(no subject)
Title: It's All Over My Face
Part I Here
Part II
Frank's shit-in-gear plan gets off to a great start the next morning, when he sets his alarm early to make pancakes. Or, okay, empty a box of Aunt Jemima mix into a bowl, add water, and pour blobs of batter into their lone frying pan.
Frank's standing there in boxers and a hoodie (he was going to try being shirtless to distract Mikey with his totally hot body, but it's December and it's fucking cold, so Mikey'll just have to get the backs of his beautifully-sculpted legs), rolling an unlit cigarette back and forth in his mouth, when he hears Mikey's bedroom door open and then the front door unlatch right after.
"Mikey-" he spins around and starts, but Mikey's already halfway out the front door.
His head appears, eyes kind of all over the place. His hair has that look like he hasn't even seen a mirror yet, and he's already leaving the house. "Yeah?"
"Pancakes?" Frank tries to smile very casually as he says this, but he may still have a bit of morning wood going on, he hasn't looked down and it would probably be pretty sketchy to do it while Mikey's standing right there.
"Um, parents. I should... visit them, haven't gone over in a while," Mikey says vaguely. "Sorry?"
"Sure?" Frank's cigarette flops neatly out of his downturned mouth and onto the linoleum floor just as the door swings shut. Well shit.
.
Frank may be totally hopeless about how to get Mikey Way to put out, but he resolves not to be a fucking emo kid about it and eats every last pancake himself before spending the morning answering e-mails and playing some Excitebike on his NES. He has lunch with Shaun and Hambone at a diner, sits like a creeper on a bench at the park and watches other people's dogs play, and doesn't let himself go home until dinnertime.
Mikey isn't there.
Frank's cheeks sting from the cold and he can't feel his fingers when he gets into the apartment so he thinks fuck this noise and pours himself a bath. He goes the whole nine yards, even lighting a stick of incense (they bought it mostly for when parents visit and they've only got a five-minute warning to clear out the smell of weed) and plugging the stereo in just outside the door, popping in a mix CD he made a few summers back.
When Frank's done washing his hair and scrubbing at his 'pits with a bar of soap, he lies there a little bit, warm and happy, while Jello Biafra sings Pol Pot Pol Pot Pol Pot Pol Pot! at him through the door in his weird, beautiful, Biafra way. Frank lets his fingers float in the warm water and wiggles them in time to the guitar while the thinks about Mikey.
Frank's never been into a dude before, not in a way where he thinks about sinking his teeth into the wide muscles of his shoulders, or fisting a hand in his stupid tangled hair. Frank's been with a fair number of girls; he definitely likes ones who can hold their own, and he's got a spank bank full of memories of those ones to last a lifetime. But Frank's never even kissed another guy, or touched another dick before.
He wonders how weird it would be and skims the palm of his hand over the head of his own dick, bobbing slightly in the ripple of the water. Frank tries to pretend that it's not his dick he's touching, making a circle with his thumb and forefinger and jacking himself idly with a showy sort of twist at the head. It feels good, and Frank imagines that he's feeling some other dude's cock swell and fill out under his palm while he closes his eyes and sucks his lip ring into his mouth to worry at it with his teeth.
It surprises Frank to realize that despite all the touring and living in close quarters for the past few years, he's never seen Mikey's dick. Frank hums, echoing tinny off the bathroom tiles, while he pulls at his own. It's not always true, but usually bigger dudes have bigger dicks. Frank doesn't know if that's something he's into or not.
Frank blushes when he pushes two fingers into his own mouth, keeps his eyes closed, but thinks what the fuck ever, no one's watching, and stuffs as many fingers in there as he can, trying to imagine what it'd feel like to suck a dude off. It's awkward and his fingers don't taste like much of anything, but Frank starts to pump his cock a little faster. It's kind of hot in a weird sort of way, drooling all over himself, and Frank gasps when his fingers slip a bit farther back and he nearly gags, dick twitching in his hand.
"Ah, fuck," he moans loudly around his knuckles just to hear it, rolling the back of his head from side to side along the rim of the tub, and the splashing noise as he speeds up his hand on his cock would be kind of ridiculous if Black Flag wasn't blasting from the stereo at the same time. Frank thinks about Mikey's blue corduroy pants, the ones that always ride too low, and imagines just slipping them down and off and getting his hand inside. Or-fuck, Frank feels his balls draw up, toes curling in the water-Mikey pushing Frank down onto the floor, grinning his stupid grin while he wraps long fingers around Frank's dick and jacks him off, tight and fast.
It's a total stroke of luck that when Frank comes, it's into the cupped palm of his hand (a reflex, considering he usually rubs one out when he's in bed), because gloppy bits of jizz floating around the bathwater would be a bitch to clean up. Frank swallows thickly as he comes down from it, chest rising and falling in the steamy air of the bathroom, licking his lips and fighting to keep his eyes open when it feels like his entire body's leaked out of his cock.
Frank leans over the edge of the tub to wipe his hand off on the towel hanging by the sink, making a mental note to stick it in the laundry later, before smiling happily and sinking back down into the water.
Frank's eaten some leftover chow mein for dinner and is on the phone with his mom when he hears the front door open. He doesn't get up, tries to play it cool. It's only when Mikey's finished clattering around in the kitchen and Frank hears him swing the bathroom door shut and turn the shower on, that he realizes his spunk is all over Mikey's towel and he totally forgot to take it out of the bathroom.
"Shit! Mom, I gotta go." Frank laughs at himself-seriously, this is his life-and agrees to spend Christmas at home before hanging up and tossing the phone into the mess of blankets on his bed.
"Frank?" Mikey's voice is kind of lost behind the sound of the spray hitting the tub, but he must have heard the door open or felt the rush of cold air when Frank came into the bathroom.
"Yeah, hi!" Frank thanks the landlords that be for giving them a shower curtain that isn't see-through, as he stealthily slips Mikey's towel off the hanger and replaces it with one Frank had grabbed from Mikey's closet. "Sorry, I just had to-um." Frank spins around in place aimlessly and then stops, facing the toilet. "Take a piss! I couldn't hold it. Y'know."
"You gotta stop mainlining those venti lattes," Mikey says from the other side of the curtain, but he doesn't sound too concerned.
Frank's zipping up when he notices Mikey's clothes in a pile on the floor. He pauses. Frank's pancake plan didn't work out, but he's just had another brilliant idea about how to help Mikey Way get over himself and look Frank in the eye again.
"Yeah, those fucking lattes," Frank says loudly as he shucks his t-shirt and steps out of his pants as quietly as he can. "Later!" Frank has to bite his lip to stop from laughing as he scoops up Mikey's clothes, leaving his own in a pile on the floor, and slams the bathroom door closed behind himself.
