Diagnonsense: Big mistakes caused by too much alcohol and adrenaline gave you a free ticket to hell. The sweet freak you met some days ago could be your last meal on death row...
Before you put the lab coat: Heathers inspired, still not 100% faithful to the og script. Transfem Illi, mdlg, wlw, p in v, no protection, riding, groping, really fluffy sex, they fall in love?. Mentions of bullying, drug use, alcohol, teen pregnacy, and catholic topics with guilt too. Not dead dove, you may eat. A/n at the bottom. This is semi-proofread.
Word count: about 4k
Senior year had led you to places you wouldn't have dared to enter without the rush of Jell-O shots and weed, diary under your armpit, and socks falling down your calves. You had been the odd one for what felt like your whole life, and now this newfound confidence in yourself and the tight blazer that hugged your ribs to the point of creating the illusion of what could be an ideal, sexy body from a Playboy magazine made you dizzy in a rush of drugged popularity. Even if you still felt that you didn't belong there, you were now a hot topic in everyone's mouth for reasons you didn't expect.
"You've clearly got a soul... You just need to work harder keeping it clean."
Were one of the first words she had spoken to you, words that rolled off her tongue past those dry, reddish lips, falling into saturated, overstimulated ears. That afternoon, she had defended you with such voracity; she fought for you like no other dumbass had done in seventeen years of frenzy. This no-name girl had punched them just to shield you? And she still looked flawless after it? You didn't know she could do that. You heard her name a few times alongside nasty chuckles and eyes rolling. The new kid, senior, boy or girl? Always laced with perversion to whatever happened in her brain and in-between her legs, and how she was a freak, bookworm, bless whoever dared to talk to her and breathe the air that was heavily tinted with her body odor. Her life was a mystery, only one brother and a father figure that "did not have an effect" over the older Mcmillin. All of that could easily make everyone run away from her and just throw her into the pile of "To bully..." in any of the popular kids' brains, but for you, damn, you would fight back for her too.
Getting to know her was almost a blessing, call it "Case 01: Illi Mcmillin". It was destroying your already cloudy reputation, and she was indeed weird, but, hello? She was a machine for generating scenarios and had such a way with talking that made your brain feel mushy. Sharing conversation with her felt like a mental orgasm, each time you got more into her and drunk on whatever was wrong with her (even if you had spoke to her maybe 3 times) Its so pretty how her hands move around while she talks like she had been a storyteller for kids, she was expressive as an actress and behind what seemed like a shy and cold structure to shield her from the world there was a soft and curious girl full of whimsy. She was cool to you, more than cool, you'd risk your own reputation for a little bit of her attention, for a skip of her heart when she saw you, for you to be the muse of whatever she scribbled down in her sketchbook in a corner of the room at lunch.
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Party night. Music blasted, and your stomach felt like a scratchy rollercoaster, neurons like little flying chairs, an amusement park you led yourself into. Fresh air seemed to freeze your mind and drown whatever shit of a situation you had just put yourself in. Crossing the door to the outside of a house with too much booze and teenagers feeling themselves up felt like straight-up vomiting. Sure, you had vomited before, and that's exactly why you were running away like a scared mouse. Vomiting on top of your "friend" was a free ticket ride to hell. Monday could be your last day alive if you had the guts to even go on monday- or that's what your fucked up brain could think of while being intoxicated in too much hard liquor and cheap beer- Too young to die, you had so much to live for, all the dreams that were crushed by shiny new red shoes and angry acid, life seemed to give you the middle finger after reaching a peak, feeling sore after an orgasm, convulsing.
And what would you do? Run away, as far as you possibly can? Wait for your death sentence? Have a last meal before getting slaughtered in front of the whole world? That would be an option if you had someone to go back to. There was actually one, not yours, but definitely you were sure you had an opportunity. Your tipsy brain displayed a collage of her. What a beautiful perspective, and what a dangerous, delicious plan.
Your feet guided you on their own down the neighborhood. Going barefoot was a thing you were considering, as you could actually sense calluses forming on your big toe, the displeasure of wearing those damned shoes that no clicking saved your ass from facing the music. Shoulders slouched and trees you clung onto, a runway to perdition. How well could she hide? was quickly answered when you saw a figure over a porch where the Honda Civic parked next to the growing grass seemed oddly familiar, or maybe not familiar, just the feeling of "I had seen this before somewhere."
The closer you got, the firmer your steps, the dizzier your head. It was her, of course, it was her. Crouched on the porch stairs, a book lies on top of her thighs; dorky, dark pyjama pants did not surprise you. From her fingers, aside from her neglected and bitten nails, a cigarette hung lazily, the smoke slowly exhaled from between those lips, curling above like a halo; she looked like a saint, and you were oh so ready to beg for her to spear you salvation. Her eyes quickly found yours as you made your way close to her, moving like a caged tiger and heels clacking against cement. A faint smile had grown in her face as you stood in front of her, faking sobriety, a breathless laugh she gave you, astonished.
"Huh- Wow... How-... How did you find my address, miss?... Did not expect t'see ya here... especially at these hours." She had confessed in a wheezy stuttering of words, a look of excitement on her expression, softly bathed in the dim, warm lighting of the light bulb above her. A hand brushed her black locks aside, clearing her view.
"I-Im sorry... I didn't know where else to go, you see... I made a huuuge mistake because I cannot tolerate alcohol as well as I would like to... I needed to see you, Illi..." Crouching next to her, your cold hand found her jaw. Even if her eyes never left you, you still wanted her to look at you closer, more intimately. Still not too close, didn't want her to feel the scent of alcohol in your breath. "If I were on deathbed and, imagine, only a kiss could save my ass from dying... would you kiss this poor girl and save her? Would you?" You whispered, not because you didn't want that to be heard, you didn't think about that, you needed your words to hit whatever soft spot Illi had, and if she rejected you, maybe she would have a little bit of consideration. The look on her face, confusion and shyness crashing, and eventually hugging, her eyes still nervously avoided your gaze, doing the trick she once heard, the one of looking at someone for three seconds, looking away for four.
"Ermm... whatarethisquestions... I guess I would... I mean- yeah, if you asked me to do so- oh fuck you're in a coma- ermm... if I had to-..." You shut up whatever she still had to say, not important, not necessary. Her words were always so shaky and wobbly, indecisive and cautious. Your hand grabbed her wrist, the other grabbed the cigarette from between her fingers, your lips finding where to curl and inhaling the rough nicotine, stomping on whatever she had left to smoke, and exhaled the grey mist. She grabbed her book clumsily as you stood up, obviously demanding her to her feet, pout on her lips as it was his last cigarette of the week, sadly, money didn't grow from trees.
Before your fingers grabbed the knob, her free hand gripped your wrist, the grip softening when she felt she had grabbed you too harshly. "Wait-... M-my dad's out, but Mikey's upstairs, I guess y'know about him... please enter quietly... My room-... go down, basement..." She mumbled, she even looked already blissed out, disoriented by how in 5 minutes her night did a 360 spin. She let go of your hand and let you open to door. Stepping inside, the scent of troubled family and buzzing of electrical appliances in a deafening silence felt like a post-concert ringing in your ears, only softened by the quiet and far beeps of whatever video game Mikey Mcmillin was playing in his room upstairs. The hand that grabbed her wrist quickly lost its function when she led the way downstairs, tippy toes sliding down the wood, cacophony that could alert sensitive and trained ears - not the case of Mikey, you could guess-.
The descent to the basement made your whole body feel cold, even if you were hot-minded. The tension felt acid and Illi's chuckles of just honest nervousness made your heart so silly. She lit the old flickering lightbulb, and it immediately buzzed. "Might explode... ignore it-... I-Id die happy here... with you, burning n' shit... hope you don't mind it-"
"Of course not-... I would actually- I mean, I feel like I am sorta having a heart attack... I did not snort any coke so... you miiight be the reason!" Words blurred together as you reached the last step, behind her. She turned around, sleeve of an old, rotting band tee, smashing what?it was so worn out the graphics were barely readable,, sliding down her pale right shoulder, a small freckle over it, and the decoration of the strap of a burgundy lacey bralette. Eyes staring, no talking, but a string that pulled you towards her like a magnet. Your hands insecurely curled around her arm, just below where her sleeve ended. You stepped closer, and so did she. The silence was quickly broken by your slippering of words.
"Would you give me the pleasure of having this last dance with you, mademoiselle?"
She giggled, whatever spirit that had taken over the basement stole her breath as she mumbled under her breath, "Yes-... Yes, please-."
