frostbite ,, frostify [fsg]
crossposted on ao3 @ overtonight
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"If Froste gives you love bites, it's a frostbite."
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Classy's giving Froste the cold shoulder, and George and Deny are tired of seeing them dance around each other like pussies.
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Classy was avoiding Froste.
It wasn’t obvious, but he could tell. The way Classy directed his banter towards the other members, always threw out some excuse to leave the room when Froste walked in.
He was giving Froste the cold shoulder, and it hurt so bad.
And the worst part was that Froste didn’t even know why. They’d been fine, he didn’t recall doing anything wrong, but suddenly Classy seemed... further. More distant.
It felt like a piece of Froste was missing. Like when Classy turned away from him, he took a part of his heart with him.
George and Deny seemed to pick up on it, too. They tried pushing the two closer, get them to talk again, but it didn’t work. Classy would just turn and make an excuse to go, and Froste would stand there and try to ignore the pitying looks the other two shot him.
It didn’t take long for the others to get fed up.
.
.
.
“Dude, c’mon! We set up a surprise for you in the basement, check it out!”
Froste followed George and Deny down the stairs, mind wandering. He didn’t care much for the gift, his mood had been dampened the last few days, hell, even the last few weeks. Caring about a gift wasn’t a priority in his mind.
George stopped at the base of the steps, and Deny gestured for Froste to enter the basement first. Not thinking much of it, he did.
His vision adjusted to the dim light, the only light sources in the room being the few lamps that were stationed about.
There was no gift.
All he saw was Classy sitting on the couch, scrolling on his phone, looking up with surprise that quickly morphed into indifference.
Then there was a click from behind him, and the sound of a lock being turned.
Spinning around, Froste was face to face with a closed door. His stomach sank. He tried the handle, once, twice, to no avail.
“George! Deny!”
“Man, we’re done with whatever catfight you guys went through. It’s hurting all of us, and we just want you two to be alright again. We’re not letting you out until whatever bullshit tore you two apart is fixed again.
“You’re joking.” He was aware of the pleading tone in his voice, but Froste couldn’t even care. He was desperate.
“Nope. Message us when you two’ve made up.”
Then the footsteps retreated, their voices drifting away.
Froste turned around slowly, dread building in his gut. Classy was still on the couch, eyes trained on his phonescreen, but his thumb was unmoving. His posture was stiff, and Froste saw his throat bob when he swallowed.
The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.
Cautiously, Froste took a step towards him. Classy didn’t react, so he took a few more.
As he approached where Classy was sitting, Classy sighed and lay his phone down on the table in front of him. Froste took that as an invitation to sit down next to him, cushion sinking with a groan.
“Classy.”
The man in question tensed, not meeting Froste’s eyes.
The pain was back, worse than ever. His heart, his chest hurt.
“What’d I do?”
A shrug, then a quiet murmur. “Nothing.”
The first word he’d spoken to Froste in days, and it wasn’t even of his own accord.
Froste’s eyes pricked. “Don’t lie to me.” His voice wavered embarrassingly. “Just tell me. You know I’d change something if it bothered you. You just-” A tear ran down his cheek, and he wiped at it, furious with himself. “You just had to tell me. It, I just, please. It hurts so goddamn bad when you just ignore me like I don’t exist, like I never meant anything-”
Classy reached over and took Froste’s hand. Panic was in his eyes, as was guilt, and fear. What the fear was about, Froste wasn’t sure.
“Froste, please. I swear it’s not you. It’s... It’s me.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I can’t tell you why. I won’t.” Shaking his head, Classy continued. “I’m so, so sorry Froste. I’ll fix this. I swear.”
The tears came faster. “Do you not trust me?!” Froste cried. “How will this ever change if I don’t even know what’s wrong?”
Firm arms wrapped around him, pulling him into an embrace. Froste sobbed into Classy’s shoulder, at the mercy of the man who’d caused him weeks of anguish.
“It’ll ruin everything,” Classy whispered. “I don’t want to lose you. But with the way I’ve been acting, I’ve just... become the reason we’re falling apart.”
They were silent, Classy rubbing circles into Froste’s back soothingly.
“I wouldn’t... judge you, Classy. You know that.”
“I do.”
Froste heard Classy inhale, felt his heartbeat quicken against his chest.
“I’m in love with you, and I don’t know what to do with that.”
The confession tumbled out of Classy’s mouth, words hurried, and Froste wasn’t even sure he’d heard him right. But then Classy pulled back, and Froste could see the stark fear in his eyes, anticipating his reaction.
Froste let out a disbelieving laugh.
“That’s all?”
Classy’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean, that’s all? I’ve been, like, grappling with this for so long. I didn’t want to make anything weird, I know you don’t reciprocate. I didn’t even know I was gay, or, well, bi-”
Shaking his head fondly, Froste pulled Classy close, heard his breath catch before their lips met.
Classy’s lips were soft against Froste’s own, and he kissed like he was on death row, and Froste was his last meal. They pulled apart after not too long, and Classy touched his fingers to his own lips, as if unable to believe what’d just happened. Froste just shook his head affectionately.
“Classy, you dumbass, I’m in love with you too.”
He just stared at Froste, before reaching up to pinch himself on the arm. What the fuck, he mouthed.
“Actually? You’re not playing with me?”
“Yes, dude, oh my god. Have been since forever.”
A wide grin spread across Classy’s face, mirroring Froste’s own. He pulled Froste onto his lap, foreheads touching as they both giggled at the stupidity of it all. Then Classy’s face turned serious.
