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“Fuck no. Which part of that are you not getting? Is it the ‘fuck’ or the ‘no’?” Frank shouts, throwing his oil-stained work shirt across the room into the laundry basket. Gerard is too busy digging through their dresser to look at him. “You just got cuffed yesterday, now you want me to fight off a bar of horny mobsters, too?”
“Mobsters?” Gerard scoffs, whipping their head around to give Frank an incredulous look. “What is this, the roaring twenties? Come on.”
Frank presses his index finger and thumb to his forehead with a deep sigh.
“I’m just saying; these men are criminals. It’s not safe, it’s not like Romance.”
“Frank,” Gerard straightens up and turns to face him, hands on their hips, which are cocked to the side like they always are when they think Frank is being an ass. Which is… All the time. “We’re criminals. What are you really worried about? I’ve danced there before. It’s classier than my home club— plus, that money makes it worth the extra risk. I’m more than capable.”
Frank knows Gerard is right; they had made it just fine before him, and he has no doubt that they still can, but that doesn’t make him feel any less possessive and protective, and it doesn’t make him any less anxious either. If he can hardly control himself around them, why the fuck would he think anyone else could?
“I can buy you whatever you want; you don’t need the extra money. Name it, you’ll get it. New car? Say no more. New shoes? A skirt? Forty skirts? Anything.” Frank bargains, tugging a fresh white tank top on. Gerard just shakes their head.
“And if I dance tonight, I can buy myself whatever I want. Personally, I’d prefer that. Then you can’t hold it over my head,” they regret it as soon as they say it. Frank wouldn’t do that anyway, no matter the cost, and the comment doesn’t go unnoticed. Frank furrows his brow and pushes his hair back, waiting to snap back at whatever Gerard says next. “Not that you would. But if it’s mine, you can’t. I can take care of myself.”
“You sure about that, Princess? Last I checked, you couldn’t even outrun the LAPD in your own car. Sounds like you need me whether you want to or not. Maybe you’ve lost your edge,” Frank shrugs, all but completely unable to hide his smirk. “Maybe you never had it to begin with.”
Gerard’s face burns red, and before Frank can ease the tension, they tear a bundle of clothes out of the drawer they’ve been parsing through and barrel for the door.
“Lost my edge? Never had it? Yeah. Yeah! Okay! No, you’re so right, I guess I’ll just go get arrested again in your car, since I can’t drive mine good enough!”
“Well enough, it’s ‘well’!” Frank hollers behind them, feeling pretty pleased with himself until he hears the familiar jingling of the keys to the S14, and then he doesn’t find it so funny. Gerard is out the door and long gone before he clumsily runs out to the living room, and as pissed as they sounded, he figures he might as well enjoy the game that he semi-purposely started.
Gerard’s chest is still heaving as they rush down the stairs to the office, and by the time they whip the front door of the shop open, they have butterflies in their stomach. This is definitely the furthest they’d pushed Frank to date— heated discussions are the usual, and being intentionally bratty the previous night while cuffed was hardly a punishable offense, but taking his car is sure to bring the simmer to a boil. They swear they can hear the door swing open upstairs, but they don’t wait around to find out if he’s following or not. Gerard shuts the door to the bubblegum pink Nissan harder than necessary and peels out of the lot, swinging the back end of the car out significantly harder than planned as they straighten onto the road.
Frank can say whatever he wants, but Gerard knows they’re more than capable of making it on their own. They did it just fine before he showed up, and it’s high time that Frank learns it’s a privilege to help them, not a right and certainly not something they need. This club night will be a piece of cake, just like always, and Gerard decides they’ll even treat Frank to a nice date after all is said and done, to flex exactly how worth it one night and a little trust can be.
Frank eyes his watch. It will take exactly seven minutes for Gerard to make their way to the main road and onto the highway, and as it stands, he has four minutes left to get in the Lamborghini and give chase. There’s a good chance that it will be a heinous overstep to follow them to a job he has no business being present for, especially given that Gerard gave absolutely no indication of wanting Frank there. Still, it’s just as possible that he gets a reward out of the whole deal. Then again, it’s even more likely that Gerard could stumble into trouble, and Frank would rather piss them off a trillion times than risk not being there when they really need him.
