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The sound of the keys on Frank’s ring jingle loud enough to fill the broad back section of the building. He slides the silver one into the lock, twisting, and a surge of elation winds through him when it opens.
Frank steps in— rushing, since he’d run a touch late with the final client he’d taken at his pop-up booth. His hands still vibrate from the sensation of the tattoo gun being stationed in his hand for hours, but he clings to the familiarness because all the changes that have gone on during the past year have been welcome, but overwhelming. Count on Frank to hurl himself into a fucking whirlwind of change the second he finds the first signs of it, but it’s nothing he regrets, and he wouldn’t in a million years.
Inside the club, renovations fill the cavernous space with powerful sounds of demolition and rebuilding. Frank has to be cautious of where he steps and where he should steer away from today because it’s always different with the rapid progress the team makes. He dodges the rubble that was the previous stage being replaced with a new one, in addition to the reconstruction of the private rooms being expanded so they aren’t exclusive to the first floor alone.
Gerard put emphasis on how much demand he’s been seeing for the private rooms now that business has skyrocketed, earning Verity its spotlight in adult magazines and online articles circulating through social media for kinksters to find. Infinite lines form outside the doors every night and while it’s mostly a positive, Gerard’s been somewhat of a wreck like he too is being rebuilt in some way.
Frank supposes he bears the same weight of the responsibility, given the fact he’s now Verity’s acclaimed co-owner.
It’s hard maintaining a balance between this new job and his tattooing career that seems to grow every day since he rekindled his passion for it. At least in that career field, he has more of a sense of control because he knows what he’s doing and he’s good at it.
One fact has always been clear; Frank doesn’t know the first thing about running a business. But Gerard promised him he wouldn’t allow the pressure of that to keep him from taking the offer, which he had after a serious moment of panic when Gerard presented him with a copy of the keys, because he hadn’t even officially moved in with Gerard yet and he was still being offered one of the most significant parts of himself. It felt equal to a proposal, which is why, Frank thinks, he ended up agreeing to the most insane suggestion and leapt into something bigger than he’d ever be prepared to take on.
Being part of something like Verity has only been a responsibility he can gain from. Minus the stress, of course, which Gerard shears off heaping amounts from his plate so the most Frank ever has to do is attend business meetings and contribute to all the arrangements that go along with organizing parties and other events. Gerard likes to say Frank offers the brains and the heart while Gerard offers the soul, and together they keep Verity what it’s always been meant to be; a reflection of open desire without shame, someplace to celebrate it. Frank has had plenty to sort through when it comes to letting himself desire everything he does, but one thing that’s always been obvious is he’s never regret wanting any of it, and that drive helps him understand exactly what he needs to do to run Verity the way it needs. That way he doesn’t flounder when Gerard asks for his input.
At least business scavengers have stopped hounding Gerard about merging businesses and making investments. Frank guards him like a glaring doberman and eventually they stopped coming around once the message was clear.
Frank searches around for Gerard in the building. He runs into Buffy marching through with a tablet in her hand, nearly crashing into her side, but he recoils in time with a startled laugh.
“Jesus, you’re a steamroller today.” He laughs.
“Sorry!” Buffy, the recently— and rightfully— promoted manager of the place, looks up from her tablet with a wince. “We’re falling behind on the stage construction.”
“I thought we finally got the lights delivered today?”
“We did. The wrong colors,” Buffy mutters, cutting her sharp gaze towards the heaps of boxes near the section the new stage will stand. “Now we have to return them and order new ones, that’s gonna take approximately a week and a half and everyone’s getting anxious about when they’ll be returning to work.”
“It’s fine, we’ll keep covering their pay, it’s no big deal,” Frank soothes her. “Just don’t tear anyone’s head clean off their shoulders, alright? I’ll fill in Gerard so we can sort it out today. Wherever he is.”
“It’s fine, I’ll handle them. Maybe if we get a discount for the inconvenience I’ll have some mercy on these people.” Buffy tosses her long black hair over her shoulder, shooting Frank a quick smile before she’s darting off towards the men who delivered the lights to sort the situation.
Frank continues seeking, coming away without any evidence of Gerard. Despite this, a knowing feeling settles in him. Following his hunch, he disappears behind velvet curtains, walking up steps and sliding his key into a locked door to wander inside already knowing what he’ll find there.
