Archive of Our Own

“Someone else is here?” says Patrick. Thanks to Pete, nearly everyone he knows is at this party and also some people he doesn’t know. The rest were all accounted for, or so he thought.

“I got you a hooker,” says Pete smugly, hurrying to open the door. “See, I think you had a really hard week—” Patrick is about to punch him for pulling that stupid stunt again, when he sees who, exactly, has just come in.

Then he misses the rest of Pete’s absurd excuses, because it’s Gerard.

Patrick’s heart climbs into his throat. Pete didn’t hire some random person like the other time; he got his sort-of-boyfriend Mikey’s brother, who Patrick has met about twice and thinks is frighteningly hot, and also someone he could probably be friends with. He has also jerked off to Gerard a lot more than twice.

“I take back everything bad I’ve ever said about you,” he tells Pete, and heads toward the door, weaving past his buzzed and laughing friends.

Gerard’s wearing skintight pants and a battered shirt that barely clings to his body; his hair is an artful mess. There may or may not be eyeliner.

Of course Gerard Way’s idea of a sexy outfit would include “post-apocalyptic.” Patrick barely knows him yet, but he knows this. It makes him laugh, which eases a little of the tension in his gut.

“Hi!” Patrick calls, waving. (Like a total nerd, he notes dourly.) “You look great.”  It’s a stupid thing to say, maybe too intimate for someone who’s been hired to have sex with him. He sounds like he’s talking to a girlfriend. (Or a boyfriend.)

Gerard smiles anyway, and Patrick thinks it’s probably real. “Thanks.” He moves in Patrick’s direction—no, struts; his boots are heavy enough that they change his walk, make it more deliberate. Or maybe that’s just Gerard being Gerard.

He comes closer than Patrick was expecting, close enough to touch. “Hi,” he says, soft, and actually bites at his lower lip, which should be cheesy but is really just insanely appealing. Patrick feels his eyebrows skyrocket; Gerard suddenly and visibly breaks character.

“Hey, lemme know if the campy seductive thing isn’t working,” he says, and then reverts to what Patrick is starting to understand is his work persona. Patrick wants to ask about it—is it fun? Does he choose his persona based on what he thinks would be hot, or what his clients ask for?—but probably now is not the time.

“I think it’s working,” Patrick says, a few moments behind. “You’re really…wow.”

Gerard runs his hand through his hair, his only sign of awkwardness. “I know,” he says with a grin. “Hey, just call me if you want anything,” he adds, and saunters away to say hi to his brother.

Patrick ducks into the kitchen for a beer. He needs a drink and a minute to acclimate to the fact that he is definitely getting laid tonight, and with someone that he’d actually like to like him.

When Patrick reemerges into the main room, Gerard is on the sofa in the center of a knot of laughing people, and Frank is trying to climb onto his head, or something like that. It definitely looks like he’s going to fall off Gerard and break something.

“Don’t touch the hooker,” shouts Pete, trying to wrest Frank away. “He’s Patrick’s.”

“Don’t call him the hooker, jesus,” says Patrick, joining them. “He has a name.” But Gerard is still technically his, temporarily, and it sends a rush of heat through his body.

Gerard waves his hands expansively as Frank scrambles off him. “I embrace my hookerness,” he says. He must—Patrick thinks he himself would probably sooner die than show up to a party with people he knew while, uh, on the job, but he’s not Gerard. If Gerard showed up tonight, he must be okay with this. He's got a day job and all—he's not dependent on sex work.

Patrick wedges himself into the couch next to Gerard, feeling much more at ease.

“How’s it going?” he says. (Okay, he hasn’t had enough booze not to wince at how lame he is.)

“Great,” Gerard says. He smells strongly of cigarette smoke and coffee; his thigh burns against Patrick’s. “Everyone’s having a good time. That’s awesome."

“Yeah,” Patrick agrees. He looks at him, forcing himself to do it openly—he’s allowed to, damn it—taking in the line of his throat, his eyes, all the skin showing through the sides of his stupid shirt. (Gerard’s practically fucking naked, by his standards—Patrick has only seen him drowning in layers before.) His hands, and the way he strokes over his own thighs...

“Hey,” Gerard says suddenly, “no need to be so polite. You know why I’m here.” He takes Patrick’s hand in his warm ones and puts it on his leg, high up.

Patrick flushes, hopes no one notices them, and lets himself feel Gerard’s body under his hand.

On impulse, he digs his fingers into the soft inner part of Gerard’s thigh. Immediately an apology forms itself—I’m so sorry, that was crossing a line—but Gerard gasps, legs falling further open.

“Wow,” Patrick breathes instead. Gerard settles back onto the couch and gives him a loose smile.

