Batty

"Shut up, Ray," Gerard grumbled, though his voice lacked any real authority, he couldn't look away.

He watched you walk in with that confidence that seemed to be a natural accessory. The floral perfume emanating from you fought against the smell of roasted coffee and ground beans.

To Gerard, you were the personification of everything he feared and desired. You were resolved, radiant, and seemed to know exactly where you would be in the next five years. He, on the other hand, felt stagnant. He still lived in his parents' house, sharing a space with his brother and trying to understand why the future looked like a thick fog.

"She definitely has a boyfriend," Gerard murmured to no one in particular, his voice heavy with the kind of self-sabotage that had become his default defense mechanism. "Some guy who wears a suit, has the car of the year, and doesn't have coffee stains on his shirt."

Frank, who was crouched down restocking paper filters near Gerard’s legs, looked up and let out a nasal laugh.

"Man, you’re pathetic," Frank said, tossing a pack of filters onto the shelf with unnecessary force. "You don't even know her name right, other than what you write on the cup. You spend all day sighing in corners and doodling on the back of receipts. Go over there and take her order before Ray does it and ruins your only moment of joy for the day."

Gerard swallowed hard. He straightened up, trying to hide his trembling hands and pen-ink-stained fingertips. As you approached the register, the familiar wave of insecurity hit him full force.

"Good morning," you said, resting your bag on the counter.

Gerard forced a movement, grabbing a paper cup and a Sharpie. His hands were sweating slightly.

"Good morning," he replied, his voice coming out a bit raspier than he intended. He made a conscious effort to brush the hair away from his face, revealing those eyes that, though they always looked tired from sleepless nights, shone with an intensity he tried to hide. "The usual?"

A small, genuine smile appeared on your lips. It was that specific smile—the one that made your eyes crinkle slightly—that completely disarmed Gerard.

"The usual, Gerard. You’ve memorized it, haven't you?"

He felt his face heat up, a burning sensation rising up his neck. Yes, I’ve memorized it. He had memorized that you preferred oat milk, that you hated sugar, and that you always knit your brows for a second while waiting for change, as if mentally reviewing your schedule for the day.

"Yeah..." he cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure as he began to write on the cup. "A large Americano, with an extra shot of caffeine."

"You have no idea how much I need this today," you admitted, leaning against the counter. "Turning thirty didn't give me the energy superpowers I expected. I thought I’d wake up feeling different, but I just feel... tired."

Gerard stopped his pen mid-stroke. Thirty years old. In Gerard's head, at thirty, people had already cracked the code of life. They had retirement plans, knew how to file taxes without panicking, and didn't have oily hair at eight in the morning.

"You don't look thirty," he blurted out, the words escaping before his shyness could filter them.

You tilted your head, your smile widening and an eyebrow arching in amusement.

"I’ll take that as a compliment, coming from someone so young."

"I just... I just meant that you look..." he stammered, his face now a deep red that contrasted with his usual paleness. He handed the cup to Ray with almost comical urgency, wanting his friend to prepare the coffee as quickly as possible so he could hide behind the espresso machine. "Anyway, it’ll be ready in a minute, (Y/N)."

Ray took the cup and gave Gerard an encouraging pat on the shoulder as he passed, while Frank kept chuckling under his breath, pretending to clean a nearby table just so he wouldn't miss a single detail.

You stood there waiting, observing the dynamic. He noticed how you tapped your fingers on the counter to the rhythm of the music playing—something by Depeche Mode that he himself had chosen to play five minutes before your arrival, just out of a vague hope that you might like it.

"Here you go," Ray said, handing you the coffee with a friendly smile that Gerard secretly envied. "Have a great day!"

"Thanks, guys. See you tomorrow!"

You took the cup, casting one last look at Gerard. He just nodded, his body rigid as if he were facing a firing squad.

"'You don't look thirty,'" Frank exploded, imitating Gerard's voice with cruel precision. "Seriously, Gee?"

"Leave him alone, Frank," Ray laughed. "At least he didn't spill the coffee on her this time and she smiled at him."

Gerard collapsed over the counter, hiding his face in his hands.

"She wasn't smiling at me, Ray. She smiled because I'm the freak who serves her coffee. She sees a guy with dirty hair and an old t-shirt working in a corner coffee shop."

"You're so dramatic," Frank rolled his eyes, tossing a dish towel at Gerard. "She's just a woman, Gerard, and a damn beautiful one at that. If you don't ask her out, I will."

Gerard looked up instantly. "You wouldn't dare, Frank."

"Then do something!" Frank exclaimed, gesturing toward the door. "Stop moping every morning. Write your number on the cup tomorrow. What’s the worst that can happen? She laughs? She already laughs at your bad jokes anyway."

Gerard looked back at the glass door, where you had disappeared into the rushing New Jersey crowd. He sighed, picking up a cloth to wipe a non-existent stain on the counter, just to keep his hands busy so they wouldn't shake.