Your lips crashed against hers first, gripping her arm, and your other hand found her waist, nails grazing and trying to feel her body heat under the irrelevant thin cotton. She was quick to answer, but did not do too much, her mouth opening for you to take the lead in whatever a kiss was about. She was clumsy, and you were tipsy; her hands were braced against her sides, such good behavior she was putting in. “Go on, Illi… Think you can do better f’me..? You breathed against her lips, temples touching as she sucked the air into her lungs, faintly. “Y-yeah…I can-” She purred, such a husky and silky voice she had, drove you crazy. Her hands sneaked to your blouse, gripping it to get you closer as he lips tried to work magic on yours, an inexperienced magician, but kind of a quick and eager learner. Her tongue was eager to get to use, yours had just gone to surface, smoothly french kissing. Illi's fingers quickly held onto your waist and started walking backwards, pinning you against the cool basement walls as you bit her lip with such audacity that evoked a not-so-quiet whimper from her.
“Like that, honey? A little bit of pain? You into that?” You whispered against her cheek, pressing pecks as your hands found their way lower, on top of her ass. Your hands squished and groped softly as she pressed herself against you like a puppy searching for some attention. You could feel her panties through the velvety fabric. She stared at you with glossy eyes, mouth open, letting out the cutest mewls you've ever heard. She nodded and closed her eyes, a frown on her forehead. “You really wanna do this?... With me?” She asked with a soft pout as you carried her to her own bed, grabbing her wrist once more.
The scent of her room was undeniably unpleasant, but it was so Illi that it just added more appreciation for her, such a nasty cutie. “That's why I came to you, Illi” Quick peck to her cheek before you threw yourself onto her mattress, sitting with your knees pressed against each other and staring up at Illi, their fingers fidgety as she eyed you on her bed, what a freakin dream of her.
“Could you unbutton my blouse, honey?” She quickly obeyed, kneeling in front of you and undoing each button of your blouse with care. The blue lace of your bra made its appearing each time she went lower, you noticed how her face got closer to your chest, trying to inhale the scent of sweat and whatever cheap but vanilla scented body mist you had splashed over. “You smell so good, mama… y’look s’soft-... ohmygod” She mumbled in the breathiest voice you’ve heard this night. Nails scratching her greasy raven locks as she worked. “Mama? Atta girl, sounds good I like it, keep it” You purred, thumb squeezing her cherub-like cheeks, she closed her eyes, blissed out.
The distance that you created by removing your hand from her skin and sliding the sleeves off your blouse left Illi pouting like a dog, the sweetest, and still well behaved, puppy you’ve seen. Her converse squeaked against the wooded floor as she twitched a little. You stood up slightly and slid your panties off, realizing your Mary Janes-like shoes were still on, striking pain in your feets. You kicked one off, trying not to hit Illi, but she quickly moved her thick fingers to take the other, sliding it out and placing it with care below her bed, like she would place them on a shrine. “Your turn. I'll do it” Before standing up, you brushed her hair, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, feeling the burning of her cheeks, the pretty coral-pink that adorned her angelic features. You knelt with her on the floor, your panties on the floor just above your shoes, discarded like they were a useless but saintly piece of silk. “You know… you might think I'm too drunk t’tell the truth. But I'm being serious. Alcohol gave me the guts to do so. I really wanna get t’know ya’... You’re a one of a kind, you look like a porcelain doll, y’know? You're always a little bit weird but I like that I wouldn't fall in love with someone boring… Didn't knew I was into girls before I met you, crazy y’know?” You murmured, your own voice getting a little shaky in arousal “Can i?” Left your lips ever so quiet as your nails traced swirls on her thigh, asking without words, just touches and stares.
“Y-yes…” Illi whispered, softly grabbing your hips and lifting you onto her lap, you knew she was kind of strong, she sat you on top of her thighs, hoping your attention wouldn't focus on the tent that had formed in her pajamas. Illi looked up at your eyes like you hung from the moon, like you were the Virgin Mary, like you were as delicate as a rosary, as pure as a lamb, she knew she was the chosen one to be saved. Her hands were firm on the curve of your hips, your hands sneaked in her nack to massage her scalp, inching closer to her. Licking stripes up her neck, her fingers gripping your sides like she was hanging from a threat that could rip.
Your kisses down her neck and shoulder made her breath so unsteady and deep, your name rolling out of her tongue deliciously. “Pretty girl…” You called her as you tried to subtly grind against her pants, you could feel your walls trying to hug something, to embrace, nothing was found and that made you sigh. Your tongue was a mere distraction for her to not notice the frustrated thrust forward on top of her thigh, but the hand on your hips and the sticky sound that went straight into their steaming ears, gave you away. “Mama-... I want to-... B-but I don't own any preservatives- "
"It's fine, I'm on da’ pill, wouldn't mind you getting me pregnant though, you’d be such a good mom, I know you would…The baby would win the genetic lottery t’be honest…huh.” She was the cutest girl, really quiet huffs came from her lips, sweet as a laughter, too blissed out to actually let out something else than stuttered whispers and cries, an aphrodisiac melody that drew you to kiss her again, softly this time, it was compensated with a slow grind of each other’s arousals. “I-I cant… Mama, mhm, can we? plea-please?” She whined, cloud nine was too low, her eyes were glossy and tears threatened to spill, trying to act the big girl and keep her cool. “What, honey? Big girls use their words.” No malice in your tone, as sweet as her own voice.
Who would have guessed something that was supposed to be a sin, was this sweet?
“Rid-... Ride?... Ride me? Mama… hurts…” Illi confessed, stuttering through the bold words and lustful thoughts she had, she could feel humiliated. But you didn't snap back at her and called her a freak, instead, praising her braveness. Her hands left your hips and she tried to lower her pajamas, the pink, flushed and shiny tip of her cock poked through her panties, that unexpectedly, matched her bralette. Well it almost did, a few drops of precome had stained her panties like little polka dots. She looked up, looking embarrassed, a kicked puppy. Hands cupped her cheeks, sensing the shyness. You kissed her again, flooding her senses as the last glitters of a shiny strawberry-scented lipgloss infected her lips. It was not as messy as before, much more tender and soft. You parted first and whispered against her sort of swollen lips. “Sure I'll do.”
The first stretch that Illi’s cock gave you was a heaven-sent sensation. She wasn't big as you’ve heard your friends murmure, talking about taking huge members, not a pleasant conversation for your virgin-self, now, ex virgin. The moans she let out scratched a loudness that her brother could maybe hear if he paid attention, pornographic sounds as your gummy walls gripped her cock so deliciously. “You feel so-sooogood mama…” She cried, drool daring to fall from her lips as you lazily rocked back and forth, her hands squeezed the flesh of your hips from under your skirt. She smelled so musky and sweaty, but sweet and tinted by a faint scent of cheap fantasy scented soap. Each movement made your clit rub against her pubes, the bundle of nerves were tickled by the curls and made you throw your head back, supported by her mattress. Thighs tensed and tried to thrust into you, little grinds of her hips. One hand rested over your feet, gaining more control over your movements, the other was lazily draping over her shoulder, keeping her close. She huffed so tired and out of breath like running a marathon and a drop of sweat rolled down their temples, tongue kickly catching it and savoring it.
“S’salty… right there, Illi…” Left your lips, trying to find that spot inside you once more, but your legs were betraying you, they felt so sore. You set a pace so slow and hard, one that made both crazy.
One that made both of your brains dumb.
The outlines of the flesh that Illi gripped were pale white, her chipped nails dug into your hips, grinding you back and forth. She moaned nonsense into the curve of your neck, pleas that turned her into the nastiest sinner, betraying the lord for the girl you had captivated her, the girl who payed her the attention not even her family gave her. Before becoming Illi Mcmillin, she was a son of the lord, a well raised American, guns and deers.
Now it is all gone.
The rosy cheeks, all glowy in ecstasy. Your jaw slack. The soft noises of your wetness being dragged and breathless grunts.
You were in heaven. This wasn't sinning if you were already dead.
“Mama…I-it's okay if I?-...If I come?” So polite of her to ask, the sensations overwhelmed her, she could feel you squeezing her so heavenly, how your walls contracted against her, how your tits bounced against your bra, daring to escape them. Seemed hurtful, one of her hands - acting like they had their own brain- grabbed your bra, feeling the lace, the cushion that made them sit up so perfectly, the perfect bow that hid between them. She tried pushing one of the cups down, freeing one of your boobs, you looked so out of your mind and so amazed, the cold air of the basement made the rose blush bud stiff. Her fingers traced it softly, unlike her stuttered thrust inside your dripping cunt, each time the fluids mixed like a potion.
The friction between her pubic curls and your clit drove you to the highest pinnacle. The obscenities that were moaned in that basement would cling onto the walls forever. Last grinds in pure denial and disgusting stickiness led you to orgasm, fluids collided with her shirt, creating a wet patch. Incoherent mumbles of “im s-sorry” left your mouth as you lifted up her shirt, her cock still dragging out your high as she thrusted so clumsily.
Both curious hands worked magic on each other's chests. Nails grazed Illi’s nipples and small boobs, cupping them so lovingly like the statement of femininity belonged to them. The tightness of your cunt milked Illi to finish, feeling herself twitch inside of you as your insides were stretched and cloudy white. Soft as a marshmallow.