Lo and behold, Gerard is standing in front of the two-way mirror, watching the chaos unfolding without involving himself in it. His arms are folded over his chest, leg jiggling to contain the assortment of thoughts that have swarmed his head. He hadn’t even noticed Frank’s entry with how deep he is within his own mind that never ceases mapping and planning these days, worrying to overwhelming degrees that bring him here for some quiet. Frank is glad to know him enough that he can find him here in an instant, guided by instinct when his searches come up empty.
“Something tells me whatever you’re watching right now isn’t nearly as thrilling as what you’d find during one of our parties,” Frank cuts into the silence, softening his tone so it won’t startle Gerard so much.
He fails, though the fault isn’t entirely his own. Gerard turns fast. He winds up bumping his knee on the low table, hissing and doubling over to rub it. With a flushed face, he looks up through his hair, sheepishly grinning.
“The parties and construction have one thing in common, they’re definitely more exciting to watch than to be a part of.” Gerard straightens, adjusting his black hoodie with a white splatter of some unintelligible black metal band name plastered on it. “Unless those parties involve you and me onstage, then that’s a different story.”
Frank walks up to him, making a point to avoid slamming his legs into the table with a sideways smile Gerard narrows his eyes at.
“Buffy tells me they brought the wrong lights and now she’s going to fix it. You know, it sounds like something maybe you and I should be taking care of?”
“Buffy actually has her head on her shoulders unlike us. She’s better at dealing with complications sometimes, you and I just submit the orders and pray for the best.” Gerard chuckles, folding his arms over his chest again to continue his distanced observation of the buzzing construction down below.
It’s like watching a colony of ants at work, groups banding together to carry out destroyed supplies and replacing them, taking decorative items into the rooms that are nearly finished. It always makes him wince watching Verity be taken apart even if he knows it’ll be more beautiful than ever when it’s finished, but it’s difficult to imagine a place so stunning needing any improvement. The stream of motion drains the bit of energy he has left in him, reminding him of why he’d been so quick to escape here to begin with.
Frank turns, leaning his head on Gerard’s shoulder and shutting his eyes. “Need you, Sir.”
Gerard takes action quickly. He wraps his arms around Frank, maneuvering them to the sofa. He drapes across it and curls Frank into a ball he places in his lap. This way, Frank is free to tuck his face into the bare crook of Gerard’s neck and breathe in the familiar scent of him that feels like landing on home soil after sailing over a vast ocean. He can rest in a heap like he’s made of nothing but skin and synchronize his breathing with Gerard’s, confiding in the warmth of him so the dizziness that occurs during their moments of closeness can fill his head entirely, luring him out of the dark corners his mind blanketed him in.
“Talk to me,” Gerard encourages, lips ghosting along his temple.
Frank blinks slowly, swimming through the fog to find his voice beyond a languid tongue. “Had a long day. Lots of bookings to take care of . . . and I’m sort of over the construction. It makes me anxious to see Verity in pieces, even if she’s being rebuilt. It’s like I don’t have my second home right now.”
“We’ve only got a week or so left, Frankie, then you can enjoy her more than you ever have. We designed the rooms ourselves, aren’t you excited to visit them once they’re done?” Gerard’s lips trail to Frank’s cheek, pressing there to instill a distracting warmth in him, but Frank is pulled in the direction of his resurfacing anxious feeling.
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m fucking psyched to see everything when it’s finally done, it’s just the process. I don’t know . . . I think I’ve gotten the hang of this most of the time and sometimes it feels like I’m the right person to run this place with you, other times I feel like I’m not.” Frank bites the jagged corner of his nail he’s been attacking every chance he can get.
“Verity was made for people exactly like you, Frank. There’s no better person to take care of it. I know it’s a lot— and sometimes I do feel bad about throwing it at you the way I did—” Gerard wants to resume, but Frank catches just enough of a moment of sharpness to shake his head in protest of it, turning to find Gerard’s eyes flickering around unsurely.
“I don’t want to complain so much that you’d regret it,” Frank says apologetically. “God, I love this place. I love being a part of it. I just . . . have a habit of kicking myself, I guess. Feeling like I’m not doing enough.”
“Who else would chew out the people giving us the world’s most terrible customer service?”
Frank peers out the window at Buffy tossing her arms up exasperatedly at a sour-faced employee poorly hiding signs of intimidation when she jabs a finger towards his chest. “Buffy seems to be doing just fine. Jesus, that’s a lot of rage in such a tiny person.”