That day, the sky seemed to have saved every ounce of grudge accumulated over weeks to pour out on that Thursday. When you stepped out of the office building, the first drop—huge, heavy, and freezing—hit the top of your head like a warning.

Drenched in seconds, your overcoat weighing twice its size and your breath failing from the effort and the thermal shock, you spotted the coffee shop's neon sign glowing through the curtain of water like a lighthouse of salvation.

The door bell rang with a violent snap, almost muffled by the roar of the wind, as you stumbled in, pushing a gust of freezing air into the room.

"My God! (Y/N)?" Ray was the first to approach, leaving the counter with wide eyes. "You're soaked! What happened?"

You let out a short laugh, devoid of any humor, while unsuccessfully trying to push away the strands of hair sticking to your face, wiping the excess water from your eyes with trembling fingertips.

"I had the bad luck of leaving just as the world decided to end out there, Ray," you replied, your voice coming out a bit unstable as your body began to shiver from the sudden cold. "I'm going to need shelter until this rain lets up, if you don't mind. My apartment feels miles away right now."

In the corner of the counter, Gerard was paralyzed. His eyes scanned every detail of your figure under the shop's warm light: the way the fabric of your shirt underneath clung to your curves, the strands of hair stuck to your forehead, and the way you tried to maintain your posture and dignity even after looking like you’d just stepped out of a river.

Frank, always faster, gave a well-aimed and none-too-subtle elbow to Gerard's ribs.

"Wake up, Romeo," Frank whispered, his tone urgent and amused. "Go on. Offer her something hot on the house or she’s going to catch pneumonia if you just stand there staring."

Gerard cleared his throat, feeling his palms go sweaty instantly. He approached the counter, trying his hardest not to look as affected as he actually was by seeing you in that state of vulnerability.

"(Y/N)... here," he said, his voice wavering a bit, almost failing at first, as he held out a handful of clean paper towels. "I'll make you a hot chocolate. It's... a courtesy for your birthday the other day and for... well, for the flood."

You thanked him as you sat on one of the high stools, watching them move with a curious gaze.

Time passed. Ten, twenty minutes. The rain wouldn't let up; on the contrary, it seemed to gain renewed strength with every thunderclap. In an impulse of impatience and exhaustion, you stood up, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder.

"I think I'll just brave the rain, guys. If I wait for it to stop, I'll end up falling asleep here on the counter."

In the back, near the door leading to the small kitchen, Frank began to whisper to Gerard. He gestured exaggeratedly toward the street, pointing to the parking lot in the back, while Gerard shook his head frantically, visibly terrified of whatever idea his friend was proposing.

"Go on, you coward!" you heard Frank say a bit louder, giving Gerard a shove in the back that made him take a clumsy step forward, nearly tripping over his own feet.

"(Y/N)!" he called out, his volume a bit too loud from nervousness. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his normal tone. "Look, we were going to close the shop anyway. I... I have my car back here. If you want, I can take you home."

Your eyes shone with immediate gratitude.

"Seriously, Gee? You’d really do that? I accept, yes, thank you a thousand times! I was really afraid of being swept away by a flood on some corner."

As you headed out the back door toward the car under the narrow eaves, Gerard didn't think twice: he took off his own leather jacket and held it over your head.

"Cover yourself," he instructed, his voice now carrying a protective urgency he didn't even know he possessed. "Let’s run, it's right there."

As soon as you slammed the doors shut, the deafening noise of the rain on the metal roof became muffled, turning into a rhythmic pitter-patter. The silence inside the vehicle, however, was almost oppressive. You looked to the side and saw Gerard gripping the steering wheel with both hands, his shoulders rising and falling erratically. He was panting as if he had just run a marathon, even though the trip to the car had been only a few quick meters.

Concerned about his agitated state, you reached out and lightly touched the back of his hand as it gripped the wheel.

"Gee? Is everything okay?"

In the split second your warm, still-damp skin touched his, Gerard gave a visible start, pulling his hand away as if he’d received a high-voltage shock.

"Y-yes! Yes, everything's great!" he stammered, his face turned forward. "It's just... the rain. The cold. Yeah, the cold makes you lose your breath, right? The oxygen feels different."

You let out a soft, genuine giggle, finding his reaction and the pseudo-scientific explanation adorable.

The drive was made in a tense but strangely intimate silence, broken only by your calm directions. He only seemed to remember the world existed when he parked the silver car right in front of your building.

"We're here," he murmured, his voice almost fading away.

"Saved by my favorite barista and the best driver in New Jersey," you joked, taking his jacket off your shoulders. As you handed it back, you hesitated for a second. "Do you want to come up? You can wait for the rain to calm down a bit more before driving back home..."

The invitation hung in the air, heavy with possibilities. Gerard looked at the lit entrance of the building, then turned his eyes back to you. In his fertile mind, he imagined a thousand scenarios, but insecurity spoke much louder.