When Mikey steps out of the bathroom, Frank is sprawled out in one of the lawn chairs in the kitchen, wearing Mikey's stupid bell-bottomed jeans and baseball t-shirt. "'Sup," Frank says, not lifting his eyes from the issue of AP in his lap as he flips the page. He has to fight to keep his lips from quirking up, though, when he sees Mikey move into his peripheral vision and gets a glimpse of knobbly ankles sticking out beneath too-short pants. Frank starts laughing.
"What the fuck?" Mikey's glasses are sort of foggy and his eyebrows are draw together. He looks kind of put out. Frank's t-shirt is pretty short on him, and Mikey's got one hand fisted in the waist of Frank's baggy cargo pants, presumably to hold them up. Frank didn't actually expect Mikey to put the clothes on.
"What the fuck, what the fuck?" Frank grins, and slaps his magazine closed before primly crossing his legs.
"You're wearing my-" Mikey waves a hand from Frank's head to toe. "Could you even do them up?"
"It was kind of a struggle," Frank admits, "my balls are totally crushed right now."
That finally makes Mikey smile and he pauses for a few more seconds, looking confused, before sighing and dropping down onto the living room mattress. "Okay, fine." Mikey sprawls out on his back and Frank's belly twists hotly when he notices that Mikey isn't wearing any underwear, faint line of pubes showing above the waist of Frank's cargo pants. Well shit, that'd be because Frank stole Mikey's underwear and it's now on the floor of Frank's room. Frank giggles.
"What?" Mikey lifts his head up, giving himself approximately four chins, and peers at Frank down the line of his nose.
"Nothing." Frank levers himself off the chair and onto the floor, wincing as he pops the top button on the jeans with his thumb and forefinger. "Ah fuck, these are so tight." Mikey looks kind of smug about it. "I just wanted you to chill out, dude, you were all weird this morning."
Mikey blows a raspberry into the air as he looks back up at the ceiling, tugging the hem of Frank's t-shirt down. The pants are too low to properly cover up his stomach. "Dunno what you're talking about."
"Riiiiight," Frank drawls. "How's the family?"
"Fine." Mikey combs his fingers through his wet hair. "I got a quarter off Gee, it's in my back pocket if you wanna smoke it."
Frank grins and fishes the baggie out of his jeans. "That's a way better haul than the usual leftover marinara, dude."
They fight over what music they're gonna blaze to-Mikey isn't in the mood for a band with more than two guitars, what the fuck ever-but they finally decide on the new Strokes album that neither of them has had a chance to listen to yet. When they've smoked the joint down to the filter, Julian Casablancas is begging Please don't slow me down if I'm going too fast and they've pushed the mattress up to the wall so they can sit propped against it, legs spread out in front of them.
"She bailed on him yesterday," Mikey's explaining after Frank asks what's up with that chick Gerard is always talking about, "and told him her grandma was sick."
"Ouch," Frank winces. "Sick grandmas, that's bad news. Gerard is getting played."
Mikey sighs and sticks his bottom lip out, dropping the roach into his now-empty beer bottle and setting it on the carpet. "He gets so into girls, y'know? Like, I could never tell him, but I think it scares them off."
"Gotta learn how to play it cool," Frank agrees. He should know, he's dealing with the skittery motherfucker sitting right next to him. Frank rubs his hand over his face, feeling kind of swimmy and unfocused. "Fuuuck, I'm feelin' good. You?"
"Mm-hm," Mikey hums with a smile, giving Frank a once-over with red-rimmed eyes. "Look at you. My fuckin' jeans, man. I hope you're wearing boxers."
Frank sits up straight and laughs, shoving at Mikey's shoulder. "I am but I know you aren't, dude. Those are my pants you're rubbing your balls all over."
Mikey wiggles around on the mattress and Frank goes "Aw, no. Come on!"
"You're the one who took my underwear." Mikey laughs, tucking his hair behind his ears. It's kind of stringy and soft-looking without any shit in it. Girly, maybe.
"I can't believe your goddamn flared jeans are so fucking tiny," Frank complains. "I should be smaller than you, fuck this shit."
Mikey crawls across the room to his backpack, rooting around in it while Frank tips his head to the side and eyes the soft-looking dimples at the base of his spine, the top of his ass showing above Frank's sagging cargo pants. "I can see your crack," Frank says, because he's terrible at keeping his mouth closed when he's stoned.
"Sucks to be you," Mikey says and doesn't pull the pants up as he crawls back to plant his ass next to Frank again, flush up against him this time. "Cheese?" He wraps a long arm around Frank's shoulders and holds the disposable camera out in front of them with his other arm.
"Oh! Fuck yeah, cheese," Frank laughs, and presses his cheek up against Mikey's, smooth from shaving in the bathroom earlier. "Motherfuckin' gouda," Frank says as he grins so big his eyes squeeze shut. Mikey laughs-"No! One more!"-and Frank rolls his eyes.
"Here," Frank says, and grabs the side of Mikey's face to hold him in place as he smashes his lips up against Mikey's cheek for a kiss. "Mmm?" he mumbles into Mikey's skin while he takes the picture.
"Ah! Shit. Yeah, okay." Mikey's kind of pink and smiling down at his lap when Frank pulls back. He turns the disposable camera over in his hands.
"Sorry, I'm just trying to get into your pants," Frank says.
"You are in my pants," Mikey says, and it makes Frank feel all warm inside when they both laugh.
"Damn straight." Frank leans over and tucks a finger into one of the belt loops just below Mikey's hipbone. He's totally flirting with his roommate, what the fuck.
Mikey gets all pink again and Frank lets himself look, grinning. Before he can stop himself he says, "Y'know, Chaz told me you were gonna try to get into my pants."
Mikey goes kind of still against Frank's side and Frank closes his eyes for a moment, breathes through the wave of embarrassment prickling hot across his skin, and keeps going: "He said Sam told him, when you tried out for Pencey."
"I don't even remember…" Mikey says and kind of trails off. His hair's fallen in his face again. He puts the camera on the floor and shoves his glasses up. "That was a long time ago, dude."
"Mikey." Frank's already all up in his space, can smell Mikey's shampoo and his sweat, and is surprised by how easy it is to just slip his fingers out of the belt loop and close his palm over the front of Mikey's-or Frank's, whatever-pants. "It's cool," Frank says. He has to close his eyes because his heart is racing, but he presses his forehead to Mikey's temple, breathing hot against his cheek.
"Uh," Mikey says quietly, and his hand twitches between them but he doesn't move away. "Frank, that's my dick."