“I could easily say the same about you.” Gerard snickers into Frank’s neck, the feeling eliciting a shiver but also a sound of false indignation.
Frank sighs once their brief moment of laughter dissipates and he’s reminded of the budding nerves, leaning his head against Gerard’s. “Sorry. I don’t like doubting myself. I know you didn’t just pick me to do this with you because we’re together, the club’s too important for you to even risk the chance of setting up a suicide mission.”
“I felt like I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing either when I first got the club. I’d never run a business, but somehow it just came as a reflex because of how badly I wanted it. You’ve got a passion in you that’s a serious rarity, Frank, I knew it would push you along.” Gerard’s hands find their way into Frank’s hair to pull it away from his face, outgrown loose curls sliding through his fingers and reminding Frank of his desire for a haircut, but all frivolous thoughts of hair care dissipate when a question rushes forward.
“Am I really passionate?”
“Of course you are,” Gerard says with no inch of hesitation. Frank almost accepts it without question, but it feels strange as he looks back at himself, the way he’s been convinced he lacks drive and has for many years.
“I don’t know myself as much as I used to. I guess it’s just . . . I spent so many years suppressing myself to survive,” Frank’s throat feels dry against the memories that feel like standing out in desert sun again, the furious rays searing his exposed skin. “And— you know, holding back from things I wanted so much but thought I couldn’t have, it blurred the lines.”
Gerard’s eyes have softened with sympathy that always keeps from inching into pity Frank fears to ever find in him. His concerns feel medicinal— small dosages, none too strong to poison him. Frank can swallow them down even if some reluctance shadows his first assessment.
“I know who you are, Frank,” Gerard says softly, thumb stroking along the curve of his cheekbone. “You can always ask to see your reflection in me and I’ll tell you exactly what I see.”
Frank’s heart feels swollen in his chest. Swallowing hard, his eyes flutter, face turning for his lips to catch Gerard’s thumb traveling down the shape of his cheek. He feels the pad pressing down on the lower one, tracing, until Frank parts his lips on instinct. He can feel Gerard’s small intake of breath when he explores the open seam of his mouth and dips in, invited by Frank’s tongue. Frank hums, and he knows it’s odd, but he’s at peace when he takes Gerard’s thumb in his mouth and traces the grooves at the pad with the flat of his tongue. He feels anchored, indulged.
Of course, it’s not a fault of his own that he’s developed a sort of oral fixation with Gerard, since his Dom is always so willing to oblige and encourage it.
Exhaling shakily, Gerard slides his thumb out, swiping the glistening tip over Frank’s mouth and dragging it along his skin as he curls a hand around his chin to prevent him from seeking it out again. When Frank’s eyes open, he finds Gerard’s face filled with color, pupils enlarged.
“Not while we’re surrounded by dozens of people. Sorry, baby, but this isn’t the sort of crowd you want to catch you in the act.”
Frank’s cheeks warm as he returns to himself. He hauls himself off Gerard’s lap, pointedly ignoring the subtle weakness in his knees. “Then we better head off someplace where we won’t be discovered, Sir.”
Gerard springs to his feet. Taking Frank’s wrists, he guides him down the stairs, bolting through the sidelines with him in tow to avoid anyone striding up to them with talk of business, and they disappear outside barely containing their laughter over their expert routine of escaping the chaos.
—
Frank watches Gerard during his recovery.
His hoodie is thrown back on, sleeves pushed up to avoid mess as he slices through a carton of strawberries, exposing the softness of his pale forearms and the slight definition there Frank must’ve admired with feathery light explorations of his fingers hundreds of times by now. It’s easier to grow heavily distracted by Gerard and everything that makes him beautiful to Frank when he’s partially in a haze, drifting out with more alertness by the second, but one thing he can never shake free from his how utterly fucking smitten he is. Mikey says it’s disturbing to witness, like a trance of sorts, but he always mentions it with a crooked smile fixed on his face that tells Frank it’s only pestering on behalf of a sibling’s perspective and it’s otherwise a little endearing.
Gerard, on the other hand, doesn’t typically do well under Frank’s tender studies of him. He squirms, clearing his throat, pink tinting the high round points of his cheekbones.
“You’re staring,” Gerard comments lightly.
“You look good,” Frank catapults back.
