Commentfic Round-up!

[ladyfoxxx]

So turps33 is running a Bandom Kissing Meme and it's completely awesome. Go and write some prompts and fic! Because I have zero willpower, one of greedy_dancer's prompts finally burst my Waycest cherry.

This reminded me that I have a bunch of commentfic scattered over other people's journals that I never reposted here. A few months ago one of those fics got locked down, so I'm reposting them all here so I don't lose them. I'm paranoid like that.

Gerard/Mikey - Teaching/learning how to kiss, 1 395 words For greedy_dancer (original post)

ETA - Podfic available by xojemmaxo

"Why didn't you play?" Gerard asks, keeping his voice soft. "Chelsea was playing." Mikey's been mooning over Chelsea for weeks now, and a game of spin the bottle was such an easy in for him. Gerard doesn't get why Mikey avoided the game and ditched the party early after he'd dragged Gerard all the way over there.

Mikey shrugs, shrinking further into his oversize hoodie. He looks smaller than usual, perched on the edge of the bed. "I don't know what I'm doing." His voice is so soft Gerard can barely make it out.

Gerard's eyes widen a little. "You don't?" Wow, he is the worst older brother ever. He'd always just assumed that Mikey had made it with a girl by now. Not that Mikey's dated in so many words, but he's always traveling in mixed groups, he knows fucking everybody, and Gerard's seen the way girls look at him.

Gerard tries not to let his frown show and drops onto the bed beside Mikey. Mikey doesn't look up, his entire focus stuck on the Star Wars pattern on the sheets, which he traces with a fingertip.

"Do you like, I mean. Do you want, like, some help with that?" It's odd, Gerard never feels awkward around Mikey, but at this very moment he does.

Mikey peels his gaze off the bedspread and looks up at Gerard, one eyebrow raised, looking a little confused. "How?"

Gerard clears his throat. "I could like. You know. Show you."

Mikey doesn't move, his expression doesn't even shift.

"You know, how to kiss." Gerard explains, feeling weirdly warm all of a sudden.

"You know how?" The corner of Mikey's mouth lifts in a smile. His tone is teasing and it's such a relief that Gerard grins back.

"Fuck you, I know how. I totally got to third base with Barbara." Gerard swats Mikey on the arm, but he's smiling around the words. Mikey is too, and laughing at him, so Gerard swats him again, giggling.

When they calm to silence and Gerard's flushed and bubbly from laughing, Mikey looks at him, his expression considering, and says, "Okay."

"Okay, what?" Gerard lost the thread of the conversation somewhere around the slapping.

"Okay, you can show me."

Gerard opens his mouth to ask show you what? and then closes it again when he remembers his own words.

Mikey doesn't say anything, just watches Gerard through his thick glasses, not looking away even though his cheeks are a little pink. His hair's sitting flat on one side and he's got a zit on his cheekbone. It hits Gerard in a rush just how much Mikey's grown up in the last year or so. He's taller than Gerard now, his face has thinned out and he looks far more man than boy.

Gerard is suddenly a little breathless. It's like his heart is tickling inside his ribs. He pushes the feeling down and edges closer to Mikey on the bed.

"Okay." He says, his voice rough and low. Mikey's mouth pulls up a little in an almost-smile. He tilts his chin up a little and yeah, okay, they're really doing this. Gerard shrugs, telling himself it's not a big deal. He slides closer again, until they're pressed together at knee and shoulder and Mikey's body feels so warm through their clothes.

"Okay." Gerard repeats, not sure why, just needing to say it again. Then he angles his head and leans in, pressing his lips to Mikey's. Mikey's lips are a little dry, and his head is at the wrong angle, so Gerard reaches up, pressing his palms to Mikey cheeks and tilting his head to the side. It makes all the difference. Their mouths press together and Gerard moves his lips over Mikey's soft and slow. It's nice. It's really fucking nice.

When he feels like he's made his point he pulls back, opening his eyes to look at Mikey. Gerard's still got his hands on Mikey's cheeks and Mikey's blinking at him from behind his glasses. His lips are wet.

"How was that?" Gerard asks.

"Shouldn't I be asking you?" Mikey twitches an eyebrow up like he's making a joke, but Gerard knows it's a real question.

