Honey…Gonna need more of the Dad’s Best Friend, Gerard fragrantica pretty pretty please 🥹🫶🏻
you ask and you shall recieve! ive had this in my drafts for a bit now LOL, hope you like it... this is extra-extra smutty-- and longg....
an: part 2 of my Fragrantica thingy— (lowkey added the fragrances in the second parts cus I couldn’t be asked for the first ones lol)…
cw: age gap, dddne, Gerard has known reader since they were little, HEAVYYY EXPLICIT SMUT AND LANGUAGE, no mentions of grooming but def happened, pitch black, possessive mmc, p in v, fingering, cunnilingus, rough sex, blow jobs, etc… TABOO AS FUCK.
I warned you! If you don’t like it, don’t read it.
word count: 2,486
Dads Best Friend, Gerard
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★ "Hop on, I'll give you a ride."
Said at six when you'd been too tired to walk the rest of the way home from the park, and Gerard had crouched down without a word and let you climb onto his back, carrying you the last four blocks while you fell half asleep against his shoulder. His hands steady under your knees the whole way, your dad walking beside the both of you, laughing about how spoiled you were going to end up.
🌿
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★ "Hop on."
Said now from where he's sitting on the edge of your bed, his hand patting his thigh once. You cross the room and climb on without hesitation because your body has learned exactly what that tone means, and exactly how fast you're supposed to move when he uses it. His hands find your hips the second you're straddling him and guides you down onto his cock in one slow drag that makes you both go silent for a second, his fingers digging into your skin hard enough to bruise, his jaw tight with the effort of not just taking over completely.
"There," he says, rough. "Ride it. Show me how good you can be."
You move. He watches every second of it with those dark obsessive eyes, his hands gripping harder when you find a rhythm he likes, his hips snapping up to meet you when you slow down too much for his patience, and the whole time he's muttering things against your throat that have no business being that filthy from a man who looked completely composed five minutes ago— "mine, look at you taking it, you're so fucking perfect, nobody else gets this, nobody."
🖤 Tobacco · Dark Amber · Skin Musk ·
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★ "Who's that boy?"
Said at fourteen, his tone flat when you'd shown him a photo on your phone of some kid from school. Gerard had looked at it for exactly one second too long. His jaw was tight before handing it back without comment. You hadn't understood the look back then. You do now.
🌿
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★ "Who's that."
Said through his teeth when your phone lights up on the nightstand mid-thrust with a name he doesn't recognize, his hips stilling completely, his whole body going rigid above you.
"Gerard—"
"I said who's that." His hand finds your jaw, not rough, just controlling, turning your face so you have to look at him instead of the phone. "Tell me."
"It's nobody, it's just someone from my study group—"
"Mm." He doesn't sound convinced. His hips start moving again, harder now, deeper, like he's working something out of his system. "Study group." His mouth at your ear. "You're going to text him back later and tell him you're busy. Tell him you're always busy." His hand slides down to grip your thigh, pulling your leg higher, changing the angle until you're gasping. "Tell him you belong to someone."
"Gerard—"
"Say it." His voice wrecked now, desperate underneath the control. "Tell me you belong to me."
"I belong to you," you breathe, and his whole body shudders like the words physically hit him, and he fucks you harder for the rest of it like he's trying to make sure neither of you forgets it.
🖤 Dark Amber · Tobacco · Skin Musk ·
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★ "Stay close, don't wander off."
Said at every crowded place since you were old enough to get lost in one. His hand always finding your shoulder or your wrist. Never far, and never distracted from where you were.
🌿
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★ "Stay close."
Said now with his hand fisted possessively in your hair, holding you exactly where he wants you while his cock drives into you from behind, your face pressed into the pillow, his other hand splayed across your lower back pinning you down.
"You're not going anywhere," he growls, "not after that little display tonight, letting that guy talk to you for twenty minutes like I wasn't standing right there—"
"He was just being nice—"
"I don't care what he was being." His hand tightens in your hair, pulling your head back so your spine arches. "I care that you let him stand that close. I care that you laughed at whatever he said." His hips slam forward and you cry out into the sheets. "This—" another thrust, brutal, perfect— "is mine. This pussy is mine. Nobody gets to look at what's mine like that."
You're shaking by the time he's done proving his point, completely wrecked, and he pulls you against his chest after and presses his mouth to your temple with a tenderness that has no business existing two minutes after that kind of intensity.
🖤 Tobacco · Dark Amber · Skin Musk ·
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★ "Look at the mess you made!"
Said at seven when you'd spilled an entire juice box across his kitchen table mid-sentence, completely absorbed in whatever story you were telling, and Gerard had looked at the spreading puddle with genuine alarm because it was heading straight for his sketchbook, grabbing it just in time while you apologized frantically.
🌿
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★ "Look at the mess you made."
Said now, low and rough, his fingers still buried inside you while you're shaking through the aftershocks, the sheets beneath you soaked through in a way neither of you expected the first time it happened. He's looking down at you with an expression that's pure dark satisfaction, no alarm whatsoever, his fingers curling once more just to watch you twitch.
"Gerard, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—"
"Don't apologize." His voice is wrecked, reverent almost. "Do you understand what you just did?" He drags two fingers through the mess and brings them to his mouth, watching your face the entire time. "You're going to do that again. Right now."
🖤 Skin Musk · Dark Amber · Tobacco ·
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★ "Stop it, you're making my hair wet!"
Said at eight when Gerard had splashed you both at the lake and you'd shrieked at him about your hair getting ruined before your mom took photos, swatting at him while he laughed, completely unbothered, splashing you again just to watch you get more outraged.
🌿
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★ "So wet already, hm?"
Said against your thigh, his breath hot, his fingers spreading you open to look at exactly how wet you are before he's even properly started, that satisfied dark hum in his throat that means he's about to take his time being insufferable about it. "Just from me getting on my knees," he says, dragging his tongue through you slow enough to make your hips jolt. "You didn't even let me do anything yet." His eyes flick up to yours. "Needy."
🖤 Tobacco · Dark Amber · Skin Musk ·
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★ "Swallow it all!"
Said by your mom at five about medicine you absolutely did not want, standing in the kitchen with the spoon, you with your mouth firmly closed in protest until she'd finally bribed you with the promise of a popsicle afterward.
🌿
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★ "Swallow it all for me, baby."
Said with his hand still fisted in your hair, his cock finally still after working your throat for the last few minutes, his voice rough with the effort of holding himself together. "Every drop." His thumb traces your bottom lip as you do exactly that, his eyes dark and proud and completely unhinged with want. "Good girl. Such a good fucking girl for me."
🖤 Skin Musk · Tobacco · Dark Amber ·
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★ "Mm, this tastes amazing!"
Said at six about your mom's cooking, mouth full, completely sincere, Gerard nodding along in agreement from across the table because he'd been invited for dinner again, which happened constantly, which nobody questioned anymore.
🌿
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★ "You taste so good, baby."
Said with his face still between your thighs, completely unwilling to stop even though you've already come twice and your legs are shaking against his shoulders. "Could do this for hours," he murmurs against you, and the vibration of his voice alone nearly finishes you off again. "Could live down here."
🖤 Tobacco · Dark Amber · Skin Musk ·
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★ "Don't be scared."
Said at nine before the first time he let you go down the big slide at the water park, standing at the top with you frozen, his hand steady on your shoulder. "I'll catch you at the bottom."
He always did.
🌿
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★ "Shh, don't be scared, baby."
Said quietly against your temple the first time he positions himself behind you, bigger than you're used to, his hand smoothing down your spine in slow circles while you adjust to the stretch of him. "I've got you. Just breathe." He doesn't move until you tell him to, his restraint costing him visibly, his jaw tight with the effort of waiting for you.
🖤 Tobacco · Dark Amber · Skin Musk ·
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★ "Don't go too deep, okay?"
Said at ten at the pool, you anxious about the deep end, Gerard nodding seriously like this was an important agreement being made, staying close to the shallow end with you the entire afternoon without complaint.
🌿
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★ "Fuck, I'm so deep— can you feel me?"
Said with his forehead pressed to yours, both of you completely still for a second because he's bottomed out somewhere that makes your whole body go tight, his hand pressed flat against your lower stomach like he's trying to feel himself from the outside. "Right here," he breathes, pressing his palm down. "I'm right here, baby. Feel that?"
🖤 Dark Amber · Tobacco · Skin Musk ·
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★ "Get your fingers out of your mouth!"
Said constantly when you were small and had a habit of chewing your nails, Gerard pulling your hand away gently every single time without fail, an automatic reflex he never grew out of doing.
🌿
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★ "Put my fingers in your mouth, dirty girl."
Said holding two fingers up to your lips after they've just been inside you, watching with dark satisfaction as you take them without hesitation, his cock twitching against your thigh at the sight. "There you go," he murmurs, pressing deeper against your tongue. "Taste how good you are for me."
🖤 Skin Musk · Dark Amber · Tobacco ·
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★ "Look at my costume!"
Said at six on Halloween, spinning in a circle for him, completely delighted with yourself, Gerard crouching down to inspect it with total seriousness like he was judging something extremely important.
🌿
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★ "Aw, look at you, all dressed up for me."
Said when you walk out in the lingerie he bought specifically for tonight, his eyes dragging over you slow, dark, completely possessive. "Spin around," he says, low, and you do, and the sound he makes when he sees the back is enough to tell you exactly how this evening is going to go. "Perfect. Absolutely perfect. Now come here and let me ruin it."
🖤 Tobacco · Dark Amber · Skin Musk ·
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★ “Watch me do a cartwheel!”
Said at nine in his backyard, performing with full confidence despite questionable form, Gerard clapping with genuine enthusiasm because your enthusiasm was always contagious to him, even when he pretended not to care about things.
🌿
———
★ “Watch yourself in the mirror.”
Said with his hand at your jaw, turning your face toward the full length mirror on his closet door, his cock moving inside you from behind while he forces eye contact with your own reflection. “Look how good you take me.” His voice is wrecked, possessive, completely undone. “I want you to see exactly what I see.” You watch. He doesn’t let you look away.
🖤 Tobacco · Dark Amber · Skin Musk ·
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★ "I'm scared of the thunder!"
Said at six, hiding under the blanket fort in your living room during a storm, Gerard climbing in beside you without hesitation, flashlight in hand, telling you stories about anything except the storm until you fell asleep against his shoulder and your dad found you both there in the morning, the flashlight dead, Gerard still awake just watching you sleep.
🌿
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★ "Stay inside me a little longer."
Said with your legs still wrapped around him, his weight pressing you into the mattress, both of you breathing hard, thunder rolling somewhere outside the window. He doesn't pull out. His mouth finds your temple instead, pressing soft kisses there while his hips give one lazy roll just to feel you gasp. "Not done holding you yet," he murmurs. He means it in every sense of the word, and you're starting to understand he's never once just meant the physical part.
🖤 Tobacco · Dark Amber · Skin Musk ·
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★ "Don't let go, don't let go!"
Said at eight, learning to ride your bike, panic in your voice every time Gerard's hand started to lift from the back of the seat. He kept his hand there longer than necessary every single time, claiming he was being careful, though looking back he probably could've let go a lot sooner than he did.
