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Frank pulled uncertainly at his sideburns, his tongue half-sticking out of his mouth.
“I dunno, it looks fine to me,” Ray had said from behind him, biting straight into a lollipop. Frank winced at the unpleasant crunch.
“You’re just saying that because you haven’t cut your hair since the ninth grade when a girl complimented how it looked cute,” Gerard muttered from where he was buried in his DS. He didn’t look up at Frank when he said, “maybe you should just trim the top a bit. You keep running into me on stage.”
Frank ignored how he could see his blush rising on his own cheeks in the mirror. Gerard did not need to know that the reason he was doing that was out of pure desire and not because his bangs were blinding him. “What would that even be? Should I keep growing out my sideburns? I can’t even grow a beard... why does my hair grow so damn fast?”
Ray was still scowling about Gerard’s comment, but he shrugged and pointed at the scissors and shaving razor by Frank’s left hand. “Just make Gee cut it. He’s always doin’ shit with his own hair.”
Frank turned around to find Gerard still in his DS. He had no idea why the two of them were taking up space in his own hotel room—that’s right, a private room, for each of them, unlike the cramped bus they were used to—but he appreciated the advice. He kept his eyebrows raised and waited for Gerard to look up.
“Uh,” the man said, putting his DS down. “I mean, I guess I can.”
“I don’t know if I should trust you around my head with scissors,” Frank teased, but he couldn’t deny that his heart was kind of racing. For some reason, cutting someone’s hair felt like an intimate thing. It wasn't like he was popping a boner in every barbershop he entered, but... maybe if Gerard was the one doing it, he’d be caught guilty.
“Come on, man. Don’t be a prick,” Gerard shot back, looking a little more confident as he got up and approached the sink. Ray commented something about not being good with blood and dipped back to his room, leaving the soft sound of the DS still running in the background, and nothing more. “You can trust me.”
Frank covered the back of his neck—because of the goosebumps, or the shivers, maybe. Or because he really was worried about getting an ear cut off. He hadn’t even finished stretching them. “Okay. Don’t blame me if I close my eyes the entire time.”
Before he did, Gerard’s gaze met his in the mirror, and a small smile broke out on both their faces. “Fine. Just don’t move.”
Frank closed his eyes and could feel Gerard reach around him for the scissors. He wished he was sitting down, because as Gerard reached forward, he could feel the man’s chest press into his back ever-so-slightly. He bit the inside of his cheek and reminded himself not to move.
“I’m just gonna do some random shit and hope it turns out good,” Gerard chuckled in his ear. Before Frank could protest, and ask for a refund, there was a hand in his hair, and it immediately shut him up. For some reason, the contact felt so fucking intense that his brain stopped working. His eyelids went from squinted shut to lightly fluttering, and his hair really did start to rise on the back of his neck. He steadied himself with a subtle grip to the edge of the sink.
Before he knew it, there was the sound of scissors snipping right above his forehead. He flinched lightly, unaware of the motion until a large hand found his waist.
“Chill, I’m not actually going to cut you,” Gerard told him. It all sounded like gibberish, muffled and fuzzled out by the way his breath hit hot on Frank’s ear, a smile evident in his voice. “If you flinch like that, I might get close, though.”
Frank swallowed harshly and nodded. “Sorry.”
“No worries. Just be good and sit still.”
Frank opened his eyes, but Gerard wasn’t looking at him. His dark eyes were fixed on Frank’s hair, right back to cutting. A few strands fell and caught in his eyelashes, but Frank couldn’t move to wipe them away. After all, Gerard had told him to be good. Gerard had told him to sit still.
He closed his eyes again and dropped his head, trying to softly shake the thoughts out of his mind, which seemed to be running away from him at rapidly increasing speeds. Before he could relax his neck, a hand was in his hair, pulling his chin upright with a firm grip.
Gerard opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Frank interrupted the both of them with an unintentional groan. Gerard’s hands stilled. “Did that hurt?”