“Ohhhmy…Mama…” She pronounced, proceeded by an impressive amount of “thank you” pressed against the valley of your tits, hips stopping their rocking. She basked in that feeling, not daring to come back to earth, for her soul to come back to between his ribs.
Because it had been stolen by the temptations and she did not want it back.
“You did so good, Illi. Im sososo sorry for doing it here, on the floor. I know it's not comfy…Lets get on the bed, princess” You whispered against her ear, sliding her off of you. The moment that a feeling of loneliness is left in your milky insides. Illi’s fingers caressed your folds with curiosity, pushing her fluids inside with an expression that felt in between curiosity and something darker; sadness.
“Illi, what happens?” You murmured as her fingers left you and she tucked her cock inside of her panties and looked up at you with the biggest puppy eyes ever, raven locks clinging onto her temples. “Can we… cuddle? If that's not too much to ask for, maybe this was a silly hook up for you, i-i don't know. I-... I'm kind of blue, not because of this, it's just me…”
You stood up, grabbed your panties and slid them up with determination, but Illi stood up and analyzed your actions, stopping you prematurely. “N-no here-... I'll hand you wet-wipes and… you can borrow one of my panties… those must be dirty and mine can be a little bit more… fresh.” She said, turning around and walking to pick up some grey, boyshorts type of panties, the ones she used to wear frequently, you could guess it by the mere feeling of the thin cotton and small fuzz on the fabric. She walked like a small duck, sorely mumbling “ow” every step she took around her bedroom. Seems that every object she was searching for had disappeared at the wrong moment. You sat on her bed, legs were giving up too. You hooked the fabric around one of your fingers and slid it down your legs, taking your skirt off and your bra.
She managed to balance some wet wipes, a shirt, pajama pants, panties and an opened bag of chips in her arms, walking towards you, feets did not lift themselves off the floor.
Staring at your bare figure was a slap in the face, the necessities she had collected were propped down the bed as she took in the sight. It made her worked up again, but tiredness was taking over her head. Deep inhales to control herself as she took the wet wipes from her side, trying not to stare at your boobs like a pervert. “Back up… I'll do the dirty job. You deserve it, mama. Made me forgot about what a shitty life I have.” She said quietly, giggles falling from in between her lips. You leaned back onto her bed, opening your legs as she tucked a strand of humid, greasy hair behind her ear.
Her touches were kind and careful. Love, not lust, not now -even if she was fighting herself-. She wiped you clean, pressing pecks around your knees and thighs, tickling your stomach and then sweet kisses in her bed. She dressed you up like the dolls she didn't have when growing up - She was, and still is, more onto action figures. The chips were not necessary when sleep hit both. This was just the first time. A first try for intimacy. A first kiss, prayers for Aphrodite because if she was searching for a deity, it was surely a woman. It made Illi feel a bit less of a freak for once. Your fingers played with the lacey strap of the bralette as you drifted to sleep, embraced by Illi’s arms.
You no longer felt dizzy. You felt safe
You felt like maybe you could fall in love.
Lets enjoy this till' her father comes home and finds out about this...
A/N: As always, tysm for reading and waiting. This took me sooo long because of finals' week and I catched a cold Anyways, hope you liked it. This is my first wuhluhwuh work!! Happy pride everyone!! wishing yall a beautiful month to celebrate but also to fight for every member of the community who are no longer with us, to fight for our rights. And yeah, I luv Illi so much Im gonna marry this silly girl RIGHT NEWW!! XoXo for every reader of this and for my sweet anonimous patients( ´͈ ᵕ `͈ )◞
authors note: hello my little ones, today i have a fic that was meant for my birthday that was yesterday, but that doesn’t really matter now lolz… anywho, i figured a sweet little 2004 gerard friends tew lovers trope would be cute given that was the year i was born and in another universe, i’d like to do this with gerard for my birthday, anyways, enjoy!
before you read: gender neutral reader (i tried), friends to lovers, cursing, nicknames, can they get married already, lots of fluff and tension, sweet little picnic date, gee’s duality gives me whiplash, unprotected sex, grinding, reader and gee are switches, cow…person?, doggy style, missionary, slapping, hair pulling, licking and biting, slight overstim, spitting, creampie, gerard is a freak (said lovingly), idk i want him tew take me to pound town… sigh…
word count: 10,044 (ohhh)
the first thing you register is the cold. it seeps into your bones, making you shiver uncontrollably. you’re so tired, your body heavy with exhaustion, and you instinctively nuzzle toward the nearest source of warmth on your side.
then you hear it- a soft, warm chuckle that vibrates against your ear. your brows furrow as you try to rationalize the sound through your sleepy haze. before you can process it, you feel a gentle brush against the tip of your nose.
whining softly, you roll face first into the pillow, trying to escape the disturbance. but then you hear him, your best friend gerard, his voice low and thick with sleep. “i know you’re up.”
you whine again, rolling slightly to peek through your tangled hair and the pillow. your face heats instantly when you see him. he’s on his side of the bed, right- you fell asleep here again. at this point, you practically live here.
his pink lips form a familiar sleepy grin, cheeks flushed a delicate pink. his hazel eyes sparkle as sunlight cascades through the small, shitty basement window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. his greasy black hair is just as messy as yours, but somehow so incredibly endearing. his soft cheek is squished against the pillow, and you can’t help but automatically scoot closer.
gerard laughs softly, a knowing sound as you sigh, your voice scratchy from sleep, “why’re y’trynna disturb my beauty rest?”
he hums in response, and your fingers curl into his worn t-shirt, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your touch. another chill racks through your body, and he coos softly, tugging you closer as his arm easily sneaks under your pillow. his other hand guides your thigh over his hip, and his dizzying warmth begins seeping into your chilled bones.
his hand sneaks under your (his) shirt, his large, hot palm relaxing your nerves instantly. his thick fingers circle the flesh of your waist as he rasps, your noses nearly touching, “i was bored.” you roll your eyes at him, and he laughs as you nuzzle into his warm neck.
your voice is shaky as you hum, trying to change the topic. “when do you have to go today?”
“it’s my off day,” he murmurs against your hair.
“oh, so you’re… gonna see the guys later?” you ask, already knowing the answer.
“no,” he says, pulling back just enough to look at you properly. “i wanna spend the day with you, honey.” there’s something in his tone that makes you pause, and then it hits you- today’s your birthday. you completely forgot until now. you groan and shoot up, dragging your palms over your face as gerard sits up with you, laughing at your reaction.
“jesus christ, i’m so old now,” you complain, falling back onto the bed dramatically.
“you’re literally younger than me,” he points out, still chuckling as he leans over you.
“that’s different,” you argue, though there’s no real heat behind it. “you belong in a nursing home, not me.”
“hey!” he protests, but he’s smiling. “at least i don’t look like a fuckin’ raccoon when i wake up.”
you gasp in mock offense. “i do not!”
“do too,” he insists, reaching out to gently poke the smudged eyeliner under your eyes. “see? y’got that fuckin’ raccoon look goin’ on.”
before you can retort, you notice movement at the end of the bed. leo, gerard’s cat, is sitting there, squinting at you two as if judging your morning antics. “looks like leo’s not impressed with your birthday attitude,” gerard observes, following your gaze.
“that man is never impressed with anything,” you say matter of factly, reaching down to wiggle your fingers at the cat. leo merely blinks slowly, completely unimpressed.
gerard laughs, the sound warming you from the inside out. “i’m afraid you’re correct.”
you turn your attention back to him, your earlier irritation forgotten as you look into his sparkling hazel eyes. the morning light catches in his hair, making the dark strands seem almost blue in places. there’s something so incredibly intimate about moments like these- just the two of you, tangled together in his basement bedroom, the rest of the world feeling miles away.
“i really do wanna spend the day with you,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “for my birthday.”
“thank fuckin’ god,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to that low register that always makes your stomach flutter as he leans in closer, his breath warm against your lips. your heart pounds against your ribs, and for a moment, you think this is it- this is finally happening.
but then panic surges through you, hot and overwhelming. “i have to shit- like- real bad,” you blurt out, scrambling away from him and his perfect warmth. “i also probably smell horrendous from last night’s show. i need to shower- yeah that sounds nice.”
gerard blinks, his confident expression faltering into that familiar awkwardness you know so well. “oh- uh- yeah. you can use my shower- obviously,” he stammers, running a hand through his messy black hair. “i’ll just... wait out here.”
you nod, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. as you slide off the bed, you lean down to give leo a quick kiss on the head, murmuring, “don’t let this one corrupt you while i’m gone.” behind you, you hear gerard make a strange choking sound, and you realize with a jolt that in your bent over position, your ass- clad only in thin briefs- is directly in his line of sight.
you straighten up quickly, not daring to look back at him as you waddle toward his joint basement bathroom, your face burning with embarrassment. once you close the door behind you, you lean against it for a moment, your heart still racing.
you catch your reflection in the mirror and- holy shit. your face is flushed, your eyes wide and wild. your eyeliner is smudged from sleep, creating dark circles that rival the raccoon look gerard teased you about earlier. your hair is a complete wreck, sticking up at odd angles, and gerard’s shirt hangs off your frame.