“You can do that again,” he suggests.

“Yeah, I think I will,” Patrick says. He glances round the room. No one seems to be paying attention to them, although this may only be because Pete is somewhere else right now. “C’mon, let’s take this somewhere else.”

They shut themselves in the nearest bedroom. The music from out front pounds through the wall, and Gerard looks unreal in the dim yellow light of the one shitty bulb that lights the room: more like Patrick’s fantasy of him than his actual self. (Patrick’s having a lot of trouble with the boundaries between fantasy and reality right now. He keeps having to remind himself that Gerard’s a person with wants and needs and limits and not actually…that thing he keeps pretending he is. Patrick’s, any way he wants him.)

Gerard moves in close to him, looking down at him like he’s looking up at him, inviting. Patrick reaches up, gets as far as putting his hand on his jaw, and then remembers to ask. “Kissing—is that okay?”

“Yeah,” says Gerard. “Anything’s okay.”

“Right,” says Patrick. He pulls him down and kisses him, trying to make it good. Gerard’s mouth is soft and tastes faintly of coffee; he opens his mouth readily, tongue gliding against Patrick’s.

“I mean it, though,” he adds against Patrick’s lips when they stop. “Anything. Well, almost. I’m dying to see what you’ll do to me.”

Patrick’s hand has settled to curve around Gerard’s back, he realizes. Gerard’s warm and tempting and actually within touching distance and Patrick—Patrick wants to believe him, wants to tell him, but he can’t quite make himself make a move.

“What I want is weird,” he says bluntly. He feels ill, suddenly, dreamlike and as if the room is spinning.

“I live for weird,” says Gerard, face lighting up. “In general, but also sexually.”

“Are you talking chocolate syrup and fuzzy handcuffs weird, or actual weird?” says Patrick, drawing back. He leans against the wall next to the dresser.

“Actual weird,” says Gerard. He doesn’t move forward into Patrick’s personal space again; apparently he isn’t in sexy mode right now. It’s kind of a relief. “You name it, I’ve already done it.”

“I’ve never—it’s just something I think about, but I want to try this stuff,” says Patrick. “But I don’t think it’s fair to spring on you without warning.”

“Sure,” Gerard agrees earnestly. “How about if I told you what I wanted? So you knew that what you wanted was okay.”

Patrick’s stomach lurches—what if Gerard doesn’t want what he wants?—but he says, “Yeah, okay.”

Gerard cocks his head. “I want…” he begins. “I almost always think about getting with someone who just wants to take what they want, you know? Someone who’ll let me go as far under as I want to go. Most people think they want a hot piece of ass who’ll let them do whatever they want, but I think most of them actually want, like, a hot person who’s really into them. That’s fine! But I want to be that. The hot piece of ass.”

“I don’t believe this,” blurts Patrick. “That’s…”

“Exactly what you want to do to me?” Gerard gives him a knowing smile. “Yeah. I can tell you want to push me around. Right?”

“Yeah,” says Patrick hoarsely. He thinks, now, that he could tell Gerard what he wants to do to him, but the rush of images in his head is too much—he doesn’t know where to start.

“Do you know what you could make me do?” Gerard goes on.

He’s too pretty, dirty and sharp and unreal in the yellow room. Patrick decides then; he’s going to do this, and do it how he wants to.

He returns Gerard’s smile, feeling saw-toothed and artificial, and says deliberately, “Anything.”

“Now we’re talking,” Gerard says happily, and Patrick sees his other persona settle back over him: he suddenly looks lost and too-thin and needy.

“God, I want to break you,” he finds himself saying. For a horrifying moment he’s afraid he’s fucked up—said something bad or stupid—but Gerard leans toward him, eyes closing, and sighs.

“Just tell me what to do,” he says, and slow warmth pours into Patrick’s chest.

Patrick brushes past him and sits down on the bed. “Show me that you want it.”

“You want the…?”

“The campy seductive thing, yeah,” Patrick says, and Gerard grins at him.

It’s not the same campy seductive thing; Gerard runs his fingers through his wild hair, stretches, and slinks forward to sink down on his knees in front of Patrick. His stupid too-big muscle shirt shifts to reveal a new slice of pale skin, muscle and the soft curve of extra flesh at his hip.

“I told you, I’m here just for you,” he says, for all the world like they’re continuing their conversation from earlier. He shifts, tipping his head back to— 

Fuck, he’s literally offering his throat, Patrick realizes.

Gerard puts his hands behind his back and looks up, meeting his eyes.

Patrick makes a noise in his chest and leans forward to put his palm against Gerard’s throat.

"Please,” Gerard says. His skin buzzes under Patrick's touch.

Slow and deliberate, Patrick reaches out and pinches the curve where his shoulder meets his neck.