"It was good. You're a natural." He smiles, feeling like he's giving the weirdest pep talk ever. "You're totally fine Mikeyway, you've got nothing to be worried about."

He starts to get up, but Mikey's hand lands on his knee, so he stops, staying seated.

"What about, like, frenching?" Mikey asks, not making eye contact.

"Oh." Gerard hadn't thought of that. "Okay, yeah. Um. Sure, we can." He wiggles around on the bed a little until he's facing Mikey more and leans in, cupping Mikey's cheek. "Just like, breathe through your nose, relax your mouth and like, follow my lead, okay?" Gerard's voice is coming out all breathless and little rushed.

Mikey gives the barest nod, his expression very serious, like he's going to be tested on this later. Then he tilts his head the same way Gerard tilted it for him before and closes his eyes. Gerard keeps his eyes open a beat longer, stuck looking at the curve of Mikey's eyebrow, the way his eyelashes look dark against his cheeks, then he leans in and kisses him again.

It's different this time. Before it was like Mikey was getting kissed, but now it's like, they're kissing and Gerard likes it way too much. Mikey's lips are soft and warm under his and when Gerard's lips move on his, he moves back, mimicking Gerard. Gerard slides a hand up to rest lightly on Mikey's shoulder, then he licks gently into Mikey's mouth.

The throaty noise Mikey makes vibrates against Gerard's mouth and sends warmth all down his body. Then Mikey hesitantly licks into Gerard's mouth and Gerard makes his own appreciative noise in reply.

Fuck, Mikey's a quick study, echoing Gerard's own licks and nibbles, sucking on Gerard's lower lip before stroking Gerard's tongue with his own again. Gerard forgets the lesson part of the equation, his brain switches off completely and his body - hot and alive - takes over. Just kissing, really kissing and it's good. Slow, wet and hot.

It's when Gerard's hand has gone from lightly resting on Mikey's shoulder to gripping tight enough to hurt, and his dick is starting to take an interest in the proceedings, that he realises they should stop. He leans back, and Mikey goes with him at first, chasing his mouth until Gerard pulls back far enough that they have to separate.

He stays leaned back, breathing hard, his eyes still closed, just trying to centre himself for a moment before he's ready to see Mikey again.

"Gee?" Mikey sounds unsure.

Gerard opens his eyes. Mikey's colour is high and his mouth is slightly open, lips wet. His glasses are crooked. "Was that okay?" Mikey's voice is rough, and he sounds painfully unsure.

"Yeah. Yeah. Shit yeah, Mikey. That was-" Gerard has to take a breath, the words are coming too fast for his mouth to make them. "That was good. You're good at this."

"Yeah?" There's a smile hovering at the edge of Mikey's mouth.

"Yeah." Gerard agrees, letting his own lips pull into a grin, which pulls Mikey's mouth into a proper smile, white teeth showing.

Gerard slides his hand up to ruffle Mikey's hair. Mikey scrunches his nose up and brushes it back into it's birdsnest shape.

"So. You okay?" Gerard asks, cocking his head to the side to assess his brother. Mikey looks fine. Better than fine, really.

"Yeah. Thanks Gee."

"Cool." Gerard gets up, feet dragging on the carpet as he makes for his desk in the corner, no real plan for what to do, just needing to move around.

"Gee, do you think... I mean." Mikey hesitates and Gerard turns around, trying to figure out what he's trying to say. "I could use more practise, right?"

There's something so unsure in Mikey's expression, and it's a shock to Gerard to find so much of what he's feeling reflecting back at him in Mikey's eyes. Hesitant. Unsure. But wanting.

Gerard wants too.

He walks back over to the bed to sit beside Mikey again, heart hammering under his ribs. "Well, sure. I mean. You can always use more practise, right?"

Mikey smiles, then leans in and kisses him.



Frank/Gerard - Asshole!Leathermouth Frank, 1 335 words for mizubyte (original post)

“Hey, look out!” The black lump Frank’s feet just hit squeaks. It appears to be a person.

Frank’s looking where he’s going. He always looks where he’s going. It’s not his fault if some people like to dress in black and hide in dark places where he will trip over them.