“fuckin’ Idiot,” you mutter to yourself, turning away from the mirror. “you had the chance and you chicken out.” you can still see the embarrassed look on gerard’s face, the way he stumbled over his words when you pulled away. you groan, running your hands through your tangled hair before turning on the shower.
as steam fills the small bathroom, you step under the hot water, letting it cascade over your body. you close your eyes, dissociating as you go through the motions of washing yourself- lather, rinse, repeat. your mind keeps replaying the moment on the bed, the way gerard looked at you, the warmth of his hand on your skin, the almost kiss that never happened. eventually, you turn off the water and step out, wrapping yourself in a fluffy towel.
the bathroom door clicks open, and gerard’s head snaps up from where he’s softly murmuring to leo. he’s already dressed, and your breath catches. a dark denim jacket hugs his wide but soft frame, paired with dark flared jeans and scuffed boots. a cute little black hat sits on his head, making his greasy black hair, neatly tucked beneath it, look almost artful.
his sideburns are so prominent and pretty, framing his flushed cheeks. leo, a fluffy black contrast against the bright comforter, looks like gerard’s son as he pets the cat’s tummy. you can’t help but laugh softly. “you two plotting something?”
gerard jumps slightly, a blush creeping up his neck as his eyes dart down, taking in the towel wrapped securely around you, your damp hair dripping onto your skin. “yeah,” he says, a slow, awkward smile spreading across his face. “he was jus’ tellin’ me we’re gonna take over the fuckin’ world in t-minus 24 hours.”
you both laugh, the sound filling the small basement room. he stands up, his hands fidgeting nervously at his sides. as you come closer, his breath hitches audibly. your height is pretty close, him just having a few inches on you, and when your arms circle his neck, his hands instantly find your hips, gripping them with a hesitant certainty.
he exhales softly, a shudder running through his frame as your chin rests on his shoulder. you feel him visibly relax, his body melting into yours as he begins to rock you both back and forth slightly. “i love when you use my shower,” he says, his voice hesitant and so soft it’s almost a whisper.
you pull back just enough to look at him, a teasing grin playing on your lips. “you sayin’ i smell bad when i don’t?”
his eyes go wide with panic. “no! i meant like-” he cuts himself off, his eyes squeezing shut as his head droops to your shoulder in defeat. “i meant- i like when you like- i dunno- smell like me… when i uhm… shower?” he groans against your skin, the sound muffled and utterly endearing.
you laugh, a real, bright laugh, and twirl the curled ends of his hair. you bring his head back up, forcing him to look at you. his pout is adorable, his cheeks a deep pink as he avoids your gaze. your voice softens as you cradle his face, his slight stubble a delicious rasp against your sensitive palms. your thumbs stroke his sideburns, and he leans into the touch involuntarily. “gee, m’jus’ fuckin’ with you,” you murmur. “pick an outfit for me?”
he looks at you, really looks at you, and gulps. he obeys instantly, a relieved exhale turning into a grin as confidence creeps back in. his head tilts, his grip on your hips becoming more sure. “lettin’ me dress you up for your special day?”
you roll your eyes and give him a light shove. he stumbles back, laughing as you plop down onto his small bed. you lean back on your elbows, shooing him away with one hand while the other pets leo, who has now made his way over to you. “less talking, more finding an outfit for me,” you hum.
he nearly stumbles again in his haste to get to the dresser, the one where you keep a lot of your clothes that have accumulated here over time. he pulls out a pair of briefs and some shorts, then moves to his closet, sifting through hangers before selecting an old band t-shirt and a flannel to go over it.
he’s muttering to himself by the closet, a low, serious stream of consciousness about fabric weights and color theory, and you can’t help but smile to yourself. leo gives you a knowing look from his spot on the bed, his emerald eyes half lidded as you continue to stroke his soft fur. it’s ridiculous, but you swear the cat knows- gerard’s own damn cat understands the seismic shift happening between you, and somehow, the man himself remains blissfully, painfully unaware.
then you hear the soft shuffle of his boots on the concrete floor. his voice pulls you back to the present, and you take in his flushed cheeks as he approaches, placing the folded clothes on the bed like a peace offering.
“so- uhm- i picked those shorts ‘cause they’re the length y’like and wear a lot- and,” he inhales sharply, scratching the nape of his neck, making the little black hat wobble slightly. his eyes dart to yours for a fleeting second before dropping to the floor again. “i think this shirt of mine looks good on you- you also wear it a lot- and y’get cold easily so i think the flannel will help-”
a genuine laugh escapes you. he jumps slightly at the sound, but you’re already rising, moving into his space with a languid grace that belies the frantic beating of your heart. your hands find his soft hips under the rough denim of his jacket, feeling the warmth of him even through the layers. you tilt your head, smiling up at him, and his hands twitch at his sides before they find your biceps, his thick fingers holding on like you’re a dream he’s afraid of waking from.
you can’t help it. you lean in and press a soft, deliberate kiss to his cheek. his stubble rasps against your lips, a delicious friction. his eyes widen for a fraction of a second, then flutter shut as you drag your palms up his chest, feeling the steady, rapid thrum of his heart. his hands fall back to your hips, gripping you with a new desperation as you nuzzle into the warmth of his sideburn, dizzy from his overwhelming presence. “you’re really cute and attentive, y’know that?” you hum against his skin.
he just smiles, a shy, lopsided thing. his lashes flutter against his cheeks, which are burning with color. his eyes find yours, then drop to your lips for a dangerous, lingering second before snapping back up. he knows he was caught. he sucks in a shaky breath, his voice low and unsteady, barely more than a rasp. “y’gotta stop lookin’ at me like that, honey.”
you just shrug, your gaze flicking over to leo, who is now meticulously cleaning a paw, pointedly ignoring the thick tension in the room. you feel gerard’s hand leave your hip, his fingers gently brushing a few strands of your damp hair away from your cheek. the touch is electric, sending a shiver down your spine that has nothing to do with the cold.
your own cheeks warm as you look back at him, and jesus christ, the way he’s looking at you makes you feel like you just hung the damn moon. your heart clenches with the sharp, painful memory of your cowardice earlier. you really should have let him kiss you. “where’s the fun in not looking at you like that, gee?” you whisper, your voice thick with an emotion you’re no longer trying to hide.
he just rolls his pretty eyes, a soft click of his tongue his only response before he leans in. his lips press against your forehead, a kiss that feels both chaste and deeply intimate. he squeezes your hips, his voice a low murmur against your skin. “gonna drink some coffee upstairs. wanna go to the park soon?”
you smile, a genuine, easy thing. “yeah, of course.” he hums back, a happy sound, and then he’s muttering about having to piss and brush his teeth as he walks away. you try to ignore the consuming thoughts about your relationship, about what this all means, as you get dressed. you pull on his clothes, the fabric soft and smelling faintly of him- something uniquely gerard. he eventually walks up the steps, calling back over his shoulder- something about you being cute, and you’re left in the quiet basement with leo.
you take your time brushing your own teeth, using gerard’s old hairbrush for the wreck on top of your head and your deft fingers resmudge your eyeliner until it looks deliberate instead of slept in. you throw on your boots and grab your bag, leaning down to give a sleeping leo one last kiss. he stretches cutely in his sleep before settling again. taking a deep breath, you walk up the basement steps, the sound of your own heartbeat loud in your ears.
when you push open the door at the top of the stairs, the house is quiet, save for the low, murmuring cadence of gerard’s voice drifting from the kitchen. you follow the sound, a smile already playing on your lips as you pad towards him. he’s standing by the counter, his back to you, meticulously spreading mayonnaise on slices of bread. a glance at the clock on the microwave makes your eyes widen- noon. you really slept in.
you don’t want to spook him, but the sight of his focused profile, the way his brow furrows in concentration, is too tempting. as silent as you can manage in your clunky combat boots, you close the distance and circle your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek to the worn denim of his jacket.
of course, he jumps, a sharp yelp escaping his lips as the knife in his hand clatters against the cutting board. but then he stiffens for only a second before melting, his body relaxing into yours as he realizes it’s you. he turns his head slightly, and you hide your smile against his shoulder, peeking up at him. god, he’s gorgeous. his pointed nose is so kissable, his side profile devastatingly perfect in the morning light.