Frank giggles suddenly, because he's high and kind of immature and Mikey just said 'dick'. Also, he's putting the moves on a dude. "I know it's your dick," Frank says, and sort of rubs his nose back and forth against Mikey's cheek a bit. "I was kinda thinking about this, today. Before you got home." Ah fuck, he shouldn't be doing this high, he's not gonna be able to keep anything to himself.
Mikey's breath comes out kind of shaky. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Frank echoes immediately, and at some point the nervous roiling in his stomach has turned into a nice warm buzz, maybe because Mikey hasn't pushed him away or maybe because Frank's already half-hard in Mikey's stupid too-tight jeans, and yeah, yeah, he can do this. Frank pops the button on the cargo pants easily. "I've never, uh..." Frank hesitates after he's got the zipper down, feels Mikey's stomach tense under his fingers, "touched another guy's dick before."
"Oh." Frank opens his eyes to see Mikey's lips wet and red and parted. He turns his gaze down to watch his own hand, chipped black nail polish and skin a shade darker than Mikey's, slip under the fabric and rest over warm, hot skin. "Shit," Mikey breathes, curling his fingers into the loose fabric at the sides of his pants, "Frank."
Frank licks his lips and pulls Mikey's dick out, careful of the zipper, and palms it a little. "Thought about how big you'd be," Frank says around a dry swallow, and Mikey's breath hitches, cock hardening in Frank's hand. He's bigger than Frank, that's for sure, pink and curving up against dark hair and a pale belly. "Thought about blowing you," Frank adds, and folds his palm over the length of it, trapped between Frank's hand and Mikey's stomach.
"Shit, Frankie." Mikey's eyebrows are drawn together, eyes squeezed shut as he pants, "What the fuck."
Frank's sweating through Mikey's t-shirt and totally hard in Mikey's jeans now, and there's gotta be a better position than this. He swings a leg over Mikey's lap to sit on his thighs, bracing his free hand against the wall next to Mikey's head.
"What, dude?" Frank asks, grinning, and decides that he kind of likes being a cock tease. He curls his shoulders in and moves his hand up and down a little, turning it to rub his thumb over the sticky tip of Mikey's cock.
"Fuck you," Mikey swears, face all screwed up and hands fisting at his sides. "I'm too stoned for this shit," he groans, cheeks pink, "I'm gonna blow my load all over your shirt. Seriously." He meets Frank's eyes with a tight little smile. Fuck, that's hot.
Frank licks his lips and sits up, taking his hand off the wall to finally get the stupid jeans he's wearing open. They're too tight to push down while his knees are spread, though. "Ungh, these fucking pants." Frank rolls off of Mikey until he's on his back on the mattress, planting his heels and lifting his hips so he can wiggle them down and off with his underwear. He bounces back up onto his knees quickly and settles himself in Mikey's lap again, getting his hand back on his cock. Mikey's staring at him, mouth hanging open. "What?"
"Just-fucking-" Mikey swallows, Adam's apple bobbing, "you're gonna kill me, dude. Like twenty minutes ago we were talking about where we could get burritos this late at night and now your dick's waving all over the place." Mikey grins helplessly and closes his eyes. "I'd be creaming my pants if you'd done this when I was eighteen."
Frank blushes and smiles, ducking his face to mouth at Mikey's neck-damp and clean-tasting-while he starts to move his fist up and down on Mikey's dick. "Fuck, dude, you have no idea how hot that is. I was totally fucking clueless until Chaz told me."
"Yeah?" Mikey finally seems to remember he has hands too and folds them tentatively over Frank's hips, clammy and warm. "I was-fuck," he swears and tilts his head to the side to give Frank better access as he sucks a bruise into Mikey's neck "-totally embarrassing, I thought you were so fucking cool."
Frank snorts and shifts his shoulders to get a better angle, pumping Mikey's cock. "I was fat, angry, and still in high school, dude. You've got shitty taste."
Mikey's fingers squeeze at Frank's hips and Frank grunts, pushing them forwards a bit so his own dick bumps up against the back of his hand.
"Are you insulting my taste while you try to get me off?" Mikey's fingers slide up Frank's back under his shirt, digging into his shoulder muscles, and it feels good. "This is like the worst hand job ever."
"Fuck you, it's my first one." Frank bites softly at the place where he'd been sucking and Mikey swears, jerking away. "Mm-hm, you like that shit."
They stop ripping on each other for a few minutes while Frank spits in his palm and sits back on Mikey's legs. Mikey's hands skid down Frank's back and land on his thighs, and the look that he levels at Frank is dark and hot and makes Frank think that Mikey knows things, and maybe has moves, and some time when Frank isn't being a tunnel-vision pothead, he should try stuff out with him.
"Can I..." Mikey asks, sucking his bottom lip in his mouth until it pops out, red and wet. Frank nods dumbly as he gets his spit-slippery fist back around Mikey's cock, tries to remember what he likes when girls do it to him. Mikey licks his palms and closes them both over Frank's dick, fingers interlocking as he twists and pulls up, like a fucking pro.
"Oh fuck," Frank moans, head tipping back, running his free hand over his buzzed hair and down across his own face. His skin feels like it's vibrating, and he grinds his fist down into his own thigh, eyes screwed shut, just so he won't put it through the wall above Mikey's head instead. "Fuck, that feels good."
"Remember at the Pencey try-outs when you were playing 'Attention Reader' and you almost knocked over Shaun's keyboard, so you spun off and nailed your elbow on the speakers?" Mikey asks all in a rush, voice low. Frank can't open his eyes or he's gonna bust a nut all over both of them, but he nods, trying to remember to breathe and keep moving his hand on Mikey's cock at the same time. "You just screamed into the mic and played harder, like fucking nothing..." Mikey's breath catches and he loses his rhythm on Frank's dick for a second, "Shit, Frank, you always just throw yourself into it, like fucking nothing."
Frank groans and stuffs his fist in his mouth. He's shocked when Mikey's hands stall out on his cock and suddenly his fingers are slick with Mikey's jizz. "Whoa," Frank says, blinking his eyes open. He searches Mikey's face, flushed pink, eyelashes dark against his cheeks behind his glasses. He can't believe he didn't even see him come. "Dude, fuck."
Mikey lifts heavy-lidded eyes to Frank's and smiles at him kind of stupidly with his limp hair tucked behind his ears. "Fuck, I made you come," Frank grins.
"No shit." Mikey smiles for a few more moments, catching his breath, before he gets busy pushing Frank onto his back on the mattress and climbing over him, one knee between Frank's legs and one arm braced on the mattress beside him while he starts jacking him off hard.
"Ahhhh, fuck," Frank moans. He feels weirdly exposed, in Mikey's t-shirt and no pants, writhing around on the mattress. But he feels kind of restricted too, with Mikey's broad shoulders and long body hemming in him. Frank kind of likes being held down, and when he rubs an aimless hand across his own face and down his chest, Mikey quickly wraps vice-like fingers around his wrist to pin it against the bed beside him.