“I’m so sorry I avoided you.”
“It’s okay, don’t worry.”
“It’s really not.”
Froste punched his arm playfully. “As long as you don’t do it again.”
“I won’t.”
Classy sealed that promise with another kiss, Froste smiling against his lips. Froste could feel Classy’s growing interest, and by the darkening blush across his cheeks, Classy was aware that Froste knew, too.
“You excited?” Froste teased, and Classy reddened. He huffed.
“Shut up.”
“Aw, you know you love me.”
Classy opened his mouth to retort, but released a groan instead as Froste lowered his head to mouth at his neck. He whimpered his name, thin and breathy.
“Froste...”
Froste sucked down hard, and Classy let out a quiet moan. That’d surely bruise, and Classy found that he liked the thought of being marked by Froste. Being his.
“Shh... You don’t want the others to hear you, do you?” When Classy shook his head, Froste chuckled. “I’m going to have to punish you for doing what you did, when you could have just talked it out with me. Is that alright?”
Classy caught what he was saying. He was asking permission, giving Classy the chance to back out if he wanted to.
He didn’t.
“Yes, yes, please punish me, I’ve been so baddd...” Classy whined, needy.
Froste responded by licking at his collarbone, grazing his teeth across the skin before biting down. The sound Classy released was beautiful, almost sinful, and Froste craved to hear more.
He soothed the abused skin with his tongue, and Classy rutted his hips forwards into Froste’s, desperate for the friction. Biting down again, Froste’s hands roamed under Classy’s t-shirt to run his fingers along his chest, reveling in the shiver it drew out of him.
Drawing back, Froste felt possessiveness rear its head when he saw the marks his teeth left behind on the man pressed against him, eyes nearly teary from pain and dopamine.
“Cutie,” he whispered, going in to kiss and suck along Classy’s neck once more, leaving hickeys in his wake.
“Ngh, Froste…” Classy whined, rolling his hips. “‘m really hard…”
Froste’s heart softened at the pleading look in Classy’s eyes, and he reached down to palm him through his pants. Classy groaned low in his throat, heady from pleasure. Creeping his hand beneath his waistband, Froste took Classy’s weeping dick in his hand, jerking it slowly.
It was hard to maneuver his hand in the position they were in, but the noises Classy made made it all worth it.
“Talk to me?” Classy requested shyly, and who was Froste to deny him?
“Mmm… you’re so sensitive, baby… I love seeing you like this.” Froste released something akin to a growl. “Love seeing what I’ve left on your body. You’re fucking mine, Classy.”
Classy nodded desperately, cheeks aflame. “Ah, Froste, yes, I’m yours, always yours,” he blabbered, clutching at Froste’s sides, at his hips, needing to hold on to something, anything.
Pulling his hand out from Classy’s pants, Froste moved off of Classy. “Let’s get these pants off of ya,” he whispered, and Classy lifted his hips as Froste slid his clothes off of him. Froste stripped of his pants after, before straddling Classy once again.
Froste wrapped a hand around both of them, gathering precum to use as a substitute for lube, stroking up and down in a steady rhythm. Classy’s head fell back, panting heavily. Froste took advantage of this, licking at his Adam’s apple, leaving more love bites where he could.
Classy was his canvas, and Froste would proudly be the artist.
Another suck, another bite, Froste’s hand pumped again, and then Classy was coming with a loud cry, covering Froste’s hand with his release.
God, the sight was beautiful. Classy ruined, such a mess. Froste bit his lip, the image searing itself into his mind, and then he was climaxing as well, spurting white ropes of cum.
The shockwaves ran through his body, fading into tremors, which also eventually faded away. He collapsed onto the couch next to Classy, whose chest heaved as he caught his breath. He snuggled into Froste’s side, laying his head against his shoulder.
“Good?” Froste whispered, voice hoarse.
“The best,” Classy replied, looking up at him like he’d been blessed, like Froste was a god.
Placing a kiss on top of Classy’s head, Froste ran his clean hand through Classy’s hair, like he was petting him.
“We should get cleaned up, heh.”
Classy huffed, a note of amusement in his tone.
“Yeah, you’re right.”
They got up with groans, retrieving tissues to wipe themselves off, putting back on their clothes, before lying down together again on the cushions.
Reaching for his phone, Classy took a glance at the time.
“Oh, geez. It’s almost midnight.” He typed out a message to Deny and George nonetheless.
Froste hummed. “They’ll let us out tomorrow morning.”
“Hmm, yeah.” He yawned.
“You tired?” Whispered Froste, his own eyelids starting to droop as well.
“Mmm.”
He smiled lovingly.
“Alright. Goodnight, Classy. Love ya, idiot.”
“‘Night, love you too.”
.
.
.
Bright and early in the morning, Deny and George unlocked the basement door.
Classy blinked blearily, groaning and nudging Froste awake as the other two surrounded them.
“Y’all are cool now, right?”
“Aw, George, just look at Classy’s neck!” Deny laughed. “I think they’re better than cool.”
Classy froze, before clapping a hand to his neck to cover the multiple love bites Froste had surely left.
“Fuck off!” He yelped, and the duo obliged, but not without throwing a few more teasing remarks before heading back up.
Sighing, Classy unlocked his phone and opened his camera app, directing it towards himself.
Ooh. Alright. Yeah, that was a lot.
He tossed his phone aside, looking at the man still half-asleep next to him.
“Bitch,” murmured Classy fondly.
Oh, he loved Froste so much.