Observation
Title: Observation
Author: languisity
Rating: NC-17
Fandom/Pairing: MCR, Frank/Gerard
Summary: Highschool (age) AU. Frank and Gerard are very awkward, very queer, and very barely legal in this land of pretend.
Disclaimer: Not true, don't sue.
A/N: Many sparkly, shiny naked dancing strippers thanks to 1001canes for making me look as literate as possible.
Frank's jeans, undone, are two metal teeth away from saying 'carelessly disheveled' to 'please, sample my wares.' Gerard isn't staring, he just notices these things. He is, in fact, noticing so hard that he doesn't notice Frank noticing him noticing. (Later, he will tirelessly dissect the irony of it all.) Frank's t-shirt is hitched up in a way that seems to defy gravity and Gerard hides his hands-- itchy with the need to touch, to trace lines-- in his sleeves.
"See something you like?" Frank mutters and he's grinning, eyebrows wiggling. Five long seconds pass before Gerard registers the words; another five before Gerard remembers to be embarrassed and ducks his head, blushing. He scoots back on Frank's bed, nudging gingerly at all of the stuff-- clothes, books, papers, a Tonka truck he got in third grade-- strewn across it. Sitting back, he eyes Frank levelly, mouth open for a suitably scathing reply. What comes out instead is a slightly defensive, "Maybe." And honestly? Gerard couldn't hate his brain more right now.
Frank's eyes go wide, then squinty, and he's doing this thing where he's smiling and laughing, but there's no sound. It's like he's on mute, frozen forever in the land of Those Who Mock Gerard, and Gerard would be even more embarrassed, but he can't quite make himself care when Frank's eyes are shining that way. Happy and laughing even if it's at him.
"Hey, hey," Frank's saying now, and there's less of a delay, but Gerard still has trouble holding on to the words. "Heeeey, Gee. How much do you love me?" Frank's still smiling but it's softer, and then he's moving to stand between the V Gerard's legs make, bending down to kiss him on the cheek. He catches the corner of Gerard's mouth and pulls away, grinning for all the world like it wasn't just an almost kiss kiss.
Gerard can't remember how to breathe.
It's... this is stupid. It's not like that was anything, not really, except now Gerard's mouth is tingling and he's wishing that that almost kiss wasn't just an almost. His eyes slide from Frank's mouth to Frank's right hip and the stretch of skin Frank's t-shirt refuses to cover. He watches his hand reach forward, smooth along Frank's hip; watches fingers curl around it to pull Frank closer. Ink stained fingers against pale, clean skin. He sees it, but the actions don't connect, not until he hears Frank's breath stutter-stop short.
"I'm... I just..." Gerard doesn't know what he was just, or that he was just anything. But when he tries to take his hand back, snatch it away, Frank's grabbing him by the wrist to keep him there.
It's all dream-like, slow and hazy, when Frank leans forward to press their lips together. Everything is so soft and tentative-- the way Frank's mouth moves against his, the way his tongue brushes lightly at the seam of Gerard's lips-- that when Gerard sighs, it's almost too loud. Obscene like the hot, moist air passing between them and Frank's spit-slick lips and...
Now Gerard's pulling Frank nearly on top of himself and kissing back a little harder, eyes closed and hands seeking blindly.
"I want.. I..." Frank breathes against Gerard's lips, and he's squirming on top of Gerard, pushing at his shirts and jeans as he rocks against him and fuck. Because Gerard wants too. Says as much in a series of gasped, "okays" and "yes yes yes"s.
It's fast and awkward and there will be bruises. Frank manages to headbutt Gerard. Gerard's left elbow catches Frank in the ribs. There are scratches where nails catch skin instead of clothing and they still only barely manage to get their clothes half off-- jeans and underwear pushed down, shirts twisted and shoved aside-- but it's ok. There is a miniature Shell gasoline truck digging into the small if his back and he doesn't care. It's fine because, after the pushing and pulling, they're finally pressed together. Frank's hand is the only thing between them then, sliding down to grip Gerard's cock and squeeze, and suddenly everything is exactly the way it's supposed to be. Everything is perfect.