Lost in thought, he turns the key and pulls out of the lot calmly, clicking his headlights and running lights off. If Gerard wants to fight dirty, Frank will too, and he knows he can win. He knows they'll be on the interstate by now and eases his foot harder against the gas pedal until the sleek black Murci zips onto the highway behind them.
Gerard hears the V12 long before they see the dark, angular silhouette of Frank’s Lamborghini several car lengths behind them, slinking up like a panther under the streetlights. Their chest vibrates with a new, rabbit-fast heart rate that threatens to skyrocket even higher when Frank’s engine roars and he speeds up to keep a distant pace with them. Attitude and vitriol aside, Frank still puts their safety above any and every thing else. That thought alone makes their thighs tremble in the Silvia’s pink-stitched bucket seats.
One of Gerard’s worst fears has always been a customer following them home, breaking in, and taking advantage of them, but Frank hunting them down on the highway brings an entirely different set of feelings along with it. A voice in their head that sounds suspiciously like their brother’s tells them there is a fine line between protectiveness and obsession, but right now, Gerard feels watched in a way they really fucking like.
Owned. Protected; not just wanted, not just coveted, but guarded. Possessed, and the fact that Frank so instantly came after them tells Gerard that they own him, too. It feels like having a loyal guard dog that stays ready to bite to protect its belongings, and Gerard loves to feel like they belong to someone. To Frank. Sharp teeth and a collar are represented with a concealed gun and a dark spattering of old hickies just under the hem of Frank’s shirt, but Gerard is more than fine with that.
Frank sees Gerard whip the S14 into a back lot and slows, rumbling in a few moments behind them when he thinks he’ll be unnoticed. The idea of Gerard being unaware of him following them makes him laugh, considering he’s driving practically the loudest car possible, but when he parks in the unlit corner of the lot, they seem to be playing along.
They open the door and awkwardly hop out of the car with their shirt already off and a meticulously stoned black mini dress pulled halfway down their torso, their dirty jeans still covering their bottom half until they kick those off while shimmying the dress the rest of the way down. Frank suddenly understands why cartoon characters have giant hearts fly out of their eyes, and their jaws hit the floor with their tongue rolling out like a red carpet. Gerard has worn lingerie, skirts, crop tops, fishnets; you name it, but they’ve never worn a dress. Especially not one that fights for its life to cover their ass, and wraps tight around their pale chest, hugging every curve.
Frank can’t help but watch with a doofy smirk as Gerard struggles to kick their boots off and trade them for simple black heels with red bottoms— a pair Frank distinctly remembers buying for them without batting an eye, which makes him wonder why Gerard works at all at this point, but he guesses it’s probably a good trait that they want to maintain independence.
Gerard turns to walk away, and Frank makes a move to turn the car off while they shut the door, but he pauses when he notices them freeze in place. They slap a hand up to cover their face and turn around begrudgingly to dig through something in the passenger seat, and Frank is delighted to see them pull out what can only be a stringy black thong and stockings, judging by the minuscule amount of fabric. Gerard tugs the bottom of the dress up, slips their boxers down, kicks their heels off, and Frank has to bite his knuckle to stop himself from giving up on the game they’re playing at to fuck them against the Nissan right then and there.
They step out of their boxers and into the thong, pulling it up slowly— which Frank is sure means that they’re well aware of him watching— and then repeat the same action with an even more sultry flair as they slide black nylon pantyhose over their legs, and straighten out the seam that travels all the way up the back of both legs. They step back into their heels and flatten the tiny, glimmering dress back down over their ass before heading into the back door of the club with a fur stole tossed over their arm.
Frank shuts the Murci off and fumbles with the door, tripping over himself in his rush to get inside. He had taken the few extra minutes he had before leaving the apartment to make sure he had on a nice, fitted suit and tie that hid his Colt Mustang and Beretta M9, just in case. The knife strapped in his boot was probably overkill, but better safe than sorry. He licks his hands and pushes his hair back behind his ears to the best of his ability.
Frank wades through the crowd of made men and their conquests for the night, keeping his eyes glued to the pop of red hair that fades in and out of his vision a few feet ahead of him, until he finally comes out on the other side of the bar, where there are tables set up with other groups of men. It’s worse than he’d imagined— sure, he figured it would be sleazy, but this is nearly prostitution by the looks of it, and Frank has no issue with what a woman wants to do with her body, but he’s pretty sure he’ll have a lot of issues with what these men will think they’re allowed to do to it if they pay enough.