Frank grins huge then, like this is where it gets good, and struggles hard against Mikey's grip, tensing his bicep and lifting up. Mikey just grins back and presses down, looking like the smuggest motherfucker on the planet, even with his soft dick hanging out of his pants. "You gonna fight me?" Mikey asks and digs his fingertips into the pulse point on Frank's wrist warningly.
"Maybe." Frank lifts his hips into Mikey's fist and tries to look dangerous, but his eyes slip shut on their own, "Fuck." He already knows he's kind of a touch-whore when he's turned on, and being high doesn't help. He has to tip his head back, rub it up and down and side to side all over the mattress, rough texture against his flushed cheek, just to ride out the feeling that's crawling under his skin. "Goddamn, Mikey Way." Frank moans and surges up to give his roommate the shittiest kiss ever, just as he comes all over his fist.
"Fuck," Frank gasps as his muscles give out and he falls back onto the mattress.
Mikey follows him down, licking into Frank's mouth and rubbing his thumbs in big, firm circles behind Frank's ears until Frank's arms are splayed like noodles out at his sides and his lips feel numb and the spunk between their bellies is starting to dry.
From the stereo, Julian Casablancas sings We were young, darling, we don't have no control.
Frank thinks, yes.
.
Living with Mikey Way is awesome, because Frank gets to blow him in the morning before they've even brushed their teeth or changed out of each other's clothes.
"You sure you've never-ah, fuck-done this before?" Mikey asks, voice tight, fingers scrabbling at Frank's scalp like he wants to grab on to something.
"Mmmph," Frank says around his dick, and feels pretty good about himself. He's gonna ask Mikey to hold him down again, when it's his turn, and thinks that he'll put up a better fight this time.
The guys come over in the afternoon for their last practice before Christmas, and Ray brings burritos. "It's like we made them happen with our minds," Mikey marvels as he sets one carefully in his lap. He and Frank share a smile.
"I got my shit sorted out," Gerard tells the room at large, in case anyone was wondering. Frank's busy running the extension cord from his bedroom to the living room so they can all plug their gear in. "I got fucked over by a chick, whatever, it was great for my process."
Mikey gives him a little pat on the arm and Gerard throws him a sad-brother look, so Mikey pushes his burrito across the table and raises his eyebrows. Frank rolls his eyes at them.
"Frank, do you have the tuner I left here the other day?" Ray asks, flicking a pinto bean from the back of his hand onto his burrito wrapper.
"Yeah man, just let me grab it." Frank pushes clothing piles around his floor until he finds the tuner and hesitates when he sees a stack of Pencey Prep CDs.
Frank should maybe wait until the other guys have left, but he's never been good at controlling his impulses. "Mikey Way," he announces in the kitchen, dropping a poorly-wrapped present down on the table in front of his roommate. Mikey looks up at him warily. There's a chance that Frank only had leftover wrapping paper from his birthday and no tape, so it's just kind of folded up. "Merry Christmas," Frank says with a grin, turning away to pick up his guitar and sit on the carpet by his amp.
"Oh," Mikey says, "are we doing the present thing?"
"Nah," Frank says and plays a bit of Monroeville while Mikey opens the wrapping.
"What is it?" Otter leans over to see and Gerard scoots his lawn chair closer.
"A Pencey EP?" Mikey sounds confused. He pops the CD case open and adds, "A Pencey EP that you signed." He and Gerard look down at Frank with matching clueless expressions.
Frank smiles from the floor and doesn't lift his gaze down from his guitar. "It recently came to my attention that Mikey Way used to be our number one fan. Thought I'd just, y'know. Give him some memorabilia."
"Frank, he already has all your albums," Otter says, confused. "I'm pretty sure all of us have more Pencey records than we know what to do with."
Frank looks up. Mikey is narrowing his eyes at him and Frank wants to think Mikey's cheeks look a little pink, but when he's sober his poker face is killer. Frank decides to count it as a blush. Frank's gaze slides over to the other guys, and is surprised to see Gerard wearing a shit-eating grin.
"Mikey did idolize you, dude," Gerard says, slapping Mikey on the arm even as his little brother sighs. "He wouldn't fucking shut up about your 'stage presence' or whatever, whenever we saw you play."
Frank's chest feels a little full and he straightens up, pointing his pick at Mikey. "Ha! Right? Right?" He raises his eyebrows and points at the CD. "Frame that shit!"
Mikey rolls his eyes but Frank sees him slip it into his room later.
They run through four full songs after they eat, and even though half the lyrics are still gibberish and he needs to remember to practice a bit over Christmas, Frank's pretty fucking proud of them. Mikey goes to check his e-mail, so Gerard pulls a pack of beers from his bottomless pit of a backpack and they shoot the shit for a while until he comes back.
"It's kind of amazing that you've never gotten crap from your landlord before," Ray says. "With the parties and the band practices."
"And the D&D!" Gerard adds, tipping the neck of his bottle at Ray. "That shit got rowdy."
Frank rests his beer between his thighs and rubs the condensation off on the carpet. "He lives in Trenton. I think we've seen him, what, once?" Mikey nods, grabbing a beer and settling in next to Frank, close enough that their shoulders touch. Frank stares at his lap so he doesn't smile too big.
"Aaaand we may or may not have given him a fake phone number," Mikey adds.
"Two-four-four-'nads'," Frank reminds him and they laugh.
"Nads!" Mikey repeats, nose scrunched up under the bridge of his glasses.
"What are you guys, twelve?" Ray asks. "Who even calls them 'nads' anymore?"
Frank and Mikey can't stop giggling. "Keep saying nads!" Mikey wheezes.
Frank takes a leak when Gerard starts listing words for testicles (he's been really into synonyms lately) and shakes off with a big smile on his face before zipping up. He ducks into his room to grab the stereo and something to listen to when he notices the wrapping paper in the middle of his bed. Did Mikey give it back to him? Frank steps onto his mattress to pick it up and realizes there's something inside.
It's a jewel case and the white liner has IOU printed across it in permanent marker. Frank frowns and looks up at the door of his room briefly, can hear Ray's giggle as Mikey's voice rises above it with "Go-nads!" before breaking down into laughter. Frank smiles and flips the case open.
My Chem's Platinum-Selling Epic Album Which Was Also Nominated For Three Oscars, in Mikey's chicken scratch. It takes a moment for Frank to realize what the scribble underneath it is: Mikey's signature.
"You just fucking wait," Frank says quietly to himself with a smile that feels like it takes over his whole face.
He tucks the CD under his pillow before following the laughter back out to his living room.