🌿
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★ "Don't let go."
Said now, gripping his forearms while he fucks you against the kitchen counter, your legs around his waist, the angle deep enough that you genuinely don't trust your own balance. "Never," he growls against your throat, hips snapping forward hard enough to rattle the cabinet behind you. "Not letting go of you for anything." His hands tighten on your thighs like the words are a vow he's making with his body instead of his mouth, and given everything else about him, you believe the body more.
🖤 Tobacco · Dark Amber · Skin Musk ·
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★ "Did Santa bring me everything I wanted?!"
Said at seven, racing downstairs Christmas morning, Gerard already there because he'd shown up at seven AM with coffee for your dad and a single wrapped gift that turned out to be exactly the thing you'd mentioned wanting weeks earlier and forgotten you'd even said out loud.
🌿
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★ "Did I give you everything you wanted?"
Said against your spine, both of you collapsed and sweaty, his fingers tracing lazy patterns over your bruised hips. His voice quiet now that the intensity's burned through. You think about it— actually think about it. The marks, the ache, the way he remembers things you don't even remember telling him, the way he's somehow always known exactly what you needed before you did. "Yeah," you say softly. "You always do." His arms tighten around you and he presses his face into your hair and doesn't say anything else, but he doesn't have to. He never really has to. You've just been too distracted to notice how much he says without saying it at all.
🖤 Tobacco · Dark Amber · Skin Musk · Cedarwood
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Did u guys catch the Cal Jacobs nod to that one line. lol. anyway!! Hope you enjoyed I lowkey might just start writing one shots and stuff. Yeah probably will— stay tuned!
Hi it’s the closeted lesbian loving whore again IKNOOWWWWWW I can’t come up with anything new I just CANT GET ENOUGHH
I need more butch frankie I am INSATIABLE
Thank you if you’re tired of it just ignore the req
Luv ur blog bby <3
Pairing: Butch Lesbian!Frank Iero x Femme Lesbian f!reader
Notes: u n Frankie being cucked (by Mikey who is like stereotypical males when they see lesbian porn), oral f receiving, spanking, degradation, masturbation
Inspo/Request: Above! Just a quick sexy fic only cuz I have a lot of butch Frankie already…. Can’t survive during exams when I wanna write all these awesome requests
The arm of the couch dug into the hinge of your hips, with Frankie having you completely bent over it, eating you out from behind, while her friend, Mikey, laid with his legs open towards you, palming himself over his tight jeans. Shyly, you kept your face hidden in your arms, muffling any moan that comes from you. Mikey huffed impatiently, complaining, “Frankie, can’t see her face.” A harsh crack immediately landed on your ass, causing you to let out a noise a mix of a yelp and a moan. “Don’t you dare hide your fucking face. Do you think Mikey’s here for you to not put on a show?” Biting you lip, you lifted your face up, shaking your head no in response while forcing yourself to look at Mikey. The lack of a verbal response resulted in another crack. “Speak, slut.” “N-No, mama.” Then her tongue went back to tasting your sweet pussy.
Any laugh from Mikey made your face burn. He couldn’t help it, you were just so obedient. “Pull your tits out for me.” Mikey demanded, watching you pull your bra cups down to let them spill out. Groaning, he palmed himself harder, teasing the outline. “Eager to please, are ya?” Another deep laugh from him made you wish to hide your face, but you remember Frankie’s demand. “She’s- She’s got me l-l-like that- mmmm…” You refer to Frankie, feeling her moans vibrating against your cunt. He cocks his head. “Trained well, huh?” He relaxes deeper into the couch, unzipping his pants. “Can you show me how good she is, Frankie?” With a final lick up your cunt, Frankie stands up, wiping the around on her face off with the shirt she wearing.
“Sure can,” she replies to Mikey, turning her attention to you. “Get up, baby.” With shaky legs, you stand up, moving out of the way as Frankie sits on the couch. “Kneel.” Your face went red, but you got down on your knees in front of her spread legs, her underwear the only cloth covering her cunt. “Hmm, what can we show my friend, baby? How you like to shove your face in my panties while I’m wearing them? How you beg to touch me? How you’ll touch yourself even on your knees like this?” All you did was whine, your forehead falling to Frankie’s knee while staring between her crotch of and her eyes. She shook her head, “C’mon, show off that pretty tongue for him.” At her words, your tongue was on her, travelling up her thighs, to her core, pulling Frankie’s panties aside to dive between her folds.
Frankie’s moans were music to your ears, a beautiful, not too deep not too high sound. Whenever she let you go down on her you did not disappoint, since she was consistently on top. Sucking on her clit and letting go when the suction was most intense was your favorite things to do to her, making her whimper and buck her hips. “Such a fucking tease, aren’t you? Just trying to be a bad girl in front of Mikey?” She clicked her teeth, pushing your head away. “Come up here. Now.” Adjusting herself, she was lying similar to Mikey and facing him. You know what she wanted you to do, so you climbed on the couch with your back to Mikey, your ass high up in the air for Mikey to see every inch of you while you are out Frankie.
At this point, Mikey took his cock from his pants, thinning and hard from how he teased himself and now has full display to your pretty holes. “Spank her f’me, will you, Mikey?” Since he was only cucking, he was worried you’d find it invasive, but you moaned at the gentle crack he gave you. Silently wiggling your hips more in his direction. Mikey looked to Frankie, who was moaning from your skilled tongue, but she was still paying attention. “She - ah, keep licking, fucking slut - wasn’t hard enough for her. Try again.” While Frankie held your face right against her cunt, you felt his hand come down harder, causing you to jolt forward and moan into Frankie. “Again.” She requested, his hand repeatedly connecting to each cheek.
Frankie requested him to stop once she began to get close from you. “Don’t you dare stop, got it? And touch yourself. Cum with me. Show Mikey how you touch yourself, slut.” While she used your face how she wanted, you rubbed your clit desperately, making Mikey’s own mouth go agape while his sloppy stroking noises intensified. Back arching, Frankie came with a sharp cry, shaking while her thighs clamped right around your skull. You didn’t dare stop licking her while feeling your own orgasm push up, making your legs shake, but you forced them open for Mikey to watch your dripping pussy. While both you and Frankie rode out your orgasms, only getting louder, Mikey shot his load right into his fist.
All of you finished, you climbed up to Frankie, laying your head on her chest and cuddling close. Frankie always gave the best aftercare cuddles. Meanwhile, Mikey wiped his had with some tissue after tucking himself back into his pants. It only took you a few minutes to fall asleep while Frankie and Mikey caught there breaths, blissed out expressions on both faces. “Can I at least fuck her next time?” Mikey sighs, but Frankie shakes her head no with a devious smile, placing a kiss on your head while you sleep. “You can watch all you want, Mikes, but fortunately, she’s mine.”
a/n: hello everyone!! i was tasked with writing a cursed pairing as part of a group project in the cemetery drive server... basically we all agreed upon secretary gerard and revenge frank and im not gonna lie, it was actually tough for me to write despite how long this actually is. i had to draw from what i know which is actually working in an office myself. and of course gerard is the partner attorney and frank is the legal assistant. duh. i hope you enjoy!!
also! we plan on doing more of these collabs! how it works: we pick a pairing and everyone takes the pairing and makes a piece for it in their own art medium (writing, art, editing, collaging, etc.). ill link cemetery drive below!
The strongest memory Gerard had of Frank—the one that played behind their eyelids whenever they caught him smirking during a reprimand—wasn’t from the office. It was from a Thursday afternoon six months ago, when Frank had leaned against the copy machine with a half-eaten sandwich in one hand and a misprinted contract in the other, grinning as if he’d just won something.
“You realize this is the third time this month you’ve used the wrong template,” Gerard had said, adjusting their cuffs with deliberate precision.
Frank crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it into the recycling without looking. “Yeah, but it’s fine. I caught it before it went out.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?” Frank licked mayo off his thumb. “The client’s happy, the numbers are right—”
Gerard’s fingers tightened around their pen just enough for the plastic to creak. “The point,” they said, voice low, “is that I shouldn’t have to rely on you catching your own mistakes after you’ve made them.”
The thing about Frank was that he listened, but never heard. Gerard had seen him memorize entire case files overnight, recite deposition transcripts verbatim, yet somehow still miss the glaringly obvious that rules existed for a reason.
The second strongest memory Gerard had was from three weeks ago, when they’d walked into the break room to find Frank perched on the counter, swinging his legs like a kid while he explained to a Junior Associate how to bypass the document review system. “Just submit it straight to drafting,” he’d said, tossing a sugar packet into his coffee. “They never check the headers anyway.” Gerard had cleared their throat. Frank hadn’t even startled. He just turned with that same infuriating smile and said, “Hey, boss. You want in on this? Saves like twelve hours of—”
The memory resurfaced unhelpfully as Gerard stared across the conference table.
“You’re impossible,” Gerard said now, tossing the corrected contract onto the table between them.
Frank leaned forward, elbows on his knees, sandwich forgotten. “Yeah, but you love me for it.”
Gerard’s pen hovered over the final clause of the contract, their knuckles going pale around the grip. “Love,” they repeated, the word sharp enough to make Frank’s smile twitch. “Is that what you think this is?”
Frank stretched his arms behind his head, the hem of his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a strip of skin above his belt. “Dunno. You tell me.” He tilted his chair back on the two legs, balancing precariously. “You keep me around. Even after the— what was it? ‘Goddamn trainwreck of an exhibit list last month.’”
The chair legs hit the floor with a crack as Gerard stood, looming over him. “I keep you,” they said deliberately stern, “because when you’re not cutting corners, you’re the best goddamn legal assistant in this firm.” They leaned down, bracing one hand on the armrest of Frank’s chair. “But don’t mistake tolerance for affection.”
Frank’s throat bobbed. For once, he stayed quiet.
Gerard straightened, adjusting their cuffs. “And sit properly. You’re not a teenager.”
Frank exhaled sharply through his nose, almost a laugh. His fingers tapped once, twice against the armrest of his chair before he deliberately planted both feet flat on the floor. “Yeah, okay,” he said, voice lighter than his expression. “But you do tolerate me. Kinda feels like affection coming from you.”
Gerard didn’t blink. “You’re exhausting.”
“And yet.” Frank spread his hands, palms up. “Here we are.”
For a moment, the only sound was the hum of the office HVAC. Then Gerard turned away, grabbing their briefcase from the edge of the conference table. “Pack up. We’re going to dinner.”
Frank blinked. “What?”
Frank didn’t move. His fingers twitched against the armrest, his usual smirk frozen halfway to forming. “Dinner,” he repeated like the word was in a foreign language. “Like… client dinner?”
Gerard didn’t look up as they snapped their briefcase shut. “No. Like food. At a restaurant. Unless you’ve forgotten how to eat between rewriting deposition notices and dismantling my filing system.”
Frank’s chair creaked as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You’re not serious.”
Gerard straightened their jacket with a sharp tug. “Seven-thirty. Villa Toscana. Don’t be late.” They turned toward the door, heels clicking against the tile.
Frank’s laugh was sudden, bright, and entirely too loud for the office. “Holy shit, are you asking me out?”