"N-no, I... I really need to get home," he stammered, his hands tightening on the wheel again. "Ray and Frank... they’re waiting for a... a signal that I got back okay. But thank you for the invite."

"Alright then, I understand," you smiled.

Before opening the door, you leaned over the center console. Gerard held his breath, his heart pounding so hard against his ribs that he was absolutely sure you could hear the sound through his shirt. You planted a soft, lingering kiss on his cheek. His skin was cold from the moisture but immediately ignited under your touch.

"Thanks for the ride. See you tomorrow morning?"

"For sure," he managed to answer, his voice coming out in a thin thread, almost a devoted whisper.

You got out of the car and ran into the protected entrance of the building. Gerard didn't start the engine; he sat there, paralyzed, with the motor running. His hand rose slowly, trembling fingers touching the exact spot on his cheek where your lips had been.

The next day, as soon as Gerard crossed the door for the morning shift, with his hair even messier than usual and deep dark circles under his eyes from not sleeping a wink while processing the night before, Frank and Ray stopped what they were doing as if they had rehearsed it.

"And?" Frank shouted from the back of the shop, with a grin from ear to ear. "How was yesterday?"

Gerard tried to maintain his professional pose, grabbing his apron and tying it with fingers that still seemed to tingle, but the silly, involuntary smile escaping from the corners of his lips gave him away.

"She gave me a kiss on the cheek," he said in a low voice.

Ray let out a long, admiring whistle, and Frank began to clap dramatically.

"A kiss on the cheek?" Frank teased. "Careful, soon you'll be talking about investment funds and drinking expensive wine just to keep up with her rhythm."

The wall clock in the coffee shop marked 8:17. Then 8:25. And finally, the fateful 9:00 AM. For the first time in months, the doorbell didn't ring at the usual time.

He was leaning against the wooden counter, arms crossed over his apron stained with coffee grounds, his gaze fixed and lost on the sidewalk outside.

"She's not coming, Gee. Accept it, it hurts less," Frank let out, passing him with a tray balancing blueberry muffins. "You probably scared the woman off."

"Fuck you, Frank," Gerard murmured, his voice weak, almost a whisper. "I knew it. I knew I shouldn't have agreed to take her."

Ray, noticing his friend's deplorable and almost catatonic state, approached with a comforting hand on Gerard's shoulder.

"Take it easy, man. Maybe she just had an early meeting somewhere else, or she decided to sleep in late."

"The truth is, if you don't act soon, some guy with a square jaw and a premium health insurance plan is going to show up and take her away. And you’ll stay here, writing sad song lyrics on the back of receipts."

The day dragged on like medieval torture. Gerard messed up three simple orders, burned the milk twice—which rarely happened—and almost dropped a mug.

Around 5:30 PM, as the sun began to dip below the New Jersey horizon and he was already taking off his apron, ready to end his shift, a familiar sound rang again.

Gerard froze with the apron halfway down his neck.

There you were.

You walked in a bit out of breath, your face slightly flushed from the effort of walking fast, and that smile...

"My God, I thought I wouldn't make it in time to see you!" you said, approaching the counter.

Gerard stood still, looking at you as if he were seeing a miraculous apparition.

"You... you came," was all he could articulate, his voice coming out a bit higher than usual.

"Sorry for disappearing this morning!" you explained, letting out a laugh at yourself. "I had such a deep sleep, maybe because of the rain, that my alarm clock just gave up on me."

Gerard felt such a colossal relief that he almost needed to hold onto the counter so as not to collapse. It was then that Frank, who was watching the scene from the back of the shop, jumped to the front of the counter with chaotic energy and a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Hey, (Y/N)! Since you're here to save your Friday with coffee, how about saving your Saturday too?" Frank blurted out.

You arched an eyebrow, visibly interested, leaning your elbows on the counter. "And how would I do that, Frank? What do you have in mind?"

"Our band is playing tomorrow night at a bar nearby. It's a place where the floor is questionable and Gerard will probably scream until he loses his voice, but I swear we're good. If you want to show up there, you're more than invited."

Gerard felt the air escape his lungs as if he had been punched. He wanted to melt into the floor. He looked at Frank as if he were planning every detail of his friend's funeral, but then, slowly, he looked at you.

"You don't have to go, seriously," Gerard managed to comment. "Frank is exaggerating."

"I'd love to go, Gee," you interrupted him, softening your tone of voice and looking directly into his eyes, ignoring Frank and Ray. "What time do you guys start?"

"Ten at night," Frank answered before Gerard could invent that the show had been canceled. "Be there!"

Ray returned at that moment with your steaming cup of coffee, handing it to you with a nod.

"Then it's a deal. See you guys tomorrow night," you said, taking a step back toward the door but keeping your gaze fixed on Gerard. "Bye, Ray! Bye, Frank!"

You paused for a second before pushing the door open, turning on your heels to cast one last smile, this time focused exclusively on him.

"Bye, Gee."

Gerard remained static for long seconds. Frank gave him a loud, heavy slap on the back, waking him from his trance.

