t sure he can take anymore.
In the same manner as before, just as Frank is pulling up for air, to be able to speak, he hears the flogger hit the mattress next to him, and Gerard runs a gentle finger down his spine. This man knows him, inside and out, both physically and mentally.
Frank lets out a low, feeble sort of moan, and he’s fully aware that it sounds like he’s crying. Because he very much is. “Oh my god…” He whimpers, and the mere effort of speaking tears a sob that comes from deep in his chest. “Fuck…”
“I know, baby, I’m done,” Gerard coos at him, rubbing a hand gently across Frank’s ass. “We’re all done with that, okay? No more.” He runs the fingers of his opposite hand between Frank’s cheeks, his hand is still slick with lube, and Frank moans again, because he can’t do anything else. All he’s capable of at this point is moaning, and nodding, and crying.
As Gerard sticks in two fingers, adjusting until he brushes Frank’s prostate first try, it would seem that he’s completely forgotten about his own earlier question. The words, ‘do you still want it rough?’ are clearly not on his mind anymore. Gerard is holding gently to Frank’s waist, lightly caressing that sweet spot over and over again, and he’s whispering all of these things that are most certainly not making it any easier to stop the flow of tears.
“You’re so good, Frankie, so fucking good. So strong,” Gerard is mumbling, adding a third finger, and giving a satisfied sort of hum when Frank moans about that too. “There you go, angel, just like that, you’re doing great. I’m gonna make up for all of it, okay? I’m gonna make you feel amazing.” And then his fingers are gone and Frank very much wants to say ‘I already feel good’ or ‘Where did you go?’, but he hears the tearing of foil, and then Gerard’s cock is sliding into him, wet enough with lube that Frank can feel it dripping down his thigh.
Frank doesn’t get a chance to find words, the only thing his voice is good for is a groan that comes from the very tips of his toes, up to his throat and out of his mouth in a long “Aaaaaaaah…”
Gerard is moaning now as well, starting to rock his hips in and out, setting a pace that is gentle and lazy. It’s almost slow enough that it feels like it’s not enough, but Frank is fully aware that for the moment, this is about as much as he can take. Besides, that hardly matters at all, given that Gerard is riding his prostate with every fucking stroke, and nothing ever matters when he gets into that groove of things.
Frank shifts his knees, spreading himself wider, and Gerard rubs his hand gently against the back of Frank’s thigh. “Good boy,” he all but whispers, picking up pace now, just by a little. “You did so fucking well, I really am so proud of you. So proud”
That same sort of whimpering moan comes out of Frank’s mouth, and Gerard makes little shushing noises to sooth him. The pain in his back is starting to fade now, with his boyfriend brushing that sweet little bundle of nerves, and telling him all of these beautiful things. The high he’s been riding is, if possible, even higher, and his eyes roll into the back of his fucking head. “More?” He grunts out, leaning back so that he’s meeting Gerard’s hips with every thrust, an action that would normally get him reprimanded.
“Of course, sweetheart, whatever you want,” Is the only verbal response he gets, and he feels Gerard shift his legs as well, changing the angle now so that he can increase the speed, and even add a little more depth. “Fuck you feel fucking incredible,” Gerard moans, hands tight on Frank’s hips. The grip is hard enough that Frank is pretty confident that he’s going to have some finger shaped bruises, and even just that thought, that mental image, has him moaning louder.
Every single stroke is building tension, now, and Frank is so caught up in the moment, that he doesn’t even really notice that he’s about to come undone until he’d right on the fucking edge. There’s a moment of excited panic as he rushes the words, “Fuck! So sorry! M’gonna cum!”
“I know,” Gerard tells him through a long moan, “I know, baby it’s okay,” Of course he knows, he’s Gerard. “You can cum, Frankie, it’s alright,” and with those words, Gerard leans forward. It might have been painful, the sting of sweat against his skin, but none of that actually registers, because Gerard reaches around his body to grab Frank’s cock and he barely gives it one stroke before Frank is cumming all over his fist and the towel beneath the two of them.