“What the fuck are you doing down there anyway?” Frank shouldn’t even bother continuing this conversation. He’s late for sound check already. The black lump sitting on the floor of the venue unfolds into a pale guy with long stringy hair who’s holding a notebook and sharpie which immediately puts Frank’s back up. Jesus fucking Christ they are everywhere.

“No. NO. Fuck off already. I don’t have time for this shit.” Okay, so usually Frank has better fan-etiquette than this, but jesus, he just had to out-run twenty kids who waited for him to go to the fucking bathroom to have a go at him and he barely made it to the safety of the venue with his virtue intact. The guy stares up at him blankly, looking like a lost puppy and Frank nearly feels bad, but no. “I’m late already, I’m sorry but no.”

Frank spins on his heel and starts to head for backstage but the guy pulls him up short. “What the fuck?”

Oh man, fans just feel so entitled these days. It’s not enough that you give them music and you know, your soul, they want ownership of your whole person too.

“Vultures! You’re just vultures!” The rage that was simmering so close to the surface since the moment that first fan pointed at him and he had to run bubbles right over. “You don’t own me! I’m not yours! You want a piece of me? A fucking souvenir?” Frank spits the words out. He drops his bag angrily and drags his t-shirt off over his head, throwing it in the guy’s shocked face. “Take it! Fucking eBay it and make some fucking money! Jesus Christ, leave me alone!”

“What the hell? Why are you shouting at me? You kicked me and now you’re shouting at me, what the fuck did I do?”

“Who’d you have to suck off to get into the venue anyway? You’re not even supposed to be here.” The guy just stares at Frank like he killed his fucking dog and Frank starts to feel a bit bad. God he hopes this guy doesn’t have a blog or twitter or something. Shit, Hambone’s gonna kill him for this. “Just get out. Okay. I won’t report you for being a stalker but just get the fuck out.”

He’s trying to be nice but that just seems to break the guy out of his catatonic state and he gets all up in Frank’s face yelling, “What the fuck is your problem? What is your problem asshole? You can’t just go around screaming at people and accusing them of being like, fucking loose and fuck you, I didn’t even do anything.” The words come at Frank in a rush and the guy’s prodding at Frank’s naked chest with the sharpie. “Oh my god! Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“You don’t know who I am?” Frank’s voice loses a lot of its righteous fury.

“You’re a fucking asshole but no. I don’t know who the fuck you are.”

If the world could please open up a hole beneath him and drop him into another dimension right about now, that would be great. Frank presses his eyes closed and hopes really, really hard for it, but when he opens them again the guy is still standing there, glaring daggers.

“I’m Frank Iero.” The glare the guy gives him holds absolutely no recognition and Frank wishes hard for death. “From Leathermouth?” He adds, feeling like he’s giving a really weak MTV shout out and no, nothing. Not even a tiny ping of realization on the guy’s face, he just shakes his head at Frank, continuing to look thoroughly unimpressed.

“Look I kind of stopped listening to new music in like, the nineties, so don’t take it personal, but I have no idea who you are and I’m not fucking stalking you.” There’s still annoyance in the guy’s voice but he seems to be softening a little now. “So, you can have your t-shirt back and I’m just... I’m gonna go now.” The guy shoves Frank’s t-shirt back at him, tucks his sharpie behind his ear, his notebook under his arm and goes to walk away and leave Frank feeling like the world’s biggest douchebag.

“Wait, wait! Dude, I’m sorry.” Frank rushes to catch up with him, clutching his t-shirt in one hand. “I was way out of line. I just... I got stalked earlier today and I’m a bit of a short fuse and then you were here with your notebook and everything and fuck man. I’m sorry.” Frank’s not entirely sure why he isn’t just letting this drop but it might have something to do with how cute he is now that Frank can see him without wearing his don’t touch groupies goggles.

“So I’m not allowed to have a notebook?” The guy challenges him. “I’m an artist, I take this thing everywhere. But okay fine, apology accepted. Can I go now?”

Obviously Frank’s charm isn’t really working on the guy. “Can you at least tell me your name? You know my name, after all.”

He rolls his eyes at Frank in reply before sticking out his hand. “I’m Gerard. And I didn’t suck anyone off to get in here, Mikey brought me. And I’m not gonna sell this story to some magazine so you can stop being nice to me now.”