The office door clicked shut behind Gerard, leaving Frank stunned and staring at the frosted glass panel like it might offer some explanation. His fingers drummed against the armrest again, three quick taps, then two slower ones. He grabbed his phone and fired off a text to his best friend, Ray: "Think I just got asked out by Satan in a pencil skirt."
Villa Toscana was the kind of place Frank usually avoided. White tablecloths, wine pairings, waiters who looked like they’d judge him for using the wrong fork. He showed up fifteen minutes early anyway, which was unprecedented enough that Gerard raised one perfectly arched brow when they found him already seated, fidgeting with the stem of his water glass.
"You’re never early," Gerard said, sliding into the chair across from him. The candlelight caught the sharp angles of their cheekbones, casting shadows that made Frank’s throat go dry.
Frank shrugged, aiming for nonchalance and landing somewhere closer to nervous. "Yeah, well. Figured you’d leave if I was late."
Gerard unfolded their napkin with deliberate precision. "I would have."
Frank’s fingers twitched against the tablecloth, tracing the rim of his glass like he was mapping the edge of something dangerous. The waiter appeared with menus thicker than some of the briefs he’d filed, and Frank almost laughed at the absurdity of it—Gerard, watching him over the top of their wine list like this, was another deposition.
“You’re staring,” Gerard said without looking up.
Frank leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs under the table until his foot brushed Gerard’s ankle. He didn’t move it away. “Just trying to figure out if this is a business dinner or if I should be nervous.”
Gerard's gaze flicked up, sharp as a blade between his ribs. "Would you be nervous?"
The air between them crackled with something Frank couldn’t name. Tension? Anticipation? He swallowed, suddenly aware of the way Gerard’s collar dipped just low enough to reveal the hollow of their throat. “Depends. Are you gonna yell at me over scallops?”
Gerard set their menu down with a quiet finality that made Frank's pulse jump. "I don't yell over dinner." Their fingers tapped once against the stem of their wine glass. A tell Frank had catalogued months ago during various client dinners, the only outward sign of irritation they ever allowed themselves. "I yell in my office. With the door closed."
Frank's grin faltered as Gerard's heel pressed deliberately against his instep under the table, the sharp point of it digging in just enough to sting. The waiter reappeared with two glasses of red. Gerard's usual order, and, Christ, they'd gotten Frank's preferred Malbec without asking. Frank took a too-big gulp, the tannins drying his mouth as Gerard watched him with that infuriatingly patient expression, like they were waiting for him to misstep so they could correct him.
“Relax,” Gerard murmured, swirling their wine. “You’re fidgeting.”
Frank forced his fingers to unclench from around the glass. “You’re not exactly making this easy.”
“That’s the point.” Gerard leaned forward slightly, the candlelight catching the silver threading through their dark hair. “Tell me why you really rearranged the Clarkson deposition schedule last week.”
Frank's fingers tightened around his wine glass. He could lie. He could say he'd done it for efficiency, could claim some half-baked reasoning about overlapping depositions, but Gerard's gaze was already stripping him bare. "Because," he said, voice lower than he intended, "you were scheduled for three back-to-backs, and I knew you wouldn't cancel even though your back was fucked from working that trial last month."
Gerard’s expression didn’t change, but their fingers stilled against the stem of their glass. “You could have asked.”
Frank snorted. “Right. Like you’d ever admit you were in pain.” He traced the rim of his glass, avoiding Gerard’s eyes. “Besides, it worked. Nobody noticed, you got a break, and the client didn’t complain.”
"That's not—" Gerard cut themself off with a sharp exhale. The waiter arrived with their appetizers, and Gerard waited until he'd retreated before continuing, voice dangerously quiet. "You don't get to decide what I can handle."
Frank stabbed a fork into his bruschetta harder than necessary. "Yeah, well. Somebody had to."
The silence between them stretched tight as piano wire. Gerard's fingers flexed around their wine glass, the candlelight catching the sharp edge of their ring as they set it down with deliberate precision. When they spoke, their voice was low enough that Frank had to lean in to hear them over the ambient clatter of silverware and murmured conversations. "Do you really think so little of me?"
Frank’s fork clattered against his plate. “What?”
"That I wouldn't notice." Gerard's gaze locked onto him, unblinking. "That I wouldn't care."
Frank's throat worked around nothing. He'd seen Gerard eviscerate opposing counsel with that same calm intensity. He had watched them dismantle entire arguments without raising their voice. But this wasn't cross-examination. This was something far more dangerous.
Gerard tilted their head slightly, the movement predatory in its precision. “You rearrange my schedule. You intercept my coffee orders after midnight filings. You—” Their lips thinned. “You hover, Frank. Like I’m some fragile thing that needs protecting.”
Frank’s pulse hammered against his ribs. He’d seen Gerard like this before. Eyes dark with something between fury and fascination, but never directed at him outside the office. Never over candlelight and half-finished wine. “I don’t think you’re fragile,” he said voice rough. “I think you’re—”
"Exhausted," Gerard finished, sharp as a blade between his ribs. "Which is rich, coming from someone who hasn’t slept more than four hours a night in months."
Frank’s fingers twitched against the tablecloth. "How the hell do you know that?"
Gerard’s smile was razor-thin. "Because I pay attention, Frank. Unlike you, I don’t just assume things will fix themselves."
Frank’s wine glass hovered halfway to his lips, the Malbec suddenly tasting like iron on his tongue. The ambient noise of the restaurant faded into white static—just the rapid thud of his own pulse and Gerard’s unwavering stare pinning him to his chair.
Frank’s wine glass hovered halfway to his lips, the Malbec suddenly tasting like iron on his tongue. The ambient noise of the restaurant faded into white static. Just the rapid thud of his own pulse and Gerard’s unwavering stare pinning him to his chair.
“You’ve been tracking my sleep schedule?” Frank managed, his voice too light for the way his knuckles whitened around the stem of his glass.
Gerard’s fingers traced the rim of their wine glass, deliberate as a chess move. "Noticed," they corrected softly. "The bags under your eyes. The way you jerk awake when I call your name after lunch. The three—" Their lips quirked. "—very creative typos in last week’s motion that only happen when you’re running on caffeine and spite."
Frank exhaled sharply through his nose, the laugh sticking somewhere between his ribs. "Jesus Christ. You’re terrifying."
Gerard leaned forward, the candlelight carving shadows under their cheekbones. "And yet," they murmured, echoing Frank’s words from earlier, "here we are."
Frank’s fingers tightened around his wine glass until he felt the delicate stem might snap. The waiter reappeared with their entrees—Gerard’s impeccably plated sea bass, Frank’s eggplant parmigiana—but neither of them moved to eat.
“You know,” Frank said finally, dragging his thumb through the condensation on his glass, “most people don’t memorize their coworkers’ sleep schedules.”
Gerard sliced into their fish with surgical precision. “Most coworkers don’t make it their personal mission to rearrange my life like some—” The knife scraped against the porcelain. “—overprotective stray.”
Frank stabbed his eggplant hard enough to send a dribbling pool of marinara sauce across the plate. “Yeah, well. Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t work yourself into an early grave.”
The silence that followed was heavy enough to drown in. Gerard set their silverware down with deliberate care, folded their napkin, and leaned forward until the candlelight caught the flecks of gold in their green eyes. "And who," they asked softly, "is making sure you don’t?"
Frank’s fork froze halfway to his mouth, the bite of eggplant suddenly tasteless. Gerard’s question hung between them like a blade. Sharp, deliberate, and impossible to ignore. He opened his mouth to deflect, to crack a joke about surviving on spite and energy drinks, but the words died in his throat when Gerard reached across the table and caught his wrist with surprising gentleness.
"You’re shaking," Gerard murmured, their thumb brushing over the rapid pulse point beneath Frank’s skin.
Frank swallowed hard. "I’m fine."
Gerard’s grip tightened fractionally. Not painful, just present, grounding in a way Frank couldn’t articulate. "Try again."
The restaurant noise faded into static as Frank stared at their joined hands. Gerard’s perfectly manicured nails against his chipped black polish, the contrast stark under the candlelight. “I don’t—” His voice cracked. “Nobody’s ever asked me that before.”
Gerard’s fingers didn’t move from Frank’s wrist. Not tightening, not retreating, just there, an anchor point in the storm Frank hadn’t realized was raging inside him until now. The ambient clink of silverware and conversations faded into the white noise, leaving only the sharp hitch of Frank’s breath and the way Gerard’s thumb pressed lightly against his pulse point, counting each rapid beat like evidence in a deposition.
"Tell me," Gerard said, voice low enough that Frank had to lean in to hear it. Not a demand. Not a request. Something in between. An order wrapped in velvet.
Frank’s throat worked around nothing. He could lie. He could crack a joke about surviving on caffeine and spite, a call-back on what Gerard had quipped about earlier, but Gerard’s gaze was already stripping him bare, peeling back layers Frank hadn’t realized he’d built so high. "It’s just—" He exhaled sharply, fingers twitching under Gerard’s grip. "Nobody’s ever noticed before."
Gerard’s expression didn’t change, but their fingers flexed slightly around Frank’s wrist. A silent go on.
Frank swallowed hard, still staring at the way his chipped black polish contrasted against Gerard’s flawless manicure. "My mom got sick last year," he said, the words rough as if dragged over gravel. "Nothing terminal, just— Chronic. Expensive. And my sister’s still in school, so I—" His thumb traced the rim of his wine glass, avoiding Gerard’s eyes. "I picked up overtime at the firm. Started freelancing after hours. Figured I’d sleep when she was better."
Gerard didn’t move. Their grip on Frank’s wrist stayed firm, their expression unreadable in the flickering candlelight. Frank expected judgment. Pity, even. But Gerard’s voice was startlingly soft when they finally spoke. "And now?"
Frank’s laugh was brittle. "Now she is better. Mostly. But the bills aren’t." He dragged his free hand through his hair, tugging at the roots until the sting grounded him. "And I’m—" The admission caught in his throat like a fishhook. "Tired. Jesus Christ, I’m so fucking tired."
The words hung between them, raw and exposed. Frank braced for the inevitable you should have told me, the reprimand about proper channels and HR protocols. Instead, Gerard’s thumb traced a slow, deliberate circle over his pulse point. “You idiot,” they murmured, so quietly Frank almost missed it.
Frank’s head snapped up. “What?”
Gerard’s grip tightened, not enough to hurt, just enough to make Frank focus. "You could have come to me." Their voice was low, measured, the same tone they used when explaining a particularly complex legal strategy to a junior associate. "At any point. For anything."
Frank’s pulse jumped under Gerard’s fingers. The wine glass slipped from his grip, rolling onto the tablecloth with a dull thud. "Yeah, right," he muttered, staring at the spreading stain like it was easier than meeting Gerard’s eyes. "And what? You’d have patted my head and written me a check?" His laugh was too sharp, too loud for the hushed restaurant. "Come on, Gerard. You don’t do charity cases."
Gerard’s fingers tightened as they leaned forward, the candlelight carving shadows under their cheekbones. "No," they said, voice dangerously soft. "But I do expect my legal assistant to function." Their thumb pressed into Frank’s wrist, right over the erratic flutter of his pulse. "Which you clearly aren’t."
