My Little One-Night Stand // FRERARD

My Little One-Night-Stand: Friendship Is Magic

— This was originally posted by someone on LiveJournal, so all credit goes to them.

*

It was the dude's eyelashes, in the end, that sealed the deal. Frank ran his thumb over them, pressing against them and feeling them rub between the pad of his thumb and a dusty pink cheek.

"God, so fucking pretty," he rasped, and if it affected the dude to hear that, or to feel Frank's thumb against his cheek, Frank couldn't tell. Dude didn't miss a beat. He tilted his head and slid his mouth all the way down the length of Frank's dick, letting a build up of spit slick his path, and sending something akin to a chemical catalyst straight into Frank's balls.

"Uhhhhhhhh," Frank groaned out as his orgasm simmered and then exploded out of his cock, shooting spurts of come in a little erratic arc that splattered on the linoleum floor of the underused ladies' room at Cosmo's.

The last pulses of come dripped out as the dude sat back on his heels, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and fluttering open those long, dark lashes. Frank tore his eyes away. He didn't want to, but he was seriously about to fall over if he didn't lean back against the bathroom stall and grip the, the – what the hell was this thing, anyway? A little garbage can in the fucking toilets at a club? But whatever bullshit thing was in the stalls in the ladies' room was saving his ass from falling on top of the prettiest boy Frank had ever pulled out of the pit at Cosmo's. For serious.

Frank had arrived at the show looking to fuck or fight, and after a couple of beers and an opening band called Fuck Your Mother, he was leaning towards the latter, and hard, too. It seemed the regulars had ceded control of the pit to FYM's lawless fans whose insistence on grabbing the band members for dual stage diving forced Mehdi and Armand to kick out six dudes in a row. Frank already had a cut on his cheek near his ear from some fuckhead's stupid jewelry, and his hands were balled into fists as he pogo'd around, finding the beat and daring someone to push him while he was in the air.

It was because Armand was now at the back door to keep those FYM fuckers out that Mehdi searched Frank out from across the pit. Once Frank was tuned in, Mehdi jerked his chin towards Frank's side of the floor, near the stage. Frank nodded and pushed his way to the front. A couple FYM fans had jumped from the stage together, and a smaller dude was getting kicked in the head repeatedly by the both of them.

Frank grabbed one of them by the hips and pulled him down, catching an elbow to his cheekbone that had the cut on it. That was fucking it.

"Mother fucker!" he yelled, and was about to lay into the guy – Mehdi be damned - when he caught a good look at the kid who had been getting kicked in the head. He wasn't actually a kid; he was probably college dropout age, same as Frank. But he surged forward with a crush of the crowd, cradling his arm a bit and wincing, and yeah, he needed help getting out, and yeah, Frank liked the look of him. The fight could wait. Or maybe he wouldn't need the fight after all.

"Come on!" he shouted, close to the cute dude's ear, and he used his elbows to clear a path out.

"Is it broken?" he asked him as they headed toward the relative safety of the bar, Frank casting glances back at him to make sure he was okay, watching the guy cradle his arm, and obviously to check out the dude and his Smashing Pumpkins t-shirt with a fucking batman belt buckle holding up loose black jeans.

The dude shook his head but didn't let go of his arm. He was an inch or two taller than Frank, with that kind of fly-away short-ish longish hair that makes for either a really cool chic or a really down dude. Frank stepped up to the bar and nodded to Patrick, who held up a finger to Frank and then proceeded to make sixteen hundred Long Island ice teas for the throngs of pushy people trying to get it done in as few drinks as possible.