"See that, you sucker?" Frank exclaimed victoriously. "If you don't kiss that woman tomorrow night, I’m officially giving up on you as my best friend."

Saturday dawned with a pale light, filtering with difficulty through the small high rectangular windows of the basement. He rolled over in the narrow bed while the weight of anticipation crushed his chest.

It wasn't just the usual nervousness that preceded any show—it was something much deeper, palpable, and absolutely terrifying: the real possibility that you would be there.

He closed his eyes tight; the memory of that Thursday night came back like an avalanche, burying any attempt at rationality.

Gerard let out a shaky sigh. He felt the blood migrate quickly to the space between his legs, an insistent pulsing he couldn't control. The bulge under his faded pajama pants became impossible to ignore.

His hand, acting on a primitive instinct he couldn't—or perhaps didn't want to—contain, slid down. His fingers found the tense fabric and then the warm skin of his cock.

"(Y/N)..." your name escaped in a raspy whisper.

With every rhythmic movement of his hand, moving from base to tip, the image in his mind became clearer, almost unbearable. The thought of having your breasts against his chest, feeling their weight in his hands and the texture of your nipples against his tongue, made him arch his back against the worn spring mattress, the fingers of his other hand burying themselves in the sheet.

"I want to... I want to mark you," he gasped, his voice thick and wet with growing pleasure. "Leave you all marked up, (Y/N)... so everyone can see you belong to me."

He wondered, amidst disconnected moans, what you would taste like. He imagined if you would get wet for him, if your pussy would be as tight and warm as he dreamed.

The rhythm of his hand accelerated drastically. Sweat began to break out on his forehead, trickling down his temples and mixing with the saliva that moistened his lower lip. He was at the limit, the image of you underneath him, legs entwined in his hips and hands pulling his oily hair, leading him to the climax. With one last desperate effort, a long, sharp moan that seemed to tear his soul from his body, Gerard came.

The bar's neon sign flashed in a frantic and sickly rhythm, projecting reddish and bluish shadows over the line that doubled on the sidewalk. Inside, the air smelled of spilled cheap beer and cigarette smoke.

Behind the frayed curtain that separated the stage from the "backstage," Gerard adjusted the bat buckle of his belt for the tenth time, his trembling, cold fingers fighting against the metal. His stomach was turning so violently he felt like he could throw up whatever was in his stomach.

"She’s not coming," Gerard murmured, his voice coming out in a thread, almost vanishing.

"Look again, Gee." Ray pointed with his chin toward a small gap in the curtain.

Gerard approached cautiously and peeked; you had just walked in. He almost felt the floor disappear under his worn boots.

"Go talk to her now!" Ray shoved him by the shoulder with a smile that tried to be encouraging.

Gerard took a deep breath, trying to oxygenate his brain, wiped the cold sweat from his hands on his torn jeans, and started walking toward you before the rest of his courage evaporated. But halfway there, his world collapsed again. You had your phone to your ear and were speaking with a concentrated expression, your body relaxed against the bar counter.

The monster of Gerard's insecurity, fed by years of self-sabotage, roared in his ears. He turned back before you could notice him, his face burning with a searing shame for having thought, for a glorious and stupid second, that he would have a chance.

"What happened now?" Frank asked, seeing him return to the backstage with slumped shoulders and the look of a kicked dog.

"She's on the phone, definitely talking to some boyfriend," Gerard grumbled. "Let’s just get this over with before I give up for good."

When the band took the stage, the bar's atmosphere changed instantly. You hung up the phone and approached the rail, staying a few meters from where Gerard was. Seeing him there so sure of himself, dominating every inch of that place, you could only wonder where the barista with the oily hair was—the one who could barely sustain your gaze for two seconds without looking like he was going to faint?

He wore that worn leather jacket, jeans so torn they revealed the paleness of his knees, and moved with an explosive, almost theatrical confidence that you never imagined he possessed.

You couldn't look away. The sight of him there—sweaty, intense, surrendered, with that bat buckle shining under the cheap spotlights—awakened in you a desire that was almost painful, a pulse between your legs that ignored all logic.

When the last note of distortion dissipated, you moved to a quieter corner of the bar, trying to process the adrenaline rush you had just witnessed. It didn't take long for Frank to appear, emerging from the crowd with a mischievous smile of someone who knew exactly what he was doing, practically dragging an exhausted, trembling, and still panting Gerard by the arm.

"See? Didn't I say we were good?" Frank exclaimed, slapping Gerard hard on the shoulder. "Can you take care of him? I'm going to grab a drink and I'll be right back!"

Frank disappeared into the shadows before Gerard could protest. The silence that followed between you was filled only by the generic background music of the bar and the sound of Gerard’s heavy breathing. He instantly returned to "default mode": he looked away, buried his hands in his jeans pockets, and sweat still trickled down his neck, leaving a shiny trail on his skin.

"Gee!" you began, your voice heavy with an admiration you didn't bother to hide. "The show was... my God, it was incredible!"