"Oh, God." It's a deep, aching sob and Gerard feels it vibrating through him, mingling with the low murmur of Frank's laughter. "Jesus fucking Christ." He's making soft, needy sounds that he can't quite muffle, because really? If having someone else touch you is already better than your own hand by default, then Frank being the one touching him is better than the best thing ever and that's worth a little vocal embarrassment.
Frank's still laughing when he says, "Me too...?" in the curve of Gerard's ear, not quite not a question. Gerard, quite valiantly, manages to summon the coordination to shift them onto their sides, sneaking a sweat slick hand past Frank's half-pushed down boxers to fist his cock. He smiles when he hears Frank's breath catch on a sigh.
They're rocking together, stroking and squeezing. Mouths pressed into each other's necks. Kissing and biting and moaning. Breathing around each other, into each other, and all Gerard can think is "Yes" and "Please please please" and "Best ever."
Frank comes first, body going taught, hand clenching almost too tight around Gerard as he half gasps, half moans, "GeeGeeGeeGee," until it's just sound without a meaning. It doesn't take Gerard long after that, not with every inch of Frank pressed against him, Frank's voice in his ear.
When they can both breathe a little easier, when the world stops spinning and tipping, Gerard tries to think about this. He isn't actually quite sure what's just happened, but before he can sing further into the Vast Land of Contemplation (or fall asleep), he realizes Frank is shaking. Something like very much like panic rises up in him. But even though Frank is shaking, he's still clinging to Gerard, hands gripping at his sides, so Gerard tries to relax. He raises his clean hand to comb his fingers though Frank's hair, and it's two heartbeats before he hears it.
Frank, the tiny fucker, is laughing.
"You fucker," Gerard grumbles, pushing weakly at Frank, but Frank just clings tighter, laughing harder and louder by the second.
"Not yet."
Gerard huffs. "You suck."
"Not yet," Frank says again, and this time Gerard blushes.
"I hate you."
"Mmmno," Frank disagrees, and Gerard can feel the smile Frank presses into his neck. "You don't. I'm the best, remember? Best ever."
Gerard feels a little queasy.
"Yeah," he whispers voice shaky. He didn't mean to say that out loud, he didn't, but it's true. "Best ever."
Author: languisity
Rating: NC-17
Fandom/Pairing: MCR, Frank/Gerard
Summary: Highschool (age) AU. Frank and Gerard are very awkward, very queer, and very barely legal in this land of pretend.
Disclaimer: Not true, don't sue.
A/N: Many sparkly, shiny naked dancing strippers thanks to 1001canes for making me look as literate as possible.
Frank's jeans, undone, are two metal teeth away from saying 'carelessly disheveled' to 'please, sample my wares.' Gerard isn't staring, he just notices these things. He is, in fact, noticing so hard that he doesn't notice Frank noticing him noticing. (Later, he will tirelessly dissect the irony of it all.) Frank's t-shirt is hitched up in a way that seems to defy gravity and Gerard hides his hands-- itchy with the need to touch, to trace lines-- in his sleeves.
"See something you like?" Frank mutters and he's grinning, eyebrows wiggling. Five long seconds pass before Gerard registers the words; another five before Gerard remembers to be embarrassed and ducks his head, blushing. He scoots back on Frank's bed, nudging gingerly at all of the stuff-- clothes, books, papers, a Tonka truck he got in third grade-- strewn across it. Sitting back, he eyes Frank levelly, mouth open for a suitably scathing reply. What comes out instead is a slightly defensive, "Maybe." And honestly? Gerard couldn't hate his brain more right now.
Frank's eyes go wide, then squinty, and he's doing this thing where he's smiling and laughing, but there's no sound. It's like he's on mute, frozen forever in the land of Those Who Mock Gerard, and Gerard would be even more embarrassed, but he can't quite make himself care when Frank's eyes are shining that way. Happy and laughing even if it's at him.
"Hey, hey," Frank's saying now, and there's less of a delay, but Gerard still has trouble holding on to the words. "Heeeey, Gee. How much do you love me?" Frank's still smiling but it's softer, and then he's moving to stand between the V Gerard's legs make, bending down to kiss him on the cheek. He catches the corner of Gerard's mouth and pulls away, grinning for all the world like it wasn't just an almost kiss kiss.
Gerard can't remember how to breathe.