Gerard shudders; Patrick sees his tongue dart out to wet his lips. He doesn’t think it’s an act. Maybe Gerard’s just that good, but he doesn’t think it’s an act.

He slips off the bed in order to draw his nails down Gerard’s bare arm, raising red lines, and watches his hips shift.

“You like getting hurt,” he says, just to check. His voice sounds rough and strange.

“Yeah. Please. Please hurt me.” Gerard’s eyes are huge and bottomless in the dim light. “Make me—” He’s getting hard, Patrick notices in amazement. Just the anticipation is enough.

“I’ll make you,” Patrick confirms, and Gerard tips further toward him. Patrick curls his hand around the back of his neck, holds him. Now he can talk.

“God, I don’t know where to start with you,” he says. “I want to get you on your hands and knees and fuck you like an animal, but I also want, oh, about a thousand other things.” He can’t keep going all at once; he stalls by raking his nails down Gerard’s other arm. Then he goes over the marks again, making them brighter.

“I could have you however I want you. I don’t even have to think about what gets you, because you’ll just like it anyway. You’ll take anything.” Guilt stings him as he says it, but he pushes it away: Gerard wants to believe that. Patrick’s okay.

“Yeah,” Gerard gasps, leaning his head against Patrick’s shoulder. His hands creep up Patrick’s arms, delicate, and Patrick gets swamped by a confused urge to crush him with his teeth.

“I wanna see you ruined,” he says, and reaches into the open sides of Gerard’s shirt to claw up his back. Gerard’s fever-warm, shivering at the pain. Patrick’s fingers come away damp with sweat. “Yeah?”

Gerard nods, breathing hotly into the front of Patrick's shirt. Patrick reaches down to pinch a chunk of his inner thigh, and while Gerard’s bent into an arch, face drawn into beautiful, pained lines, he goes on. “Can’t decide whether to put my dick in you or just control you with my voice, but I guess I don’t have to. I can have both. I can have anything, because you’re too fucking greedy to have limits.” He knows that isn’t true, but it sounds good, he thinks.

Gerard’s eyes meet his, purely by accident, because Gerard can’t seem to direct his gaze at anything in particular. His eyes are glazed over, which Patrick had thought only happened in bad romance novels. Holy fuck, he thinks, must be doing something right.

“You’re here for me. I'm going to use you,” he says, making his voice quiet and hard. “Show me."

Gerard shuffles forward to straddle his lap. Patrick’s entire skin is alive to the feeling of Gerard’s firm thighs and soft ass; there’s something, too, about the way Gerard reaches out and puts his arms around Patrick’s neck.

Then he moves, grinding slowly. The way he shakes sends a jolt through Patrick. He digs his fingers brutally into Gerard’s waist; Gerard bites his lip. His hips shift from exaggerated circles to more natural ones, smaller and tighter. He looks for all the world like he’s imagining someone’s dick in him. Patrick’s dick in him.

“You really need it, don’t you?” Patrick says, testing, and Gerard whimpers and presses his ass down like he thinks he can get fucked through their clothes. Patrick rewards him with another savage pinch, twisting the soft meat of his thigh until he yelps. Gerard’s hot, hard dick feels like a brand against the back of his hand.

Patrick expresses his appreciation with an impulsive bite. Gerard’s skin is soft and salty in his mouth; his teeth hit shoulder bone.

Patrick sits back and eyes him up and down while Gerard sucks in air. He barely fucking fits in those pants, Patrick notes, watching the outline of Gerard’s cock. It’s easy to imagine how crazy it’s driving him, how the discomfort must wind his arousal higher.

He reaches down and pops the button on Gerard’s jeans, then tugs down the zipper. To no one’s surprise, Gerard isn’t wearing any underwear. His dick’s gorgeous—Patrick momentarily has the urge to go down on him, flushed and painful as he looks right now. Some other time. He’s just thought of a plan.

He wants to warn Gerard he’s about to shove him around, but he’s not sure how to do it in character, so he settles for resting his hands on his chest for a moment first.

Then he shoves Gerard, knocking him back onto his ass, and savors his dazed expression. Gerard sits splay-legged, exactly where he landed, big hazel eyes glassy and mouth half-open, and waits. His arms shake as he props himself up.

Patrick eyes his open zipper with a grin. “Get yourself off,” he says, aiming for casual rather than eager.

Gerard whimpers and curls in on himself. He’s completely forgotten to be showy about it—he just shoves his hand between his legs and jerks himself off as fast as he can. His hair sticks to his forehead with sweat; his eyes squeeze shut. His stupid boots squeak against the floor as he shakes under his own touch.

Patrick stares like he’s trying to devour him. Gerard’s first weak moan makes his own dick twitch.

