Anatomy Of A Fall |Frerard

Chapter 12

You idiot," Frank said into his mouth, and then kissed him again, messy and rough. His hands had drifted down, sliding through Gerard's hoodie and shirt and touching skin, cool and making Gerard gasp into his mouth. "I fucking—Gerard, can I? I just—I need—"

Gerard's brain fizzled for a second, and when he came back to himself he was shucking off his hoodie and panting and saying, "Yes, anything, yes. "

"I'm not—" Frank panted, and then backed up, watching Gerard hungrily. "I'm not sure if—I don't know if it'll work, but I want to, just—let me, please."

He looked so solid, so fucking real, and Gerard had to pause in scrambling out of his jeans, ignoring the twinge in his skull, to lean over and kiss him. He missed Frank's mouth, wound up kissing down the line of Frank's jaw instead, along his neck, the scorpion tattoo there. Frank tasted cool and sweet, and nothing like salt or skin. Like spring water, or marble, and Gerard drank it in, got distracted with it, with dragging his teeth along Frank's throat, along the still line where the pulse should be, until Frank keened and dropped to his knees, dragging Gerard's jeans down with him.

"I was so fucking—Gerard, I was so afraid I'd never, that you'd—" Frank leaned in and nuzzled at the crook of Gerard's thighs, and Gerard's knees were going to fucking give out, except Frank's hands were cupping Gerard's ass, the curve of it, holding him up effortlessly.

Gerard had always imagined blowjobs being wet, kind of sloppy and messy, but this was just smooth and perfect and had that chill of October and Halloween and wind and he bucked his hips, moaning, and Frank just—just took it, no resistance. Some distant part of himself observed how he was begging and panting for it, taking Frank's hair in his hands, tangling it in his fingers. He was being pretty fucking loud, couldn't help it, and this was probably why Mikey had fled. Sometime later he'd be embarrassed that Mikey had known this was going to happen, but not now. Not while Frank was looking up at him, cheeks hollow and god, his hands, squeezing and tracing where Gerard's ass met his thighs and drifting tentatively upward.

"Oh my god," Gerard groaned, and Frank pulled off for a moment, eyes dark.

"You can fuck my mouth, you know," he said, low and dark, and then Gerard's eyes rolled back in his head for a second and he heard Frank laugh, the cold air of it brushing against his cock and making it, oh God, that much harder not to come. "No gag reflex. Just do it, I want you to." And his mouth closed over the head of Gerard's cock and his tongue traced the slit and Gerard did, just bucked his hips up, over and over again, and Frank moaned around him. Gerard could feel it, buzzing through his cock and down into his bones, into his blood, and just like that he was coming and Frank made a startled, hungry sound.

Gerard sank slowly to his knees, Frank easing him down, and leaned his head against Frank's shoulder, panting.

"Gerard," Frank said, sounding dazed. "I can taste you, I can—oh, fuck, I can feel it."

"Really?" Gerard murmured, and tongued the scorpion again. Fuck, tattoos were so hot. He'd never get one himself, but he loved Frankie's, so much. "I thought you couldn't taste anything—"

He pondered finding his notebook, but Frank seemed to anticipate this, snorted and flipped Gerard over, easy and smooth, catching the back of his head in his palm to keep it from hitting the hardwood floor.

"No taking notes during sex," Frank said firmly, and Gerard couldn't help but pout, just a bit.

"Maybe later," Frank relented, giggling, and kissed Gerard again, and this time it was wet, and salty, and Gerard tangled his tongue around Frank's and drank in the taste of it, of himself.

"So hot, Frankie," he said in between kisses, and Frank made a low noise of agreement.

"Is this okay?" Frank said, pulling back, cool fingers tracing the knot at the back of Gerard's skull, soft and soothing the slight ache. "Are you okay? Does it hurt?"