.
Part I Here
Part II
Frank's shit-in-gear plan gets off to a great start the next morning, when he sets his alarm early to make pancakes. Or, okay, empty a box of Aunt Jemima mix into a bowl, add water, and pour blobs of batter into their lone frying pan.
Frank's standing there in boxers and a hoodie (he was going to try being shirtless to distract Mikey with his totally hot body, but it's December and it's fucking cold, so Mikey'll just have to get the backs of his beautifully-sculpted legs), rolling an unlit cigarette back and forth in his mouth, when he hears Mikey's bedroom door open and then the front door unlatch right after.
"Mikey-" he spins around and starts, but Mikey's already halfway out the front door.
His head appears, eyes kind of all over the place. His hair has that look like he hasn't even seen a mirror yet, and he's already leaving the house. "Yeah?"
"Pancakes?" Frank tries to smile very casually as he says this, but he may still have a bit of morning wood going on, he hasn't looked down and it would probably be pretty sketchy to do it while Mikey's standing right there.
"Um, parents. I should... visit them, haven't gone over in a while," Mikey says vaguely. "Sorry?"
"Sure?" Frank's cigarette flops neatly out of his downturned mouth and onto the linoleum floor just as the door swings shut. Well shit.
.
Frank may be totally hopeless about how to get Mikey Way to put out, but he resolves not to be a fucking emo kid about it and eats every last pancake himself before spending the morning answering e-mails and playing some Excitebike on his NES. He has lunch with Shaun and Hambone at a diner, sits like a creeper on a bench at the park and watches other people's dogs play, and doesn't let himself go home until dinnertime.
Mikey isn't there.
Frank's cheeks sting from the cold and he can't feel his fingers when he gets into the apartment so he thinks fuck this noise and pours himself a bath. He goes the whole nine yards, even lighting a stick of incense (they bought it mostly for when parents visit and they've only got a five-minute warning to clear out the smell of weed) and plugging the stereo in just outside the door, popping in a mix CD he made a few summers back.
When Frank's done washing his hair and scrubbing at his 'pits with a bar of soap, he lies there a little bit, warm and happy, while Jello Biafra sings Pol Pot Pol Pot Pol Pot Pol Pot! at him through the door in his weird, beautiful, Biafra way. Frank lets his fingers float in the warm water and wiggles them in time to the guitar while the thinks about Mikey.
Frank's never been into a dude before, not in a way where he thinks about sinking his teeth into the wide muscles of his shoulders, or fisting a hand in his stupid tangled hair. Frank's been with a fair number of girls; he definitely likes ones who can hold their own, and he's got a spank bank full of memories of those ones to last a lifetime. But Frank's never even kissed another guy, or touched another dick before.
He wonders how weird it would be and skims the palm of his hand over the head of his own dick, bobbing slightly in the ripple of the water. Frank tries to pretend that it's not his dick he's touching, making a circle with his thumb and forefinger and jacking himself idly with a showy sort of twist at the head. It feels good, and Frank imagines that he's feeling some other dude's cock swell and fill out under his palm while he closes his eyes and sucks his lip ring into his mouth to worry at it with his teeth.
It surprises Frank to realize that despite all the touring and living in close quarters for the past few years, he's never seen Mikey's dick. Frank hums, echoing tinny off the bathroom tiles, while he pulls at his own. It's not always true, but usually bigger dudes have bigger dicks. Frank doesn't know if that's something he's into or not.
Frank blushes when he pushes two fingers into his own mouth, keeps his eyes closed, but thinks what the fuck ever, no one's watching, and stuffs as many fingers in there as he can, trying to imagine what it'd feel like to suck a dude off. It's awkward and his fingers don't taste like much of anything, but Frank starts to pump his cock a little faster. It's kind of hot in a weird sort of way, drooling all over himself, and Frank gasps when his fingers slip a bit farther back and he nearly gags, dick twitching in his hand.
"Ah, fuck," he moans loudly around his knuckles just to hear it, rolling the back of his head from side to side along the rim of the tub, and the splashing noise as he speeds up his hand on his cock would be kind of ridiculous if Black Flag wasn't blasting from the stereo at the same time. Frank thinks about Mikey's blue corduroy pants, the ones that always ride too low, and imagines just slipping them down and off and getting his hand inside. Or-fuck, Frank feels his balls draw up, toes curling in the water-Mikey pushing Frank down onto the floor, grinning his stupid grin while he wraps long fingers around Frank's dick and jacks him off, tight and fast.
It's a total stroke of luck that when Frank comes, it's into the cupped palm of his hand (a reflex, considering he usually rubs one out when he's in bed), because gloppy bits of jizz floating around the bathwater would be a bitch to clean up. Frank swallows thickly as he comes down from it, chest rising and falling in the steamy air of the bathroom, licking his lips and fighting to keep his eyes open when it feels like his entire body's leaked out of his cock.
Frank leans over the edge of the tub to wipe his hand off on the towel hanging by the sink, making a mental note to stick it in the laundry later, before smiling happily and sinking back down into the water.
Frank's eaten some leftover chow mein for dinner and is on the phone with his mom when he hears the front door open. He doesn't get up, tries to play it cool. It's only when Mikey's finished clattering around in the kitchen and Frank hears him swing the bathroom door shut and turn the shower on, that he realizes his spunk is all over Mikey's towel and he totally forgot to take it out of the bathroom.
"Shit! Mom, I gotta go." Frank laughs at himself-seriously, this is his life-and agrees to spend Christmas at home before hanging up and tossing the phone into the mess of blankets on his bed.
"Frank?" Mikey's voice is kind of lost behind the sound of the spray hitting the tub, but he must have heard the door open or felt the rush of cold air when Frank came into the bathroom.
"Yeah, hi!" Frank thanks the landlords that be for giving them a shower curtain that isn't see-through, as he stealthily slips Mikey's towel off the hanger and replaces it with one Frank had grabbed from Mikey's closet. "Sorry, I just had to-um." Frank spins around in place aimlessly and then stops, facing the toilet. "Take a piss! I couldn't hold it. Y'know."
"You gotta stop mainlining those venti lattes," Mikey says from the other side of the curtain, but he doesn't sound too concerned.
Frank's zipping up when he notices Mikey's clothes in a pile on the floor. He pauses. Frank's pancake plan didn't work out, but he's just had another brilliant idea about how to help Mikey Way get over himself and look Frank in the eye again.
"Yeah, those fucking lattes," Frank says loudly as he shucks his t-shirt and steps out of his pants as quietly as he can. "Later!" Frank has to bite his lip to stop from laughing as he scoops up Mikey's clothes, leaving his own in a pile on the floor, and slams the bathroom door closed behind himself.