The release is everything. Frank’s entire body tenses as he blows his load, all while Gerard is still railing him, and he’s in absolute ecstasy. It is everything that he wanted, which isn’t a surprise at all, Gerard always gives him everything he wants, but god if it’s not greatly appreciated. “Oh shit, oh fuck, oh my fucking god, Gee…”
“That’s it, angel, that’s my sweet boy, my baby. Good job– fuck…” The praises Gerard was singing were cut short by a long moan, and Frank answers him with a moan of his own.
“Please…” Frank pleads, grinding his hips backwards again, “I want to make you cum, I want–” he lets out a long, drawn out whine, because Gerard pulls out of him suddenly, and flips him over. Something in the back of Frank’s mind curses him because, while he’s grateful that he hasn’t been made to lay on his injured back on a towel sprayed with jizz, now there’s going to be blood on the comforter. Said towel is picked up, though, and Gerard uses it to wipe his hand off quickly before he crawls over to Frank, straddling his chest as he pulls the condom off and tosses it into their waste basket, and -god fucking help him-, he slaps Frank’s cheek with his cock.
“Open up and suck it for me, little one.”
There is no hesitation. Frank opens his mouth immediately so Gerard can push his dick past the younger man’s lips. He starts sucking at the head instantly, until Gerard has pushed further in, and he doesn’t have the opportunity anymore. Gerard’s cock is thick, and heavy, and it still has the lingering taste of lube on it along with the salty, bitter taste of pre-cum. Frank mumbles a quiet “thank you”, around the shaft. Gerard groans again, placing a hand on the back of Frank’s head.
“Love it when you talk with your mouth full of me, sunshine,” Gerard moans at him. His hand is gentle when he starts to push Frank down on his dick, and Frank doesn’t resist at all, letting himself be guided. He lifts his hands up, holding his boyfriend’s waist, and pulls his hips forwards, an indication of what Frank really wants.
Gerard, naturally, picks up on the silent request, and starts to thrust forward. Instead of guiding Frank’s head now, he’s holding it still. “You’re so fucking good,” He says, his head tipping back as he lets out a series of moans and curses into the air, “Shit, Frankie, you’re mo-oooouth…” The drawn out word is a direct correlation to Frank wiggling his tongue along the bottom side of Gerard’s cock, massaging the long vein from base to tip. “Christ…”
Every thrust into his mouth has Frank moaning, and every sound has Gerard moaning, and chuckling lowly in his throat, saying beautiful things about Frank being “a greedy little cock slut” and “you’re fucking loving this, aren’t you?” And he is absolutely fucking right. “My own personal fleshlight,” is a title that Frank will wear with the utmost fucking pride.
When Frank tries to pull back for a breath, Gerard thrusts harder, hitting the back of Frank’s throat and he gags, but his head is held where it is until his fingers tap helplessly at the other man’s hip. Gerard lets him pull back now, gasping for breath with tears streaming down his cheeks anew.
“Look how pretty you are…” Gerard tells him, running lazy fingers through Frank’s curls. “Gagging, and crying, and so fucking desperate. Like getting your ass beat wasn’t enough for you,” he chuckles.
“S’not.” Frank manages out, spit dripping from his chin. “Not enough.”
One eyebrow lifts, and Gerard’s gaze goes cold, dangerous. “Not enough, huh?” He asks, those lazy fingers suddenly fisting roughly into Frank’s hair. “I slap the shit out of you, I buy you a new toy, I beat the fuck out of you, eat your ass, fuck you,” he yanks back hard enough that Frank cries out again now, hands scrabbling to his scalp to ease the pain, “Give you my fucking cock, and that’s not enough for you?”
Frank is panting, more tears spilling down his cheeks, and he’s trying to speak, he really is, but his voice isn’t cooperating, and his throat is bent at such an odd angle. All he’s doing now is crying, and letting out little hiccupping moans along with these strangled sort of sobs.
“I should just leave you here. Get myself off and let you lay in your own cum.” He won’t. “You ungrateful little bitch.” Gerard lets go of his hair, shoving his head back onto the bed, but he doesn’t move. He’s still straddling Frank’s chest, and he gives him an appraising sort of gaze for a few moments before he fists his own cock, and starts jacking himself off.
