rivers_bend

Title: Everyone’s a Junkie
Fandom/Pairing: MCR; Frank/Gerard
Rating: NC17
Words: 3050
The Obvious: I do not know any of the people whose names and public personas are used in this story, and neither believe nor mean to imply any of this ever happened.
A/N: blue_soaring sent me a text that contained the words “Gerard” and “ball gag” and this happened. Set in an AU I call PWP-land, where Frank and Gerard are married to each other.
Summary: Bondage, ball gags, and waxplay, oh my.



When Frank and Gerard started this, with backstage blows and back-of-the-van handjobs, Frank never thought they’d end up here. Not that he’s complaining. No fucking way is he complaining. Just, he always figured when Gerard got his freak on that meant twenty-sided dice and wizards with unpronounceable names. But people will surprise you. And as far as Frankie is concerned, this is the best kind of surprise he could have asked for.

Gee’s naked, down on his knees, an old yoga mat between him and the carpet, waiting—quiet, patient. That alone unlike studio Gerard, or bus Gerard, or stage Gerard—his curiosity to see what Frank will pull out of the box under their bed showing in the tilt of his head, the cast of his gaze, but Frank knows if he told him to shut his eyes he would. Frank likes it when Gerard watches him though. Likes how the anticipation makes him shiver a little when Frank lets him see, so Frank doesn’t say anything except, “You look so fucking good like that.” He wonders sometimes if Gerard realizes, if he can catch in the full-length mirror across the room what Frank sees when he looks at him, but there’s no way to know for sure, and it’s not like Gee’s unaware of the effect he has on people, so Frank doesn’t let it worry him.

Tonight Frank wants to take Gerard out of himself, give him a break from the wheels spinning in his head, planning the next video, working out whatever the fuck he keeps thinking he’s got to work out, so he pulls out the cuffs, the spreader bar, the snap clips. Gee smiles slow and lazy when he sees them, lets his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks for a moment, and Frank knows they’re a good choice. Without being told to, Gerard adjusts his pose, settling his knees a little wider apart, moving his hands behind his back, ready. “So fucking eager,” Frank says, sounding more pleased than admonishing, but they’ve never been into the formal stuff, so it’s not like Gee’s breaking any rules.

“I am eager,” Gerard says. “Want you to have your wicked way with me.”

And that was the part that surprised Frank most when they started collecting props to go with the lube and condoms. Gee doesn’t just want to be on his knees all trussed up; he wants Frank to hurt him. The dude who bitches for a week when he stubs his damn toe and doesn’t understand at all how Frank can let someone near him with a tattoo needle likes to be pinched and scratched and slapped and hit with belts. Frank will never understand it, but he’s sure as hell gonna go along with it. Frank is nothing if not willing to be in enthusiastic pursuit of Gerard Way’s orgasms. Plus, Frank gets off on it hard.

“My wicked way, huh?” Frank asks, looking for the box he’d stashed in here sometime last year but hadn’t used yet. He finds it under the ball gag they bought in Atlanta last time they were there, figuring it would be good for hotel nights. Which it is, but it’s also good for getting Gerard hot and bothered in a way just the cuffs never manage, so even though they’re home tonight, no neighbors close enough to hear them, Frank lays that on the bed next to the rest of the gear. He sneaks a glance at Gerard’s reflection, catches the tail end of the shiver thrilling down his spine.

“Planning on making me scream?” Gerard says, probably aiming for sly, landing closer to eager.

Frank lays the plain cardboard box next to everything else and checks his pocket for his lighter before he answers. “Planning on a lot of things.”

The cuffs are leather, soft and buttery, and the steel tongues practically fall into the right holes as he buckles them around Gerard’s wrists and ankles. Frank adjusts the spreader bar to fit between Gee’s legs comfortably—tonight’s about testing other limits than that—and clips it onto the ankle cuffs. Gerard puts his wrists together waiting for Frank to lock them to each other, but Frank clips them to his ankles instead. That lifts Gee’s chest, arches his back, puts him on display. The clips are long enough that he can prop his hands on his heels if he needs to, hold his weight with his arms, but he can’t hunch forward, can’t curl in on himself. He catches Frank’s gaze in the mirror, lips twitching only a little, but eyes smiling. He likes it when Frank does the unexpected.