“Don’t even think about being quiet,” he snaps. Gerard gasps and curls up even tighter, letting out a raw, desperate sound that Patrick can’t even classify.

Watching Gerard is fucking mesmerizing—he’s desperate and messy, so unselfconscious that it feels like Patrick is seeing something truly private. But he can’t not touch for very long.

He scoots closer and grabs Gerard by the hair, pulling his head back so he can see what he’s doing. Gerard’s fingers and dick shine with precome, and his movements are desperate, uncoordinated. He’s gorgeously goddamn pathetic.

Patrick twists his fingers deeper into Gerard’s sweaty pink hair, and puts his fingers up against Gerard’s lips. Gerard opens for him instantly, closing his eyes. Patrick fucks his mouth hard, three fingers sliding deep into him as he whines for it. Gerard’s really just petting at his dick now, too far gone for anything else.

“Can’t even fucking think,” Patrick grinds out. “You like being hurt and used like that too much, right?”

The muscles in Gerard’s forearm twitch; his face is nearly as pink as his hair. Patrick settles down on the floor more comfortably, and then pulls Gerard down on his fingers, just to see what will happen. With a startlingly loud sound, Gerard gags, slick around him.

Patrick draws his hand back, giving him a chance to breathe. Spit slides over Gerard’s red lips, down his chin.

“Please,” whispers Gerard, opening his mouth wider, so Patrick abandons his brief attempt not to be rude as hell and shoves his hand back in. He’s so focused on imagining that wet heat around his dick, the tender warmth of Gerard’s tongue and the overwhelming slickness of his mouth, that he almost misses Gerard getting his hand around his cock again.

Suddenly Patrick needs to see him lose it. He wrenches his hand back, leaving Gerard slack and gasping, and says, “Make yourself come.”

Gerard whines and wraps his hand tighter around his dick, entire body shaking with effort. “I need—fuck—” His voice drops into a filthy groan, and he gives it up, tortured-looking and pretty as hell.

Patrick shoves his face into his neck, breathing him in, wishing for one crazed vampiric moment that he could just bite Gerard and consume all of him. He’d probably like that, Patrick thinks, as Gerard flops against him with a sigh.

“God, you’re a mess,” Patrick says, petting Gerard’s hair. “Came all over yourself.”

“Mm?” Gerard rouses himself, glances down at his thighs, and laughs breathlessly. “Wow.”

“You’re a wreck,” Patrick says. “Just like I wanted you.”

With that, his own body clamors its way into awareness. He’d been so utterly focused on what he was doing to Gerard that he’d barely noticed his own arousal. Now he’s white-hot below the waist and tingling all the way to his fingertips, to his face.

“Condoms?” he says, mostly to himself. If he wants Gerard to put anything more than hands on him, he needs to be responsible about it.

Wordlessly, Gerard struggles to fish one out of his pocket. He offers it to Patrick, bowing his head. Patrick would laugh, if his bizarre show of deference weren’t so hot.

“Good,” he says, rubbing Gerard’s shoulder. He hefts himself up off the floor—his legs shake—and plants his ass on the bed. When he unzips his jeans, he can’t believe he didn’t do it sooner. Unlike Gerard, he is not a fan of boner discomfort.

Gerard watches him from the floor, come-spattered and sweaty. Patrick can’t stop looking at him as he puts the condom on. His body’s electric, sensitive; the ache in his dick and the tightness in the pit of his belly are overwhelming.

He can really believe, right now and without any guilt, that Gerard’s purpose is to just fucking get him off.

“C’mere,” Patrick says, and Gerard does, on his hands and knees like a dog. When he gets close enough, Patrick grabs a handful of his wild hair.

“You know what I want,” he says, and eases Gerard’s mouth down.

Gerard does indeed know what Patrick wants; he goes down on Patrick with sloppy, uncoordinated enthusiasm. Under ordinary circumstances, Patrick would be embarrassed about how quickly he comes, but...Gerard acts like he hasn’t already gotten off, making hungry noises around Patrick’s cock, hips rolling. Patrick’s sure he’s doing it on purpose; he knows it’s an act, but it’s one that Gerard is doing because he wants to be that. That would be bad enough, but then he makes the critical mistake of thinking, What if we’d done this in the living room?

Patrick has time for one white-hot image—breaking Gerard into a whimpering mess in front of everyone he knows; he’s all ruined eyeliner and bruises, on the floor at Patrick’s feet—and then he’s gone.

“So was that too weird?” Patrick mumbles, when he can think again. Gerard’s sprawled on the bed next to him.

“Good weird,” Gerard says, patting him. “Awesome weird.”

Patrick smiles up at the ceiling. “Okay.”