Frank lets his mouth fall open immediately, but Gerard’s free hand comes down to cup his jaw, lightly at first, and then slams it shut, hard enough Frank can feel his teeth clack together. “Not the face. Not today. Not after that.”
Frank wants to fucking scream, but he knows it won’t do him a damn bit of good, so his only response is to whine loudly. This earns him another stern look, but Gerard doesn’t stop his hand, stroking so slowly at his cock that Frank is absolutely sure that it has to be torture. Then again, Gerard has never had a problem taking his time. He likes it slow, steady, lazy, and languid. Frank is the one that is all speed, and power.
“You could have had it in your mouth, Frankie,” Gerard says, and his tone is so steady, you’d think they were sitting at the dinner table having a normal, polite conversation. Not sitting here in their bed, stroking his own cock after he’s absolutely brutalized his boyfriend (by said boyfriend’s own request). “I was gonna fuck your mouth until I came, and then I was gonna paint your face with it and let you swallow it. That’s your favorite, isn’t it?”
Frank gives a nod and he hopes that the look on his face portrays nothing short of ‘pity me, I’m a bad boy, but I’ll make it up to you’.
“Oh, my poor baby.” Gerard croons at him, mocking. “Could have had everything you wanted, but you decided you didn’t want to be grateful for what you had–”
“I am.” Frank gasps out, having to push against his boyfriend’s hand with his chin to be able to speak. “I am grateful, n’ I’m sorry.” He rushes out, fumbling over his words at the look he’s on the other side of. “So sorry…” he breathes.
“Are you?” Gerard asks, releasing the smaller man’s face, but never missing a single stroke of his own cock. “Are you really, sorry, Frankie? Because first, you nearly broke my hand,” he gestures lightly to Frank's injured appendage, “And then you came without asking. And now, you’re interrupting me. Again.”
Frank opens his mouth once more to respond, but the back of Gerard’s hand collides with his face for the second time today with a smack that echoes through the room. A whine grows in the back of Frank’s throat as he holds his own hands over his throbbing cheek. The way that his heartbeat makes the abused flesh throb also makes him aware that he’s hard again. “Fuck…” he whispers, and Gerard grins wickedly at him.
“So tell me, little thing, are you really sorry?”
Frank nods, his eyes wide, his cock pulsing above his stomach.
“Are you done being a brat?”
It takes a surprising amount of effort to bite back a snappish, whiny ‘I wasn’t trying to be a brat!’, but he manages, and instead Frank just nods again and mumbles a dejected, “Yes, sir.”
“Good boy.” Gerard rewards him, and Frank goes to open his mouth again, but that is clearly not what his lover has in mind.
No, Gerard has now reached back to the nightstand again, and he grabs the bottle of lube, and another condom. He hasn’t moved, though, not yet. Which makes no sense to Frank’s brain in its current state. He can’t fuck Frank if Frank cannot spread his legs. Biology and all of that.
However, none of that has any relevance, because now he’s got his hand reached behind his body to stroke Frank’s cock, and Frank gives out a groan for multiple reasons.
Reason 1: It feels amazing. The wet slide of Gerard’s hand is warm, and the circle of his fingers is perfect.
Reason 2: He knows what this means.
“Gee–”
“You’re going to fuck me until I cum.” Gerard says flatly, releasing Frank’s dick so that he can finger himself open. The noises he’s making are like fucking music, but that certainly doesn’t stop Frank’s protests.
“But I don’t want–”
“I don’t give a fuck what you want, Frank.” His tone is firm, and even though he lets out a rather whorish moan, he fixes his boyfriend with a steely gaze that leaves no room for argument. “You’re going to fuck me because I want you to. And if you do a good job, I’ll take you to the shower to rinse off, and then I'll blow you, and let you cum again.”
