fic: shoreline (frank/gerard)
Shoreline
Frank/Gerard, NC17, 635 words.
written for Porn Battle.
If playing sober for the first time in front of thousands of screaming kids had been terrifying, it had felt like nothing compared to this. Being pushed up against a wall, fingers gripping and pulling at Frank’s sweat-soaked tee trying desperately to keep him in the moment, some stubborn spot in the back of his mind fearing of Frank snapping out of it and running away any minute now. It’s stupid because it wasn’t Gerard who had started it, wasn’t him who couldn’t keep hands off of the other on stage.
He had been too busy freaking out about being witty without any incentive right then and there.
Frank doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, though, just pushes his thigh hard against Gerard’s groin and keeps it there. He nips at Gerard’s pulse, nose against the depression in Gerard’s collarbone, shivering in the air-conditioned room.
“You hear us?” Frank croaks, palms on the crown of Gerard’s head and the back of his neck, wet hair peeking out from between fingers resembling winter coats on caterpillars. “You fucking hear us up there?”
Gerard’s breath comes out in short, heavy gasps against Frank’s cheek and temple, his lips smearing soft, half-kisses everywhere he can reach.
“Never been, never been so-“
“-terrified-“
“perfect before.”
Frank is frowning when he lifts his head up from Gerard’s neck, leaning up to kiss him sloppily, hands dropping to the waist of Gerard’s damp jeans, fingers toying with the buttons. “Couldn’t stop staring at you, couldn’t stop-fuckfuckfuck.” Gerard’s already pushing his hand into Frank’s jeans, knuckles rubbing against soft skin and pubic hair, fingers wrapping around his dick.
“Like a new band,” Gerard breathes out into Frank’s wet mouth, teeth catching Frank’s soft lip making a quiet clang against the ring that both are too worked up to hear.
It’s messy and desperate and so so good; Gerard’s free hand, palm flat against Frank’s spine, pushing him flush against his chest. Frank does something dirtyhot with his hand while licking the curve of Gerard’s neck all the way up to the shell of his ear, hot breaths and strangled moans hitting skin and bouncing off the walls. Concert sweat mixes with the moment, forming small drops on the bridge of Gerard’s nose that roll down the bony slope and drip onto Frank’s forehead and damp cheeks. But it isn’t enough.
Gerard pulls his hand from Frank’s jeans hearing him let out a long, drawn out whine. “Fucking -- hold on,” he says, frustrated. He tugs at Frank’s jeans trying to push them down more. They cling stubbornly to his ass and thighs for a while until he gets them struggled down to the knees. His own jeans slide down with more ease and then he’s pulling Frank closer, dicks bumping, hands wrapping around them again.
“Christ,” Frank croaks, and nuzzles Gerard’s neck.
“Fucking yeah,” Gerard pants, his belly tingling. It’s been too long since he’s been completely sober doing this, and all he can think of is Frank’s droopy eyes, and that he will remember everything in the morning.
Gerard comes first, groaning into Frank’s hair. He pulls Frank’s earlobe into his mouth, nipping gently while jacking him off until Frank cries out and comes forcefully into Gerard’s palm.
Leaning against each other, Gerard eases his clean hand under the hem of Frank’s t-shirt, pressing an open palm on one swallow, hand molding nicely against the thin layer of fat. Frank shudders, fist gripping at the collar of Gerard’s shirt, and pushes up hard with his face when Gerard kisses the corner of his eye.
Fucking yeah, Gerard thinks, listening to their heavy breathing, leaning his head against the wall and letting Frank sag into his arms, boneless. He will definitely remember this in the morning, and it won’t be fuzzy and full of regret.
Frank/Gerard, NC17, 635 words.
written for Porn Battle.
If playing sober for the first time in front of thousands of screaming kids had been terrifying, it had felt like nothing compared to this. Being pushed up against a wall, fingers gripping and pulling at Frank’s sweat-soaked tee trying desperately to keep him in the moment, some stubborn spot in the back of his mind fearing of Frank snapping out of it and running away any minute now. It’s stupid because it wasn’t Gerard who had started it, wasn’t him who couldn’t keep hands off of the other on stage.
He had been too busy freaking out about being witty without any incentive right then and there.
Frank doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, though, just pushes his thigh hard against Gerard’s groin and keeps it there. He nips at Gerard’s pulse, nose against the depression in Gerard’s collarbone, shivering in the air-conditioned room.
“You hear us?” Frank croaks, palms on the crown of Gerard’s head and the back of his neck, wet hair peeking out from between fingers resembling winter coats on caterpillars. “You fucking hear us up there?”
Gerard’s breath comes out in short, heavy gasps against Frank’s cheek and temple, his lips smearing soft, half-kisses everywhere he can reach.
“Never been, never been so-“
“-terrified-“
“perfect before.”
Frank is frowning when he lifts his head up from Gerard’s neck, leaning up to kiss him sloppily, hands dropping to the waist of Gerard’s damp jeans, fingers toying with the buttons. “Couldn’t stop staring at you, couldn’t stop-fuckfuckfuck.” Gerard’s already pushing his hand into Frank’s jeans, knuckles rubbing against soft skin and pubic hair, fingers wrapping around his dick.
“Like a new band,” Gerard breathes out into Frank’s wet mouth, teeth catching Frank’s soft lip making a quiet clang against the ring that both are too worked up to hear.
It’s messy and desperate and so so good; Gerard’s free hand, palm flat against Frank’s spine, pushing him flush against his chest. Frank does something dirtyhot with his hand while licking the curve of Gerard’s neck all the way up to the shell of his ear, hot breaths and strangled moans hitting skin and bouncing off the walls. Concert sweat mixes with the moment, forming small drops on the bridge of Gerard’s nose that roll down the bony slope and drip onto Frank’s forehead and damp cheeks. But it isn’t enough.
Gerard pulls his hand from Frank’s jeans hearing him let out a long, drawn out whine. “Fucking -- hold on,” he says, frustrated. He tugs at Frank’s jeans trying to push them down more. They cling stubbornly to his ass and thighs for a while until he gets them struggled down to the knees. His own jeans slide down with more ease and then he’s pulling Frank closer, dicks bumping, hands wrapping around them again.
“Christ,” Frank croaks, and nuzzles Gerard’s neck.
“Fucking yeah,” Gerard pants, his belly tingling. It’s been too long since he’s been completely sober doing this, and all he can think of is Frank’s droopy eyes, and that he will remember everything in the morning.
Gerard comes first, groaning into Frank’s hair. He pulls Frank’s earlobe into his mouth, nipping gently while jacking him off until Frank cries out and comes forcefully into Gerard’s palm.
Leaning against each other, Gerard eases his clean hand under the hem of Frank’s t-shirt, pressing an open palm on one swallow, hand molding nicely against the thin layer of fat. Frank shudders, fist gripping at the collar of Gerard’s shirt, and pushes up hard with his face when Gerard kisses the corner of his eye.
Fucking yeah, Gerard thinks, listening to their heavy breathing, leaning his head against the wall and letting Frank sag into his arms, boneless. He will definitely remember this in the morning, and it won’t be fuzzy and full of regret.