Gag next, and Frank gives him a little sip of water from the bottle next to the bed. Frank likes it when Gee gets messy, and if his mouth’s too dry to start with, he doesn’t get sloppy and drooling for what seems like forever. His hair’s a nest of red-orange tangles, pulled to disarray by Gerard’s constant fiddling as he worked this afternoon, and the fact that it probably hasn’t seen a brush of any kind in almost a week. Frank pushes his fingers through it, smoothing it back off Gerard’s face, tucking it behind his ears, out of the way of the straps of the gag.

“Ready?” he asks, and Gerard nods, eyes shining, his mouth dropping open wide. They’ve watched porn where the bottom fights the gag, sticking his tongue out, whipping his head back and forth, and Gee seems to like that just as much as all their other bondage porn, but Frank’s glad Gerard’s like this, practically begging for it. Gee opening up for him hits him in the gut every fucking time. It makes his fingers clumsy on the buckles, but he fusses with Gee’s hair until he’s got himself under control, makes sure the ball’s set between Gerard’s teeth, does everything up tight. As soon as he lets go, Gerard moans, lifts his hips, like now Frank’s got him all tied up, he’s free.

“So fucking sexy,” Frank murmurs close to Gerard’s ear, and then he bites the lobe, sucks a little, flicks it between his teeth with his tongue. Just that makes Gee drag a ragged breath into his lungs, makes his fingers twitch, and god, Frank could play with him forever.

Getting to his own knees between Gerard’s spread feet, Frank lets himself touch. He strokes down Gee’s arms, traces the edges of the cuffs with his fingertips, squeezes the muscles at the back of Gee’s neck, runs fingernails down either side of his spine, spans his waist with his palms, kneads the globes of his ass, teases his hole with a knuckle. His gaze keeps flicking from watching what he’s doing to watching Gerard’s face in the mirror, watching his cock turn redder, lift higher toward his belly as Gee arches, twists his hips, thrusts into nothing.

“Just getting started,” Frank says low, and starts biting. The curve where Gerard’s neck becomes shoulder, the back of his arm, the skin under his shoulder blade, the top of Gee’s ass, quick nips interspersed with slow the deliberate sinking in of his teeth, sometimes moving between bites, sometimes staying in one place, catching Gerard off guard, making him whimper and sweat. When Gerard’s thighs start to shake, Frank goes back to touching, long strokes from the straps of the gag to where Gerard’s bound to the spreader bar.

Unfolding from the floor, Frank drops a kiss on the back of Gee’s neck before going to stand in front of him. “You still good?” Frank asks, and Gee nods vigorously. “Want me to stop?” Gerard shakes his head, edge of panic in his eyes like he thinks Frank would actually leave him hanging. “Gonna give you your bell.”

Gerard glares at that, with it enough still to be responsive, but down enough to think he’s never gonna need a way to tap out. Frank ignores the glare and plucks the bell—salvaged from an old Christmas stocking—from the fold in the duvet where it’s settled, rattling it a little to make sure he’ll hear it if Gerard drops it. It still works. Gerard glares more, and tries to say something Frank suspects is along the lines of, I don’t fucking need a safeword, but Frank ignores that too, and goes around to tuck the bell into the curl of Gerard’s fingers. Gee may not like it, but he knows better than to drop it now, knows Frank will stop the scene if he does. “Good boy,” Frank says, kissing the top of his head, his temple, his cheek where it’s distended by the gag.

In front of him again, Frank gets his dick out, lets Gerard look. Gee strains forward as much as he can, his chest lifting higher, chin thrust up, and Frank rewards him for his eagerness by rubbing his cock on the bridge of Gee’s nose, across his cheeks, around his lips stretched wide around the ball in his mouth. “Wish you could suck me?”

