You're a Mind Fuck, Babe

Chapter 45: Press My Lips Against Your Back Like They Could Take Away Its Pain

Ryan's house smells like baked goods and it seems like it's just us. We move up into his bedroom and I sit on his bed.

"So how's your boyfriend?" He speaks up, I look up at him.

"Good. Except for the shit with his brother," I say. Ryan sits down beside me.

"What happened?" He asks.

"I'm not actually sure. His brother came over and said his dad said something and then he disappeared and was drunk and my boyfriend was upset," I explain.

"So... How are you and Brendon doing?" I wonder, trying to change the conversation a little.

"We're doing good. It's been like about a month now. It's been calm. He's sweet," he smiles.

"That's good. He's not forcing you into anything?" I ask.

"We haven't even had sex or anything. The only thing he's forced me to do was pick what type of candy to get at the movies," Ryan laughs.

"Why no sex?"

"I haven't really felt like it with him." Ryan shrugs.

"What do you mean?"

"When I was with you, that was all I had known to do with you but with Brendon, its completely different because it never started like that," he explains.  It gets me thinking about Gerard and I. If it had started some other way, I wonder what our relationship would be like... I shake my head, pushing the thought away. At that exact moment, my phone starts ringing. I pull it out of my pocket and answer it.

"Frank... I need you," Gerard cries.

"I-Ill be right there," I promise. I hang up.

"I've got to go," I tell Ryan and race out of his house. I make my way to Gerard's apartment as fast as my legs allow me to.

I open the door to find Mikey passed out on the floor in the kitchen and Gerard crying on the couch. Gerard looks up at me and smiles, wiping the tears away. He stands up and moves towards me. His arms wrap around me and squeeze me tight. I hear him sniffle into my shoulder and take a deep breath. I start rubbing his back until he backs away.

"Want a back massage from the ultimate masseuse?" I ask.

"Only if you wear the maid outfit while you do it," Gerard bargains.

"I think I can make that happen," I say with a wink.

"Do you have any oil or lotion or something?" I ask.

"Closet. Shouldn't be hard to find, just rummage through the stuff," he says.

I scamper into his bedroom and go to a bag of mine on the floor. I open it and pull out the outfit equipped with fishnet and lace. I pull off all my clothes to out on the costume, snapping the garter against my skin, preparing myself for what he'll most likely do with it. I open his closet and see a pile of outfits. I move them out of the way, exposing a bin full of clamps, wires, handcuffs, chains, rings, plugs, tubes, lube, lotion and oil. I grab the first bottle of oil I can and walk back out and see Gerard laying on the fucking table shirtless.

His pants are still sitting snuggly on his hips. I walk over to him, blowing on my hands to warm them up. I pour some oil into my hands and warm it up a little before I touch his back and he takes a deep breath. I move up his back gently, pressing in with my palms gently, avoiding his spine. I go up and down a few times, rubbing the oil all over his back before massaging in a circular motion. He moans and relaxes. I use my fingers to get under his shoulder blades and he groans. I move up to his shoulders and start kneading.

"Your hands are fucking amazing," he whispers.

"I've always been told I was good with my hands," I whisper flirtatiously, my voice slightly hoarse.

"While you were gone, Mikey wouldn't stop crying and I couldn't get him to stop. He just kept repeating how sorry he was and then he said he was getting lightheaded and he was falling and I went to hold him up and I caught him. I laid him on the floor and he passed out. He told me that my dad said that he deserved to rot in hell for being a fag and that it was my fault and he started defending me which led to him getting punched a few times," Gerard starts.

"Mikey was in rehab for a couple years because of his alcoholism and drug addiction and I was just really upset that he reset himself. I felt like I let him down. I didn't realize how bad he was feeling about what happened. I should've paid more attention."

"It's not your fault," I whisper, leaning close to him. I rub lower on his back before slowly pushing his pants off of him. I massage his thighs and his calves.  I move to his feet and start rubbing them. He moans quietly.  I move back up his body and rub the backs of his arms. I kiss his back.

"I wish that I could take all your problems away," I whisper against his skin.

Gerard flips over on the table and pulls me over him. He snaps the garter against my skin. I knew it. He rubs his hands up and down my thigh, smirking. His thumb rubs circle over the laced garter. I feel a growing erection in his boxers and I lower myself down on the table. I'm between his legs as I slide his boxers off. I grab his dick in my hand, stroking it with my thumb before I wrap my mouth around him.

"Your mouth and your fucking hands will be the death of me," he moans as I swirl my tongue around him. He thrusts into my mouth, pushing him in deeper, faster than I was expecting. My gag reflex kicks in as I take him even deeper. I graze my teeth gently against his dick, causing him to shiver and knot his hand in my hair. He leans his head back, groaning as quietly as I think he can. I place my hand on his thigh, causing the hair on his legs to stand on edge.

"Frank.." He moans, tugging on my hair. I run my tongue over him and he bucks his hips up in response. My thumb rubs circles on his thigh as I bob my head up and down on him. He moans and bucks his hips up, no longer able to help it, and comes.

He stands up and pulls his boxers on. He pulls me by the hand to his bedroom. He lays down on the bed and I lay beside him. Gerard swings the blanket over my body and pulls me close to him.

"So you know how the winter dance is coming up, right?" He asks me, rubbing my arm.

"Um... Yeah," I reply.

"I was wondering if you'd wanna go with me. I have to chaperone anyway."

"How could we pull it off without getting caught?"

"There's a theme that, if we do it right, could cover us enough to be almost hard to recognize," he says.

"What is it?" I ask.

"The nutcracker."

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