Gerard titters in a combination of flattery and uncomfortableness. He sweeps the strawberry halves into a bowl, turning to rinse his hands, and offering a view of the backside of him in those jeans. Frank giggles, earning a glare of faux warning when Gerard twists back around with a hand towel in his grasp.
“It’s like dealing with a person on edibles when you’re still half in subspace. I’ve gotta prepare snacks and become the target of your impossible horniness.” Gerard chuckles low under his breath, dragging the bowl of strawberries over to dust them in sugar.
“Impossible?”
“I just fucked you on a sex swing and you’re still checking out my ass.”
Frank hums, leaning his chin on his folded fist. “Oh yeah, huh?” He feigns forgetfulness, only to tease. Gerard scoffs indignantly. Frank bursts out with a grin, reaching for the bowl of strawberries Gerard has just speared two forks into.
Gerard joins him on the stool beside him at the counter to pop a strawberry half into his mouth. When he swallows, Frank feeds one to him, mouth curving impishly as he makes sure to lavish Gerard’s mouth in his eye’s attention until Gerard is turning his face away from him with a choked- down laugh.
They resume eating their snack in comfortable silence, occasionally lending each other bites from their own forks. Frank sighs softly, rolling his head from side to side, lucky enough to find no hint of the tension from before stiffening it.
“It’s kinda funny how this is my way of calming down. Most people go to therapy, talk to friends, get a massage. I get hogtied and gagged for someone to use me.” Frank smirks at his own graphic explanation, cheeks hot. “No one would ever know.”
“Well, I beg to differ,” Gerard teases.
“Right, well what do you do to calm down?” Frank asks, whipping around with a raised eyebrow.
“Rewatch Dracula.” Gerard chews thoughtfully then adds, “Preferably when you’re cockwarming me.”
A burst fluttering of heat expands in Frank’s belly. Gerard may be right after all, Frank is fueled with impossible lust in the throes of subspace. Namely during the last few stages where he’s noticed all romantic feelings he holds towards Gerard only multiply under his tender way of brutality. It makes him insatiable.
“What about when you sub?” Frank asks. He has an unyielding curiosity when it comes to Gerard’s submissive side, the only piece of him he hasn’t gotten to witness and he doesn’t think he will because he can’t even begin to stomach the idea of having him sub for anyone. Even if it’s purely to answer his questions and he’s there to witness the entirety of it. He doesn’t know if that’ll ever change, but for now, he scoots an inch closer as if even entertaining the possibility will cause a drift.
Gerard sets his fork aside, eyes downcast. He tugs at the drawstrings to his hoodie. “Uh . . . basically most of the things that help you. I suggest things I know for sure work to see if they’ll do the same for you and they usually do.”
Frank has envisioned Gerard in his position countless times— but for some reason, the stirring in him is stronger this time when he pictures Gerard spread out in the exact ways he had Frank mere moments ago. Ropes cutting into pale skin, mouth flushed from searing kisses, relentlessly filled up until not even the ballgag poised between his teeth can flush out the cries he produces. It makes something twist hot in Frank’s gut, so much so he hadn’t realized the strawberry he popped into his mouth rests there lukewarm and abandoned. He chews quickly, swallowing with a tight throat, flustered.
“Right,” Frank breathes, nodding. “Sometimes . . . I don’t know, it’s not that I forget you’ve done all this before— trust me, I don’t.”
Gerard’s smile is tiny, eyes suggestive with their playfulness. “What, do you think about it a lot?”
Frank’s pinned between telling the truth and denying it, so he flounders for a moment that exposes him despite any direction he might’ve chosen. Gerard muffles his laughter with lips pressed together to contain the widening of his smile in addition to it. He pushes away the bowl of strawberries, swiveling the stool around so he’s facing Frank.
“It’s fine to say so, honey. You’ve asked me about it before, you know I’m always open to answering any questions you have.” He comes after Frank with his unfair saccharin tactic that makes Frank want to carve himself open and expose the inside of him so Gerard won’t have to dig, he can reach and retrieve wordlessly. Unfortunately for him, words are always required in this case, but it’s easier to form then under Gerard’s encouraging gaze.
“I do think about it a lot,” Frank confesses, feeling air caught up in his throat in a tangled ball. He moves around it, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “It almost feels like I shouldn’t.”
Gerard’s brow furrows. “Why not?”