He glanced at you, his pale cheeks turning red under the bar’s low light.

"Thanks, seriously," he murmured, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "I'm glad you liked it. I thought you’d find it all... too loud."

"I loved every second." You smiled, and the sparkle in your eyes made him even more disconcerted. "And now? Are you going to celebrate somewhere with the guys?"

"I don't think so..." He let out a long sigh. "I intend to go straight home; the day has been... kind of full."

You let out a sigh of contained frustration, looking at your wristwatch and then at him, making a quick decision.

"What a shame, I was talking to my roommate on the phone earlier... she decided to take a group of friends to our apartment for a party that will last all night. Since I wasn't in the mood for socializing at all, I agreed to spend the night out to give them space. Now I have to figure out how to kill time until tomorrow morning."

Gerard felt a snap in his chest, a mixture of concern and an opportunity he would never dare to plan. The panic of imagining you alone somewhere dubious in the city at three in the morning overcame any shyness.

"You can stay at my house!" He blurted out the words, his voice coming out before his brain could process the danger of that suggestion.

His eyes widened, realizing the audacity of what he had said, and he began to gesture frantically while stammering, trying to fix the situation:

"I mean... my brother Mikey isn't sleeping at home today. My parents are traveling, they went to visit some relatives in another city. There's a spare room, you know? You wouldn't have to... I mean, you’d stay in Mikey’s room, with total privacy! Not that I wouldn't want you to... I mean, you don't have to sleep with me! My God, I just want to say you’d be safe there..."

You laughed, the soft, melodious sound cutting through his nervousness.

"Gee, breathe. Is it really okay? I really don't want to disturb your routine."

"I just... give me a minute." He walked away quickly, almost running, to find Mikey.

After two minutes that felt like an eternity to Gerard, he returned, looking a bit calmer but with his face still visibly hot.

"I talked to Mikey, everything's fine."

You took a step forward, entering his personal space, feeling the heat still emanating from his sweaty body.

"You're saving me again," you whispered.

This time, you leaned in and planted a long kiss on his face, very close to the corner of his mouth. The smell of sweat and smoke from him mixed with your perfume, and Gerard closed his eyes tight, visibly shivering under the touch of your lips. He stood still, absorbing the sensation, and only opened them when you asked with a whisper:

"Do you want to go now?"

"Yes." he replied, his voice raspy and deep. "Let’s go."

When you finally parked in front of the Way's house, the suburb was plunged into absolute silence. He opened the front door carefully and you followed him, entering the decorated living room.

"Thanks for this, Gee, seriously." You said, looking around as he locked the door and tossed the keys on a side table.

"It was nothing." He approached, stopping at a distance he considered safe. "Do you want anything? Water? Something to eat? I can see what’s in the fridge..."

"No, thanks, I'm fine." You looked at him intensely, noticing how vulnerable he looked now. "Well, I guess good night then... will you show me where the room is?"

Gerard felt a sudden wave of panic mixed with an overwhelming desire not to let this moment end.

"If... if you don't want to go to sleep now..." he began, words coming in nervous stumbles. "I have some movies in my room. It's in the basement, it's where I spend most of my time. I also have some new vinyls I bought this week, CDs you’ve probably never heard... we could... I mean, if you don't want to, that’s fine! I totally understand you're tired..."

He started getting so tangled in his own words that you took a step forward, gently placing your hand on his chest. Through the thin cotton t-shirt, you felt his heart beating fast and hard.

"Gerard," you said, with that smile that always completely disarmed him. "I would love to see your room."

He stopped talking instantly, his mouth slightly open. Gerard just nodded, unable to say anything more, and led you toward the narrow stairs leading to the basement.

The wooden staircase creaked under your feet, a dry, rhythmic sound. As soon as Gerard turned on the dim, yellowish lights in his room, he entered a state of silent and almost comical panic.

"Sorry, sorry for the mess! I didn't... I really didn't expect visitors, I mean, not visitors like you," he stammered, his face reaching a shade of scarlet that rose to his ears.

He began frantically kicking some forgotten black t-shirts and lonely socks under the twin bed pushed against the wall. You didn't say anything immediately. You just walked slowly through the room, your eyes wandering over the shelf overflowing with low-budget horror VHS tapes and piles of CDs.

"Seriously, (Y/N), it's usually not so..." he stopped, letting out a long sigh. "Messy."

You let out a low giggle, sitting on the small sofa, and with a calm gesture, gave two pats on the seat beside you.

"It's okay, Gee, come here."

He approached slowly, each step appearing to be a life-or-death decision, and sat on the very edge of the sofa, maintaining a respectful and almost painful distance. His shoulders were slightly hunched, hands clasped between his knees to hide the trembling.

"So..." you began, tilting your head slightly to the side, letting a strand of hair fall over your shoulder. "Tell me one thing, have you brought many fans here?"