The smoke coming out of his ears is probably visible when he realizes that Gerard is on the very same menu. When they approach the bar, two lightly armed men in suits lift each of Gerard’s arms too roughly for Frank’s liking and pat them down. One of them feels up Gerard’s ass with little to no reaction, then their chest, and says something to one of the women behind the bar before giving Gerard a nod and a polite smile to send them off. Frank figures that has to be some sort of pricing system, but he can’t give a shit about that because he’s too busy getting flustered over how flustered Gerard is from being manhandled. Now, he’s wondering why they really come to this event, and if it has anything to do with his inexperience in this department. Maybe they just need more than what he can give, or maybe he needs to get his head on straight about giving it to them.
Frank mulls it over and watches them weave around tables, waving and smiling as many times as they have to, and he can’t help but think back to the night before. Gerard had gotten cuffed, too tight, and the marks are still vaguely visible to anyone who knows. But only Frank knows, and maybe that counts for something. A man calls Gerard over with a wolfy smirk, and Frank quickly decides that if being rough is what Gerard needs, that’s what they’ll get as soon as he gets them out of this shithole. The guy is tall— great— and when Frank is able to get closer, he realizes that this man is also… Scottish? For fuck sake.
Gerard makes no effort to conceal their burning red cheeks or the fact that they’re completely giddy over the interested man, and Frank only wants to kill him on sight a little bit because of it. He has his hand resting on the small of Gerard’s back, his thumb tracing up and down their waist over the shimmery mini dress, and when his other hand comes up to brush a stray strand of hair from Gerard’s face and lingers there, cupping their cheek, Frank nearly loses it.
Hardly five minutes pass before the man laces his fingers into the hair at the back of Gerard’s neck and starts to pull them down, closer and closer, until he whispers something against their throat, and Frank watches them visibly shudder at the sensation. He launches out of the stool he’s been half-sitting on and barrels over to the table with a stack of cash already in hand. He smacks it down in front of the bald man, whose embroidered handkerchief sticking out of his blazer’s pocket says G.M., and sucks in air to catch his breath.
“Three hundred for her,” he barks, too urgently, and the man cracks a smile. “Three hundred and you forget you ever saw her here.”
G.M. reaches into his suit’s inner pocket calmly and pulls out a roll of bills, placing it in front of Frank.
“How’s a grand?” He looks to Gerard, who is in the process of getting impossibly redder. Their eyes dart from the man to Frank, filled with panic and excitement all wrapped up together with a horny ribbon.
“How’s two grand?” Frank doubles down, and when he sees G.M. moving for his pocket again, he triples. “No, three.”
The man hesitates, grumbles something as he takes his bet back, and leaves without so much as rolling his eyes. Gerard turns to Frank with a familiar smile, but Frank doesn’t return the favor. He takes the other man’s spot in the tall seat across from them and looks them over twice. They have sparkling smoky eyeshadow on and a dark, muddy rose lipstick. He shakes away the urge to kiss them and take them home, sliding the money across the table.
“My, my. What’s a girl like you…” Frank reaches out and traces the backs of his fingers down Gerard’s chest and stomach. “Doing in a place like this?”
That line should be corny, but Gerard’s entire body lights up with goosebumps.
“I, um— I need the money,” they stutter, voice shaky at first until they decide their next move. Gerard’s eyelids flutter half shut, and they lean closer to the table. “And these men, they’ll pay anything for someone like me.”
“And what exactly is it that’s so special about you, sweetheart?”
Gerard walks their fingertips up Frank’s knee to his hand and yanks him by the wrist, pressing his palm against their growing erection.
“This.”
“Jesus,” Frank flushes and adjusts his tie, gripping desperately to the character he’s trying to play, and likely failing. “I’ll get us a, uh… A room, yeah?”
Gerard just nods, releasing their tight hold on his wrist so he can pay at the counter. His hands tremble as he passes another small stack of bills over the bar.
Frank uses the few moments it takes to walk back to the table to steel himself. Gerard is waiting for him, arm outstretched, and he takes their hand hurriedly before curling his other arm around their waist as he leads them to the room that he got the key for. He’s not unaware of the number of heads that are turning as they pass, and it feels damn good to know that he has the most coveted dancer in the whole bar.