Gerard nods again, but less enthusiastically this time, concentrating on trying to nuzzle closer to Frank’s junk. “Maybe later,” Frank says. “Or maybe I’ll just keep you gagged, jerk off on your face.” Gerard whimpers at that, nods again, and Frank pulls him close, grinding his crotch in Gee’s face before he tucks himself back in his briefs, leaving his fly open, trusting the way his jeans are tight on his hips to hold them up.

Because Gerard’s mouth is busy and he can’t suck Frank, Frank sucks him instead. There’s really no comfortable way to give head to someone in Gerard’s position, but Frank fucking loves sucking dick, and wants the taste of him, wants to feel Gerard squirm, before this goes any farther. The noises Gee makes are amazing, muffled sounds that could be laughing or crying, and either way shoot right to Frank’s cock. They make Frank feel like, despite the crick in his neck and the pull in his back, he could probably stay here all night, but he doesn’t want Gerard to come yet, so, long before he wants to, he pulls off with a slurp.

Gee’s eyes are huge, and his cheeks are pink, and drool’s starting to run down his chin. Frank licks it up, pushes his tongue in as far as he can alongside the gag, wanting Gerard to taste himself, needing to kiss him even if Gerard can’t kiss back. Gee’s hair is less wild now, hanging in his face in damp strings like he’s been on stage for an hour ramping the crowd up into a frenzy. Frank’s pretty sure it’s his favorite look on Gerard. He’s a fucking mess. He’s glowing.

“Gonna try something now, okay?” Frank asks, rubs his cheek against Gerard’s, smearing their sweat and spit between them. Gee just presses his face closer. “Got a candle. Gonna drip wax on you. Right here.” Frank lays a hand flat on the middle of Gerard’s chest, rubs over one nipple with his thumb. “Mark you up. Sound good?” Frank looks Gerard in the eye. There’s not a hint of hesitation when he nods, slow and deliberate like he wants to make sure Frank knows he means it. It’s a lot of responsibility, and Frank’s heart kicks into overdrive, making him giddy for a moment. “Yeah,” Frank says. “Yeah. Good.” Gerard nods again.

It’s not quite as easy to get to his feet this time, but Frank does it, turning his back on Gerard just long enough to tip a candle out of the box, take a deep breath. His lighter sticks a little coming out of his pocket, but then he’s ready, facing Gee again, searching for the tiniest flicker of doubt. He doesn’t find any.

“You have your bell,” Frank says, knowing he’s only reassuring himself. Gee just looks up at him, shoulders back, ribs open, chin lifted, a canvas for whatever art Frank chooses to bestow upon him. “God I fucking love you,” Frank breathes, because holy fuck how did he get this lucky?

Gerard shuts his eyes and opens them again, a slow blink—acknowledgement, agreement, permission for Frank to begin, Frank doesn’t even know. But he flicks his lighter open and holds the candle’s wick over the flame. Gee blinks again, takes a deep breath and lets it all out.

They both watch as the candle’s flame grows steady, starts to melt the wax at the tip. It seems to take forever for any to accumulate, and Frank’s suddenly sure he bought the wrong kind of candles—even though he knows he didn’t—or that his hand’s going to start shaking and he’s going to waste what wax there is all over the floor. But Gerard bends back farther, as far as his bonds will allow, begging with every curve of his body for Frank to do this, so Frank pulls himself together and he does.

The first drip lands just under Gerard’s collar bone, a small shiny disc, not even the size of a dime. It doesn’t make Gee flinch, and he doesn’t make a sound. Frank moves the candle closer, tips it at a sharper angle, and three more drops land below the first, overlapping to form a patch the size of Frank’s thumbprint. That gets him a ragged breath and the twitch of Gee’s hips. “Yeah?” Frank asks, and Gerard just pushes toward him.