Now Frank wants to be a brat. He wants to kick his feet, and pout, and whine, and tell Gerard about how much he does not want to be the one doing the fucking, but he knows there isn’t any point. (And he would absolutely be lying if he said that having Gerard riding his dick right now wouldn’t feel like its own little version of heaven.) So he simply puffs out a haughty breath of air, but adjusts himself accordingly when Gerard finally removes his fingers and rips the condom packet open with his teeth to roll it down the length of Frank’s dick before pouring more lube onto his hand to sweeten the deal. He strokes Frank slowly again, just for good measure. And because he’s fucking evil.
“Don’t you dare,” Gerard starts, lining himself up and starting to sink down onto Frank’s cock, “Fucking cum before I do, understand?”
Frank understands absolutely fucking nothing, because it’s been a while since the roles were reversed, and the inside of his boyfriend’s ass is hot, and tight, and they’ve got half a bottle of lube involved, and his eyes are in the back of his head, and it feels so fucking good and–
Gerard’s hand snatches Frank’s face, pushing his cheeks together painfully the same way he’d done in the kitchen earlier. He’s stopped his progress, and he’s staring at Frank with that same cold expression he’s been using on and off all night. “Do you understand?”
All Frank can do is give a feeble nod.
“Tell me.”
“I understand,” Frank rasps.
“You understand, what?” Gerard asks, enunciating the T hard enough that it nearly makes Frank flinch.
“I- I don’t cum before you.”
“Or…?”
“O-or I–” He starts, but then realizes that they haven’t even set up a full punishment for this imagined scenario, and that is… A lot more arousing than it should be. “I… I don’t know.”
“Or I light your ass up again.” With that, Gerard lets his hips slam all the way down until they meet Frank’s and both of them let twin cries that weave themselves together in an astounding harmony. “Jesus, Frank…”
The smaller man bends his knees slightly, planting his feet, and gives a thrust upwards. Small at first, experimental, but when Gerard doesn’t scold him, he starts a rhythm, and loath as he is to admit it, it feels damn fucking good. But he knew it would, and so did Gerard. The best part about a relationship like theirs, is that every punishment is its own reward in a way. No one loses.
Well, maybe Frank loses, because he doesn’t get exactly what he wants, but he always gets something he enjoys. Which will, unfortunately, be the case tonight, because this tight heat has him coming apart at the seams again already. (It is not at all unfortunate, because as much as Frank wants a good blow job, what he asked for initially, was for Gerard to be mad at him. He is getting that in spades.)
“Baby–”
Gerard leans down, one hand on his cock and, suddenly, the other on Frank’s throat. “Don’t.” He tells Frank, but they both know that’s a cold blooded move. There’s no way he’s going to last. Not now that Gerard has taken up the pace, fucking himself on Frank’s dick, and holding his thumb in just the right spot over his jugular so that it’s making Frank’s head spin.
“Don’t do it, Frankie,” He warns, stroking himself lazily, “Me first.”
Frank’s vision is darkening around the edges, and he barely manages out a quiet, “I can’t–” before Gerard releases his thumb so that the blood flow rushes back to Frank’s head all at once, and that’s all it takes. He cums again before he can even utter a warning, or apology, his body convulsing with the force of the orgasm, and he’s only vaguely aware of the disappointed tutting above him (the noise being made despite the fact that Gerard is still actively jacking himself off, and riding Frank through his orgasm. Because he is, what? Evil.)
With limbs shaking, Frank chances a look upwards, and his heart lurches at the gaze he’s being fixed with. “What did I say?” Gerard asks, voice tinged with faux irritation.
“Don’t– Don’t cum before you do…” Frank whispers out, swallowing against his own pulse as it tries to choke him.
Gerard nods solemnly, all still as he’s working himself on Frank’s cock, which is quickly becoming almost painfully over sensitized. “And what did you do?”
“Came before you did.”
“Mmm…” Gerard stills his hips, now, but doesn’t stop the motion of his hand. In fact, he speeds up, tipping his head back. “So now, instead of doing what I wanted to do, I have to finish myself off, and deal with your bratty little ass.” He tells the ceiling, and Frank can do nothing but whimper as he feels the other man’s body clench around his dick. “I’m– ah– I’m going to have to cum on your chest, and then open your back up again because you can’t– fuck– you can’t follow simple instructions.” His head snaps back down and fixes Frank with a glare. “You owe me.”