“you’re a menace,” he laughs, his voice still low and rough with sleep as he picks up his coffee mug and takes a sip. you laugh too, a soft sound that vibrates against his back. you rise up slightly to press a kiss on the coarse hair of his sideburn, right above his jawline. he shivers, a barely perceptible tremor, and turns back to his task, but his movements are slower now, more deliberate.
you stay there, a warm, weighty presence at his back, content to just watch him work. “i was thinkin’,” he murmurs, not looking at you, “we could just eat these at the park. if that’s okay.”
you can hear the nervous tremor in his voice, the slight hesitation. “that’s a perfect idea, gee,” you reassure him, your arms tightening around him for a moment. “a picnic.”
he nods, and you can feel the relief in the set of his shoulders. reluctantly, you pull away and pad towards the fridge. “what do you want t’drink?”
“diet coke,” he says instantly. you hum in response, grabbing a can for him and a bottle of water for yourself. you lean against the counter opposite him, sipping your water as he finishes his coffee. the silence is comfortable, filled with the soft sounds of him packing the sandwiches and drinks into a small cooler bag. then, a loud MEOW breaks the quiet. leo is sitting by your feet, blinking up at you expectantly.
you scoop him up without a second thought. he’s always a bit hesitant at first, his body stiff for a moment, but then he relaxes, nudging his head firmly against your chin. “gerard, come here,” you call softly.
he’s at your side in an instant, circling his arms around your waist so you’re both pressing leo gently between you. the cat is in heaven, purring as he bends back to nuzzle against gerard’s stubble, then turning to rub his cheek against yours again. “he’s so obsessed with attention,” you murur, stroking leo’s back.
“yeah,” gerard agrees, his voice thick with affection. “he fuckin’ loves you. like, he thinks you’re his other parent or somethin’.” the words hang in the air, and you feel him freeze. he backtracks immediately, his cheeks flushing a deep, adorable crimson. “i mean- shit- that’s weird- i jus’ meant he’s used t’you. you’re here a lot and he-”
as if on cue, leo squirms, demanding to be put down. once his paws hit the floor, you turn back to gerard, stepping directly into his space. your arms circle his neck, and his hands find their familiar place on your hips, gripping you just a little tighter than necessary. you tilt your head, a playful smirk on your lips. “his other parent, huh?”
he avoids your gaze, his eyes fixed somewhere over your shoulder. “i jus’ meant- y’know- he’s comfortable with you. because you stay over. a lot.”
you shush him gently, leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to his flushed cheek. he flushes deeper, the color spreading down his neck. “don’t be embarrassed,” you whisper, your thumbs stroking the nape of his neck. “i hope he does see me as a parent. i think it’s cute.”
he finally looks at you then, his hazel eyes soft and impossibly warm. “yeah?”
“yeah,” you confirm, your heart doing a stupid little flip.
he grins, a real, genuine lopsided grin that crinkles the corners of his eyes. you both just stand there for a moment, lost in your own little world, before he seems to remember himself. “right- the park.” he grabs his bag and the cooler, and you sling your own bag over your shoulder. you both call out a synchronized “bye, leo!” to the cat, who is now meticulously cleaning himself on the couch, completely ignoring you.
the car ride is a blur of familiar jersey scenery and the low hum of the radio, but the moment gerard kills the engine in the park’s gravel lot, a different kind of quiet settles in. it’s the kind of day that feels heavy and soft at the same time, the humid warmth of air pressing down, making the fabric of your clothes feel like a second skin. he finds a spot, a small island of shade beneath an old oak tree, and the two of you set up the blanket, the movements practiced and easy from years of friendship.
you settle, your thigh pressing firmly against gerard’s, a line of solid warmth that feels more grounding than anything else. he pulls out the sandwiches and drinks, his movements a little too precise, a little too careful. you let your gaze drift, taking it all in- the distant laughter of children on the swings, the rhythmic crunch of gravel under the feet of people walking by, the way the sunlight filters through the leaves, dappling the grass in shifting patterns.
your attention is pulled back to gerard. he’s nervously arranging your sandwich bag and water bottle next to you, his fingers fumbling with the plastic. he feels your eyes on him and looks up, catching your gaze. he opens his own sandwich bag with a crinkle of plastic and takes a large bite, his cheeks puffing out adorably like a hamster’s. a flush rises on his cheeks as he chews, and swallows audibly. “what’s wrong?” he asks, his voice muffled slightly by the food. “you’re staring.”
you just smile, a slow, lazy thing, and reach out to gently poke his puffed out cheek. he flinches but doesn’t pull away, his eyes widening slightly as he gulps. you laugh, a soft, breathy sound, and shake your head as you finally unwrap your own sandwich. you lean your head against his shoulder, the worn denim of his jacket a familiar comfort against your temple. you eat in comfortable silence for a few moments, the simple act of sharing a meal feeling more intimate than it should. “thank you for doing this,” you murmur, your voice quiet.
“don’t thank me,” he says instantly, his voice firm but soft. “it’s your birthday, honey. i ain’t gonna let y’sit in my basement all fuckin’ day.”
you lift your head to look at him, a playful challenge in your eyes. “oh, so this is a chore? is that what i’m hearing? you’re just begrudgingly takin’ me out for my birthday?”
he scoffs, but a smile tugs at his lips. “yes, it’s a huge burden. i’m suffering immensely. can’t you tell?”
“i can truly see the agony all over your face,” you deadpan, gesturing to his smiling mouth. “it’s a real tragedy.”
as you bicker back and forth, his hand finds your thigh. it stays there, heavy and warm, a casual weight that sends a jolt of electricity straight through you. his large, hot palm rests against your skin, and his thumb begins to stroke idly back and forth. every few seconds, he gives your flesh a gentle squeeze, a rhythmic pressure that sends shivers cascading down your spine, making the hairs on your arms stand on end.
the last of the sandwiches and drinks are cleared away, the silence that follows filled with the distant shouts from a playground and the lazy hum of summer insects. you lean back on your hands, your gaze drifting over the tapestry of the park- a young couple pushing a stroller, an old man walking a dog that looks like a cloud. each scene is a fleeting moment in a life that has nothing to do with you, and yet, you can’t help but wonder.
will gerard still be here with you in jersey in twenty two years? or will this newfound, burgeoning fame of his create a chasm too wide to cross? you feel his gaze on you long before he speaks, a physical weight that pulls you from your thoughts. “penny for your thoughts?” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble against your ear. “you’ve been quiet for a whole five minutes. that’s like- a personal record for you.”
you turn to look at him, a faint smile playing on your lips. “jus’ thinking.”
“about?” he prods, his eyes soft and searching yours.
you take a breath, the question feeling impossibly vulnerable in the open air. “where do y’think we’ll be in twenty two years?”
he doesn’t even have to think about it. “still in each other’s lives, of course.” the words are so simple, so certain, they knock the air from your lungs. he seems to realize how profound it sounded and rushes to backpedal, his cheeks flushing that adorable shade of pink. “i mean- like, you’ll be a famous artist with your own studio in the city, and i’ll be... i don’t fuckin’ know, tryin’ t’convince a new record label that my concept album about a parade of dead soldiers is totally marketable.”
you laugh, a genuine, bright sound that feels like the most natural thing in the world. “oh, is that the plan? i’m the successful one and you’re the pathetic case?”
“hey!” he protests, but he’s smiling, his arm nudging yours playfully. “i could be the one in a world famous band and you could be... our official, highly paid manager.”
“our manager?” you repeat, raising an eyebrow. “wow, gee. really setting the bar high for me, aren’t you?”
“jus’ means we’ll still be around,” he says, his tone turning serious again, the teasing melting away. “i can’t imagine not. even if i’m a total washed up rockstar by then.”
your teasing facade softens. “i hope so too.”
the conversation drifts, naturally, to the inevitable. “god, we’re gonna be so old,” you say with a dramatic sigh, flopping back onto the blanket.
“m’gonna look fuckin’ horrendous,” he states with absolute certainty, picking at a loose thread on the blanket. “all wrinkly and gross. my hair will probably fall out.”
you let your eyes drift over him, really look at him- the sharp line of his jaw softened by the afternoon light, the full curve of his lips, the dark intensity of his hair that his fans seem to love so much. you try to picture him older, in his forties. you imagine his natural mousy brown hair grown out, like it is now, but with distinguished silver streaks at the temples. you picture the lines around his eyes from smiling and squinting under stage lights, the way his face would carry the stories of his life.
the thought doesn’t make you sad- it clenches your heart with a strange, sweet ache. “you’ll be cute,” you say, your voice softer than you intended. “you’ll have gray hair and wrinkles, but they’ll be your wrinkles, and they’ll be cute.”
he scoffs, but the blush on his cheeks betrays him. “you’re jus’ sayin’ that ‘cause you’re my best friend. you’re legally obligated t’say that shit.”
“no, i’m not,” you insist, then a sudden impulse strikes you. “i wanna paint your nails.”
his eyebrows shoot up. “my nails? they’re... they’re kinda gross.”