“You’re Mikey’s brother, Gerard?” The words rush out of Frank’s mouth without checking with his brain first, and Gerard nods at him wearing an expression of barely contained impatience. “You’re Gerard Way?” Frank can barely get the words out past his lips, he just wants to sputter and scream and pretty much just die. Because of all the people for him to mistake for a stalker-fan he had to choose this one. Gerard nods at him slowly, but Frank can hardly contain himself. “You wrote Umbrella Academy! Fuck man I can’t believe I just yelled at you and you wrote like, my favourite comic! Oh my god, I am such an asshole.”

“You kind of are.” Gerard agrees, but he’s wearing something that could almost be a smile when he says it, which takes out some of the sting. “You want my t-shirt? You know, as a souvenir?” He taunts and Frank can feel himself going red. He rubs a hand over his face, wishing he could rewind the last ten minutes and do it all over again, but better.

“I’m sorry. Like, you have no idea how sorry I am. Let me make it up to you.” Frank does his best puppy face but it doesn’t seem to be having much affect on Gerard. Maybe he doesn’t like dogs.

“I’m fine, really. I think I’m just gonna go.” Gerard waves his hand vaguely and walks off again.

Frank swears at himself for doing it, but he trots along side him, talking fast. “Come on, please at least stay for soundcheck. Hambone will lynch me if you leave dude, it’s taken us like three weeks to convince Mikey to bring you to a show.”

“Three weeks to- oh man, I am gonna kill Mikey.” Gerard smushes a hand over his face, but he looks like he’s caving so Frank pushes harder.

“Come on, we’re really good, I promise.” Frank tries hopefully. “Oh, and we have coffee.” That seems to clinch it. Gerard turns around and sighs.

“Okay, fine I’ll stay. But put your shirt back on already, it’s really distracting.”

Frank specifically doesn’t fistpump with glee... well maybe just a little. “Distracting hey? Good distracting or bad distracting?”

Gerard just rolls his eyes, muttering, “I’m gonna kill Mikey” again.

Good distracting, then. Definitely good distracting.



Lyn-Z/always-a-girl!Gee/Frank - High school fic where Lyn-Z and Gee are besties who make out sometimes, 961 words (Original post now locked)

“Fucking sluts!” That bitch Katy the cheerleader yells at Gee and Lindsey, when they’re not even fucking doing anything, just sitting on one of the tables in the schoolyard talking shit.

Lindsey flips Katy the bird, pulling her face into a grimace and Gee hocks up and spits with disgust, glaring daggers at the blonde in her stupid designer outfit.

“Like you didn’t fuck half the Lacrosse team!” Gee shouts, and Katy’s mouth drops open in shock. She glances around to see if anyone heard before clattering off in her stupid yellow shoes.

Lindsey turns to grin at Gee and they chant “Slut!” in tandem at Katy’s receding back.

Gee drops onto her back on the table, picking at a hole in the knee of her jeans. She quit wearing skirts in January because fuck if she’s gonna fit herself into some heteronormative paradigm. Lindsey totally supports her in this, but she looks hot in skirts so she’s pressing the boundaries on what’s considered slutty instead. She refuses to wear skirts that sit any lower than 6 inches above the knee, Gee knows, she helped her measure. And every time her tiny plaid skirt flies up and Gee gets an eyeful of her cute little cotton boyshorts she’s really happy to support Lindsey’s norm-breaking pursuits.

Like the way she’s crawling over to straddle Gee on the table, right in the middle of the schoolyard because she doesn’t fucking care. She’s a warrior.

Lindsey’s smile is that much more beaming with her bright red lipstick and when she grabs a handful of Gee’s t-shirt and drags her up for a really messy kiss all Gee can do is kiss back and wonder what the fuck she did right to get a best friend who’s such a fucking awesome kisser. And really, she’s way hotter than Gee, with better tits and longer legs but of course if Gee ever tells her this Lindsey will just give Gee’s A-cups a squeeze and tell her how perfect they are.