When Mikey steps out of the bathroom, Frank is sprawled out in one of the lawn chairs in the kitchen, wearing Mikey's stupid bell-bottomed jeans and baseball t-shirt. "'Sup," Frank says, not lifting his eyes from the issue of AP in his lap as he flips the page. He has to fight to keep his lips from quirking up, though, when he sees Mikey move into his peripheral vision and gets a glimpse of knobbly ankles sticking out beneath too-short pants. Frank starts laughing.
"What the fuck?" Mikey's glasses are sort of foggy and his eyebrows are draw together. He looks kind of put out. Frank's t-shirt is pretty short on him, and Mikey's got one hand fisted in the waist of Frank's baggy cargo pants, presumably to hold them up. Frank didn't actually expect Mikey to put the clothes on.
"What the fuck, what the fuck?" Frank grins, and slaps his magazine closed before primly crossing his legs.
"You're wearing my-" Mikey waves a hand from Frank's head to toe. "Could you even do them up?"
"It was kind of a struggle," Frank admits, "my balls are totally crushed right now."
That finally makes Mikey smile and he pauses for a few more seconds, looking confused, before sighing and dropping down onto the living room mattress. "Okay, fine." Mikey sprawls out on his back and Frank's belly twists hotly when he notices that Mikey isn't wearing any underwear, faint line of pubes showing above the waist of Frank's cargo pants. Well shit, that'd be because Frank stole Mikey's underwear and it's now on the floor of Frank's room. Frank giggles.
"What?" Mikey lifts his head up, giving himself approximately four chins, and peers at Frank down the line of his nose.
"Nothing." Frank levers himself off the chair and onto the floor, wincing as he pops the top button on the jeans with his thumb and forefinger. "Ah fuck, these are so tight." Mikey looks kind of smug about it. "I just wanted you to chill out, dude, you were all weird this morning."
Mikey blows a raspberry into the air as he looks back up at the ceiling, tugging the hem of Frank's t-shirt down. The pants are too low to properly cover up his stomach. "Dunno what you're talking about."
"Riiiiight," Frank drawls. "How's the family?"
"Fine." Mikey combs his fingers through his wet hair. "I got a quarter off Gee, it's in my back pocket if you wanna smoke it."
Frank grins and fishes the baggie out of his jeans. "That's a way better haul than the usual leftover marinara, dude."
They fight over what music they're gonna blaze to-Mikey isn't in the mood for a band with more than two guitars, what the fuck ever-but they finally decide on the new Strokes album that neither of them has had a chance to listen to yet. When they've smoked the joint down to the filter, Julian Casablancas is begging Please don't slow me down if I'm going too fast and they've pushed the mattress up to the wall so they can sit propped against it, legs spread out in front of them.
"She bailed on him yesterday," Mikey's explaining after Frank asks what's up with that chick Gerard is always talking about, "and told him her grandma was sick."
"Ouch," Frank winces. "Sick grandmas, that's bad news. Gerard is getting played."
Mikey sighs and sticks his bottom lip out, dropping the roach into his now-empty beer bottle and setting it on the carpet. "He gets so into girls, y'know? Like, I could never tell him, but I think it scares them off."
"Gotta learn how to play it cool," Frank agrees. He should know, he's dealing with the skittery motherfucker sitting right next to him. Frank rubs his hand over his face, feeling kind of swimmy and unfocused. "Fuuuck, I'm feelin' good. You?"
"Mm-hm," Mikey hums with a smile, giving Frank a once-over with red-rimmed eyes. "Look at you. My fuckin' jeans, man. I hope you're wearing boxers."
Frank sits up straight and laughs, shoving at Mikey's shoulder. "I am but I know you aren't, dude. Those are my pants you're rubbing your balls all over."
Mikey wiggles around on the mattress and Frank goes "Aw, no. Come on!"
"You're the one who took my underwear." Mikey laughs, tucking his hair behind his ears. It's kind of stringy and soft-looking without any shit in it. Girly, maybe.
"I can't believe your goddamn flared jeans are so fucking tiny," Frank complains. "I should be smaller than you, fuck this shit."
Mikey crawls across the room to his backpack, rooting around in it while Frank tips his head to the side and eyes the soft-looking dimples at the base of his spine, the top of his ass showing above Frank's sagging cargo pants. "I can see your crack," Frank says, because he's terrible at keeping his mouth closed when he's stoned.
"Sucks to be you," Mikey says and doesn't pull the pants up as he crawls back to plant his ass next to Frank again, flush up against him this time. "Cheese?" He wraps a long arm around Frank's shoulders and holds the disposable camera out in front of them with his other arm.
"Oh! Fuck yeah, cheese," Frank laughs, and presses his cheek up against Mikey's, smooth from shaving in the bathroom earlier. "Motherfuckin' gouda," Frank says as he grins so big his eyes squeeze shut. Mikey laughs-"No! One more!"-and Frank rolls his eyes.
"Here," Frank says, and grabs the side of Mikey's face to hold him in place as he smashes his lips up against Mikey's cheek for a kiss. "Mmm?" he mumbles into Mikey's skin while he takes the picture.
"Ah! Shit. Yeah, okay." Mikey's kind of pink and smiling down at his lap when Frank pulls back. He turns the disposable camera over in his hands.
"Sorry, I'm just trying to get into your pants," Frank says.
"You are in my pants," Mikey says, and it makes Frank feel all warm inside when they both laugh.
"Damn straight." Frank leans over and tucks a finger into one of the belt loops just below Mikey's hipbone. He's totally flirting with his roommate, what the fuck.
Mikey gets all pink again and Frank lets himself look, grinning. Before he can stop himself he says, "Y'know, Chaz told me you were gonna try to get into my pants."
Mikey goes kind of still against Frank's side and Frank closes his eyes for a moment, breathes through the wave of embarrassment prickling hot across his skin, and keeps going: "He said Sam told him, when you tried out for Pencey."
"I don't even remember…" Mikey says and kind of trails off. His hair's fallen in his face again. He puts the camera on the floor and shoves his glasses up. "That was a long time ago, dude."
"Mikey." Frank's already all up in his space, can smell Mikey's shampoo and his sweat, and is surprised by how easy it is to just slip his fingers out of the belt loop and close his palm over the front of Mikey's-or Frank's, whatever-pants. "It's cool," Frank says. He has to close his eyes because his heart is racing, but he presses his forehead to Mikey's temple, breathing hot against his cheek.
"Uh," Mikey says quietly, and his hand twitches between them but he doesn't move away. "Frank, that's my dick."
