Pictures of You
A/n: Gerard asks you to pose nude for him to photograph as a reference for practicing figure drawings. It turns out he wants those photos for very different reasons (based on this lovely anon ask!).
CW: nude photography, somewhat dubious consent (Gerard is lying but reader knows), gross drawings, riding, orgasm denial, restraints, teasing and degradation
Word count: 1,771
“Are you sure I need to be fully naked for this, Gee?”
“Y-yeah, yeah. That’s the whole point.”
You were standing in the middle of Gerard’s basement bedroom, pulling off your clothes.
A few days ago, he had called you up, and you could tell he was nervous. He always stammered more when he was nervous.
He mumbled through an explanation about how he’s been working on figure sketches in the art class he takes at the community college nearby, and that he needs some extra practice outside of the studio.
“I-I thought that maybe… uh… you could model for me. Let me take a few photos of you. Uh, naked. For practice.”
You knew it was a lie straightaway. If he needed nude models, he was fully capable of booting up his PC and searching the internet for naked women. You know he’s done it before.
But you didn’t want to embarrass the poor guy any more than he already was. So you played along.
“Sure, Gee. I’d love to help you with your class,” by letting you take naked photos of me, you’re tempted to add.
“Really?” He almost sounds shocked you said yes. You can hear the lopsided grin in his voice. “Uh—awesome! Thanks, like, a lot. Wanna come over on Friday?”
And so here you are, unhooking your bra, now only in your dark red panties (you might’ve chosen these ones on purpose). Shoulders back confidently, tits pressed out, you tilt your head. “Is this good enough?”
Gerard has to force himself to stop ogling your tits, nipples hardening at the cool air in the basement.
“Uh, you’ve gotta take off your panties, too.” His voice breaks on the word 'panties.' “I-I need to be able to draw everything."
You shrug innocently and pull your panties down your legs, bending over. You’re trying to subtly show off because you like how you can see him getting hard in his jeans.
Taking a breath and standing up straight, you smile sweetly at him. “I’m ready.”
Gerard ogles for a moment before registering your words, nodding, blushing furiously, and mumbling something about the lighting.
With his Polaroid camera pressed up to his face, he snaps three photos of you. One from the front, one from the back, and a shot of you posed with your body facing slightly to the right, curves accentuated, head tipped back. Gerard’s hands are shaking as he sets the photos out to develop.
“Thanks,” he mutters, but he’s looking between your legs as he says it.
“Any time,” you reply.
The photos escape your mind over the course of the next week. It isn’t until you’re sitting with him on his bed, passing a packed bowl back and forth, that you remember them.
“Hey,” you say, voice rough from the musky smoke in your lungs. “Have you gotten good use out of those naked pictures you took of me?”
The bluntness of your words make Gerard’s half-lidded, red-rimmed eyes go wide. His cheeks color at the phrase “good use” and he stammers for a moment, fingers twisting together.
“I-I—uh, yeah, I actually, um… They helped a lot with p-practicing sketching figures.”
A cop-out answer. You know him well enough by now to recognize the look of his face when he’s hiding something dirty.
“Can I see?”
A multitude of emotions flash through Gerard’s eyes. Surprise, panic, arousal, embarrassment.
“Well, they’re, um, they’re not done yet, and I’m still trying to work on them,” comes his lame (and obviously untrue) explanation.
You don’t buy it for a second. You glance around, and your eyes land on his sketchbook, half under his pillow. The polaroids of you are barely sticking out from underneath the pillow as well. You hadn’t noticed the crumpled tissues on his nightstand before now, but as you do, it’s all too obvious what he’s been up to these past few days. You smile before lunging for the sketchbook, holding it up above your head as Gerard immediately tries to grab it back.
“H-hey! Come on, that’s not fair,” he whines, reaching for the sketchbook, body close to yours now. But you know him well enough to tell that he’s getting off on this, on the idea of being caught. “They aren’t done, give it back—“
You push him away like a misbehaving puppy and he whimpers. There’s a page marked in the sketchbook and you flip to it.
Jesus Christ.
There are a couple innocently-drawn studies of your figure, careful and attentive in their accuracy of your form.
…and then there are the ones that focus on different parts of your body. A close up of your tits, your ass, your pussy, a shadow between your legs.
He’s drawn your tits again and again, from angles you didn’t even pose for.
Gerard’s watching you with wide eyes swirling with embarrassment and arousal. He gets off on the shame, twisted bastard. It’s kind of sweet, though, how he whimpers as you flip the page, which sticks to another a little.
You gently pull the pages apart—dirty boy—and your eyes widen at the drawings on this page.