“Because, I wonder what it would— what you would look like, and I’ve pictured it, but if I ever wanted to see you like that, I’d have to hand you off to someone. And you know how that goes, so.” Frank trails off, picking at a thread in his sweatpants. He peeks up through long strands of his hair coming to hang in his face.
Gerard looks surprised by the extent of his curiosity. He’s ruminative for a moment, eyes clouding over before he steps back into the present. “You mean you’d want to see me in a scene?” He pronounces each word with careful enunciation as if counting the syllables, tasting them to truly understand their meaning. Frank understands it better alongside him, finding he doesn’t waver.
“If I weren’t so possessive, yeah,” Frank says quietly, almost guilty, but he’s comforted by knowing Gerard is the same. The difference is he can gain his satisfaction by having Frank. Frank would need to do the same to satisfy his curiosity and he doesn’t have any idea if he’d know how to handle that, if he even wants that amount of power he’s never felt a craving for.
Gerard licks his lips, seemingly breathless. Frank can’t imagine why he seems so nervous, up until he drops the bomb. “I have . . . a tape.”
Frank’s stomach drops to the balls of his feet. “What?” He chokes. Completely fucking beside himself with shock, mind going blank.
“It’s not— not anything hardcore like you might be imagining,” Gerard rushedly clarifies, hands antsy and waving around. “It’s just . . . me, kneeling, being collared, and . . . okay, maybe it is a little harcore,” Gerard anxiously chuckles, swearing and raking his hair back from his face.
“Hardcore how?” Frank asks, heart pounding hard in his chest.
“I get fucked.” Gerard winces. “You can’t see the guy’s face at any point. He agreed to it and knew I’d be keeping it, might even share it at some point, he was fine with that. So the issue here isn’t me accidentally violating someone’s privacy or something, it’s just a lot now that I’m remembering it and— it might be more of that side of me than you’re ready to see, that’s all.”
Frank almost wants to shout about how ridiculous it is that Gerard could assume Frank would reject a chance at witnessing exactly what he’s been aching to watch outside of his vivid imagination. But he doesn’t, mostly because Gerard looks like he’s preparing to bury himself underground and banish the idea of viewing the tape altogether, and clearly needs a softer approach.
Frank slides off the stool on legs that feel strange and hollow supporting his weight. He walks up to Gerard, so close he brushes his knees pressed together tight, and supports his hands on his thighs to bring his lips to Gerard’s ear. Gerard shivers at the feeling of his shallow breaths against his skin.
“Show me, please?”
—
Frank doesn’t think he fully realized what he agreed to until his temperature runs too hot, his hands are a perspiring mess, and his chest is nearly heaving from the way his breath keeps catching.
Not to mention despite the scene he endured earlier, he’s already achingly hard.
The tape was burned into a disc and labeled with Gerard’s irritatingly elegant calligraphy, his name beside a date; nearly seven years ago. Gerard inserted it into the DVD player in the living room, shut the curtains, and sat down beside Frank in silence as it began to unfold on the screen.
This Gerard is different from Frank’s Gerard, but he’s just as beautiful. A curtain of silky ink black hair, eyeliner smoking around thick eyelashes, more roundness to his flushed cheeks. Somehow, he’s paler like he hasn’t basked in the sun for months, almost vampiric with the dark color of his hair and the ruby redness of his lips made raw from kisses given offscreen. It’s easy to envision blood dribbling from those lips, glinting sharp teeth awaiting behind them, and it’s incredibly enticing in an unexpected way.
Although he’s a sight that makes Frank feel like he can’t breathe without first shakily exhaling at the perfect picture he makes, this isn’t what gets him.
It’s the fucking expression on his face.
Pure reverence, wide-eyed sparkling eagerness, the gravitational push-and-pull that Frank has felt in himself countless times before. Gerard looks like he would leap through hoops of fire for a single touch, starved in the way he leans into the faceless Dom’s hands like a flower turning towards the sun. He’s almost unrecognizable like this, but one thing is familiar in the way that doesn’t make Frank fall off track; it’s the sweetness, the question asking whether he’s doing this right, if he’s pleasing the other person.
One thing missing that makes the envy subside is the love. That’s all Frank’s, his to claim, his to feed with his own.