Frank’s eyes flew open. He didn’t dare look at himself, and instead met Gerard’s stare. He cleared his throat. “Uhm. No. Sorry. Just caught me by surprise. Uhm. You can continue.”
Gerard quirked his eyebrow up, letting go of Frank’s hair. “Okay. Just really try not to move for me, yeah?”
“Yeah...” Frank breathed. He shut his eyes tight again, and made a point not to flinch or gasp when Gerard’s hands returned to his hair, running through it. What seemed like an eternity later, trying not to squirm while Gerard prodded at his scalp, he finally heard the snipping of the scissors at his hair again. They brushed against his nape, and he held back his shiver, both hands now gripping the sink counter, less subtle than before.
Gerard alternated like that for a few minutes. He’d pet Frank’s hair, and then cut a few pieces, and then trace over the curve of his ears, and clean up the area around them, and then trace a finger on his nape before trimming the dead-ends there. By the time Gerard’s chest was flush to Frank’s back, Frank was embarrassingly hard, more than grateful for the counter that was shielding his hard-on from view.
After forever, Gerard finally pulled away, and Frank didn’t know whether to celebrate or mourn the loss of his warmth. “All done. You can open your eyes.”
Frank wearily blinked his eyes open, adjusting to the light once more, before he took in his hair. It was actually cleaned up nice, out of his eyes and ears but still with a shaggy look to it. He lifted an arm up to touch it lightly, playing with the shorter parts and turning his head from side to side. “Huh. Ray was right. You are kinda good at this.”
“I told you to trust me,” Gerard said nonchalantly, shrugging as he put the scissors down. Just when Frank thought he was safe, a hand found his hair again, and in a blink, Gerard was ruffling it. Frank let out a sharp sigh, shoulders tensing before relaxing. Gerard’s hand paused. “...Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Frank squeaked out, cursing the way his voice cracked. “Sorry. It’s just been a while since someone played with my hair. Kinda feels good.”
Smooth. Real smooth. He was ready for Gerard to call him a freak and pull away, but the moment never came. In the brief moment of silence between them, the hand tangled in his short hair started moving again, and he realized Gerard wasn’t judging him. In fact, he was indulging him. “Oh. Coulda just said so. I don’t mind.”
Frank was grateful, but he did mind, because every second Gerard was sitting there and petting him like a dog was another moment his dick made itself more and more aware. He pressed himself into the counter to hide it further, but the friction just made him close his eyes shut. He could be normal about this. His friend was just scratching his head. Friends do that all the time.
“Wow, you really like this, huh?” Gerard commented, more to himself than to Frank. “You kinda look like a dog like this.”
By the force and command of some unknown power above, Frank heard a squeak escape from him, and instead of denying it, he just shut his eyes harder. If Gerard wanted to leave right now, he could, and Frank could finally die in embarrassment. But he didn’t. He just kept scratching his head, running his hand over Frank’s scalp and nape and ears and down to the bolt of his spine and back up to the crown of his skull.
Frank could have thrived in the silence, just disappearing and phasing slowly with the sink in front of him, but Gerard was determined to not let this go—both Frank’s head and the topic. “Maybe you are a dog like this.”
The fingers in his hair suddenly curled, pulling Frank’s chin up and making him open his eyes, half-lidded. He met the image of himself in the mirror and saw his flushed face.
“Do you like this, Frankie?” Gerard asked, voice void of any tease. He was asking earnestly, eyes unwavering as they forced Frank’s gaze to him.
With a hesitant swallow, Frank nodded. Keeping their eyes locked, Gerard’s eyebrows twitched, and he used his free hand to slide around the front of Frank’s body. Frank, as much as he could with a hand holding him up, dropped his head in shame and let out an inhuman noise when Gerard’s hand found Frank’s pants.
“Oh. You really like this.”
Frank whined again. He didn’t know what to say or do. He didn’t know if Gerard calling him disgusting would make him cry or make him harder, and it scrabbled up his brain so hard he couldn’t even form a response.
“Is this because of my playing with your hair? Or me calling you a dog?” Gerard asked. Then, he pushed lightly into the bulge through Frank’s pants, and his voice dropped. “Or both?”