It's... this is stupid. It's not like that was anything, not really, except now Gerard's mouth is tingling and he's wishing that that almost kiss wasn't just an almost. His eyes slide from Frank's mouth to Frank's right hip and the stretch of skin Frank's t-shirt refuses to cover. He watches his hand reach forward, smooth along Frank's hip; watches fingers curl around it to pull Frank closer. Ink stained fingers against pale, clean skin. He sees it, but the actions don't connect, not until he hears Frank's breath stutter-stop short.
"I'm... I just..." Gerard doesn't know what he was just, or that he was just anything. But when he tries to take his hand back, snatch it away, Frank's grabbing him by the wrist to keep him there.
It's all dream-like, slow and hazy, when Frank leans forward to press their lips together. Everything is so soft and tentative-- the way Frank's mouth moves against his, the way his tongue brushes lightly at the seam of Gerard's lips-- that when Gerard sighs, it's almost too loud. Obscene like the hot, moist air passing between them and Frank's spit-slick lips and...
Now Gerard's pulling Frank nearly on top of himself and kissing back a little harder, eyes closed and hands seeking blindly.
"I want.. I..." Frank breathes against Gerard's lips, and he's squirming on top of Gerard, pushing at his shirts and jeans as he rocks against him and fuck. Because Gerard wants too. Says as much in a series of gasped, "okays" and "yes yes yes"s.
It's fast and awkward and there will be bruises. Frank manages to headbutt Gerard. Gerard's left elbow catches Frank in the ribs. There are scratches where nails catch skin instead of clothing and they still only barely manage to get their clothes half off-- jeans and underwear pushed down, shirts twisted and shoved aside-- but it's ok. There is a miniature Shell gasoline truck digging into the small if his back and he doesn't care. It's fine because, after the pushing and pulling, they're finally pressed together. Frank's hand is the only thing between them then, sliding down to grip Gerard's cock and squeeze, and suddenly everything is exactly the way it's supposed to be. Everything is perfect.
"Oh, God." It's a deep, aching sob and Gerard feels it vibrating through him, mingling with the low murmur of Frank's laughter. "Jesus fucking Christ." He's making soft, needy sounds that he can't quite muffle, because really? If having someone else touch you is already better than your own hand by default, then Frank being the one touching him is better than the best thing ever and that's worth a little vocal embarrassment.
Frank's still laughing when he says, "Me too...?" in the curve of Gerard's ear, not quite not a question. Gerard, quite valiantly, manages to summon the coordination to shift them onto their sides, sneaking a sweat slick hand past Frank's half-pushed down boxers to fist his cock. He smiles when he hears Frank's breath catch on a sigh.
They're rocking together, stroking and squeezing. Mouths pressed into each other's necks. Kissing and biting and moaning. Breathing around each other, into each other, and all Gerard can think is "Yes" and "Please please please" and "Best ever."
Frank comes first, body going taught, hand clenching almost too tight around Gerard as he half gasps, half moans, "GeeGeeGeeGee," until it's just sound without a meaning. It doesn't take Gerard long after that, not with every inch of Frank pressed against him, Frank's voice in his ear.
When they can both breathe a little easier, when the world stops spinning and tipping, Gerard tries to think about this. He isn't actually quite sure what's just happened, but before he can sing further into the Vast Land of Contemplation (or fall asleep), he realizes Frank is shaking. Something like very much like panic rises up in him. But even though Frank is shaking, he's still clinging to Gerard, hands gripping at his sides, so Gerard tries to relax. He raises his clean hand to comb his fingers though Frank's hair, and it's two heartbeats before he hears it.
Frank, the tiny fucker, is laughing.
"You fucker," Gerard grumbles, pushing weakly at Frank, but Frank just clings tighter, laughing harder and louder by the second.
"Not yet."
Gerard huffs. "You suck."
"Not yet," Frank says again, and this time Gerard blushes.
"I hate you."
"Mmmno," Frank disagrees, and Gerard can feel the smile Frank presses into his neck. "You don't. I'm the best, remember? Best ever."
Gerard feels a little queasy.
"Yeah," he whispers voice shaky. He didn't mean to say that out loud, he didn't, but it's true. "Best ever."