Frank’s breath hitched. He could feel the heat of Gerard’s palm through his sleeve, the slight roughness of their signet ring against his skin. "I’m fine," he lied, automatic as breathing.
Gerard’s exhale was almost a sigh. They released Frank’s wrist just long enough to flag down the waiter and murmur something about settling the bill. Frank barely registered the exchange. His whole world had narrowed to the imprint of Gerard’s fingers on his skin, the way their gaze never wavered from his face.
"Come on," Gerard said, standing with that fluid grace Frank had always envied. They tossed a black card onto the table without looking. "We’re leaving."
Frank didn’t argue when Gerard steered him out of the restaurant with a hand between his shoulder blades. Firm, unyielding, guiding without force. The night air hit his face like a slap, sharp and bracing after the cloying warmth of candlelit wine. Gerard’s car was parked illegally at the curb where the valet had left it, hazards blinking red in the dark like a warning. Frank expected them to shove him into the passenger seat with another clipped order. Instead, Gerard paused, their fingers lingering at the small of Frank’s back just long enough to feel him shiver.
"Get in," Gerard said, but it lacked their usual edge; it was softer, almost concerned, which was somehow worse.
Frank slid into the leather seat, the scent of Gerard’s bergamot cologne clinging to the upholstery. He stared at his own hands, the chipped black polish stark against his pale knuckles. The driver’s side door opened, and Gerard slid in with that effortless precision Frank had spent a year failing to emulate. The engine purred to life, but Gerard didn’t pull away; they just sat there, fingers drumming once on the steering wheel before stilling.
"You’re not taking me home," Frank realized aloud, his voice rough.
Gerard didn’t look at him. "No."
The car smelled like bergamot and something sharper. Tonka bean, maybe, with the faintest hint of cigarette smoke clinging to Gerard’s collar. Frank pressed his forehead against the cool window glass, watching streetlights blur into streaks of gold as Gerard drove without speaking. He should’ve asked where they were going. Should’ve made a joke, deflected, done something to break the tension thickening between them. Instead, he traced the condensation on the window with one fingertip and said nothing.
Gerard’s building was all steel and darkened windows, the kind of place that looked expensive just standing still. Frank followed them through the lobby in silence, his usual smirk absent for once. The elevator ride was worse. Too small, too quiet, the only sound the soft hum of machinery and Frank’s own pulse thudding in his ears. Gerard’s keys jingled once, sharply, before the front door swung open to reveal an apartment as immaculate as their office; everything in its place, nothing out of order.
"Sit," Gerard said, nodding toward the leather sofa. Not a request.
Frank sat. The leather creaked under him, cool against the backs of his thighs. He watched Gerard move through the space with familiar precision, hanging their coat and pouring two fingers of whiskey into a tumbler without asking if Frank wanted any. The glass appeared in front of him with a quiet click against the coffee table.
"Drink," Gerard ordered, standing over him with their arms crossed. The dim lighting caught the silver strands in their hair, the sharp line of their jaw. "Then we talk."
Frank wrapped his fingers around the glass but didn’t lift it. The whiskey swirled amber in the low light, catching the shadows under Gerard’s cheekbones as they stood over him. "What’s there to talk about?" he said, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. His voice cracked on the last word.
Gerard’s sigh was almost imperceptible. They sank into the armchair across from him, legs crossing at the knee, fingers steepled under their chin. "You know exactly what." Their gaze pinned Frank to the spot. Not angry, not even disappointed. Just waiting.
Frank swallowed hard. The whiskey burned its way down his throat, but it did nothing to loosen the knot in his chest. "I fucked up the Clarkson filings," he muttered, staring at the ice melting in his glass. "I know. You don’t have to—"
"Not the filings." Gerard’s voice was quieter now, edged with something Frank couldn’t name. "You’ve been lying to me for months."
Frank’s head snapped up. "I didn’t lie. I just—"
Gerard leaned forward, elbows resting on their knees. The dim light caught the hollow of their throat as they spoke, their voice low and deliberate. "You didn’t just omit things, Frank. You actively hid them. Rearranged my schedule behind my back. Covered your tracks when you were exhausted. That’s not just ‘not telling me’. That’s deception."
Frank’s fingers tightened around the whiskey glass, the ice clinking softly. "What was I supposed to do? Walk into your office and say, ‘Hey Boss, I’m drowning, mind throwing me a lifeline?’" He laughed, sharp and humorless. "You’d have fired me on the spot."
Gerard’s expression didn’t flicker. "Try again."
Frank exhaled sharply through his nose, his thumb tracing the rim of the glass. The silence stretched between them, thick enough to choke on. Finally, he set the whiskey down with a quiet click and met Gerard’s gaze head-on. "I didn’t want you to see me like that," he admitted, voice rough. "Weak. Struggling. Failing."
Gerard’s fingers twitched where they were steepled under their chin. "Weak," they repeated, the word slow and deliberate. "Is that what you think this is?"
Frank’s mouth opened, then closed. Gerard’s gaze was a scalpel peeling back his defenses layer by layer, exposing the raw nerve beneath. “Isn’t it?” he challenged, but his voice lacked its usual bite.
Gerard stood abruptly, the movement so fluid Frank barely registered it until they were looming over him, one hand braced on the back of the sofa beside his head. Their bergamot scent enveloped him, sharp and unyielding. “No,” they said, voice low enough to vibrate through Frank’s ribs. “It’s called being human. Something you seem determined to avoid at all costs.”
Frank's breath hitched when Gerard's free hand came up to grip his chin, forcing him to meet their eyes. Their thumb pressed against his bottom lip, the same way their heel had dug into his instep under the dinner table. "You think I keep you around because you're perfect?" Gerard murmured, their breath warm against Frank's cheek. "I don't. I keep you because you're brilliant, even when you're a mess."
Frank’s pulse thundered in his ears. He should pull away, crack a joke, deflect. But Gerard’s grip was firm, their gaze unwavering, and for once in his life, Frank couldn’t look away.
"You're exhausted," Gerard continued, thumb tracing the curve of Frank's lower lip. "You're overwhelmed. And instead of asking for help, you've been running yourself into the ground trying to prove something to me that I never asked for." Their fingers tightened fractionally. "That stops tonight."
Frank’s breath caught when Gerard’s grip shifted from his chin to the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the short hairs at his nape. The pressure was firm and grounding. Impossible to ignore. “Look at me,” Gerard murmured, and Frank’s eyelids fluttered open before he’d realized they’d fallen shut. Gerard’s expression was unreadable in the dim light, but their thumb traced the line of Frank’s jaw with deliberate precision. “Tell me what you need.”
Frank’s lips parted, but no sound came out. Gerard’s fingers tightened in his hair, and he exhaled sharply through his nose. “I don’t—” His voice cracked. “I don’t know how to.”
Gerard’s thumb brushed over the hinge of his jaw. “Try.”
The word landed like a gavel strike. Frank swallowed, the whiskey burn long faded to an aftertaste. His fingers twitched against the sofa, itching for something to hold onto. “I need—” The admission lodged in his throat like a bullet. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Fuck. I need you to make me.”
Gerard went perfectly still. The hand in Frank’s hair didn’t move, but their breath hitched audibly. “Make you what?”
“Stop.” Frank’s pulse rabbited under Gerard’s fingertips. “Just— stop thinking. Stop running. For five fucking minutes.” He laughed, jagged and raw. “Pathetic, right?”
Gerard’s hand slid from Frank’s hair to cup the back of his neck, their grip unyielding. “No,” they said, voice low and certain. “It’s not pathetic.” Their thumb pressed against the rapid flutter of Frank’s pulse. “But it is reckless.”
Frank exhaled shakily, his fingers curling into the sofa leather. Gerard’s breath was warm against his cheek, their cologne sharp and grounding. “Tell me,” Gerard murmured, their lips brushing the shell of Frank’s ear, “have you ever done this before?”
Frank’s throat worked. “Not— Not like this.”
Gerard’s fingers tightened in Frank’s hair, pulling just enough to make his scalp sting. “Good,” they murmured, their lips grazing the curve of Frank’s ear. “Then you’ll listen when I tell you how this works.” Their free hand settled on Frank’s thigh, the pressure deliberate through the fabric of his slacks. “You don’t move unless I say. You don’t speak unless I ask. Understood?”
Frank’s breath hitched when Gerard’s nails dug in slightly. “Yeah,” he managed, the word rasping out of him.
Gerard’s grip shifted to his chin, tilting his face up with unyielding precision. “That’s ‘yes, Gerard.’” The correction was soft but absolute.
Frank’s pulse jumped under Gerard’s fingers. “Yes, Gerard.”
“Better.” Gerard stepped back, their heels clicking against hardwood as they circled the sofa. Frank tracked their movement by sound alone, his shoulders tense under the weight of anticipation. The air smelled like bergamot and something darker; whiskey and leather and the faint metallic tang of Gerard’s ring when they pressed it against the nape of his neck.
Frank inhaled sharply as Gerard’s ring pressed cold against his skin. The weight of their silence coiled around him tighter than any command. He could hear the rustle of fabric, the deliberate click of their heels circling him. Predatory and precise. But he kept his hands relaxed on his thighs, eyes fixed straight ahead.
"Stand," Gerard said, low and firm from somewhere behind him.
Frank stood too fast, his knees cracking against the coffee table. Gerard's hand landed between his shoulder blades, steadying him without gentleness. "Slowly," they corrected, fingers splaying possessively over his spine. Their breath ghosted warm over the shell of his ear. "You don’t rush unless I tell you to."
Frank swallowed hard. "Yes, Gerard."
Their palm slid down to the small of his back, guiding him forward until his shins hit the edge of the sofa. "Knees."
Frank’s knees hit the rug before Gerard finished speaking. The impact vibrated up his thighs, the fibers scratching through his slacks, but he didn’t shift. Not when Gerard’s heels clicked closer, not when their fingers threaded through his hair with deliberate ownership.
“Good,” Gerard murmured, their thumb tracing the shell of Frank’s ear. The praise landed like a live wire down his spine. “Now look at me.”
Frank tilted his head back, throat bared without conscious thought. Gerard stood over him, backlit by the dim lamplight, their skirt brushing his shoulders. Their free hand unknotted their tie with practiced efficiency, the silk whispering against itself. “Open.”
Frank’s lips parted on an exhale. Gerard looped the tie around his throat, not tight enough to restrict, just enough to leash. The silk warmed against his skin as Gerard tugged, guiding him forward until his forehead pressed against their thigh. Their fingers tightened in his hair. “Breathe.”
Frank inhaled shakily, Gerard’s scent flooding his senses. Their thumb brushed his cheekbone, then slid lower, pressing against his bottom lip. “Wider.”
Frank’s lips parted further, the silk tie tightening fractionally as Gerard’s thumb pressed down on his tongue. The bitter tang of their ring flooded his mouth. Metal, salt, and something indefinably Gerard. His jaw ached instantly, but he didn’t pull away; he couldn’t.
"Good," Gerard murmured, their voice gone dark at the edges. Their thumb dragged slowly over Frank's tongue, pressing down just shy of gagging. "You take direction beautifully when you're not fighting me."