“oh shush,” you counter, already rummaging through your bag. you pull out a small bottle of black nail polish. “i do it all the time. it’ll look good. very rock and roll.”
you both look at each other, then at your current positions, a logistical puzzle. you try sitting sideways, but it’s awkward. you try kneeling in front of him, but your back protests. after a few moments of clumsy trial and error, you mutter, “okay, just... move. i can sit between your legs and rest my back against your chest.”
his eyes widen, and a deep, beautiful flush spreads from his neck to the tips of his ears. he looks like a deer caught in headlights, but he just nods, swallowing hard as he shifts to open his legs and make space for you. you settle back against him, his chest a solid, warm wall behind you.
you can feel the frantic, unsteady rhythm of his heartbeat against your back, a rapid drumbeat that betrays his calm exterior. “okay,” you say, your voice a little shaky. “give me your hand.”
he tentatively rests his left hand on your bare knee, his fingers slightly curled, as if he’s afraid to touch you too boldly. you uncap the polish, the sharp chemical scent cutting through the grassy air. the first coat goes on, a glossy stripe of black against his short nail bed. his breath hitches against your neck, a warm, damp puff of air that makes your own breathing falter. you’re hyper aware of him- the solid wall of his chest behind you, the hand splayed across your stomach, the way his thumb is tracing absent minded circles just above the waistband of your shorts.
you’re concentrating so hard, trying to keep your hand steady, that you almost don’t feel it. a soft, hesitant pressure against the side of your neck. it’s not a kiss, not really, more like the ghost of one, a fleeting press of his lips that’s gone as soon as it arrives. you freeze, the brush hovering over his pinky finger.
“shit, sorry,” he breathes, the words a hot rush of apology against your skin. he starts to pull back, his hand tensing on your stomach, his body going rigid with regret. but you don’t let him. you melt back into him, a deliberate, boneless shift that presses you more firmly against his chest. you tilt your head to the side, a silent, unspoken invitation. a soft, shaky sigh escapes him, and then he’s pressing his lips there again, more confident this time, a lingering kiss that makes your toes curl in your boots.
“you can... you can do that more,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.
he hums, a low, contented sound that vibrates through your entire body. “i remember,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your skin with every word. “that one time, you were so wasted. y’told me you liked it when i kissed your neck.”
a hazy, distant memory surfaces- laughing too hard on his basement couch, the world spinning pleasantly, confiding secrets in the dark. you smile, a genuine, private smile. “i remember,” you admit. “i’m a very honest drunk.”
“apparently,” he teases, his voice regaining some of its usual playful lilt. but then you start to try and guide his other hand on your knee. a small, pathetic whine of protest escapes his throat. “but... i can’t hold you,” he complains, his grip on your waist tightening for a moment before he reluctantly lets go.
you click your tongue, a soft, comforting sound. “you can kiss me whenever you want, gee. that’s more than enough holding.” your face heats as you say it, the memory of his face inches from yours this morning, of the kiss you chickened out of, flashing vividly in your mind.
he hums again, a low, thoughtful sound. “interesting,” he murmurs, the single word dripping with a new kind of confidence. he shifts, pressing another kiss, this time to the sharp line of your jaw. it’s not shy. it’s deliberate, a claiming. the sudden shift in his dominance, the easy way he takes control, sends a jolt straight through you. your hole clenches, and you feel a sudden, embarrassing rush of warmth dampen your briefs. you gulp audibly.
“anytime i want?” he murmurs, his voice a low, teasing rumble against your ear. “jus’ changed your mind?”
you huff, your face burning, and elbow him gently in the ribs. “stay still,” you mumble, trying to sound stern but failing miserably. “you’re gonna make me mess up.” but he doesn’t stay still.
for the rest of the time you paint his nails, he’s a constant, needy presence. he’s like a puppy that’s just been given permission to cuddle, breathing you in, pressing soft, open mouthed kisses to the column of your neck and the sensitive skin behind your ear. he’s still shy about it, in a way- each kiss is hesitant, followed by a pause, as if he’s still surprised you’re letting him do it. but the raw want is there, a palpable craving for your touch, your scent, your attention.
finally, you’re done. you cap the nail polish and set it aside, leaning forward to give the nails a moment to dry. before you can pull away to start on your own, he leans back, pulling you with him so you’re still nestled securely between his legs. you feel his stare on the side of your face, intense and unwavering. “i’m excited t’see what you’ll look like in twenty two years, honey.” he murmurs softly, his voice devoid of any teasing. it’s a genuine, heartfelt statement.
your heart stutters in your chest, a clumsy, irregular beat. you can only manage a weak hum in response, your throat tight with emotion. he doesn’t push, just rests his chin back on your shoulder, his arm a comfortable weight around you. you talk about nothing and everything- the band’s upcoming tour dates, the art gallery show you’re helping to set up, the way frank tripped over his own amp at practice last week. but it all feels like filler, background noise to the roaring silence of everything you’re not saying.
the sun begins its slow descent, casting long, golden shadows across the park. the air cools, and a comfortable silence settles between you, punctuated only by the distant sounds of the city winding down. you both know it’s time to go. packing up is a series of quiet, coordinated movements, the charged air between you making every accidental brush of hands feel like a jolt. you fold the blanket while he shoves the trash into the cooler bag, your eyes meeting over the mundane task, a silent understanding passing between you.
the walk back to the car is thick with unspoken words. in the confines of his beat up sedan, the tension is almost suffocating, a living, breathing thing in the small space. he starts the engine, the low rumble doing little to break the spell. he pulls out of the parking spot, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. then, you feel it.
his hand hesitantly settles on your thigh, a light, questioning pressure. you don’t move, barely breathe. after a moment, you slowly, deliberately, place your hand over his. he sucks in a sharp breath, and his fingers immediately squeeze the flesh of your thigh, a firm, possessive grip that sends a wave of heat straight through you. he doesn’t move it for the entire drive home.
by the time you pull up to his house, the sky has deepened to a dark, velvety blue, pricked with the first few stars. you carry your bags inside, the silence of the house a stark contrast to the noise in your head. “home sweet hell,” gerard murmurs, kicking the door shut behind him.
“you say the sweetest things,” you deadpan, dropping your bag by the stairs. “truly a poet.”
“damn right,” he agrees, a grin tugging at his lips. “m’thinkin’ of writing a ballad about the mysterious mold in the basement bathroom.”
you both laugh, the sound a little too loud in the quiet house, a desperate attempt to ease the tension that’s only getting thicker, hotter. you follow him into the living room, and the tension breaks, softened by the sight of leo. the cat is passed out on the couch, a fluffy black lump, his little belly full and rising and falling with each deep, sleepy breath.
gerard seems distracted, his blush returning as he stands awkwardly by the armchair, watching you. you lean down, stroking leo’s soft fur and pressing a gentle kiss to his head. the cat whines in his sleep, a soft, contented sound, and you smile. when you stand up, gerard is just staring at you, his gaze dark and intense. he clears his throat, the sound loud in the silence. “you wanna... go downstairs? watch a movie or somethin’?”
you can see the nervous energy thrumming through him, the desperate hope in his eyes. you don’t answer with words. you just smile, a slow, knowing curve of your lips, and take his hand. his fingers are warm, slightly calloused, and they curl around yours instantly. you turn and start dragging him towards the basement door, and he obeys without hesitation, a willing captive.
as you reach the top of the steps, you feel a shiver roll down your spine as his arm slips from your hand to circle your waist. his hand is a firm, guiding pressure on your side, and he gently steers you down the darkened staircase.
the basement door clicks shut, sealing you in the warm, dim glow of the single lamp. you groan as you sit on the edge of his bed, the day catching up to you as you fumble with the laces of your combat boots. “i swear to god, i’m throwin’ these things out next time i see a dumpster,” you mutter, more to yourself than to him.
your gaze drifts over to gerard. he’s shrugging off his cute little hat, tossing it onto his dresser, followed by the heavy denim jacket. your face heats as his t-shirt sleeves ride up, revealing the thick but soft curve of his biceps. he tucks a stray strand of hair behind his ear, his movements restless, distracted. he’s just standing there, a coiled spring of nervous energy, and the sight of him, so vulnerable and so yours for the taking, makes something primal stir in your gut. “come here,” you say, your voice low and even.
he gulps, the sound audible in the quiet room. he walks to you, his steps slow, deliberate, until he’s standing right in front of you, slightly looking down to meet your eyes. you tut softly, your hands coming up to cradle his soft, slightly prickly cheeks. his skin is burning. “what’s the matter, gee?” you coo, leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to his flushed cheek.
and just like that, he folds. it’s a beautiful, devastating collapse. a choked sound escapes his throat, something between a whimper and a sob. his hands, which had been hovering awkwardly, fly to your hips, gripping you with a desperate strength. “i can’t,” he chokes out, his voice cracking. “i can’t do this anymore- i wanna kiss you so fuckin’ bad it hurts. i felt like such an idiot this morning, i thought i fucked it all up, that you hated me-”
“shhh,” you murmur, cutting him off. you pull back just enough to look him in the eye, your thumb stroking his cheekbone. “strip, baby. and lie back on the bed, hmm?”
he blinks, his wide, hazel eyes processing the command. for a split second, there’s a flicker of hesitation, but it’s quickly consumed by a wave of pure need. he’s clearly not used to this side of you, but he’s so ready for it. he obeys instantly, his hands fumbling with the hem of his t-shirt, then his belt. you watch him, your own movements methodical as you strip off your clothes, piece by piece, until you’re just as bare.
he’s already on the bed, lying back against the pillows, his chest heaving. his face is flushed a deep pink, a sheen of sweat making his skin glisten in the warm light. his soft tummy rises and falls with his ragged breaths. his cock is a thick, angry red curve against his pubic hair, so hard it looks painful. the slit is already dribbling with precome, a pearly bead that trails down the flushed head. he’s whiny, desperate, and so utterly needy it makes your mouth water as he begs for you.
you coo softly as you climb onto the bed, crawling up his body to straddle his thick, powerful thighs. his hands are on you instantly, groping, grabbing, anywhere he can reach- your hips, your ass, the small of your back. he’s trying to pull you closer, trying to grind up against you, but you hold firm, pinning him down with your weight. “please, honey,” he whimpers, his eyes squeezed shut. “i really fuckin’ need you- i’ll do anything.”