Gerard almost choked on his own saliva. His eyes widened, and he looked at you with an expression of shock so genuine that it made your heart waver for a second.

"W-what? No!" he blurted out, his voice rising from pure nervousness. "No, of course not. I... I don't even talk to them properly after shows, (Y/N)."

"No?" you teased, letting a playful and predatory smile rise to your lips, feeling the power your presence exerted over him. "I thought guys in bands had this thing."

"I don't, I'm definitely not that guy. That's not... not my style," he murmured, looking down at his own feet clad in worn boots, visibly uncomfortable but at the same time hypnotized by your absolute attention.

"And what is your style, Gee?" Your voice dropped a notch, becoming deeper, closer, filling the space between the two of you with a silent promise.

He froze. The silence in the basement became so thick you could hear the low hum of the old fridge and the creak of the wood from the house above.

"I don't know," he confessed in an almost inaudible whisper, laden with an honesty that men of your age rarely possessed. "I don't think I have a defined style. I just... I stay here."

You watched him in silence for a long and heavy moment. There was something in his instinctive submission, the way he seemed to wait for your next move as if his life depended on it.

"Have you ever been with someone, Gerard?" you asked directly, your voice calm and without a trace of judgment.

He gave a physical start, hands tightening against each other until his knuckles turned white.

"Yes!" he answered too quickly, as if needing to prove a masculinity he felt he was failing to demonstrate. But soon after, his posture deflated, he dropped his shoulders and looked aside, his voice losing all its strength. "Yes... but it was only once. A long time ago, it didn't mean much, I think."

You leaned a bit further forward, drastically closing the space between you on the sofa.

"And when was the last time you really kissed someone?" you insisted. "A kiss without rush, without being a drunk night mistake."

Gerard took a while to answer. He swallowed hard, unable to sustain your gaze, finally speaking in a trembling voice:

"Probably about three years ago, maybe even more."

You didn't wait for more confessions. You moved on the sofa with the fluidity of someone who knows exactly where they want to go, sliding closer until your knee touched his. You moved your hand to his thigh, making a slow and deliberate caress, feeling the heat of his body through the worn fabric. Your fingers moved up and down in a hypnotic rhythm, a caress that screamed experience, intention, and a desire that was beginning to overflow.

Gerard finally found the courage to turn his face to look at you. His eyes were dilated, the pupil taking up almost the entire iris, shining with a mixture of terror and excitement.

"(Y/N)..." he began, his voice failing and coming out in a whisper, completely at your mercy. "Would you... would you give me a kiss? Please?"

The request was made with a timid stutter, almost like a desperate prayer for salvation. You smiled and moved even closer, feeling his breath mingle with yours.

"I think I can do much better than just give you a kiss, Gerard," you whispered, millimeters from his lips, seeing him close his eyes in anticipation. "But let’s start there."

You reached out, burying your long fingers in the heavy black hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him gently. When you finally sealed your lips to his, Gerard shivered under your touch in a way you had never seen in anyone. He let out a low moan as soon as he felt the tip of your tongue decisively ask for entry. With uncertain hands, he fumbled through the air until he found your waist.

You guided the kiss with masterful patience, intentionally slowing down time. Gradually, he began to relax slightly, his hands tightening around your waist with a bit more firmness, his fingertips sinking slightly into the fabric of your blouse, while you subtly pulled the heavy black strands at the nape of his neck, eliciting short, raspy moans from him.

When you pulled away for air, you kept your forehead pressed against his, and it was in that moment of pause, of heavy silence, that your eyes found the evident, rigid, and impatient bulge forming in his jeans.

Gerard followed your gaze and, instantly, tried to shrink into the sofa, his face burning a bright red.

"Sorry... my God, (Y/N), I'm sorry," he stammered, his voice failing, trying uselessly to shift his hips to hide his own excitement. "I didn't mean to... it’s just that I... I can't control it... I'm sorry for being like this."

You didn't let him finish the litany of excuses his insecurity dictated. You leaned toward his earlobe and gave a light bite, pulling the soft tissue with your teeth. The sound that escaped Gerard's throat was one of pure shock.

"Gerard..." you whispered, your voice laden with a soft, mature authority that made him freeze where he was. "Have you ever had a blowjob before?"

Gerard closed his eyes tight, his head tilting back against the sofa’s backrest, exposing the long, vulnerable line of his neck.

"Please... don't play with me," he murmured, his voice broken, almost a plea. "You’re going to kill me…"

You let out a low laugh, biting his neck, just above the collar of his faded t-shirt, marking him lightly, before returning to his face and planting a lingering peck.

"Answer me."

"No," he confessed in a thread of a voice, his vulnerability completely exposed. "Never. No one has ever done that to me."

Without saying anything more, you moved your hand to his cock. You began to massage over the thick, rough denim of the jeans, feeling the throbbing rigidity under your fingers. The effect was immediate; Gerard completely lost his breath, hands flying to his hair, head falling against the sofa as he instinctively began to move his hips against your hand.