Frank's pulse hammered against the silk looped around his throat. He watched, wide-eyed, as Gerard unfastened their belt with their free hand, the leather sliding through the loops with a whisper that made his stomach tighten. The belt joined the tie; it was loose, just for show, but the zipper's rasp was unmistakable. Frank's breath hitched when Gerard guided his face forward, their fingers tightening warningly in his hair.
"Don't rush," they chided, their thumb hooking in the corner of Frank's mouth to keep him open. Their other hand slid into their underwear, pulling themselves out with deliberate slowness. Frank's vision blurred at the edges; Gerard was half-hard already, flushed and perfect in the low light. "Look at you," Gerard murmured, tilting Frank's head back further. "Desperate for it and you haven't even touched me yet."
Frank whined around Gerard's thumb, his own cock throbbing untouched in his slacks. Gerard's grip shifted, their fingers dragging through his spit-slick lips to wrap around their length. They stroked once, twice, watching Frank's pupils blow wide, then guided the head to his lips. "Go on," they murmured. "Show me how badly you want this."
Frank's breath shuddered out of him when the blunt head of Gerard's cock nudged against his lips. The scent of them, warm skin and something faintly musky, flooded his senses, thick enough to taste. He hesitated, just for the space of a heartbeat, and Gerard's fingers tightened in his hair.
"No thinking," Gerard murmured, their voice velvet-dark. "Just do as you're told."
Frank opened wider, letting the weight of Gerard settle on his tongue. The groan that ripped from Gerard's throat when he took them deeper sent a violent shiver down Frank's spine. His jaw ached instantly, his lips stretched obscenely around Gerard's girth, but the sharp pull on his hair kept him from pulling back.
"Good," Gerard breathed, hips rocking forward in a shallow thrust. Their free hand tangled in the silk tie still looped around Frank's throat, not pulling, just holding. Anchoring. "You look perfect like this." Their thumb swiped over Frank's spit-slick lower lip, catching on the stretch of his mouth around them. "Such a pretty mouth when you're not running it."
Frank's eyelids fluttered shut, his fingers clawing at his own thighs to keep from reaching up. Gerard's grip tightened, tugging his hair sharply. "Eyes on me, Frank." The command required no argument. Frank forced his gaze upward, meeting Gerard's hooded stare through his lashes. Gerard's lips parted on a silent exhale when Frank swallowed around them, the wet heat of his mouth drawing another broken sound from their throat.
Gerard’s fingers flexed in Frank’s hair, guiding his rhythm with ruthless precision. Every shallow thrust punched a ragged noise from Frank’s throat. Half-choked, half-wanting, and that seemed to vibrate straight through Gerard’s hips. They watched, rapt, as Frank’s lips stretched redder, as his eyelashes fluttered with the effort of holding still, as the silk tie darkened with spit where it pressed into the hollow of his throat.
"Slower," Gerard murmured, pressing their free hand flat between Frank’s shoulder blades to still him. Frank froze instantly, his breath hitching through his nose, their cock resting heavy on his tongue. Gerard traced the damp line of his jaw with their thumb. "Good. Now take it properly."
They pushed in deep, past the point where Frank’s breath stuttered, until his nose brushed the crisp fabric of their skirt. Frank’s fingers spasmed against his thighs, his nails biting crescents into the fabric of his slacks. A low, punched-out sound escaped him, and Gerard’s hips jerked in response.
"Christ," Gerard breathed, their grip tightening reflexively in Frank’s hair. They held him there for a long, suspended moment, savoring the tight clutch of his throat around them, the way his body trembled with the effort of staying pliant. When they finally pulled back, it was only to thrust in again, slow and inexorable, their fingers twisting tighter in Frank’s hair with each inch.
Frank’s eyes watered, tears clinging to his lashes, but he didn’t pull away. Didn’t even try. Gerard watched, fascinated, as his throat worked around them, as his Adam’s apple bobbed with each forced swallow. They crooked a finger under the silk tie, tightening it just enough to feel the rapid flutter of Frank’s pulse. "You’re doing so well," they murmured, their voice gone rough at the edges. "Taking me just like I asked."
Frank’s breath stuttered through his nose, his lips stretched obscenely around Gerard’s cock. Every slow thrust punched a whimper from his throat, but he kept his hands locked on his thighs, fingers trembling with restraint. Gerard’s grip shifted from his hair to cradle his jaw, their thumb pressing against the stretched corner of Frank’s mouth. “Look at you,” they murmured, voice gone dark with approval. “So good for me when you’re not fighting.”
The praise burned hotter than the stretch of his jaw. Frank moaned around them, the vibration drawing a sharp inhale from Gerard. Their hips jerked forward instinctively, pressing deeper, and Frank gagged—once, twice—before forcing himself still. Gerard’s fingers flexed against his cheekbone. “Breathe,” they ordered, pulling back just enough to let Frank drag in a ragged gasp.
Their thumb swiped through the spit slicking Frank’s chin. “You can take more,” Gerard decided, watching the way Frank’s throat fluttered at the assertion. They guided his head forward again, their free hand sliding beneath his jaw to feel the bulge of their cock as Frank swallowed them down. “That’s it. Just like that.”
Frank’s vision blurred at the edges, his whole world narrowing to the weight on his tongue, the press of Gerard’s thighs against his shoulders, the silk tie tightening fractionally with each shallow thrust. He could feel the moment Gerard’s control frayed. The stutter in their rhythm, the way their fingers dug sharper into his scalp, sent a violent shudder down his spine.
Gerard cursed under their breath, hips snapping forward once, twice, before stilling deep. Frank’s throat convulsed around them, his eyes watering, but he didn’t pull away. He just let Gerard fuck his mouth with slow, deliberate rolls of their hips until they came with a bitten-off groan, their fingers tightening almost painfully in Frank’s hair.
Frank swallowed reflexively, the bitter tang flooding his mouth as Gerard's grip kept him pinned in place. His jaw ached, his throat burned, but the sharp pull on his hair grounded him, an anchor point in the storm of sensation. Gerard's breath hitched above him, their thighs trembling against his shoulders as they rode out the aftershocks, their fingers still twisted tight in Frank's hair.
"Good boy," Gerard murmured at last, their voice rough as they carefully withdrew. Their thumb swiped across Frank's lower lip, catching the mess there. "Such a good boy for me."
Frank's breath came in ragged pants, his lips swollen and slick. He didn't move, didn't speak, he just waited, his gaze fixed on Gerard's face, the tie still loose around his throat. Gerard's expression was unreadable in the dim light, their pupils blown wide as they traced the reddened curve of Frank's mouth with their thumb.
"Stand," Gerard ordered softly, their fingers sliding from Frank's hair to cup his jaw.
Frank rose on unsteady legs, his knees protesting after so long on the carpet. Gerard's hands settled on his hips, guiding him backward until the sofa hit the backs of his thighs. Their touch was firm. No hesitation, no uncertainty. Frank shivered as Gerard's palms slid up his sides, pushing his jacket off his shoulders in one smooth motion. The fabric pooled on the floor behind him, forgotten.
Gerard’s hands didn’t pause at Frank’s shirt buttons. They tore his shirt open with a sharp twist, sending plastic skittering across the hardwood. Frank gasped at the sudden exposure, his chest heaving under Gerard’s appraisal. Their nails scraped down his sternum, leaving faint pink trails that burned hotter than any whiskey.
"Strip," Gerard commanded, stepping back to watch. Their skirt clung to their thighs as they leaned against the armchair, fingers drumming once on the leather. "Everything but the tie."
Frank’s fingers fumbled at his belt, the silk tie still looped loosely around his throat, brushing his collarbones with every ragged breath. Gerard watched, impassive, as Frank shed his ruined shirt and kicked his slacks and underwear away, leaving him bare except for the tie and the flushed, desperate line of his cock curving against his stomach.
Gerard stepped forward, their heel catching the discarded fabric and sliding it aside with clinical precision. "Turn around," they murmured, fingers trailing down Frank’s chest to hook in the silk tie. "Hands on the sofa."
Frank obeyed without hesitation, bracing himself against the leather backrest. The tie tightened as Gerard wrapped it once around his fist, the silk whispering against Frank’s throat before Gerard wrenched it between his teeth. Frank groaned around the makeshift gag, his shoulders tensing as Gerard’s free hand traced the dip of his spine.
The silk tie pulled taut between Frank’s teeth, Gerard’s knuckles pressing into the hollow of his cheek as they secured the knot behind his head. A whimper escaped Frank’s throat, half-protest, half-submission as Gerard’s free hand slid down the trembling plane of his back, pausing just above the curve of his ass.
"Count," Gerard commanded, their voice razor-sharp. The first slap landed with calculated precision, the crack echoing off the apartment walls.
Frank jerked forward against the sofa, the number "one" muffled around the gag. His fingers clawed at leather cushions as Gerard's palm connected again, harder this time, the heat blooming across his skin in waves. By "five," tears pricked at the corners of his eyes; by "ten," his thighs trembled with the effort of staying upright.
Gerard paused, their breath warm against Frank's shoulder blade. "Still so stubborn," they murmured, tracing the reddened skin with feather-light fingertips that made Frank shiver. "But not for long." Their hand disappeared, returning slick with lube from the side table, and Frank tensed instinctively.
The first finger breached him without preamble, pressing deep in one smooth motion that punched a ragged groan from Frank's chest. Gerard's teeth grazed his earlobe. "Too much?" they taunted, crooking their finger just enough to make Frank's knees buckle. "You've taken worse from me."
Frank nodded frantically, the silk tie soaking through with drool as Gerard worked him open with ruthless efficiency. Their free hand tightened in his hair, pulling his head back to expose his throat. "Words, Frank."
"Y-yes, Gerard," he gasped around the gag, his voice cracking when they added a second finger without warning. The stretch burned, just shy of pain, and Frank rocked back instinctively, chasing the pressure. Gerard chuckled darkly, their thumb circling his rim where they were stretched taut around their fingers.
"Disgraceful," they murmured, scissoring their fingers in a way that made Frank's vision blur. "Begging for it like this after all your lip today." Their free hand trailed down his flank, nails scraping lightly over his ribs before wrapping around his cock. "Especially after that little stunt with the Clarkson deposition."
Frank whimpered, hips jerking into Gerard's grip as they stroked him. Once. Twice. Before releasing him with a sharp slap to his inner thigh. "No," Gerard chided, pressing their fingertips against his prostate in slow circles. "You don't get to come until I say."
Frank's thighs trembled violently, his breath coming in ragged bursts around the gag. Gerard twisted their fingers deep, their other hand pinning his hips flush against the sofa when he tried to rut back. "Still," they commanded, and Frank froze, sweat beading along his spine as they fucked him open with deliberate precision.
Gerard watched the tears clinging to Frank's lashes, the way his shoulders shook with restraint. "Count," they ordered, curling their fingers just enough to make Frank's breath hitch. "Every time you ruined my schedule this week."
"Mm—" Frank's throat worked around the silk, his fingers clawing at the leather as Gerard stroked over his prostate again.
"One," Gerard supplied, snapping their fingers sharply against his inner thigh when Frank's hips jerked. They continued the ruthless rhythm, two fingers pressing deep on "two," a third stretching him obscenely on "three" until Frank's thighs were slick with precome, his cock flushed and leaking untouched.