“look at me,” you command, your voice a low growl.
his hazel eyes flutter open, and they’re glassy, unfocused with lust. “fuckin’ christ- you’re so fuckin’ perfect,” he breathes, his gaze raking over your naked form. “i’ve thought about this... god, i’ve thought about this shit so many times.”
you lean forward, bracing your hands on his chest, your nails digging into his skin just enough to make him gasp. “tell me what you’re thinkin’ about, gee,” you murmur, your lips brushing against his ear.
he groans, a deep, guttural sound from the back of his throat. his hips buck up involuntarily, his slick cock sliding against your inner thigh. “fuckin’ everything,” he chokes out. “wanna taste you- t’feel you come on my tongue. i wanna be inside you, so deep- so fuckin’ deep y’couldn’t tell where i ended and you began. wanna ruin you for anyone else, honey.”
you smile, a slow, predatory curve of your lips. you shift your hips, grinding down against him, and he cries out, his head thrown back against the pillows. “such a good boy,” you purr.
you don’t give him time to process your words. you shift your hips, notching the slick, swollen head of his cock against your entrance. you’re soaking, your own arousal a slick, welcoming heat, and the feel of him there, poised and ready, makes your hole throb with a desperate, empty ache. you sink down, slowly, inch by agonizing inch, and the sound that rips from gerard’s throat is pure filth.
it’s a choked sob, his back arching off the bed as you take him in. “fuck,” he whimpers, his eyes rolling back in his skull. “oh, fuck, you’re so warm- so fuckin’ wet... jesus christ-”
you don’t stop until he’s fully seated, his thick cock filling you so completely it takes your breath away. you can feel every ridge, every vein, the way he pulses inside you, a frantic, living thing. his tip is kissing that spot deep inside, the one that makes your vision blur and your toes curl. you stay still for a moment, just feeling him, letting the dizzying fullness wash over you.
the room is filled with the sound of your ragged breaths and the wet, obscene sound of your bodies joined. “feel that, baby?” you murmur, your voice husky. “feel how badly i need you?” he can only manage a choked moan in response, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you know you’ll have bruises tomorrow.
you start to move, a slow, deliberate roll of your hips that grinds him deeper inside you. his eyes fly open, wide and wild. “you’re fuckin’- shit- you’re ridin’ me,” he stammers, his voice breaking. “oh god, you’re actually... fuck- y’look so good. so fuckin’ unreal like this.”
you pick up the pace, bouncing on his cock, the wet, slapping sounds of your skin meeting his echoing in the small room. he’s so responsive, a constant stream of filth and praise pouring from his lips. “your ass... god, your ass is perfect,” he whines, his hips bucking up to meet your downward thrusts. “and your hole- suckin’ me in- jus’ so fuckin’ greedy... you’re so good t’me, honey- so fuckin’ good,”
his cock throbs inside you, a powerful twitch that sends a jolt of pleasure straight through you. “y’feel that?” he pants, his face contorted in ecstasy. “that’s for you- all for you- y’make me so fuckin’ hard…”
“you’re such a good boy, gee,” you pant, leaning down to brace your hands on his chest, your flesh brushing against his own. “takin’ me so well. fucking me so good for my birthday.”
his jaw slacks, his mouth falling open as he stares up at you, completely mesmerized. he’s so shameless now, all his earlier shyness burned away by a desperate, all consuming lust. you lean in closer, your lips hovering over his. he whimpers, trying to close the distance, trying to kiss you, but you pull back just enough. you gather a mouthful of spit, and before he can process what you’re doing, you let it drop directly into his waiting mouth. “swallow,” you command.
he does, instantly, without hesitation, his throat working as he obeys. a fresh wave of arousal floods you at his complete surrender. “there y’go, baby,” you hum, and he preens under your praise, a happy, desperate whimper escaping his lips.
you fuck yourself on his cock, chasing your own pleasure, using him for exactly what he is- your perfect, needy toy. the coil in your stomach tightens, the pressure building, your hole clenching around him as you get closer. and then something shifts.
a low growl rumbles in his chest, a sound you’ve never heard from him before. his grip on your hips tighten, becoming almost painful. in a dizzying, fluid motion, he sits up, wrapping his arms around you, and flips you over. suddenly, you’re face down, ass up, the room tilting on its axis. he’s behind you, his weight a comforting, possessive pressure on your back as he nudges your thighs apart.
you feel the sharp, stinging slap of his hand on your ass, and you cry out, the pain blooming into a exquisite pleasure. “so fuckin’ mine,” he slurs, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “all spread out f’me like this, s’that right, honey?”
he drags his cock across your quivering hole, teasing you, coating himself in your slick. “y’thought you were in charge?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. “that’s really fuckin’ cute,” he’s drunk on you, completely lost in the power you’ve given him, and you’ve never been more turned on in your life.
he doesn’t give you a moment to adjust. one hand is tangled in your hair, gripping it just enough to make your scalp tingle, pulling your head back at an angle that exposes the vulnerable line of your neck. he presses his chest against your back, his weight grounding you, and then he’s pushing his cock inside you in one long, brutal thrust.
the sound that tears out of your throat causes his hips to twitch. he’s so deep like this, impossibly deep, his thick cock bullying against that spot that makes your eyes roll back in your head. “y’like that?” he rasps, his voice a low, predatory rumble right against your ear. “like it when i fuck you like this? when i fuckin’ take what’s mine? c’mon, honey, use your words,”
you can only whimper in response, your hands fisting in the sheets. he sets a punishing rhythm, his hips slapping against your ass with every thrust, the wet, obscene sounds of your arousal filling the room. he’s so fucking dominant, but there’s a desperation to it, a subby need to please you that makes your head spin. he’s using your body to chase his own pleasure, but his every move is designed to drive you mad.
“god, look at you,” he pants, his grip on your hair tightening as you arch your back, pushing your ass up to meet his thrusts. “so fuckin’ perfect. takin’ my cock so well, yeah?” he brings his hand down again, a sharp, stinging slap on your other cheek. you clench around him, a desperate, involuntary reaction, and he laughs, a low, dark sound. “shit, you liked that, didn’t ya? so sensitive, so fuckin’ responsive f’me.”
he’s teasing you, his words a constant, filthy stream of consciousness. “wanted this for so long,” he admits, his voice cracking with emotion. “so fuckin’ long. i’ve loved you for years. every time you’d wear my shirts, every time you’d fall asleep on my bed... i wanted t’do this. i wanted to bend you over and fuck you- y’know that?”
the confession sends a jolt of pleasure through you, and you preen under his praise, your body humming with satisfaction. he’s fucking you so good, his cock filling you so perfectly, his tip kissing that spot inside you with every thrust. you can feel the pressure building, the coil in your stomach tightening, threatening to snap. “gee,” you whimper, his name a desperate prayer on your lips.
“i know, honey, i know,” he coos, his voice softening slightly, a stark contrast to the brutal way he’s fucking you. “you’re so close, aren’t you? i can feel you gettin’ tighter, squeezin’ my cock... come on, come for me.” his words are your undoing. you snap, a blinding, white hot orgasm ripping through you. you cry out, your body convulsing, your hole clenching around him like a vise. he groans, his thrusts becoming erratic, his rhythm breaking.
“fuck, m’gonna come,” he whines, his voice high and desperate. “oh, fuck, i’m gonna come...”