"Poor thing..." you said, watching the expression of total surrender on his face, the way he seemed to be dissolving under your touch. "You really want mommy to suck you, don't you?"

"Yes," he answered, the raw honesty of desire overcoming any shame now. "I always imagined... since the first time I saw you at the coffee shop... I imagined what your mouth would feel like on me."

You moved your hands to the bat buckle of his belt; your fingers worked with agility and precision, opening the metal, then the button, and sliding the zipper down.

Gerard raised his hips obediently, making the job easier for you, as if in a trance. He watched you undress him with a mixture of reverence and delicious dread. When you left him in only his underwear, you stopped for a second to admire what was in front of you. The bulge was impressive, straining the dark fabric, and you bit your lower lip with desire, a gesture that made Gerard let out a long, pained gasp.

You knelt on the worn rug between his legs, slowly spreading them, exposing him completely. Gerard was sprawled on the sofa, chest rising and falling, completely vulnerable to your will.

"You have no idea how beautiful you are," you murmured, your voice raspy, stroking the inside of his thighs with your fingertips, feeling the soft, sensitive skin.

He couldn't answer; he was too busy trying not to explode before the touch even began. When you started stroking him over the underwear, you saw the fabric begin to darken with pre-cum.

"Please... mommy... I need it... I can't wait any longer," he whispered, his hands now gripping the sofa’s upholstery so hard he was almost tearing the fabric.

With a slowness calculated to torture him a little more, you pulled off his underwear. His cock, red and completely hard, sprang out, hitting his belly as soon as it was free.

You began by placing light, wet kisses from the base up, inch by inch, until reaching the head, where you lingered, using the tip of your tongue to provoke him with circular touches. Gerard began to moan in a way you had never heard.

"Thank you... my God, thank you," he babbled, his eyes rolling back. "I don't deserve this... you’re incredible., mommy.. I can't believe you're here, in my room, doing this to me..."

"You better start believing, baby boy," you said, looking up at him with a gaze that promised this was only the beginning.

And then, you took him in completely.

Your warm, wet mouth enveloped his length, and Gerard let out a muffled cry, his body arching violently on the sofa. You massaged the base with your hand while your tongue worked the shaft. He tried to speak, tried to articulate how good it felt, but the words died in his throat, turning into disconnected sounds.

The movement of his hips became frantic, a desperate search for the climax he felt approaching.

"I'm... I'm not going to be able to hold it... I'm sorry..." he exclaimed, his voice thick with pleasure.

You didn't stop. On the contrary, you intensified the rhythm, giving an encouraging stroke on his thigh to show it was okay. Gerard reached the peak with a jolt that ran through his whole body, his voice coming out in a raspy, prolonged shout as he came deep in your mouth.

You didn't pull back, swallowing everything while maintaining eye contact with him for a second before slowly pulling away.

Gerard was collapsed on the sofa, eyes fixed on the basement’s low ceiling, chest rising and falling erratically.

"I think I'm dreaming," he finally said, his voice weak and trembling but filled with immense sweetness. "That was the best thing that ever happened to me in my whole life. I... I don't know what to say."

You smiled, standing up from the floor and approaching him on the sofa. Before you could say anything to comfort him, Gerard, driven by a sudden wave of courage, gratitude, and a desire that was only beginning to transform, wrapped his trembling hand around the back of your neck and pulled you close. The kiss that followed was no longer the timid, hesitant kiss from earlier. He kissed you hard, tasting himself on your lips.

"Gerard," you murmured, your voice sounding like silk sliding over burning coals. "Take my clothes off, I want to feel your hands on me."

The request, though softly spoken, resonated like an unshakable command in his ears. Gerard swallowed hard, feeling his mouth go dry instantly as his heart pounded against his ribs. He got up slowly, kneeling on the worn rug in front of you. His hands, calloused from the constant friction of technical pens, rose hesitantly to the height of your hips.

He started with your denim shorts. His fingers, though skilled at drawing, trembled visibly as they fought with the metal button and the fabric's resistance. When he finally pulled the jeans down, revealing your legs and the lingerie you had strategically chosen for that night, Gerard stopped.

He wrapped his arms around your hips, pressing his face against your belly with total surrender. The heat of his skin against yours made you shiver, feeling his breath warm your womb. Gerard placed a sequence of soft, slow kisses there, on the curve of your abdomen, moving up millimeter by millimeter as he stood up until he was level with your face again.

Gerard moved his hands down your back, fumbling for the clasp of your lace bra. There, his lack of practice and anxiety became evident. He felt for the hook, trying to undo it with one hand, then using both with feverish concentration, letting out a sigh of contained frustration when the metal insisted on staying fastened. He huffed softly against your neck, his face burning a bright red.

"This thing... whoever designed this definitely didn't want it to be opened by human hands," he grumbled, making you smile against his shoulder.