Frank nods furiously, fisting his hands into the sheets, because he is fairly certain he is not allowed to touch right now. “Anything,” he breathes, and Gerard rolls his eyes.
“Talk to me.”
The smaller man fights off the urge from earlier, the one to snap back ‘I don’t want to’, because he’s already in deep enough shit. Instead he closes his eyes, and opens his mouth, only to have his face grabbed again. “Look at me.” His lover tells him, and Frank opens his eyes to look up at him, feeling his cheeks burn with the blood rushing to them. “Look at me, and tell me all of the dirty little things you want me to do to you so I can cum, since you took all of my fun away.” Gerard says, voice entirely too casual for the situation.
“I–” Frank hesitates, but presses forward when Gerard’s hand tightens against his cheeks, “I w-wish I didn’t fuck up so you could cum in my mouth.” He starts, and Gerard gives a ‘sympathetic’ nod, which is really just a normal nod, but he’s wearing a mocking pout.
“Me too, baby boy, me too.” He says, releasing Frank’s face to smooth a hand over his hair. “Keep going.”
Frank licks his lips, his mouth suddenly dry, because fuck having to say these things when they’re not actively in the throws of it all never fails to make him squirm, but damn if he’s not going to do his goddamn job anyway. “I like the way… I love how I could feel my back bleeding, and the way your hand was slick with blood when you touched me.”
That is clearly the right thing to say, because Gerard breaks eye contact to lean his head back again. Frank watches his adam's apple bob as he swallows, his lips parting to let out a moan. “Go on, angel, that’s it…” He murmurs, pre-cum leaking from the slit of his cock as his hand gains more momentum.
“I want you to make me bleed more and–” By some goddamn miracle, Frank can feel his own dick throb back to life inside his partner, and they both give out a low moan, “Lick it off of me. Kiss me with my blood in your mouth so I can taste it, and–”
“Shit!” Gerard’s hand balls into a fist in Frank’s hair and then he’s cumming in hot bursts on Frank’s chest. “Oh, fuck, Frank, goddammit that’s so– Ah!”
There’s no chance for response, because another moan is taking over Frank’s throat as Gerard’s body clenches tightly around his cock. Not to mention the fact that while Gerard’s eyes are closed, he takes the chance to open up his mouth, catching a rope of cum on his tongue, and he moans about that as well.
“Please–” Frank starts, making sure to catch Gerard’s eyes as he finally opens them. “Baby please…”
With a nod, Gerard pulls off, and tosses Frank’s condom into the trash as well. He doesn’t even bother to clean him up with the towel, though, just snatches the smaller man up by the hair again and hauls him off the bed. “Bathroom. Now.”
Frank scrambles to follow instructions, amazed at his legs' ability to hold him upright as he walks. He sees Gerard grab their new flogger up off of the bed before they leave the room.
“In the tub. Put your hands on the wall, but make sure you keep your legs together.” He instructs Frank, who moves as quickly as he possibly can. “You tell me,” Gerard says, grabbing Frank by the arm and turning his whole body so they can lock eyes again. His gaze is intense, but it holds more of that gentle, concerned expression that Frank is used to this time, “If you need me to stop, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Promise.” Gerard demands, and he releases Frank’s arm, only to hold up his hand with the pinky raised.
Frank smiles warmly as adoration swells in his chest. He locks his own pinky around Gerard’s, and then reaches forward to kiss his own fist, “Promise.”
Gerard repeats the gesture on his end, and then nods. “Go.” He says, and Frank catches him rolling out his shoulders as he gets into the previously instructed position. “Ready?” He asks, and Frank squares his own shoulders before nodding.
“Ready.”
It takes 1 strike to feel at least two of the small cuts open themselves again. It takes 3 strikes for new wounds to crop up. It takes 5 strikes before the tears start again. And Frank makes it to 7 before his legs start shaking.