“stay inside,” you beg, your voice hoarse. “please, gerard, stay inside me...”
he laughs, a breathy, ecstatic sound, and obeys. he buries himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing as he spills himself inside you, a hot, thick flood that fills you up, marking you as his. he stays there for a long moment, his forehead resting against your back, his ragged breaths the only sound in the room.
then, slowly, he pulls out, and before you can even process the loss, he’s flipping you over onto your back. he settles between your legs, his eyes dark and intense as he looks down at you. he’s so gorgeous like this, his cheeks flushed, his hair damp with sweat, his pretty lips puffy and red. he presses back into you, his cock sliding into your come slicked hole with ease, and you both moan at the sensation.
he starts to move again, a slow, deep grind that’s somehow more intimate than the frantic fucking from before. he leans down, laving at your neck with his tongue, biting down gently, just enough to leave a mark. your arms stay around his neck, holding him close, your bodies moving together in a perfect, filthy rhythm. “i love you,” you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them.
he stills, his eyes widening. a slow, devastatingly hot smile spreads across his face. “i love you too,” he murmurs, and then he’s kissing you, a deep, passionate kiss that tastes of sweat and desperation and everything you’ve both been holding back for years. it’s a messy, perfect collision of teeth and tongues, and you can feel his smile against your lips.
he starts moving again, his hips rolling in a deep, deliberate rhythm that’s designed to drag out every last drop of pleasure. he’s fucking his come into you, a filthy, intimate act that makes your head spin. the wet, sloppy sounds of your bodies are even louder now, a testament to how thoroughly he’s claimed you. “y’feel that?” he murmurs against your mouth, his voice a low, smug purr. “feel how deep i am? how fuckin’ full you are with my come?”
you can only moan in response, your nails digging into his shoulders. he’s so pretty, his face hovering above yours, his dark hair falling into his eyes, his cheeks flushed with a deep, rosy color. he’s all yours, and the thought is so overwhelming, so intoxicating, that you can feel another orgasm building, slow and deep and powerful.
“you’re so fuckin’ perfect,” he pants, his hips never ceasing their relentless rhythm. “i can’t believe this is real- can’t believe you’re mine.” he leans down, his lips finding your neck again, and he bites down, a sharp, possessive sting that sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your inner thighs. you cry out, your body arching up to meet his, and he takes it as an invitation.
he starts fucking you harder, his thrusts becoming deeper, more demanding, his cock hitting that spot inside you with unerring accuracy. “come for me again,” he commands, his voice a low, dominant growl. “wanna feel ya come all over my cock- feel y’squeeze me.” you shatter again, a blinding, all consuming orgasm that rips through you, leaving you breathless and trembling. you cry out his name, your body convulsing around him, your come mixing with his, a filthy, perfect mess.
he follows you over the edge a moment later, his body going rigid as he spills himself inside you again, a final, desperate pulse that fills you to the brim. he collapses on top of you, his weight a comforting, grounding pressure, his face buried in the crook of your neck. you lie there for a long time, your bodies tangled together, your hearts beating in a frantic, synchronized rhythm.
“i love you,” he whispers, his voice hoarse, his lips brushing against your skin. “i’ve always loved you.”
you smile, a slow, contented curve of your lips. “i love you too, gee.”
he lifts his head, his eyes soft and searching. “yeah?”
“yeah,” you confirm, and he smiles, a real, genuine, blindingly happy smile that makes your heart ache. he leans down and kisses you again, a soft, sweet, perfect kiss that tastes of forever.
he holds you for what feels like an eternity, your bodies tangled together in the warm, sticky aftermath. you’re spooned against him, his chest a solid wall against your back, his arm a heavy weight around your waist. his softening cock is still nestled inside you, an intimate, possessive presence. every so often, he’ll press a soft, sleepy kiss to your shoulder, and you’ll hum contentedly, melting further into him.
but eventually, the pleasant fullness turns to a dull, insistent ache. “gee,” you murmur, your voice raspy. “m’getting sore.”
he tenses, his shyness crashing back over him in a hot wave. “oh, shit- sorry,” he mumbles, his face burning against your neck. he carefully, gently pulls out, and the sudden emptiness makes you whine. he’s on his feet in a second, looking adorably lost and awkward. “don’t- don’t move. i’ll... i’ll be right back.”
you watch him pad over to his small bathroom, his bare ass a cute, pale shape in the dim light. you smile to yourself, your heart doing a stupid little flip. he comes back with a warm, damp rag, his movements hesitant as he kneels on the bed beside you. his eyes are dark, roaming over the mess between your legs, and you can see the conflict there- the desire to fuck you all over again warring with the need to take care of you. he cleans you up with a surprising gentleness, his touch reverent.
“stay here,” he says again, his voice soft. he disappears into his dresser and comes back with a pair of your clean briefs and one of his own t-shirts. he helps you dress, his fingers brushing against your skin, sending little sparks of electricity through you. he pulls the shirt over your head, and it swallows you, smelling faintly of him and laundry detergent. he’s just in his own briefs now, and he stands by the bed, looking uncharacteristically nervous.
“what’s wrong?” you ask, your voice soft.
he shifts his weight, his eyes darting to the corner of the room. “i, uh... i made you somethin’.”
“show me,” you encourage, a warm feeling spreading through your chest.
“okay,” he says, taking a deep breath. “just... wait there.” he turns and almost trips over his own boots, stumbling with a startled yelp. you can’t help but laugh, a bright, happy sound. he points a finger at you in a fake warning. “don’t you laugh at me.”
“i would never,” you giggle, and he smiles, shaking his head as he walks over to his easel, which was hidden in the shadows. he comes back to the bed, a medium sized canvas held carefully in his hands. “okay, close your eyes.”
you do, and you can hear him nervously rambling. “i didn’t have time t’cover it up because you basically live here and i figured you’d see it eventually anyway, and if y’don’t like it, i swear i won’t be offended, i can totally get rid of it, it was probably a stupid idea anyway-”
“gerard,” you interrupt, laughing softly. “jus’ let me see.” he murmurs a soft “fine,” and you open your eyes, and the breath catches in your throat. it’s a painting of you, lying on this very bed, curled on your side, fast asleep. leo is tucked into the curve of your body, a small, black comma against your side, his head resting on your arm. the light in the painting is soft and warm, just like it is now, and the way he’s captured you- the peaceful expression on your face, the messy tangle of your hair- is so intimate, so full of love, it makes your heart ache.
“remember when i took a bunch of photos of you and leo last month?” he asks, his voice quiet and unsure.
you smile at the memory. “i was half asleep- but yeah.”
“yeah,” he says, his gaze fixed on the painting. “it was... it was for this. i just... i wanted t’get it right.” tears well up in your eyes, blurring your vision. you gently place the painting on the nightstand and turn back to him, cupping his face in your hands. his eyes widen, and his face flushes a deep, deep crimson as you swing a leg over his lap, straddling him.
“jesus,” he murmurs, his large hands instantly finding your hips, holding on like you’re a dream he’s afraid of waking from.
“i love it,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “i love it so much. and i love you, gerard. so much. i’m so grateful for you.” you lean in, your forehead resting against his. “i’m so sorry i didn’t kiss you sooner. i was so fuckin’ scared i was going to ruin everything.”
“hey,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “you didn’t ruin shit. you fixed everything.” his words are your undoing. you lean in and kiss him, and it’s a deep, soul searing kiss that tastes of salt and unspoken promises. it quickly turns into a steamy, desperate makeout session, his hands roaming your body, yours tangling in his hair. he’s so needy, so desperate for you, his hips rocking up against yours, his cock already hard and straining against the thin fabric of your briefs.
“god,” he pants against your lips. “i wanna fuck you again. so fuckin’ bad, honey, y’gonna let me?”
“what’s stopping you?” you whisper, ready to give him anything. but then you hear it.
a loud, demanding MEOW.
gerard jumps, letting out a string of colorful curses. leo is standing on the bed, staring at you both with his big, jade eyes, his tail twitching with indignation. you just laugh, reaching out to pet him. he immediately starts purring, rubbing his head against your hand, a furry little bodyguard. gerard sighs, dropping his head to your shoulder. “did i just get...”
“cockblocked by leo?” you finish, a grin spreading across your face. “damn right.” you both laugh, the tension breaking.
gerard shifts, maneuvering you both until you’re lying on your sides, facing away from him. he spoons you, his arm wrapping around your waist, and you pull leo into your arms, spooning the small, warm body. gerard’s hand splays across your stomach, and you arch back into him, a perfect, contented fit. leo settles in your arms, his purr a gentle rumble against your chest.
gerard presses a soft, final kiss to the back of your neck. “happy birthday, honey,” he murmurs, his voice a low, happy rumble. and in the warm, quiet darkness, surrounded by the two beings you love most in the world, you’ve never felt more at peace.
In addition to the Leathermouth Frank fic that is currently sitting in my drafts collecting dust.. there may, quite possibly be a current Ray one as well >.<
STILL CHOKING??? on the bed 🛌 found your while the ember RED!!! Keeps falling down AND BURNING HOLES 🕳️ !!!! Until the pillow and the mattress glow…….?