Frank giggles suddenly, because he's high and kind of immature and Mikey just said 'dick'. Also, he's putting the moves on a dude. "I know it's your dick," Frank says, and sort of rubs his nose back and forth against Mikey's cheek a bit. "I was kinda thinking about this, today. Before you got home." Ah fuck, he shouldn't be doing this high, he's not gonna be able to keep anything to himself.
Mikey's breath comes out kind of shaky. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Frank echoes immediately, and at some point the nervous roiling in his stomach has turned into a nice warm buzz, maybe because Mikey hasn't pushed him away or maybe because Frank's already half-hard in Mikey's stupid too-tight jeans, and yeah, yeah, he can do this. Frank pops the button on the cargo pants easily. "I've never, uh..." Frank hesitates after he's got the zipper down, feels Mikey's stomach tense under his fingers, "touched another guy's dick before."
"Oh." Frank opens his eyes to see Mikey's lips wet and red and parted. He turns his gaze down to watch his own hand, chipped black nail polish and skin a shade darker than Mikey's, slip under the fabric and rest over warm, hot skin. "Shit," Mikey breathes, curling his fingers into the loose fabric at the sides of his pants, "Frank."
Frank licks his lips and pulls Mikey's dick out, careful of the zipper, and palms it a little. "Thought about how big you'd be," Frank says around a dry swallow, and Mikey's breath hitches, cock hardening in Frank's hand. He's bigger than Frank, that's for sure, pink and curving up against dark hair and a pale belly. "Thought about blowing you," Frank adds, and folds his palm over the length of it, trapped between Frank's hand and Mikey's stomach.
"Shit, Frankie." Mikey's eyebrows are drawn together, eyes squeezed shut as he pants, "What the fuck."
Frank's sweating through Mikey's t-shirt and totally hard in Mikey's jeans now, and there's gotta be a better position than this. He swings a leg over Mikey's lap to sit on his thighs, bracing his free hand against the wall next to Mikey's head.
"What, dude?" Frank asks, grinning, and decides that he kind of likes being a cock tease. He curls his shoulders in and moves his hand up and down a little, turning it to rub his thumb over the sticky tip of Mikey's cock.
"Fuck you," Mikey swears, face all screwed up and hands fisting at his sides. "I'm too stoned for this shit," he groans, cheeks pink, "I'm gonna blow my load all over your shirt. Seriously." He meets Frank's eyes with a tight little smile. Fuck, that's hot.
Frank licks his lips and sits up, taking his hand off the wall to finally get the stupid jeans he's wearing open. They're too tight to push down while his knees are spread, though. "Ungh, these fucking pants." Frank rolls off of Mikey until he's on his back on the mattress, planting his heels and lifting his hips so he can wiggle them down and off with his underwear. He bounces back up onto his knees quickly and settles himself in Mikey's lap again, getting his hand back on his cock. Mikey's staring at him, mouth hanging open. "What?"
"Just-fucking-" Mikey swallows, Adam's apple bobbing, "you're gonna kill me, dude. Like twenty minutes ago we were talking about where we could get burritos this late at night and now your dick's waving all over the place." Mikey grins helplessly and closes his eyes. "I'd be creaming my pants if you'd done this when I was eighteen."
Frank blushes and smiles, ducking his face to mouth at Mikey's neck-damp and clean-tasting-while he starts to move his fist up and down on Mikey's dick. "Fuck, dude, you have no idea how hot that is. I was totally fucking clueless until Chaz told me."
"Yeah?" Mikey finally seems to remember he has hands too and folds them tentatively over Frank's hips, clammy and warm. "I was-fuck," he swears and tilts his head to the side to give Frank better access as he sucks a bruise into Mikey's neck "-totally embarrassing, I thought you were so fucking cool."
Frank snorts and shifts his shoulders to get a better angle, pumping Mikey's cock. "I was fat, angry, and still in high school, dude. You've got shitty taste."
Mikey's fingers squeeze at Frank's hips and Frank grunts, pushing them forwards a bit so his own dick bumps up against the back of his hand.
"Are you insulting my taste while you try to get me off?" Mikey's fingers slide up Frank's back under his shirt, digging into his shoulder muscles, and it feels good. "This is like the worst hand job ever."
"Fuck you, it's my first one." Frank bites softly at the place where he'd been sucking and Mikey swears, jerking away. "Mm-hm, you like that shit."
They stop ripping on each other for a few minutes while Frank spits in his palm and sits back on Mikey's legs. Mikey's hands skid down Frank's back and land on his thighs, and the look that he levels at Frank is dark and hot and makes Frank think that Mikey knows things, and maybe has moves, and some time when Frank isn't being a tunnel-vision pothead, he should try stuff out with him.
"Can I..." Mikey asks, sucking his bottom lip in his mouth until it pops out, red and wet. Frank nods dumbly as he gets his spit-slippery fist back around Mikey's cock, tries to remember what he likes when girls do it to him. Mikey licks his palms and closes them both over Frank's dick, fingers interlocking as he twists and pulls up, like a fucking pro.
"Oh fuck," Frank moans, head tipping back, running his free hand over his buzzed hair and down across his own face. His skin feels like it's vibrating, and he grinds his fist down into his own thigh, eyes screwed shut, just so he won't put it through the wall above Mikey's head instead. "Fuck, that feels good."
"Remember at the Pencey try-outs when you were playing 'Attention Reader' and you almost knocked over Shaun's keyboard, so you spun off and nailed your elbow on the speakers?" Mikey asks all in a rush, voice low. Frank can't open his eyes or he's gonna bust a nut all over both of them, but he nods, trying to remember to breathe and keep moving his hand on Mikey's cock at the same time. "You just screamed into the mic and played harder, like fucking nothing..." Mikey's breath catches and he loses his rhythm on Frank's dick for a second, "Shit, Frank, you always just throw yourself into it, like fucking nothing."
Frank groans and stuffs his fist in his mouth. He's shocked when Mikey's hands stall out on his cock and suddenly his fingers are slick with Mikey's jizz. "Whoa," Frank says, blinking his eyes open. He searches Mikey's face, flushed pink, eyelashes dark against his cheeks behind his glasses. He can't believe he didn't even see him come. "Dude, fuck."
Mikey lifts heavy-lidded eyes to Frank's and smiles at him kind of stupidly with his limp hair tucked behind his ears. "Fuck, I made you come," Frank grins.
"No shit." Mikey smiles for a few more moments, catching his breath, before he gets busy pushing Frank onto his back on the mattress and climbing over him, one knee between Frank's legs and one arm braced on the mattress beside him while he starts jacking him off hard.
"Ahhhh, fuck," Frank moans. He feels weirdly exposed, in Mikey's t-shirt and no pants, writhing around on the mattress. But he feels kind of restricted too, with Mikey's broad shoulders and long body hemming in him. Frank kind of likes being held down, and when he rubs an aimless hand across his own face and down his chest, Mikey quickly wraps vice-like fingers around his wrist to pin it against the bed beside him.