Gerard's breath ghosted hot over the shell of Frank's ear when he reached "seven," their fingers stilling just shy of his prostate. "Look at you," they murmured, twisting their wrist to watch Frank's body clench around them. "So desperate to be good now that it matters." Their thumb pressed against his perineum, the pressure just shy of painful. "You could have had this anytime if you'd just listened."
Frank sobbed around the gag, his knees buckling as Gerard withdrew their fingers entirely. The sudden emptiness wrenched a broken noise from his chest, his hips chasing their retreating hand fruitlessly. Gerard's palm landed sharply against his ass cheek—once, twice—the sting blooming hotter than the whiskey they'd shared earlier. "Hands behind your back," they ordered, catching Frank's wrists in one smooth motion before securing them with the loose end of the silk tie.
Frank trembled violently as Gerard guided him forward until his chest pressed flush against the sofa back, his cock trapped between leather and his own stomach. Gerard's knee nudged his thighs wider, their fingers trailing down the dip of his spine before circling his abused rim. "Tell me why you're here," they murmured, pressing just the tip of one finger inside.
Frank whined high in his throat, the silk gag muffling his attempt at speech. Gerard tugged it loose with a sharp jerk, letting it dangle around his neck. "Words, Frank."
"B-because I fucked up," Frank gasped, his voice wrecked. Gerard's finger pushed deeper, curling just enough to make his vision blur. "Because— ah— because I didn't listen!"
"Again," Gerard added a second finger, scissoring them slowly. Frank's hips jerked, but the silk around his wrists held firm.
"Because I'm yours!" The confession tore from Frank's throat raw and unvarnished. His chest heaved against the sofa, tears streaking his flushed cheeks. "Fuck— Gerard, please—"
Gerard's fingers stilled inside him. The sudden absence wrenched a sob from Frank's chest. "On your knees. Since that wasn’t enough for you," Gerard commanded, stepping back just far enough to watch Frank scramble onto the carpet. Their polished heel pressed into the dip of his spine when he arched too eagerly. "Slowly."
Frank forced himself still, trembling as Gerard knelt behind him. The silk tie brushed his collarbones—still damp from his own spit—before Gerard wound it twice around their fist. "Open." Frank obeyed instantly, the silk pressing heavily on his tongue as Gerard knotted it securely behind his teeth. Their thumb swiped through the tears on his cheeks. "Count every time you disrespected me this week again."
The first slap landed with surgical precision. Frank's muffled "one" dissolved into a whimper when Gerard's fingers returned to his rim, circling without penetration. The second strike overlapped the first, the heat blooming across his skin as Gerard murmured, "Two. You rearranged my deposition schedule without consultation."
Frank's thighs trembled when Gerard finally pressed a finger back inside, just the tip, before withdrawing again. "Three." Their palm cracked against his other cheek. "You rolled your eyes during the Thompson reprimand." They punctuated each number with alternating strokes. One finger breaching him on "four," two twisting cruel and slow on "five", until Frank's choked counts dissolved into wordless pleading.
Gerard's free hand fisted in his hair, wrenching his head back to expose his throat. "Six." Their fingers curled just shy of his prostate while their thumb pressed bruising-hard against his perineum. "You called the Morgan files 'a tomorrow problem' in front of associates." Frank's body convulsed, his cock dripping untouched onto the carpet. The silk tie muffled his scream when Gerard added a third finger without warning.
Frank's hips jerked forward involuntarily, his cock dripping onto the carpet beneath him. The silk tie muffled his desperate whimpers as Gerard's fingers twisted deep inside him. Three now, stretching him obscenely wide with every slow scissoring motion. Tears streaked his flushed cheeks, his whole body trembling with restraint.
"Please," he gasped around the gag, the word barely intelligible. "Gerard— fuck— please let me—"
Gerard's fingers stilled, pressing hard against his prostate. "Let you what?" they murmured, their breath hot against the shell of Frank's ear. Their free hand trailed down his chest, nails scraping lightly over his ribs before wrapping loosely around his cock. "Use your words."
Frank sobbed, his thighs shaking violently. "Let me come," he begged, his voice raw. "Please—I can't— I need—"
Gerard's grip tightened fractionally, their thumb swiping over the slick head of his cock. "No," they chided, their voice razor-sharp. "Not yet." Their fingers withdrew entirely, leaving Frank clenching around nothing, his breath coming in ragged bursts. "Turn around."
Frank twisted onto his back, the silk tie still tight between his teeth, his wrists straining against their makeshift bindings. Gerard loomed over him, skirt riding up their thighs as they knelt between his legs. Their fingers traced Frank’s inner thigh, slow and taunting, before dragging upward to circle his twitching hole.
“Please,” Frank slurred around his gag, hips jerking weakly. His cock lay flushed and untouched against his stomach. “Gerard— Fuck— Let me—”
Gerard’s thumb pressed hard against his perineum. “Let you what?”
Frank’s vision whited out for a split second. ‘Come,” he begged, voice cracking. “God, please— Just let me—”
Gerard’s fingers returned to his rim, pressing in shallowly, just the tips, before withdrawing again. Frank whimpered, thighs trembling violently. “Look at you,” Gerard murmured, tracing the slick mess Frank had made of himself. “Disgusting.” Their thumb smeared precome across Frank’s lower belly. “Go on.”
Gerard's fingers pressed just inside Frank's rim, not enough to satisfy, just enough to tease, and Frank's back arched off the carpet like a live wire. "Gerard—" His voice cracked around the silk tie, spit soaking the fabric where it stretched between his teeth. "Fuck, just— just fuck me already—"
Gerard's thumb swiped over his perineum, pressing hard enough to make Frank's vision blur. "You'll take what I give you," they murmured, their voice low and dangerous. Their fingers twisted shallowly inside him, retreating every time Frank tried to rock back onto them. "And you'll come when I say."
Frank sobbed, his cock twitching against his stomach, untouched and leaking. He writhed beneath Gerard, his bound hands clawing at nothing behind his back. "Please," he begged, the word slurred and wet. "I can't— I need—"
Gerard's free hand wrapped around his throat, not squeezing, just holding. Their fingers stilled inside him, pressing firm against his prostate without moving. "Come," they ordered, their voice razor-sharp.
Frank's whole body locked up. His back bowing, his thighs trembling, before he came untouched, his cock pulsing against his stomach as white streaked his chest. The orgasm ripped through him violently, his vision whiting out for a split second before crashing back into his body with shuddering gasps.
Frank's vision swam back into focus in fractured pieces. The silk tie still knotted between his teeth, their fingers sliding wetly from his body. He made a noise of half-protest, half-plea that dissolved into a whimper when Gerard merely wiped their hand on his trembling stomach.
"Again?" Gerard murmured, arching one eyebrow. Their thumb pressed against Frank's lower lip, tugging the silk tie loose enough for speech.
Frank gasped around the spit-slick fabric, his voice shredded. "Want— want you inside. Properly." His hips jerked weakly, oversensitive and twitching. "Fuck me, Gerard, c'mon—"
Gerard's laugh was a dark, velvet thing. They curled two fingers back inside him without warning, scissoring sharply. Frank's back arched off the carpet, a broken scream muffled by the gag. "You can barely take my fingers," they observed, twisting their wrist to watch Frank's body clench around them. "And you want my cock?"
Frank nodded frantically, tears streaking his temples. Gerard withdrew their fingers with a wet pop, pressing them against Frank's tongue instead. He sucked greedily, hollowing his cheeks, until Gerard wrenched his head back by the tie.
Frank's lips moved soundlessly around the silk tie, his tongue darting out to lick uselessly at Gerard's fingers still pressed against his mouth. His hips twitched involuntarily. Tiny, aborted thrusts into empty air as aftershocks wracked his oversensitive body. Tears blurred his vision when Gerard's thumb swiped through the mess on his stomach, smearing it across his heaving ribs.
"Pathetic," Gerard murmured, their voice rough with something darker than amusement. They dragged their damp fingers down Frank's sternum, watching his muscles jump at the contact. "Look at you. Came untouched like a desperate whore and still begging for more."
Frank's throat worked around the gag, his bound hands flexing uselessly behind his back. He tried to speak. To plead. But all that emerged was a wet, garbled noise that made Gerard's lips curl.
Their hand slid lower, fingertips tracing the trembling line of Frank's inner thigh. "You really think you can take me?" Gerard asked, tilting their head as they pressed two fingers back inside Frank without warning. His body clenched violently around them, his scream muffled by silk. "Your hole's practically weeping already." They crooked their fingers just enough to make Frank's vision go white again. "You really think you can handle that?"
Frank nodded frantically, his eyelashes sticking together with tears. Gerard's fingers withdrew with a filthy sound, replaced instantly by the blunt head of their cock pressing against his ruined rim. Frank whimpered high and broken as Gerard leaned over him, their breath hot against his ear.
Gerard pressed in with torturous slowness, their hips rolling forward inch by relentless inch. Frank’s whole body convulsed beneath them. It was too much, too soon after his first orgasm, his muffled scream vibrating against the silk ties still knotted between his teeth.
"Breathe," Gerard murmured, their hands bracketing Frank's hips as they bottomed out. They held there, unmoving, watching tears track down Frank's temples while his muscles fluttered violently around them. Their thumb swiped through the mess on Frank's stomach, still warm from his first release, smearing it across his trembling abdomen. "Look at you. Ruined already and I've barely started."
Frank whined high in his throat when Gerard withdrew halfway, only to sink back in with the same deliberate pace. His thighs trembled against Gerard's hips, his cock twitching pathetically against his stomach. Still oversensitive, still leaking.
Gerard set a rhythm that was almost cruel in its restraint; deep, rolling thrusts that dragged against Frank's prostate with every pass but never quite built to relief. Their fingers tangled in the silk tie still looped around Frank's throat, using it to tilt his head back. "You'll come again like this," they murmured, watching Frank's eyelashes flutter. "Just from my cock. No hands."
Frank sobbed around the gag, his hips jerking weakly when Gerard changed angles to grind harder against his prostate. The pleasure built in slow, unbearable waves; each thrust pushing Frank closer to the edge, only to retreat at the last second. His second orgasm crashed over him without warning, his body seizing as he came dry; nothing left to spill but the violent contractions of his muscles around Gerard's cock.
Gerard didn’t pause, didn’t slow; just kept fucking him through it, their rhythm unbroken as Frank’s vision whited out. His oversensitive body convulsed with every thrust, his cock twitching emptily against his stomach as tears streaked his temples.
When Gerard finally pulled out, Frank's hole clenched around nothing, reddened and twitching. Gerard's fingers traced his ruined rim, pressing just inside to feel the way Frank's body still trembled. "Again." they taunted, watching Frank's exhausted nod. His cock stirred weakly against his thigh, half-hard despite his exhaustion.
Gerard flipped him onto his stomach without ceremony, his bound hands trapped behind him. They pressed back in with a single brutal thrust that punched a scream from Frank's chest. This time their pace was relentless; no teasing, no restraint, just deep, punishing strokes that jolted Frank forward with every snap of their hips.