So Gee just sends a prayer of thanks to the Mother Goddess and kisses back, loving every second. Lindsey kisses hard and aggressive with lots of tongue and teeth, just the way Gee likes it. She shoves her hands down the back of Gee’s jeans, fingers twitching on the skin above her waist. Gee’s just starting to get into it, feeling that hot melt start between her legs and fuck this is good. So good.

When she feels the weight of someone’s eyes on them, noticing a presence in the corner of her eye she breaks her lips from Lindsey’s, ready to face another lecture from the teacher on duty.

Except it’s not Mrs Harris. It’s that hot guy from French class, Frank, and he’s totally staring.

Lindsey turns to see as well, scowling at Frank, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“I forgot my camera.” He stammer, face going pink.

“Your loss.” Lindsey smirks, and just goes back to kissing Gee, which Gee is absolutely up for. Except, when she sneaks a look out one eye, Frank is still there, watching them and wringing his hands. It’s giving Gee the heebs and really messing with her concentration, so when she nearly bites Lindsey’s tongue off for the third time she breaks apart, glaring at Frank.

“Fuck, what already?”

“God I’m sorry. It’s just... fuck that’s so hot.” Frank’s gone beet red now, but he’s not showing any signs of leaving. God, boys are stupid. Slaves to their cocks.

“We’re not doing it for you, asshole. Stop objectifying us and go fuck-“

“Hey wait up, Linds.” Gee’s not entirely sure why, but she’s not ready to tell Frank to go jump yet. “He’s kind of pretty, we should objectify him for a bit.” She catches Lindsey’s eye, tiny smile curving her lip and thank god Lindsey can mind-read because she gets it right away.

“Okay then.” She returns Gee’s secret smile and looks at Frank assessingly, “What’s your name again?”

“Frank. Frank Iero.” He flaps his hand like he’s not sure what to do with it but Lindsey just grabs it and drags him up next to the table. She slaps the wooden top with the flat of her hand and he obediently climbs up to sit on it.

“So are you guys, like, girlfriends?” Frank asks, still staring between them like he can’t believe his eyes.

Gee and Lindsey just share a smile, Gee giggling as Lindsey rolls her eyes. “We don’t like to label what we are, traditional standards are bullshit.”

“Yeah, just because we’re friends doesn’t mean we can’t make out.” Gee adds, words rolling easily out of her mouth, it’s practically their anthem.

“And just because we’re girlfriends doesn’t mean we have to be all fucking monogamous or whatever.” Lindsey chimes in, lip curling with disgust on the world monogamous. “Fuck standards.”

“Yeah, fuck standards.” Frank agrees with Lindsey, but he’s staring at Gee, at her mouth which has probably got Lindsey’s bright red lipstick smeared all over it. And it’s really stupid and traditionalist and fucking nancy-girl of her, but it’s making Gee kind of fluttery.

“If it feels good, do it, right? Fuck this jealousy shit.” Lindsey’s saying, her eyes dancing between the two of them . She shoves Gee towards Frank and fuck, Lindsey is just the best friend ever.

Gee looks at Frank and Frank looks at Gee, little breaths dancing between them until Gee decides fuck it and kisses him. He tastes like cigarettes and strawberry gum and boy. He also kisses like a motherfucker, a little rougher and messier than Lindsey and it’s fucking awesome.

God she’s got a lapful of Lindsey and a mouthful of hot Frank’s wicked tongue.

Somebody pinch her. She’s fucking dreaming.

(I wrote a sort-of prequel to this that turned into actualfax fic, Soft)



Frank/Gerard - Gerard doesn't mind that Frank's put on some weight, 700 words for graciexmae (original post)

For the first time in the history of ever, Gerard is ready before Frank. He's just finished knotting his tie and he's ferreting through the wardrobe for his leather jacket, boots shined, hair perfect; while Frank is in front of the bedroom mirror wearing only a pair of jeans.

Gerard knows that pair of jeans. Four weeks ago they barely stayed up on Frank, he was forever hitching them up and flashing his ass and underwear to the world if he ever wore them sans belt. Now, he's struggling to do them up. He gets the button caught and checks his reflection in the mirror, a roll of flesh pouring over the waistband.