Frank grins huge then, like this is where it gets good, and struggles hard against Mikey's grip, tensing his bicep and lifting up. Mikey just grins back and presses down, looking like the smuggest motherfucker on the planet, even with his soft dick hanging out of his pants. "You gonna fight me?" Mikey asks and digs his fingertips into the pulse point on Frank's wrist warningly.
"Maybe." Frank lifts his hips into Mikey's fist and tries to look dangerous, but his eyes slip shut on their own, "Fuck." He already knows he's kind of a touch-whore when he's turned on, and being high doesn't help. He has to tip his head back, rub it up and down and side to side all over the mattress, rough texture against his flushed cheek, just to ride out the feeling that's crawling under his skin. "Goddamn, Mikey Way." Frank moans and surges up to give his roommate the shittiest kiss ever, just as he comes all over his fist.
"Fuck," Frank gasps as his muscles give out and he falls back onto the mattress.
Mikey follows him down, licking into Frank's mouth and rubbing his thumbs in big, firm circles behind Frank's ears until Frank's arms are splayed like noodles out at his sides and his lips feel numb and the spunk between their bellies is starting to dry.
From the stereo, Julian Casablancas sings We were young, darling, we don't have no control.
Frank thinks, yes.
.
Living with Mikey Way is awesome, because Frank gets to blow him in the morning before they've even brushed their teeth or changed out of each other's clothes.
"You sure you've never-ah, fuck-done this before?" Mikey asks, voice tight, fingers scrabbling at Frank's scalp like he wants to grab on to something.
"Mmmph," Frank says around his dick, and feels pretty good about himself. He's gonna ask Mikey to hold him down again, when it's his turn, and thinks that he'll put up a better fight this time.
The guys come over in the afternoon for their last practice before Christmas, and Ray brings burritos. "It's like we made them happen with our minds," Mikey marvels as he sets one carefully in his lap. He and Frank share a smile.
"I got my shit sorted out," Gerard tells the room at large, in case anyone was wondering. Frank's busy running the extension cord from his bedroom to the living room so they can all plug their gear in. "I got fucked over by a chick, whatever, it was great for my process."
Mikey gives him a little pat on the arm and Gerard throws him a sad-brother look, so Mikey pushes his burrito across the table and raises his eyebrows. Frank rolls his eyes at them.
"Frank, do you have the tuner I left here the other day?" Ray asks, flicking a pinto bean from the back of his hand onto his burrito wrapper.
"Yeah man, just let me grab it." Frank pushes clothing piles around his floor until he finds the tuner and hesitates when he sees a stack of Pencey Prep CDs.
Frank should maybe wait until the other guys have left, but he's never been good at controlling his impulses. "Mikey Way," he announces in the kitchen, dropping a poorly-wrapped present down on the table in front of his roommate. Mikey looks up at him warily. There's a chance that Frank only had leftover wrapping paper from his birthday and no tape, so it's just kind of folded up. "Merry Christmas," Frank says with a grin, turning away to pick up his guitar and sit on the carpet by his amp.
"Oh," Mikey says, "are we doing the present thing?"
"Nah," Frank says and plays a bit of Monroeville while Mikey opens the wrapping.
"What is it?" Otter leans over to see and Gerard scoots his lawn chair closer.
"A Pencey EP?" Mikey sounds confused. He pops the CD case open and adds, "A Pencey EP that you signed." He and Gerard look down at Frank with matching clueless expressions.
Frank smiles from the floor and doesn't lift his gaze down from his guitar. "It recently came to my attention that Mikey Way used to be our number one fan. Thought I'd just, y'know. Give him some memorabilia."
"Frank, he already has all your albums," Otter says, confused. "I'm pretty sure all of us have more Pencey records than we know what to do with."
Frank looks up. Mikey is narrowing his eyes at him and Frank wants to think Mikey's cheeks look a little pink, but when he's sober his poker face is killer. Frank decides to count it as a blush. Frank's gaze slides over to the other guys, and is surprised to see Gerard wearing a shit-eating grin.
"Mikey did idolize you, dude," Gerard says, slapping Mikey on the arm even as his little brother sighs. "He wouldn't fucking shut up about your 'stage presence' or whatever, whenever we saw you play."
Frank's chest feels a little full and he straightens up, pointing his pick at Mikey. "Ha! Right? Right?" He raises his eyebrows and points at the CD. "Frame that shit!"
Mikey rolls his eyes but Frank sees him slip it into his room later.
They run through four full songs after they eat, and even though half the lyrics are still gibberish and he needs to remember to practice a bit over Christmas, Frank's pretty fucking proud of them. Mikey goes to check his e-mail, so Gerard pulls a pack of beers from his bottomless pit of a backpack and they shoot the shit for a while until he comes back.
"It's kind of amazing that you've never gotten crap from your landlord before," Ray says. "With the parties and the band practices."
"And the D&D!" Gerard adds, tipping the neck of his bottle at Ray. "That shit got rowdy."
Frank rests his beer between his thighs and rubs the condensation off on the carpet. "He lives in Trenton. I think we've seen him, what, once?" Mikey nods, grabbing a beer and settling in next to Frank, close enough that their shoulders touch. Frank stares at his lap so he doesn't smile too big.
"Aaaand we may or may not have given him a fake phone number," Mikey adds.
"Two-four-four-'nads'," Frank reminds him and they laugh.
"Nads!" Mikey repeats, nose scrunched up under the bridge of his glasses.
"What are you guys, twelve?" Ray asks. "Who even calls them 'nads' anymore?"
Frank and Mikey can't stop giggling. "Keep saying nads!" Mikey wheezes.
Frank takes a leak when Gerard starts listing words for testicles (he's been really into synonyms lately) and shakes off with a big smile on his face before zipping up. He ducks into his room to grab the stereo and something to listen to when he notices the wrapping paper in the middle of his bed. Did Mikey give it back to him? Frank steps onto his mattress to pick it up and realizes there's something inside.
It's a jewel case and the white liner has IOU printed across it in permanent marker. Frank frowns and looks up at the door of his room briefly, can hear Ray's giggle as Mikey's voice rises above it with "Go-nads!" before breaking down into laughter. Frank smiles and flips the case open.
My Chem's Platinum-Selling Epic Album Which Was Also Nominated For Three Oscars, in Mikey's chicken scratch. It takes a moment for Frank to realize what the scribble underneath it is: Mikey's signature.
"You just fucking wait," Frank says quietly to himself with a smile that feels like it takes over his whole face.
He tucks the CD under his pillow before following the laughter back out to his living room.
.