They’re certainly not ones you posed for specifically. Gerard must’ve drawn them from memory.
Your tits covered in bite marks and hickeys, nipples dark from being sucked on and played with.
Your pussy, glistening with arousal, dripping with a man’s—Gerard’s—cum.
Your ass, spread open, revealing the tight little hole there.
When you look up from the pages, Gerard looks painfully hard in his sweatpants, and he’s breathing heavily.
“Is this what you needed those pictures for?” You ask him almost condescendingly, and revel in the way he nods meekly.
The pictures. They’re still under his pillow, the corners of the polaroids just barely peeking out. You reach over and pull them out.
Each one is crusted and a little sticky, and it’s all too obvious what it is that’s smeared across the glossy surface of each photo. Gerard whines, hiding his face in his hands.
It’s sick, really. He had lied to get nude photos of you. You knew he was a gross perv.
But it makes you grin. You know exactly how to deal with him.
Only ten minutes later, you’ve got Gerard’s hands tied above his head with your panties and you’re riding him at a ruthless pace, skin slapping every time you sink back down onto his cock.
“You know you could’ve just asked, baby,” you taunt him patronizingly, hands on his chest to steady your movement. “You didn’t have to lie like some fuckin’ loser creep.”
Gerard groans, head tilted back, eyes glassy and half-lidded.
“‘M sorry,” he whines, resisting the urge to fuck up into your tight cunt, the one he drew five times over in his sketchbook then jerked off to those drawings.
You chuckle breathlessly, squeezing around his cock on purpose just to feel it twitch and to hear him gasp brokenly.
“You’re gross, Gee. Like, really fucking gross. Needed to lie to get nudes from me for you to pump your sorry dick to.”
You love the way his groans and whimpers start sounding like sobs the harder you ride him. Your thighs burn, but you don’t stop.
“Mmm—ah, fuck, please—uhn, I can’t—!” He begins to stammer and whimper, voice pitching high. You can tell he’s close.
“No,” you say firmly, making his eyes go wide in despair. “Not until I say so. You don’t deserve to cum at all, really, but I’m letting you because I’m so nice. Thank me.”
“Thank you,” he echoes desperately, pretty hazel eyes wet with tears of pleasure. “Thank you, sugar, thankyouthankyouthankyou—“
His hands twist in their restraints, and you slam down again and again. His cock is thick and makes you moan when you grind on it just right, the swollen head nudging against your g-spot.
“I could tell everyone, you know,” you murmur to him, voice edged with cruel mockery. “I could spread the word about Gerard being a sick fuck who gets off on his own drawings of my body. I mean, do you realize how weird that is?”
He keens, poor thing, body arching so sweetly. A complete surrender. “No, no, please—I-I know I’m screwed up, I’m sorry, just p-please don’t tell—“
His voice is so desperate it almost makes you laugh.
“You’re lucky I’m so nice to you. That I pity you so much,” you coo, rising and falling on his cock, even as you’re breathless.
Suddenly, your eyes land on his Polaroid camera sitting on his nightstand. You pause your movements (to his whine of protest) to untie your panties from his wrists, then you reach over, picking up the camera and pressing it into Gerard’s now-free hands.
“You want naked photos of me? I’ll do you one better,” you hum to the gobsmacked, helpless man beneath you.
Another roll of your hips draws a mewl from him.
“Take a photo of me full of your cock.”
Gerard could’ve cum right there on the spot, but your command to wait rings in his head. And he’s nothing if not obedient for you. So, with shaking hands, and a broken half “thank you,” half moan, he snaps a picture of your bottom half, his cock disappearing into your pussy, your thighs glistening with your own wetness.
Who said you weren’t enjoying this, too?
He ends up taking another as you resume riding him; one of your bouncing tits and dominant, smug expression.
You’re nearing your peak. You can’t help it with the way your swollen clit catches on the head of his cock when you pull off almost all the way, only to sink back down again.
“Want you to cum,” you rasp, your own composure breaking for only a second as your head leans back. “Cum inside. Cum like how you did to those pictures of me, y-you freak.”
The permission has Gerard’s hips thrusting up once, twice, three times before he’s crying out, cock twitching erratically inside of you, pumping you full.
The feeling pushes you over the edge as well, cunt spasming around his oversensitive cock.
Panting, you pull off of him, and you both moan softly as his cum leaks from your pussy onto his softening cock.
You pluck the camera from his hands (he’s too fucked out to protest) and move down to lay between his legs. Flipping the lens to capture your face, you lean down to press a kiss to his tip, creamy with his own cum, softening from orgasm. The flash goes off and the shutter clicks.
You decide he can keep that one in his wallet.