Gerard snags the key card from between Frank’s fingers and slides it through the slot on the door handle before they lead him in eagerly by his tie, pulling him into a kiss as the heavy door swings shut behind them. Frank fervently kisses back at first, but then he remembers the task at hand. More. He snakes his hand up between them and grabs Gerard’s chin roughly, clutching their jaw in his palm and walking them back against the furthest wall of the room. Their eyes dart from his gaze to his lips, and then to the room around them.
“Fuck.” Gerard grits out, their eyes rolling back as Frank slams them harder than either of them expects against the back wall lined with thick curtains. Their head bounces off the cushioned brick a little from the force, and Frank pushes back harder to make his point clear. Gerard just nods, their face softening into a much more pliant expression.
“This what you like? You want somebody to manhandle you? Throw you around?” Frank barks, his thumb digging into Gerard’s mandible. He grabs their shoulder in his free hand and shoves downward, nodding as they obey and start to drop to their knees. “Yeah. That’s right. Do what I paid you for.”
It feels a little too real to Frank, but the deep blush blooming across Gerard’s face promises that they’re exactly where they want to be right now. Their tongue is lolling out of their mouth before they fully hit the ground, and just when Frank thinks he knows exactly what’s coming next, Gerard surprises him and drags their tongue over the fly of his dress pants, pressing their face against his growing erection through them.
“Oh,” is all Frank says, his eyes shut tight. Somehow, the wetness of their tongue through the fabric feels even dirtier than being naked. Gerard makes quick work of Frank’s belt and fly to get a hand on him as fast as possible. They tug his slacks down just far enough to get their tongue against him through his boxers now, but those are tugged out of the way almost immediately after so that Gerard can wrap their painted lips around the head of his cock.
They plant both hands firmly on Frank’s thighs and swallow him far too easily, letting Frank tangle his fingers in their hair and start maneuvering their head however he wants. It’s not the first time he’s rammed himself into the back of their throat by far, but it’s entirely different this time because he doesn’t have that worried look like he thinks he might hurt them. This time, Frank glares straight into Gerard’s pleading eyes and twists his hands into their hair before he forces his cock down their throat, and when it bulges from a small gag, he stays there, watching their eyes water.
They fucking love it.
Gerard wraps their hands around the middle of each of Frank’s thighs and digs their nails in hard, working their tongue and doing their level best not to actually puke on him while he finally gives them the treatment they’ve so obviously been trying to goad out of him. Gerard’s sure their makeup is running down their face by now from the tears stinging their eyes, and it’s so worth it to see all of the blood in Frank’s body arguing about which head to rush to.
Just as they’re pretty sure they can make him come faster than he means to, Frank rips their head back, their mouth flying open with a wet, gurgling pop. The amount of drool trailing from his cock to their lips and running down their chin is obscene, and it’s only made worse by the fact that they’re smiling.
“Get up.” He demands, nodding to the curtained wall. Gerard purses their wet lips.
“What, got too close? I’m just that good, huh?”
“Get. Up.” Frank growls, twisting a hand back into Gerard’s hair harder than before, so hard that they wince and start to stand on wobbly legs. Frank stands them up the rest of the way before spinning them around and nearly throwing them into the thick velvet cascading down over the brick wall.
He uses both hands to slide Gerard’s dress up, bringing one back down to leave a bright red handprint on their ass that makes them suck in a ragged gasp as they brace themselves against the wall, hanging their head down between their arms. After one more hard slap on the already glowing print, Frank reaches to pull the knife out of his boot— this is exactly the type of ‘just in case’ he liked to be prepared for.
Gerard looks behind themself to watch as Frank gingerly cuts into their tights and leaves a four inch slit where he can hook his fingers into their thong and move it aside to suck his tongue and spit a thick glob of saliva onto their hole, and before they can tell him how fucking hot that was, Frank changes course and drops to his knees instead to lave his tongue over the ring of muscle.
“Holy fuck,” Gerard whines, and when their joints threaten to roll in their heels, both of Frank’s hands are suddenly there to support them. He locks his arms around both of their calves with his hands gripping their ankles, almost sitting them down against his face. It’s barely a few minutes before Gerard is leaking
“Just take me already.”