"I'm bulging." He flings his hands at his reflection and hisses. "Fuck this, man." He rips the jeans open and kicks them off, then stomps them into the floor for good measure. Then he scuffs over to the bed in his too-snug boxer briefs and flops onto the mattress, curling into himself into the foetal position and hugging across his belly. "Nothing fits anymore. It's fucking bullshit."

"Frank, baby." Gerard drops his jacket over a chair and steps over the flop on the bed beside Frank. He brushes a calming hand through Frank's hair. "You know as soon as the doctor takes you off these steroids all that weight's gonna burn right off."

Frank doesn't relax, but he does turn his face into Gerard's hand. "Fuck my immune system."

Gerard hums in agreement. "What about that sweater your mom sent? And the trousers?"

"They make me look like my uncle Mark."

"So?"

"The guy is a fucking tool." Frank rubs a hand across his face. "I don't want to go the Watchmen premiere dressed like a tool."

"Okay, okay. We'll figure something out. Stop being a baby."

Frank rolls onto his back, his hands still resting over his round belly. "Aren't you pissed that someone took your boyfriend and replaced him with Jabba the Hut?"

"Fuck off, you're way hotter than Jabba." Gerard climbs on top of Frank, straddles him and pulls Frank's arms above his head so he can't hide under them. He leans down and licks a stripe right up the centre of Frank's chest, over the graveyard tattoo. "Can't you just let me enjoy this?"

"Enjoy what?" Frank's brow furrows as he stares up at Gerard.

"This." Gerard slides his hands down Frank's arms, trails them over his chest and grabs a handful of Frank's fleshy waist. "There's more of you, to you know, touch." He presses his fingers into the soft skin, digging in, "And grab." He leans low and opens his hot lips on Frank's stomach, sucking in a mouthful of flesh and worrying it between his teeth. "And bite." The words press hot into Frank's skin.

Frank writhes under Gerard's hands, squirming in a way that tells Gerard everything he's doing is working. Gerard leans down until they're pressed chest to chest, and he can feel Frank getting hard underneath him.

"So they're gonna come pick us up in like twenty minutes." He whispers into Frank's cheek, leaning low to run his tongue along the line where Frank's skin meets his beard. Frank sucks in a shaky breath and rolls his hips underneath Gerard's. "You gonna spend that time sulking, or do I get to blow you?"

Frank's eyes fall shut and he swallows heavily. Then he throws up a hand like he's in school and Gerard's the teacher. "Blow job please!"

"Thought so." Gerard grins, sliding down Frank's body in a way that maximises rub and contact, pulling a throaty noise from Frank. He hooks two thumbs into the waistband of Frank's underpants and tugs them down. They leave a red indentation to mark where they were. "You're so predictable." Gerard snorts.

"Fuck you." Frank grins around the words, already twitching under Gerard's hands.

"I told you, we've only got twenty minutes." Gerard says carefully, knowing his breath is hitting hot against the sensitive skin of Frank's cock. "You'll have to wait til after the premiere."

"Okay." Frank shifts, sliding a hand into Gerard's hair as Gerard's head dips low to find his cock. "Sounds like a plan."



Frank/Gerard - Gerard designs sex toys for a living, 782 words For slashxyouxup (original post)

Frank's pressed flat against the wall with Gerard's tongue in his mouth when he realises tonight is the night.

After five dates with nothing more than some enthusastic necking to go home and jerk-off to, Gerard is in his apartment and he's not showing any signs of wanting to leave. Tonight they're going to fuck. He has been dreading and anticipating this moment from the first time Gerard smiled at him, handing him a beautiful transluscent pink phallus.

That's sounds a lot more intimate than it is. You see, Gerard handles phalluses and butt plugs and vibrators all day, every day. He designs them. Some of the best sex toys in the country, even the world, carry his signature.

Frank's been photographing Gerard's creations for the Right Way Toy company for nearly a month now when he'd really rather be photographing Gerard. He was in two mind's about even asking him out because come on, the guy designs sex toys for a living, what the fuck would he find interesting in Frank?

But Frank's never been one to shy away from rejection. Better to get the boot than to regret not asking. Colour him surprised when Gerard said yes to coffee, then a date, then a few more. And he turned out to not only be excruciatingly hot but also into most of the same things Frank is and a bit of a geek as well. That doesn't mean Frank's not still nervous. He's fucking terrified.