Tipping the candle again, Frank heads downward. As the tapered end burns toward the candle’s full width, the wax starts to flow more quickly, and drips become dribbles, splashing down in teardrop shapes with jagged edges. Frank can’t tear his eyes away from the little clusters of wax he’s making at the tops of Gerard’s pecs, but then he lets two drips fall in rapid succession where Gee’s skin is stretched thin over his sternum, and Gerard jerks, tries to suck air in past the gag, and Frank’s gaze flies to his face. Everything is written there—how much he wants this, how much he loves Frank for giving it to him, how scared he is Frank will stop, how scared he is Frank won’t—and Frank can feel his hands starting to shake, stage fright turned up to eleven. The best thing for stage fright is to fucking play.

Frank isn’t sure if the hand he curls around Gerard’s neck is meant to steady Gee or him, but it works either way, stilling the shaking and slowing Gerard’s breathing, and Frank lets the wax rain down. Frank watches Gee’s face until Gerard’s eyes slip shut, and then he watches where he’s marking Gee’s skin. Wax on wax has no effect, so Frank concentrates on the sensitive line down the center of Gee’s chest, twists and pulls his nipples to peaks and lets the wax fall there, returns to places that make Gerard twitch and whine, aiming the drips toward clear skin. He’s so fucking hard it’s all he can do to keep his hands on his task, but Gerard’s so responsive, Frank never wants to stop.

Eventually, Gerard gets to the point that he seems to have completely forgotten how to breathe through his nose, and Frank stops, blows the candle out and sets it aside so he has both hands free to settle Gee again. “Baby,” he says, pushing Gerard’s hair back off his face. “Baby. Slow down.” Gee slows, catching his breath, but still rocking his hips like he doesn’t even know he’s doing it. Frank gets a leg between Gee’s thighs, lets him rub against Frank’s denim-clad shin for a moment, still petting him and murmuring endearments. Finally he steps back, lets himself look at what he’s done.

The wax isn’t thick and white the way Frank expected, is more a milky glaze, mostly visible by the way it’s reddened Gerard’s skin, though the first drops are whiter than the last ones. Maybe ice would do it, cool it faster, make it show up stark against the burns. Next time. Frank’s pretty sure there’s gonna be a next time. It’s good like this for now.

While Gerard’s still shifting restlessly, Frank pulls his dick out of his briefs again, holds it where Gee can see it until Gee makes an eager sound. Left hand on Gerard’s shoulder for support, Frank starts jerking off with quick efficient movements, not putting on a show, just wanting his jizz on Gerard’s face, on his chest. He comes with a grunt, shooting on Gee’s neck, getting a few stripes low enough to overlap the wax. As soon as he’s spent he drops down, takes Gerard in his fist and works him just the way he likes, needing only six or seven strokes before Gee’s coming over Frank’s lap.

Frank would love nothing more than to collapse onto Gerard and sleep, but he fumbles the buckles on Gee’s gag open, pulls it free, then releases his wrists and ankles from the snap clips, pushes the spreader bar out of the way, helps him lie down on his side. Gee never wants to take the cuffs off when they’re done, so Frank doesn’t worry about those yet, just pulls the duvet off the bed to cover them so they can rest a minute.

“Og-lahh,” Gerard says into Frank’s neck. Frank’s learned in the year or so they’ve had the gag that this means, Holy fuck, I love you, lets do that again, sooner rather than later.

“Love you too,” Frank murmurs, circling his thumbs on the points of Gerard’s jaw. Gee lets him, working the muscles in his face for a moment before burrowing his way back under Frank’s chin. Frank moves on to rubbing his arms, his shoulders, making sure Gee’s comfortable, but also keeping himself awake, because neither of them will be happy if they spend the night on the floor.

“Fuck,” Frank sighs happily, and Gerard mmms lowly in reply. Five minutes. Then Frank can get them cleaned up and in bed. Gerard’s so warm in his arms. Seven minutes. Maybe ten.

~fin

AO3 post