Frank doesn’t need to be told twice. He runs both hands up the length of their legs until he can hitch them at their hips and stand, rutting his cock against their hole just to piss them off a little more before he gives them what they want. It works, but Gerard knows exactly how to roll their hips to force him to comply, and the way they sound as Frank watches their hole stretch over the head of his cock is too perfect to resist. He starts with shallow thrusts, but when his brain comes back to earth, he ramps up to a punishing speed that sends Gerard jolting against the wall with every connection of their hips.
Gerard rocks their hips against Frank desperately, their back arching so much that he swears it’s going to snap, so he pulls out to turn them around to face him just to drill into them even deeper, harder strokes making Gerard’s moans break and stutter. They grip the curtains under them and roll their body to match his pace, and Frank brings one of their legs up to wrap it around his hip with the heel of their Louboutin digging into his ass as he drives an entirely new angle that has Gerard’s head spinning.
Frank has to shake himself back to reality to stop from ending their fun early, watching Gerard writhe in their impossibly tiny dress in front of him. They’re being particularly whiny, more pathetic than he usually gets to witness, and it seems like it’s only half an act when they reach out to grab his tie and pull themselves up, sending them both rocketing backwards against the side table on the opposite wall, sending the lamp that had been innocently sitting on it to the ground, the lampshade rolling across the room.
Frank winces at the sharp pain in his lower back, but just smirks up at Gerard as he lets them think they’ve won. Their eyes roll back as they fuck themselves on his cock, and he takes the opportunity to flip both of them around and pin Gerard against the wall again. The side table sways forward when their weight leaves it, and neither of them are fast enough— or focused enough— to give a shit when it crashes to the floor next to the newly broken lamp. Before Gerard’s ready for it to end, Frank grinds against their prostate in just the right way, and it leaves them begging like they’ve never begged before.
“Oh f-fuck, shit, please,” they pant, squeezing their thighs around him as tight as they can, as if it will somehow keep him there. “Pleasepleaseplease, don’t stop. I’m— god, guh-onna fuckin’ come.”
The second Frank feels their body start to convulse around him, he pulls out and harshly sets them back on their feet before forcing their face back against the brick wall and finishing with three long stripes of come, painting their upper thighs and hips before pulling down their glitzy dress and leaving them reeling from a ruined orgasm.
Gerard shoves him off in a daze and slams both fists against Frank’s chest before stumbling and falling to their knees in front of him, mascara drying in streams down their cheeks. Frank just cradles their face in his hands while he catches his breath, and rubs both thumbs under their eyes to clear the tears still welled there. Gerard speaks first, but their voice comes out nasally and wet.
“I didn’t get to—”
“I know.” Frank shushes them and helps them up, more than well aware of what he did, and hellbent on maintaining their roleplay. “Fix your face. Let’s go, you can follow me back to my place.”
Gerard knows better than to think for even a second that Frank won’t take care of them, that he doesn’t know exactly what they need, but it doesn’t stop the humiliating burn of a frustrated sob stuck in their chest. They use their free hand to wipe the single tear that makes its way down their newly makeup-less face as they follow Frank out of the bar, led by hooking their index and middle finger to his own, and the second they make it outside, he drops their hand and pulls out his keys.
“Well,” he grins, jingling the keys in Gerard’s face. “I’ll race you to mine, Poison.”
Gerard is half tempted to demand that Frank stop this stupid teasing and fuck them against the Silvia behind the bar, but they also really want to see how long he can keep up the charade. He’s been domineering a few times, but he always slips. If Gerard can count on nothing else, they can count on that. That, and the fact that Frank will always finish them off, no matter what, which means they likely have a lot more fun waiting for them at home— or, should they call it, the strangely familiar apartment of this ‘mysterious man’.
It’s pretty hard to take him seriously when Frank trots off to the Murci like a dog with a bone, just short of hopping into the air and clicking his heels. Gerard can’t help but bite back a fond smile and bury the unfamiliar yet pleasant sensation of fluttering heat rocketing from their hips to their chest that feels a little too serious for someone they’ve hardly known for two weeks.
The drive home is a tense one, and there’s no chance that they beat Frank to the apartment, so their mind is racing with a million thoughts of what they’ll find behind their own front door. There’s always the chance that it’s just Frank, passed out on the couch with his pants half down, but they’re pretty sure that won’t happen.