Gerard's hand is sliding down the front of Frank's jeans and his cock doesn't care if he's not gonna make the grade as a lover, he's got a mouthful of Gerard's tongue and a handful of his ass and fuck, the guy has a mouth made of sin.

Frank's moan when Gerard grips him is loud and guttural and shit, shit, tonight is definitely the night.

When Gerard pushes him down on the bed and crawls on top of him Frank's already panting. Gerard peeling his clothes off is like the hottest striptease ever and there's so much flesh, so much for his eyes to devour. Frank's hands are clumsy getting his own clothes off, but the reward of pressing himself up again Gerard skin to skin is so worth it. They kiss deeply, rolling around on the bed and grinding on each other and holy shit Frank could white-out from that alone. Gerard's hair's all fucked up and he's got smudges of eyeliner around his piercing hazel eyes and Frank's caught between staring at him and kissing him hard.

When things start to get heated, he knows he's gotta bring out the big guns. He scrambles for his bedside drawer, fingers skipping past the lube and condoms and stumbling over the array of sex toys. He's got three of Gerard's top models and it's taken him the better part of the last week to figure them all out (not that experimenting with them on himself wasn't infinite amounts of fun).

He pulls out his favourite, the Lady Of Sorrows, trying to be subtle about it but Gerard spots it straight away, breaking his lips from Frank's as he grasps his wrist.

"Frank, baby can we-"

"Course, yeah, I mean I've got it all figured out, the settings and everything-" Frank's words come out in a nervous rush as his thumb brushes the dial, setting the whole thing vibrating powerfully in his hand and he nearly drops it.

"No, can we not?" Gerard asks, brows furrowed and looking deeply unsure.

Frank somehow manages to turn the thing off, staring up at Gerard looking all pretty and uncomfortable and wondering what he did wrong.

"Sorry?"

"Just. I mean, I look at them all day and it's just, I'm sorry, but they remind me of work and it's just... it's not sexy for me anymore." Gerard's having trouble meeting his eyes as he speaks, cheeks going pink. "I'm sorry-" Frank cuts off the words with a kiss, tongue pushing in insistently and fuck he's getting so hard he's gonna blow.

When he breaks the kiss Gerard is panting, and Frank's voice is rough and breathy when he says, "It's cool baby, anything you want."

A shy smile curves Gerard's lips, "Can you just... use your hands?" His eyes flick up, unsure, "And, you know... your mouth?"

Frank just about melts at the look in his eyes. Now they're talking. "Fuck yeah." He can't fight the relieved smile that crawls across his face as he puts the toy down on the floor out of the way, "Now you're talking." He rolls Gerard onto his back and kisses his smiling lips.

This, he can do. This he can totally do.



Pete/Mikey - Mikey's lucky shirt, 692 words for turps33 (original post featuring pictures of the aforementioned lucky shirt)

Or even better, Pete may be wearing only the lucky Pete shirt while making Mikey bad hotel instant coffee as part of his wake up.

And it's not buttoned. And Pete just strolls over with a mug of instant in each hand with the shirttails flapping loosely on either side of his bat heart tattoo. He kneels up on the bed next to Mikey, offering him one mug and Mikey sits up blearily, rubbing his eyes and scratching his fingers through his hair before he takes the mug. Then he actually focuses enough to see Pete's attire (or lack thereof) and he smiles wickedly over the rim of his mug before taking a sip.

"Were you getting dressed or undressed?" Mikey's gaze keeps drifting down over all the exposed skin between the loose fabric of the shirt Pete wears.

"Does it have to be one or the other?" Pete asks, shifting around on the bed until he's straddling Mikey over the sheets. "It's your lucky shirt. Maybe I'm keeping it lucky."

"What, like the luck needs recharge?" Mikey asks, sucking down more coffee and wiggling a little under Pete, like he's enjoying the weight pressing him into the mattress.

"Can't hurt." Pete grins, slipping his fingers back around Mikey's mug and tugging it out of Mikey's hand. He swallows Mikey's disappointed whine with a quick kiss and places both mugs on the bedside.