Frank's third orgasm hit like a delayed reaction; his body seizing violently as he dry-heaved around the gag. Nothing came out but spit and broken sobs as his prostate throbbed under Gerard's merciless attention. Gerard's fingers dug into his hips hard enough to bruise when Frank's hole fluttered uselessly around them, still trying to milk their cock despite having nothing left to give.
Gerard's rhythm stuttered then, a single ragged thrust before they buried themselves deep with a bitten-off groan. Frank felt the hot spill inside him, Gerard's hips jerking through the aftershocks as their fingers twisted tight in his hair. They held there for a long moment, their breath hot against Frank's shoulder blade, before slowly pulling out.
Frank came back to himself in slow, fractured pieces. First, the press of carpet fibers against his cheek, then the dull ache in his wrists where the silk tie still bound them. His entire body felt liquid and heavy, his limbs refusing to obey simple commands. Distantly, he registered the wetness between his thighs, the cooling mess on his stomach, the raw ache of his throat.
Gerard’s hands were gentle as they untied the silk from his wrists, and then the back of Frank’s head, loosening the gag, their fingers massaging the indents left behind. Frank whimpered at the touch; oversensitive and overwhelmed, but Gerard didn’t stop, their thumbs circling the delicate bones of his wrists with practiced care. “Easy,” they murmured, their voice softer now, stripped of its earlier edge. “I’ve got you.”
Frank blinked up at them, his vision blurred with unshed tears. Gerard’s face was unreadable in the dim light, their expression hovering somewhere between satisfaction and concern. They cupped Frank’s jaw, their thumb swiping away a stray tear. “Can you sit up for me?”
Frank tried, he really did, but his body refused to cooperate, his muscles trembling violently when he attempted to push himself upright. Gerard didn’t scold him. Instead, they slid an arm beneath his shoulders, lifting him with effortless strength until his back rested against the sofa. Frank sagged against the leather, his head lolling to the side until Gerard guided it to rest against their shoulder.
A blanket materialized from somewhere, soft, warm, and draped over Frank’s shaking frame. Gerard tucked it around him with meticulous care, their fingers brushing his collarbones as they adjusted the fabric. Frank leaned into the touch, his eyelids fluttering when Gerard’s palm settled against his chest, right over his heartbeat.
“Breathe,” Gerard murmured, their lips brushing his temple. Frank hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until the command loosened something in his chest. He exhaled shakily, his ribs expanding beneath Gerard’s palm. “Again. Slower this time.”
Frank obeyed, his breath hitching on the inhale. Gerard’s hand moved with the rise and fall of his chest, their touch steadying. Frank’s fingers twitched where they lay limp in his lap, half-open until Gerard took one hand in theirs, kneading the tension from his palm with deliberate strokes.
“There you go,” Gerard murmured when Frank’s breathing evened out. Their free hand carded through his sweat-damp hair, their nails scraping lightly against his scalp. Frank shuddered, his eyelids drooping. “Good. Just like that.”
A glass of water appeared in Frank’s line of sight, condensation beading on the rim. Gerard guided it to his lips, their fingers steadying his chin when his hands proved too uncoordinated to hold it himself. The first sip was lukewarm, the second cooler as Frank’s awareness sharpened fractionally. He drank greedily until Gerard pulled the glass away with a soft click of their tongue.
“Enough,” they chided, setting the glass aside. “You’ll make yourself sick.” Their fingers returned to Frank’s hair, combing through the tangled strands with unexpected gentleness. Frank leaned into the touch, his body growing heavier with each passing second, pulling him towards sleep.
Frank blinked awake to the press of warm lips against his forehead, soft, lingering, and the scent of bergamot soap filling his lungs as Gerard towel-dried his hair with methodical precision. The bathroom tiles were warm beneath his bare feet, steam curling around the edges of the shower door where Gerard had washed him with clinical care, their hands never lingering, never teasing. Just efficient strokes of a soapy washcloth over every trembling inch of him, rinsing away sweat and semen with the same focus they’d once used to dismantle his legal briefs.
"You with me?" Gerard’s voice was low, roughened at the edges like worn leather. Their fingers traced the hinge of Frank’s jaw where the silk tie had left faint imprints just noticeable enough to make his breath hitch when their thumb brushed the spot.
Frank nodded, his eyelids fluttering as Gerard guided him back to the sofa, where a fresh shirt and sweatpants lay folded. The clothes smelled faintly of Gerard’s detergent; the same crisp linen scent that clung to their office suits. Frank swayed slightly as Gerard dressed him, his limbs leaden and pliant under their hands. The sweatpants were too long, pooling around his ankles until Gerard rolled the cuffs twice with precise flicks of their wrists.
"You kept these here," Frank mumbled, his tongue thick with exhaustion. He stared at the rolled fabric. "For me."
Gerard’s hands stilled on his waistband. They exhaled through their nose, a quiet, measured breath before smoothing the fabric over Frank’s hips. "Yes."
The admission hung between them, heavy as the silence that followed. Frank watched Gerard’s fingers pull the shirt over his head with methodical care, their nails catching faintly on the fabric. They’d done this before, he realized. Planned for it. Imagined the aftermath down to the extra toothbrush now sitting by their bathroom sink.
Gerard’s palm pressed between his shoulder blades, guiding him forward until his forehead rested against their collarbone. Frank inhaled sharply as Gerard’s fingers carded through his damp hair. "You’re thinking too loud," they murmured.
Frank’s laugh came out cracked and watery. "That’s my job."
"No." Gerard’s thumb traced the shell of his ear. "Your job is to let me take care of you. Just this once."
The words unraveled something in Frank’s chest. He pressed his face harder against Gerard’s shoulder, his fingers twisting weakly in their skirt. They allowed it, allowed him to cling, their arms tightening around him in silent answer.
Gerard’s heartbeat was steady under Frank’s cheek. Slower than his own frantic pulse, measured in a way that made his breathing sync without thought. Their fingers traced idle patterns down his spine, each stroke lingering over vertebrae as if memorizing the terrain.
"You kept count," Frank mumbled into their collarbone. His throat ached. "All those times I fucked up."
Gerard’s exhale ruffled his hair. "Of course I did." Their palm settled between his shoulder blades, warm through the borrowed shirt. "You think I’d miss a single one?"
Frank’s laugh hitched. He’d expected—hell, he didn’t know what he’d expected. Anger, maybe. Disappointment. Not this: Gerard’s hands carding through his hair with methodical care, their voice low and rough at his temple. Not the way the shower handle needed a quarter-turn to the left for perfect heat. Not the way they’d washed him without speaking, their touch firm but never cruel, rinsing shampoo from his hair with cupped palms.
"You’re quiet," Gerard observed. Their fingers skimmed the nape of his neck, blunt nails scraping lightly. "That’s new."
Frank swallowed against the lump in his throat. "Counting," he rasped. "My fuckups." His fingers twisted in Gerard’s sleeve. "You remembered all of them."
Gerard’s thumb pressed against his pulse point. "I remember everything." The words landed like a punch to the ribs. "Your deposition notes from April. The way you take your coffee." A pause. "The look on your face when I called you into my office that first time."
Frank’s breath stuttered. He remembered that first time, too. Gerard’s glacial tone, the way their pen had tapped once, precisely, against the desk blotter. The way his stomach had dropped when they’d said his name without looking up.
"You terrified me," he admitted into their collar.
Gerard’s chuckle vibrated against his forehead. "Good." Their fingers tightened in his hair; not painful, just present. "You needed terrifying."
Frank exhaled shakily, his breath warm against Gerard’s collarbone where their shirt had fallen open. The admission hung between them, and for once, he didn’t rush to cloak it in sarcasm or deflection. Gerard’s fingers stilled in his hair, their grip shifting from possession to something quieter, more deliberate.
"You still do," Gerard murmured. Their thumb traced the hinge of Frank’s jaw, following the path of earlier tears. "Just differently now."
Incel mikey way being transphobic until tboy reader pounds his ass with a strap🤔🤔
ƁⰙƬƬⰙ𐒄
Pairing: Incel!Mikey Way x t boy!reader
Notes: transphobia (hella, even during sex at times, plus the t slur (ID LIKE TO CLARIFY I AM ABLE TO USE IT AND WOULD NEVER USE IT IF I WASNT ABLE TO)), mentions of masturbation, restraints, degradation, pegging, throat fucking, use of daddy, some choking and hair pulling, slapping, edging, crying
Inspo/Request: Above!
It was pretty unexpected. You both reunited in the bathroom of the local mall, 4 years since you last seen each other. In high school, you both had a few classes together, where Mikey would constantly glare at you but secretly stare at you. Now you’ve changed. You’re in the same bathroom as him and look 10x more masculine, and fucking hotter. With a flamboyant brother, Mikey’s never given a shit about trans people, but the fact he wishes you two could fuck right now practically makes him resent you. You also recognized him, but carelessly continued to wash your hands, not seeing any fuss. Mikey was the one to make a fuss.
“Who the fuck let you in a men’s bathroom?” It wasn’t a joke, it was his voice laced with disgust, like he channeled all the disgust in himself towards you. But it just made you shake your head. You couldn’t be bothered. Mikey spoke again. “I’m talking to you. You’re the only woman in here.” At this point, you had to say something back. “What made you so hateful? Were you held back or something? Brain dead from getting fucked by all the closeted football boys?” That was unfortunately true for Mikey. He hooked up with them left and right, just to have some fun. When the word went around he didn’t really care. Clearly he just kept pulling the trans card. “There’s a difference between being sexually open and thinking you’re a man with tits.”
You were just wasting your breath. After all, you looked more manly than him. “Have a good one.” Nodding, you grabbed your shopping bag and walked out of the bathroom. Except Mikey followed, wanting you to cave and get mad at him. That’d be a sight to touch himself to later. Just like the mental images he took of you throughout high school, but better. “I’m not done talking to you. You’re way too comfortable waltzing into a men’s bathroom when you aren’t even one. Everybody probably thinks you’re a pervert or a slut just trying to get a peak at some dick.” Holy shit, this annoying, greasy asshole who hasn’t changed since high school had some nerve. It was funny how he argued, begging for a reaction, all the way out the doors of the mall.
What could he do? You were so unbothered, like you know what he was thinking. It was shameful how he was just some slut trying to make you mad by projecting onto you. “Why aren’t ya saying anything, fucking pussy?” Mikey gives your shoulder a light shove, while you’re approaching your vehicle. “Quit acting like a little bitch and man the fuck u-” Before he can finish, you shove him into the outside of your car, his back hitting with a hard thump. “Listen, man, you clearly want something. Come on, spit it out.” Your aggression left him slightly speechless, but he thinks of something. “I wouldn’t be opposed to fucking the girl out of you.” “That’s it? You want to have sex with me? God, you are the fucking slut everyone said you were.”
Now there’s options with how you can respond. Option A, you could tell him to suck a dick. Option B, lie to him that you have a girlfriend. Option C, get a good, impressionable fuck in. “Hop in, then.” Pushing him off your door, you unlocked the car, climbing in the drivers seat and giving Mikey a minute to get in. Even though you were gonna give him five minutes decide, he hopped in straight away. The journey back to your place was no where near quiet. He was learning to the right with his arm on the center console, getting closer to you while you drove. “Yeah, you’re a guy but still want your pussy fucked? Sounds pretty pathetic to me.” His teasing had no effect now, because he didn’t know what waited for him back at your place. All you gave him was hums, boring him. “What a character you are. I hope your this bland during sex. I don’t gotta hear that annoying yapping mouth of yours.” Again, who cares?