Frank managed the smallest nod he could, trying to close his eyes, even though Gerard had such a strong grip on his head that he couldn’t drop his eyelids.
“Is it okay if I touch you here?” was what he heard next, but he had no time to answer. Gerard was already undoing his button with one hand, sliding softly over the front of his briefs. The pressure was heavenly, and his knees buckled hard and tight. He pushed his palms into the counter and felt the imprint it would leave later, but it was the only way to keep himself upright.
A kiss to the back of his neck had him properly moaning, Gerard barely even cupping him. He tried his hardest to rut into the hand in front of him, but Gerard kept pulling back. Frank had no idea why he was getting teased—he had been so good, sat so still—but Gerard still wouldn’t touch him, even though he had asked to.
“You’re kinda cute like this,” the man whispered, and when Frank looked at him again, he could see that Gerard looked dazed and—dare he say—in awe. His eyes raked over his body, his hand moving in light, barely-there motions. “You’re really hard, dude.”
The blunt comment snapped Frank out of his head enough to finally get some words out. “N-No shit…”
“You are super into this. More than I thought, but it’s not really surprising.”
“What do you mean?” Frank panted. He was barely able to keep up with regular English, let alone the riddles Gerard was supposedly speaking in.
“I mean… you’re always kinda submissive. You follow me around on stage all the time, and whenever you pass out on a couch or cot you curl up. Did you know that?”
Despite the mundane observations, Gerard’s hand had started pushing harder, making Frank’s brain split between paying attention and just really wanting to get off by grinding against his palm.
“I… I guess,” he grunted out, hips twitching. Gerard finally caught on—or gave in, he didn’t know—and before Frank could process it, the warm hand between his thighs was now between his underwear. Frank let out a proper moan and fell forward, squeezing his knees together to counter the overwhelming pleasure he suddenly felt.
“I think it’s kinda adorable,” Gerard said, but before Frank could deny it, the hand started stroking him in earnest. He couldn’t even be upset at the dryness of it all, too turned on to care, rutting immediately into the soft palm holding him.
“Fuck,” he grunted, head reeling. All the while, Gerard was whispering in his ear, saying something about his dick or his face or something—it didn’t even matter, because in under a minute, Frank was gripping Gerard’s wrist and thrusting up into the feeling.
“Please,” he whimpered out, balancing between being feeling too sensitive, Gerard too rough, and the feeling of pure pleasure.
“You can cum like this, Frankie, don’t worry,” Gerard told him, and the permission felt like a million sparks up his spine. “You can fuck my hand like a dog, Frankie.”
For whatever reason, it was that sentence that had him floating off the earth, nothing existing besides his dick and Gerard’s hand as he rutted into it repeatedly. He wasn’t aware of anything anymore; it was just the sharp pleasure coursing through him, mouth open and willing. He could hear himself but wasn’t sure what he was saying, if any actual words were coming out at all.
“Come on, pup. Be a good boy, cum in my palm.”
With three, four more thrusts, Frank buckled over and twitched sharply, feeling himself come undone in Gerard’s hand. He watched with blurry vision as his cum splattered on the counter, over his cock, over Gerard’s hand—
“I think that was a pretty good payment for the haircut, yeah?”
Frank barely processed the words, eyes wide as Gerard brought his hand to his lips and carefully licked off some of his cum. He made a bit of a wincing face and ended up wiping it on his shirt instead. Frank felt dizzy.
“You alright?”
“Uh,” was all Frank could get out. What was he supposed to say? That was the best orgasm of his life and he needed Gerard to do that again in approximately 15 minutes?
Instead, he just nodded.
“Well, let me know if you need help cleaning up.” Without saying anything else, Gerard flopped back onto the bed and grabbed his DS, leaving Frank standing there, head swimming and knees weak. “Or anything else. Y’know.”
Then Gerard winked at him, winked, and looked back at his game.
Frank dropped his forehead to the cool glass of the mirror.
Yeah, he would definitely need help with “anything else” again.