Gerard kneels the way Frank does, shoulders set back and hands clasped behind his back. Entirely naked, he keeps his eyes on the Dom without wavering, taking fingers into his mouth with zeal. He moans softly, sucking, tongue working visible from the way his jaw moves. When it’s eventually replaced by the Dom’s cock, his enthusiasm increases tenfold. He goes down with greed, tears sweetly welling and dripping down his rosy face, smearing the eyeliner. He bobs his head fast, taking down every inch without protest, mouth open impressively wide.
Frank feels like he’s about to melt through the fucking couch with how hot he’s become. Meanwhile Gerard is perfectly still beside him, intently watching the screen with a line between his brows, probably judging his own form for all Frank knows. It’s absurd to him before he realizes he’d likely do the same thing in his position.
But it’s all flawless to Frank, even when Gerard chokes and gasps with a cock down his throat, pulling off with a hand tightly tangled in his hair and pleading to continue.
There’s a beat of quiet where the Dom moves entirely off the screen. He returns with something in his hands that makes Gerard straighten up more, eyes impossibly delighted, and Frank immediately knows what it is before it enters the frame.
The Dom honors Gerard with a play collar, and that’s when Frank truly begins to wonder if he’s going to survive the duration of this tape without coming untouched.
Frank typically sees collars as an extension of his person and nothing beyond an honorable mark of ownership, basically their plain definition if it isn’t on himself, but seeing it on Gerard makes him want to thrust his hand through the screen to feel the smooth leather on that perfect neck, trace the seams with his tongue and pull with his teeth, interlock the o-ring with the one at his own collar to force their lips together so they’ll kiss until their lips are too swollen and bruised to continue.
Frank adjusts himself in his pants discreetly. Or not— Gerard’s eyes immediately dart to his crotch. He freezes, waiting for a reaction.
“Seriously?” Gerard whispers, unable to fathom it.
Frank swallows hard. “It’s you. ” And apparently, Frank wants to devour him no matter how he presents himself.
Gerard’s eyes are intense and glittering in the dark. Frank only tears his gaze away from them when a sound on the screen calls his attention.
The tape has been cut right to the chase. Gerard is positioned on a pad laid out on the ground, the entire side of him visible to the camera, his head turned towards it and low on the floor. His knees are forced apart by a spreader bar, his hands are tied behind his back and attached to another intricate series of his ropes traveling up his torso, and his ass is raised in the air. He’s breathless, being worked open from behind, eyes glazed over and making contact with the camera lens like he knows Frank is watching somehow. Frank feels like a firefly trapped in a jar, ablaze and ensnared by Gerard’s gaze.
The Dom strikes his ass several times, each time making Gerard jerk and moan, until he’s finally being filled up with his cock. His red wet mouth falls open, eyes squeezing shut, back arching as much as it possibly can in his position. Frank is breathing nearly as hard as he is, squirming.
“How did it feel?” Frank finds himself asking.
Gerard lets a drop of silence fall before answering. “I think you know exactly how it felt.”
Frank moans weakly. He watches, mouth slightly open, as Gerard gets fucked hard. He does know, he doesn’t see how he could even ask when he’s been in this precise scenario. He knows that Gerard must feel unfathomably full, almost too much, he knows his body is running a fever and his knees feel raw digging into the mat, but it’s too good not to soak it all up. He can tell the exact moment the Dom starts hitting Gerard’s prostate when pleading whimpers fall out of him between breathy moans, his expression tortured and utterly blissed out. His fingers and toes are curled up and Frank wishes he could reach out, stroke his black hair from his face, whisper to him all sorts of dirty things about how he fucking knows.
Frank’s sweaty hands scramble over his thighs. “Sir— can I touch myself?”
Gerard shakes his head. Instead, he takes it upon himself to undo the tie to Frank’s sweatpants, eyes asking permission that Frank nods his head at so furiously he’s surprised it doesn’t give him whiplash. Gerard’s hand dives in, finding a humiliating amount of wetness, and wraps a hand around his cock that hurts with how hard it is.
“Fuck,” Gerard whispers with astonishment, “you’re already close, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Frank whines. He’s torn between both of his Gerards, this one who touches him with an expert hand driving him to near madness and the other with piercing eye contact even when he’s being fucked into a similar state as Frank. It’s like the two of them are just as tangible in the room and vying for his attention.
The conflict sends him teetering towards the edge. His hand flies out to wrap around Gerard’s arm in a tight grip, his gasps bubbling fast in combination with sharp swears. Gerard nods, mouthing at his neck, encouraging him to come all over his hand in that soft filthy tone that makes Frank’s abdominal muscles seize up.