Frank busies himself immediately once he sets foot into the living room. He shoos the cats into the bedroom first, making sure to give them food as a prayer that they’ll make themselves scarce while he lets this night unfold, and hurriedly cleans up the couch and surrounding surfaces to give the illusion of a home much cleaner than what he and Gerard are used to. He likes the clutter, personally, but Poison deserves only the best he can offer.
By the time Gerard parks and hurries up the stairs so fast that they nearly trip, Frank has already set the stage. When they walk in, he’s sitting in the armchair with his legs splayed open, shirt unbuttoned sans the tie he had on before, and a glass of bourbon that’s being artfully set aglow by the singular lamp that Frank left on behind the chair.
“I win,” Frank gloats, and punctuates it with a sinfully slow sip from his drink. He motions for Gerard to approach with his free hand. “C’mere.”
Gerard figures they have two options: play into the nervous buzz between their ears, or play into the absolutely feral need between their legs. They choose a cocktail of mostly the latter and slink down to their knees to crawl towards him. They can see the way it makes Frank’s pupils blow wide, but he manages to keep his head on straight for now as he watches them paw across the carpet to him, and then up his legs until they’re half in his lap. He sits up just enough to take their face into his hand, gently caressing their jaw.
“It’s only fair that you give me a show, too,” Frank purrs and slips his thumb along Gerard’s jaw, up their chin, over their plush lips, and then into their mouth, pressing down until they obediently open for him and cradle the pad of his thumb with their tongue. “Good girl.”
Gerard bats their eyes and gives Frank their best pitiful look, and they can tell it’s absolutely angelic in the orange glow of the single lamp by the way his face softens. He inches his thumb deeper, gripping the side of their face harder, until he finally drags their own spit back down their chin and releases them.
“Go on,” Frank goads them to stand and dismisses them back a few feet. “Show off for me. Turn around, let me see you from the back.”
Gerard turns and lifts one foot at a time, runs their hand down their thigh, over their calf along the seam of the tights, and looks over their shoulder to watch Frank take them in with dazed eyes. They hook their thumbs into the band of the tights under the dress, but Frank taps their ankle with the side of his boot.
“Dress first. Leave them on. The heels, too.”
They obey and start to unzip the dress for him. The urge to talk back is strong, but the love for feeling so feminine and wanted is stronger. Frank sighs needily behind them as they let the zipper fall open over their ass and then let the dress drop to the floor before stepping out and turning back around in nothing but their cut open tights, black thong, and Louboutins. Frank is practically salivating at this point, so they stride toward him as slowly as possible before straddling his lap by his knees and expertly opening his belt to pull his cock out of his boxers.
Gerard sucks their tongue and captures Frank’s gaze in their own as they purse their lips and drool a thick line of spit down to the head before wrapping their hand around him gracefully to twist their wrist and stroke him off. His face burns a deep red as they keep their eyes locked on his.
“You’ve done… So well for me tonight…” Gerard hums their praises to him softly, and their grip tightens around Frank’s aching cock. “Don’t you just want to enjoy your purchase now?”
After letting another string of spit drop to slick Frank up, Gerard slides forward and braces themself against the back of the armchair to lift their ass and pull their thong to the side before easing Frank’s length inside them as slowly as they can manage. They could have come from that alone at this point, but the way his brows knit together in front of them makes it worth the agonizing wait.
“Oh fuck,” Frank’s gasp trembles way more obviously than he’d like, but he white knuckles the arm of the chair while his other hand finds its way to Gerard’s waist to guide them as they roll their hips. “I am— why don’t you let yourself enjoy being purchased?”
Gerard’s initial reaction was to spit back Where’s the fun in that? But, upon reflection, they decide that it’s only fair that every dog has their day. They asked for this in the first place, anyway, but it’s not their fault that they love him all whiny and pathetic, too.
“Fine,” Gerard sighs, arching their back to press against Frank’s chest and nuzzle against his neck. They’re so lost in him that they almost forget they’re meant to be riding him. “Have it your way, sir.”
Frank’s hands glide up Gerard’s back, into their hair, down to their face, and then to their neck, where he wraps his fingers around their throat as they mouth at his pulse point and grind into him, bottoming out on his cock with a hearty moan against his neck. Time seems to slow down while his hands squeeze the air right out of them, and Gerard blushes hard at the choked-out whine that escapes their lips when Frank bucks his hips up into them once, hard.