It’s not until 10, though, that he hears the flogger drop on the counter across from the tub, and then Gerard is in the tub with him, licking a hot stripe up Frank’s spine, eliciting yelp of a moan from the smaller man. Then Gerard turns him around, and they’re kissing so fiercely, Frank can barely breathe. Teeth clash, and Frank tastes blood, but he thinks it might actually be Gerard’s lip, and not the blood on the other man’s tongue, but that doesn’t fucking matter.
Nothing in the entire world fucking matters except for the way that Gerard is kissing him like he needs Frank to keep him alive, to keep him tethered to the earth, and it’s so fucking true, and so relatable, because if Gerard stops kissing him, Frank might just fucking die. And so they stand there like that, kissing, and moaning, and clinging to one another, for ages, until the frantic desperation of it all starts to wash away.
It shifts from something frenzied, slowly, at first, but eventually it lands on slow, and languid, and so full of love that Frank really is crying again. Not just tears, either. He realizes he’s sobbing, after a bit, and Gerard finally does stop kissing him, in favor of pulling Frank in against his chest, kissing the top of his head, and his temples.
“Easy, baby… Hush, now… I’ve got you.” He whispers, rocking the two of them slowly. “M’right here, okay? Always right here. No matter what.”
All Frank can do is nod, and cry, and hold on to Gerard desperately as the other man reaches behind himself to turn the shower on. “This is going to hurt some more, Frankie, alright? You ready?”
He’s not, but Gerard is holding him, so he’ll make do.
The warm water draws more cries from Frank’s throat, and Gerard whispers tiny reassurances to him the entire time.
“You were amazing.”
“I’ve never seen you take a beating so well.”
“My sweet boy. My good boy.”
“You’re beautiful.”
“You’re perfect.”
“I love you.”
Frank lets Gerard clean him up, hardly able to do anything himself. He lets him drop to his knees and suck Frank off until he’s able to cum again (which feels like it takes a million years because his whole body is spent). He allows Gerard to drape a clean towel around his shoulders as gently as he can, then pick him up to carry him back to the bedroom.
Gerard gently dries him off, and hands him a pair of boxers and a clean shirt to pull on while he cleans off the bed, and turns the covers back, ushering Frank up onto the mattress.
“Come here, angel, let me hold you.” He whispers soothingly, and Frank cannot think of a single other fucking thing he would rather do right now, than to lay in Gerard’s arms. “You did so fucking good, baby…” He whispers into Frank’s hair once they’re settled. Gerard is on his back, with an arm wrapped around Frank’s shoulders, while the smaller man has an arm and a leg draped over Gerard’s torso and waist. They tangle their limbs together, and Gerard hums under his breath as he brushes his fingers lightly through the wet little curls that are developing at Frank’s temples, and hairline. Gerard tucks his own little stuffed bat into Frank's arms and kisses his forehead.
“Do you feel better?” Gerard asks after they’ve sat through the older man humming the entirety of You Are My Sunshine, and Frank lets out a little sniffle before he nods.
“Thank you…” Frank says, but it’s really barely more than a breath. Not that it needs to be said anyway. Gerard won’t accept it, he never does.
“Don’t thank me,” He replies, and Frank grins to himself because he loves it when he’s right. “I just want to give you what you need,” He says gently, letting the backs of his fingers run gently down the side of Frank’s face now. “I’m always going to be here to give you what you need. You know that, right?”
Frank nods again, letting out a long, shuddering breath.
“I love you more than anything in the world, Frank Iero. More than anything.”
“I love you too, Gee. More than all the stars in the sky.”
“More than the sand on the beach.”
“More than water in the sea.”
“More than those little chocolate cupcakes.” Gerard says, and Frank can hear the smile in his voice.
“More than pizza.” Frank tells him seriously.
“Oh, that’s quite a lot, isn’t it?” The larger man says with a chuckle, kisses Frank’s forehead lightly. “Damn… More than pizza? Really?”
Frank nods several times, turning his face up so that their gazes meet. “More than pizza,” he confirms.
So maybe it's been A Day, or A Week, or A Month. But who the fuck cares? When he’s laying here like this, with this man who loves him more than those little chocolate cupcakes? All of it pales in comparison.
This is Everything. Capital E.