Hands now free, he slips them into Mikey's hair, which feels so different to what he's used to, the long strands fine and silky from bleaching, the short crisp hairs firm and ticklish on his palms. He tugs Mikey in for a kiss, kissing him properly, warm and firm, tasting coffee and faintly, cigarettes.

Mikey opens up, tilting his head into it, his hands sliding up Pete's chest to grip at his shoulders through the soft fabric of the shirt. Pete growls in the back of his throat and rolls down on Mikey, grinding him through the rucked up covers until Mikey makes an impatient noise and pushes Pete off, shoving him onto his back and pinning him to the covers. Pete catches a glimpse of Mikey's predatory smile moments before Mikey ducks his head, mouth meeting skin, lips and tongue tracing down Pete's torso, following the hem of the shirt where it rests on Pete's chest, across his belly, down to his dick.

Pete chokes out a desperate noise as Mikey's mouth slides over him, sucking Pete into his mouth until he's achingly hard and groaning noisily.

"Fuck. Mikey." He pants. Mikey just hums around Pete's dick, moving his head and when Pete glances down he can see Mikey's eyes are squeezed shut, and he looks lost in it.

Pete fists his fingers into Mikey's hair and lets go, head tossing on the sheets as he pants out his appreciation, until he's shaking and coming and making way more noise than he should for a lazy afternoon in a hotel room.

He's still gasping when Mikey lets his spent dick slide from his mouth and leans up over Pete, licking his lips.

"Jesus. Mikey." Pete sputters, still pretty far from making sense.

"That should do it, right?" Mikey grins, his eyes squinting down at Pete.

Pete gasps in a breath, still floundering. "What?"

Mikey rolls his eyes like what he's saying should make perfect sense when it totally doesn't. Not that Pete is working on full brain power right now.

Mikey sighs and shakes his head. "Getting lucky in my lucky shirt's gotta count for something. I should get at least another five years out of it now."

Pete licks his lips, having trouble focusing on anything but Mikey's mouth. His lips are blood dark, swollen and wet. Pete gropes for something to say.

"You reckon a full five years from one blow job?"

Mikey chews his lip, looking thoughtful. "I don't know. I guess we can't be too careful."

Pete grins, his fingers already trailing up the skin of Mikey's sides.

"No, can't be too careful."

He leans up to take Mikey's mouth, and Mikey kisses him right back.

No point taking any chances.



Pete/Mikey - kiss ficlet, on a motorcycle, 331 words for turps33 (original post)

Do I need a reason? No, probably not.

But it would be Mikey on his bike, the engine still warm because he just got back from a surveillance run and Pete climbed onto his lap the moment he was at a standstill. Pete's driving the kiss, all wet lips and pushy tongue, because he hates having Mikey gone too long (his imagination can be his enemy sometimes) but Mikey's giving back as good as he gets, hands gripping Pete's waist to steady him so they don't tip his precious bike over. Pete's fingers are locked in Mikey's hair, damp and flattened from his helmet, and he's nipping at Mikey's lips and moaning a little, because he's nothing if not vocal in his appreciation of all things Mikey - his lips, his taste, his fucking awesome kissing skills.

They'll keep going like that til Ray yells at them to knock it off, or Frank walks past making vomiting noises. Or, if no one interrupts them they'll just writhe closer, til they're bodies are stuck together with dust and sweat and Mikey stops caring if his bike falls over. Pete will fit his hand into the tight space down the front of Mikey's pants, zipper digging painfully into the back of his hand, and you couldn't call it jerking him off, more just pressing his hand to Mikey's dick and letting him hump it. He'll kiss down Mikey's throat until it vibrates under his lips with a moan and Mikey's hands dig painfully into Pete's skin as his hips buck up, shaking the bike as Pete's hand gets sticky, filthying one more pair of underwear they can't spare the water to clean.

Then it's Pete's turn to hold Mikey upright, because he's gone boneless, his lips curved into a wet sloppy smile. Pete fits his arms around Mikey's bony shoulders and clings, feeling the thump of his heartbeat through layers of leather and he smiles - big and stupid and toothy - at the empty dead horizon, whispering, "Welcome back, Mikeyway."



I feel better now.

PS. I just realised I have a Waycest tag now. I don't know how I feel about that.