They curl into him and give in when his hands leave their throat and instead grip their ass, Frank’s elbows digging into the arms of the chair for leverage. He holds them still and puts all of his energy into pistoning his cock into them as hard as he can, and Gerard’s moans turn into pitchy whines as their face bounces against his chest.
“Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck,” they whimper, both hands twisted into Frank’s unbuttoned dress shirt. “You feel so good, don’t stop.”
Frank gives one quick shake of his head, all of his focus on not finishing yet, and instead doubles his efforts. Gerard has graduated from pitiful gasps and whines to incoherent babbling, and Frank returns it in kind.
“That’s my good girl,” he grunts, his nails digging into the meat of their hips and ass. “Take it just like that for me.”
Gerard folds at the purr of his voice and finally comes with a strained cry, tearing at Frank’s shirt so hard that the fastened buttons pop open and fly off, and he doesn’t stop. Where the energy comes from, they have no idea, but his speed just picks up with every yelp that he shakes free from their chest.
“Ohmygod, Fr— Christ,” Gerard bites their tongue to stop from moaning Frank’s name, and they can hardly think long enough to come up with a fitting honorific. When he tightens his grip and spreads their ass to hit a deeper angle, all they can do is shout out, “Daddy!”
“Holy shit," Frank sucks in the deepest breath he can muster and breathes out through his nose to keep himself from blacking out, and he still can’t convince himself that he heard them right. “Say it again. Say that again, baby.”
“Fuck me,” Gerard sits up to press their forehead to Frank’s and cup his face, their lips nearly close enough to touch with each thrust. “Daddy.”
Before the name finishes rolling off Gerard’s lips, Frank is filling their hole with one more valiant slam of his hips. He swears that he comes for a full minute with Gerard writhing on top of him the entire time, his neck slick from them dragging their tongue over every inch of skin they can reach. When he tries to help them lift off his lap, they just cling to him harder, wrapping their arms around his torso and burying themself in his hair, sliding further into the chair until their bodies are connected at every possible juncture with Frank still inside them.
“Stay, just stay,” Gerard whispers, winded and half-crying. “Please just stay with me.”
Despite Frank being shorter by far and wide, Gerard feels so small like this. He’s sure he’s held them before, but this feels different than any of the other times. It feels like they need him, instead of the other way around.
“Are you okay?” Frank nudges his nose against their cheek and presses a soft kiss there. “Did I hurt you?”
Gerard just shakes their head and adjusts their legs to squeeze their thighs around him tighter.
“It’s okay, you’re okay.” Frank soothes, running one hand through Gerard’s sweaty hair and the other over their back comfortingly. “You were so, so good. I really… I liked that. What you called me.”
“I meant it,” Gerard assures weakly. They’re not even entirely sure what it is that they meant, but words aren’t coming to them as easily as they normally would. They just want to melt into the buzzy feeling between their ears, and Frank’s gladly letting them. “Thank you.”
“Thank me? Thank you. You did most of the work; I just sat here.” Frank chuckles and helps Gerard sit up when they seem to start coming back down to earth with him. He eases them up to their feet just long enough to move them to the couch before he gets up and looks over the state of his clothes. “So much for this shirt. Jesus, baby.”
“Mm. I’ll buy you a new one.” Gerard’s eyes look heavy as they sink back into the couch and draw their legs up. Frank drapes the blanket from the back of the cushion over them and kisses their forehead before heading to the bathroom.
“I’m gonna run a bath, okay? Then I’ll get you in bed. I’ll be right back.”
By the time Frank comes back out, Gerard is half dozing on the couch, and if it weren’t for the fact that they looked criminally debauched, Frank would’ve just climbed under the blanket next to them. Instead, he gently coaxes them awake and leads them into the bath before sitting cross-legged on the floor next to the tub, having changed into a cut-off tank and a pair of sweatpants that could’ve easily been either of theirs.
Gerard lies back with their head against the lip of the tub, tilted to the side to look at Frank through their bright red hair as he adjusts the glasses that he almost never wears so that he can read whatever book he’s brought in.
“You gonna read me a bedtime story, Daddy?” They tease.
“Alright. Starting to like it less,” Frank chides, licking his thumb and flipping pages until he finds the chapter they stopped at last. “We’ve barely gotten through chapter three. I think we have too much sex.”
“I strongly fucking disagree,” Gerard snarks. “You’ll just have to get creative and read to me while I ride you next time.”