Frank comes when the Gerard onscreen cries out as a hand reaches underneath him to jerk him off at the same pace he’s being fucked at. Frank moans loudly, hips bucking up towards Gerard’s hand as he spills. It’s a lot, surprising himself considering how hard he came earlier, but it’s simultaneously no surprise with how much he’d been worked up before he finally got a hand on him.
“I love feeling you come like that,” Gerard breathes against his jaw, jerking Frank slowly through the remnants of his orgasm. His cock is twitching, a thin whimper dying out in Frank’s throat. It revitalizes when Gerard pulls his hand out and licks Frank’s come staining his skin. Frank breathes out shakily and shoves Gerard’s hand out of the way to taste himself on his tongue, moaning, leaving them both panting into each other’s mouths.
Eventually, the tape is forgotten in Frank’s pursuit to get Gerard off. He does it with his hand, twisting and tugging, toying with Gerard’s balls the way that makes him whine almost identically to how he did in that video. He comes hard and fast, breathing hard against Frank’s lips that are begging for him to come all over his hand so he can feel it all, taste it the way Gerard had tasted him. He laps it up eagerly when Gerard is spent, humming.
By the time they’re done, the screen is blank. Gerard stands to wipe them off and turn off the television, halfheartedly tossing the disc back into its clear case and not bothering to bury it back in its mysterious hiding spot. He returns to Frank who urges him to fall into his arms so he can pull Gerard against him, kiss him slow and deep, feel his heart pounding against his own.
“Does that soothe your raging curiosity?” Gerard asks lightly, voice slightly raspy around the edges.
Frank bites his lip. “A little.”
“A little?” Gerard incredulously parrots.
Frank tentatively pulls at the strings to Gerard’s hoodie. “Maybe one of these days, I can do that for you. I can try, at least. I know I wouldn’t be very good at it— I’d probably be a shitty Dom if I ever attempted it full-time somehow, but I—”
“Jesus, Frank,” Gerard breathes, eyes wide. “You said you weren’t into that.”
“I’m into you, ” Frank laughs. “I’m definitely into seeing you like that. I don’t know, wouldn’t it be fun to just . . . switch it around one day? Give you another taste of that so you don’t miss it?”
“I hardly miss it when I have more than enough here with you.” Gerard denies it so honestly all traces of his dopey smile from before have vanished.
Frank clicks his tongue. “C’mon. What if I told you it’s something I really fucking want to do?”
Gerard hesitates. His cheeks glow pink. “It’s not something I’m opposed to, obviously. I just can’t picture you as a Dom. You’re my sub. We don’t have the type of dynamic where I ask for a turn in the things I do to you. It would be a little weird if you’re suddenly asking to paddle me or something.”
Frank bursts out with a laugh, shaking his head. “That’s extreme. I don’t mean to go that far. Maybe I’ll just tie you while lightly bossing you around and— I don’t know, finger you or something.”
Gerard’s pupils visibly dilate. Frank snickers, kissing his burning cheek. He knew that would get him.
“If that’s what you want . . .” Gerard trails off. “I could definitely be . . . onboard with that. Um. You could even fuck me if you wanted. You’d be in full control of how you do it this time.” He tacks on that final part with an absurd wide-eyed shyness that makes Frank want to groan. Gerard’s infuriatingly oblivious to the effect he causes sometimes.
“Let my dick take a breather before you make any more suggestions,” Frank requests, laying his head on Gerard’s chest. Gerard chuckles fondly, going quiet and running his fingers through Frank’s hair.
As he verges sleep, Gerard murmurs quietly, “It’s nice.”
“What is?” Frank asks sleepily, contentment clear in the softness of his voice.
“Being with someone who wants every part of me.”
Frank’s eyes flutter open. He rests on that, surprised by how much it resonates. Lifting his head, he searches Gerard’s eyes that are already on him with tenderness reaching depths Frank still explores to this day trying to understand how far it goes, but in this soft quiet, he thinks he knows. It’s an exact replica of his own depths.
Frank brings their faces together, noses brushing. “I’m gonna marry you,” he whispers. For certain this time, no clouds to obscure the view.
Gerard shuts his eyes in the way that makes his long lashes flare out. He gathers Frank’s hair in his hand, bringing him into a deep kiss that tastes of one word; ‘yes’ .