Mikey followed you into your place, straight to your bedroom. You didn’t bother giving him that entrance they do in movies during hook ups, pushing each other against walls and tongues shoved down each others throats. The fucker doesn’t deserve it anyway. After you let him in, you shut the door behind you, and quickly tackled him to the bed while his back was to you. “Hey! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Squirming under you because your hips keeping him pinned to the bed, Mikey feels helpless, and it just turns him on to the max. No time is wasted, ripping his thin, worn out shirt over his head to twirl tight enough to use to tie his hands behind his back, all snug. “Y’know, you’re a real fucking prick.” Reminding him while pulling him up by his hair, his face all red and flushed. “All because you want to get fucked, don’t you?” Now he’s a mess, completely hard and grinding his hips into your bed. There’s no point in waiting for an answer.
Climbing off of him, you find your strap in your bedside drawer, stepping off your pants to pull it up over your boxers. All while Mikey is still pathetically humping your mattress with his face buried in the sheets. You’re just left in your wife beater, boxers, and the harness on your hips for Mikey. Rounding the bed, you go to the side with Mikey’s face, pulling him further so his head is dangling off the bed by the grip you have in his hair, silicon cock right in his face. Still flushed, Mikey looks up at you through his eyelashes with a scoff, “I always took it up the ass. I don’t suck.” “Well, you do now,” you slap it against his cheek, making him try to squirm away, “and if you don’t cooperate this will be much more hard.” That’s just threatening Mikey with a good time. His mouth still doesn’t budge open, seeing how long you’d wait to shove it past his lips, but your thrust was so abrupt it caught him off guard. It’s hard to breathe, your grip in his hair forcing him the whole way down the 6inch length and making him gag. The struggle turning you on, you take your other hand and lightly wrap it around his throat, feeling the bulge you make in his neck.
“Fuck, you sound so much better with a mouth full, y’know that? Can’t hear your annoying yapping mouth.” Mocking him, you pull out, watching the spit drip down his chin before you collect it and spread it along the length. Mikey coughs a bit, tears stinging his eyes, “You’re - a fucking bitch -” Quickly cut off, you begin fucking his mouth again. “Please, you’re the bitch here. Come on, suck it yourself.” You let go of his hair, expecting him to suck you off like you instructed. Surprisingly, he does, bobbing his head as far as he can take it before pulling off to spit on it. Once again you spread the spit along the length of your cock, smiling down at him. “You like having cock in that mouth, don’t you?” Despite himself, he nods, panting while his tongue darts out to try and lick at the strap. But you pull away. “Whatever you want, I’m going to make sure I give you the opposite. Come on, slut, try to reach it.” The strap was just out of reach, giving you the excuse to see the sexy sight of Mikey droolin for your cock with his mouth wide open. “Atta boy.”
Pulling away, you found the bed back to where his feet are, pulling him by the legs so his feet reach the ground but he’s still fully bent over. You slide your hands between his legs to touch his sensitive bulge in a tight, massaging grip. “Wanna me to touch right here, huh? Wanna have your pathetic cock jerked?” Mikey nodded eagerly, humping into your hand with girlish whines. “Please, please, please!” Humming, you reach around to undo his pants and tug them down to his knees. “That’s too bad. You’re gonna just keep humping into the bed while I fuck your ass, got it?” All he did was continue whining like a little bitch while you lined up with his tight hole, his hips pushing back onto it. Realizing how eager he is, how much he wants it, you shouldn’t give it to him so easily. Might as well taunt him. “Ya want it bad, Mikey? Dying to be filled?” Any self respect left his body, along with any insult about your identity as he pleaded without you even needing to tell him to. “Quit teasing me, please, please quit it.” Mikey groans, hips still aggressively bucking like there was a hole in the bed.
You can’t help it, he just looks so pathetic now that he’s underneath you, begging for it. Sliding the spit lubed cock into his tight hole, you only give him the tip. The sensation makes him moan loudly, hardly able to hear himself think if he was able to. “That enough for you, slut?” “No! No, no, no, need more, daddy.” Daddy? The same guy who was calling you a woman? Surely, you can fuck with being called that, especially with the way he’s acting so submissive. No more than an inch you pushed in further, Mikey’s muscles clenching. Cocking your head, you teased further, “How about now?” Mikey hid his face in the mattress, whining as a response, but quickly became verbal when you threatened to pull out. “A-All the way in, for fucks sake, if you’re such a man just f-” Before he got to finish his sentence, you slammed all the way into him, his back arching as much as the restraints allowed him as he cried out.
Pulling out slowly, you’d slam back in, gripping him by the hips as he squirmed. Repeating that a few times, you deciding to reposition him, making him shimmy further up on the bed so he was fully laying on it. You mounted him from behind, straddling the top of his back thighs before repositioning and ever so slowly sinking in. Mikey sighed, as if bored, looking over his shoulder as best as he could. “If I were fucking you right now, you’d be begging for me be more gentle. You can tell you’re a woman.” My god, he was just a joy to be around. Especially when the skin to skin slapping noises filled the room, along with his cries. Tugging him by the scalp, you used the other hand to wrap around to his throat, squeezing tight while he spoke. “Holy shit - holy shit - ‘m fucking sorry, ‘m wrong, ‘m wrong!” Rambling like that just because it feels so good, and begging whenever you slow down the tiniest bit, “Harder, harder, harderharderharder!” Letting out deep “uhh”’s with each thrust, whining daddy in between them.
In simple terms, Mikey was a wreck, especially because he didn’t want it to end. The urge to piss you off was gone, he was just loving the pleasure. Guys in college slowly stopped wanting to fuck him with how much he slept around and his lack of hygiene. Lack of hygiene and taking one person’s dick? Sure, but multiple? He’s going to end up a walking STD. Thankfully he was free, only having a few STIs in the past, and yesterday he showered plus hasn’t had sex in a while, and obviously your dick is a strap, so Mikey’s giving nothing even if he had something. Except his pleasure was cut short when you pulled out, making him whine as you dropped him back onto the bed as he protested. “Hey!” You gave him a sharp crack on the ass, making him moan embarrassingly loud, then beginning to untie his wrists. “As much as I love not seeing your face, I wanna see how hard you are while I’m fucking you. Get up by the pillows and spread your legs.” At your command, Mikey shuffles his jeans off fully, getting completely naked, and gets in said position.
His cock is long and leaking so much, red and fully hard and completely teased. The simple touch of you brushed your fingers against it made him gasp, but you retracted. “I’m not touching that. You can.” Spitting onto your hand to lube up the strap again, you got into position, slowly sinking in as Mikey whined at the new angle. It hit inside him deeper than before with every thrust pounding him into the bed. But with you so close, in a more intimate position than before, it made him want to be a complete prick. Grabbing at your flat chest, laughing, “At least you still got tits to hold onto.” You don’t, but obviously the comment makes you mad, earning him a sharp slap across the face and he lets go as you place his knees in the bend of your elbow to take his legs higher and fuck deeper.
Those “uhh” noises coming back, he laughs between them, causing you to cock your head. “What happened to ‘daddy’, huh? Just wanted to be an asshole to get me to make your skin red?” Mikey just bit lip, still laughing and moaning, “Such a pretty girl.” Another slap, another moan from Mikey, another insult, repeat. Until he started to whine, his hand wrapping around his cock to pump fast because of how close he felt and mumbles about it. But you pull out. Except Mikey practically growls, still jacking himself off. “Tranny.” There was a beat of silence between the two of you, your eyes having a certain anger behind them that made Mikey slightly reconsider. Not for long, though, for when you reached to his belt on the ground to use to bind his wrists to the bed frame. Then started jerking his cock for him while giving him deep, punishing thrusts that brought him close again.
“F-Fuck, that’s it, get me off. Ya fuckin’ hate me but want me to cum?- Oh shit, just- just don’t stop-” He stutters, getting closer and closer, then you stop when he’s just about to cum. “Yeah, no,” you laugh, “it’s not gonna be that easy anymore, Mikey.” Teasing his hole, you sunk in slowly, but not close enough to his prostate while slowly fucking him. He whines, unable to truly insult you for not letting him because he’s being a prick, “You’re- You’re fucking-” “I’m what? Huh?” You mock, thrusting hard in and out again. “Spit it out. Say it. Say what I am.” Mikey cries, your hand pumping his edged cock once again, getting close again. “Nothing- Nothing! Don’t stop!” So easy to fold. But of course, you stop. You repeat it quite a few times, until Mikey is shaking, cock twitching in your hand. The very last time you edge him, you pull out and let go of his cock the moment he was going to cum, his entire body writhing underneath you as he let out near sobbing noises, pre cum intensely leaking from his cock.
You were living the life. “Maybe I should kick you out now. You’re some fucking ungrateful slut. The threats you shot at him to not let him cum made him burst into tears. Of course, you were going to let him cum, but he needed to beg. And damn right he was. “I’m so so so sososososo sorry! Just please let me cum, please! I’ll never treat you bad again, ever! Never ever! Daddy, I need it, I don’t know what I’ll do if I don’t have your cock making me cum. I need yours. I need your hand. If I don’t cum- If I don’t cum-” Mikey was practically incoherent, until he screamed when you started thrusting and jerking him off at the same time again, with no intention of stopping. Now it was just straight up rambling. “Daddy! Daddyit’ssogood! Oh my god! Holy- fuckfuckfuck! Gonna cum so hard! Gonna cum! Gonna cum! All over myself - gonnagetsomessyforyou!-”
Finally, after a girlish squeak, he shot his load all over his thin tummy, eyes rolled back and back arched so pretty that his ribs showed. Your thrusts slowed, Mikey’s cries coming to a stop as he just flopped completely still. First, you untied him, giving his wrists small rubs. Next you wiped the cum off of his tummy with some tissues and threw them into the trash can. Then you got up and took off the strap, about to leave the room afterwards, but Mikey’s broken voice spoke. “Stay. I’m sorry.” You turned around, seeing him lying there, glasses all messy and cheeks covered in tears before crawling next to him and bringing him to your collarbone to lay. “It’s okay. That sight was pretty forgiving.” Slowly, Mikey’s chest slowed, hugging you firmly back, craving the touch before looking up at you. “And we can do this again?” “Oh, fuck yeah.”
everyone in american rock band my chemical romance should grow out their hair Even More and also they should all put on 15 pounds. yes even mikey way especially him actually.
gerard forcefem but in a humiliating way putting her in clothes that are uncomfortable and cling in all the places she hates making her wear heels that she cant even walk in and she just feels so dumb she cant stop crying the whole time aaaand send post
I have the biggest kink for being recorded during sex. I have this weird thing where i like to show myself off in a sexual way which is probably why i record how i sound when i fuck myself or when i hump my pillows. Is this. Anythinf😅😅😅😅❓❓hahahahah..ahaha..hah…❓
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