You guided his hands over yours, helping him find the right angle and the necessary pressure until, with a satisfying click, the bra opened. You let it fall onto the sofa, revealing your breasts to Gerard’s hungry, dilated gaze. Without saying a word, you took his hand and brought it to one of your breasts, feeling his long, calloused fingers wrap around it with care.

"Suck it, Gee," you asked, your voice now low, authoritative, and laden. "Like a good boy."

He didn't need to be prompted a second time. Gerard tilted his head with latent urgency, enveloping your nipple with his warm mouth. The contrast of his warm tongue with the basement’s cool, damp air made you let out a long, deep gasp, your back arching slightly. Gerard moaned incessantly while his tongue worked in slow circles, exploring every texture of your areola.

While he focused obsessively on your breasts, you felt something rigid and pulsing brushing against your thigh. His cock, already uncovered and throbbing, sought friction against your leg instinctively. The contact of his warm pre-cum against your skin was the trigger for your own excitement.

"Is my beautiful little toy desperate again?" you teased, feeling the vibration of his nervous laugh against your chest.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, without letting go of your breast, his voice muffled and raspy. "I can't help it, mommy. It's you. Everything about you leaves me in this state of collapse."

He continued to suck you, now with growing audacity, while his other hand squeezed your other breast with a firmness you didn't expect. The callouses on his fingers created a delicious, rough friction against your sensitive skin.

Feeling that the sofa and the basement floor were no longer enough for the immensity of what was happening, you took him by the hand, guiding him to the bed. You moved with a sense of ownership and security that left Gerard hypnotized; it was as if you were claiming not just the physical space, but his very body and will.

You lay on your sides, facing each other, on top of the messy blanket. Gerard's chest rose and fell frantically. You reached out, making a slow caress on his face, pushing away some strands of sweaty hair sticking to his cheek. Gerard closed his eyes under your touch, looking like a purring cat, totally surrendered to your attention and care.

"Gerard," you said, watching the way the lamp light outlined his profile. "Do you want to really feel me now? Do you want to know what your mommy tastes like?"

He nodded in silence, unable to formulate a complete sentence without stuttering.

"Then lie on your back," you commanded, your voice firm and sweet.

He obeyed instantly, his natural submission shining brighter than ever in the twilight. You moved over him with agility, positioning yourself so you were sitting over his face, legs spread. Gerard moved his trembling hands to your thighs, holding them with desperate firmness as you slowly descended, feeling the heat of his breath against your pussy.

"Now, baby... use your tongue," you instructed, feeling the first wet contact. "But be gentle. Soften your tongue, no need to rush. We have all night."

Gerard began to follow you with the dedication of an exemplary student. At first, his movements were a bit stiff, his tongue too tense from the anxiety of not failing, of being enough for you. But you were there to be the teacher, to mold that raw desire.

"That's it... gentler now, baby boy," you whispered, leaning forward and resting your hands on the bed’s wooden headboard for stability. "Now, insert your tongue. Just the tip. Let me feel you inside."

Gerard let out a deep, vibrant moan, the sound echoing against your body and reverberating in your bones. He began to learn the rhythm, guided by your whispered commands and the sounds of approval you let out as he hit the right angle. His tongue, now more relaxed, explored your entrance and your clit with an insatiable curiosity.

When he finally found the perfect rhythm, Gerard moved his hands to your ass, burying his fingers in the soft flesh and opening it wider. You began to grind against his mouth, a circular, rhythmic movement, while holding tight to the bed’s headboard.

"That's it, baby, just like that!" you exclaimed, his name coming out as a broken, sharp sigh.

Gerard was in a state of pure ecstasy, a sensory overload. He began to move his hips in the air involuntarily, a desperate gesture of someone who needed immediate relief. He wrapped his hands around your waist, keeping you pressed against his face while his tongue worked with growing agility and audacity on your pussy.

Your moans became louder, more frequent, filling the room. You didn't warn him when the peak arrived. Your body tensed like a violin string, your thighs shook violently, and the spasms of orgasm began to shake your frame uncontrollably.

Gerard felt everything. He felt the gush of your pleasure flood his mouth, taking every drop, pressing his face against you, wanting to absorb that experience to never forget. He only stopped when he felt you relax over him, your body heavy, muscles limp, and breath shallow.

"Baby... stop..." you whispered, your voice shaky and exhausted. "It's too sensitive now, I can't take it anymore..."

He pulled away slowly, his lips shiny with moisture, his face marked by the physical effort.

"Sorry, mommy, your pussy tastes so fucking good. I could stay like this for hours," he murmured, his voice sounding raspier and deeper than ever, filling the basement silence. "I'd spend the whole night with you sitting on my face."

Lying back down beside him, you moved slowly, feeling your muscles relaxed and heavy, closing the small distance remaining between you. Your lips found the soft curve of his neck, where Gerard's pulse still hammered erratically and violently against his skin. Feeling the wet, warm touch of your tongue, Gerard let out a sharp gasp, a sound that seemed to be torn from the bottom of his lungs, while his fingers dug hard into the messy sheet. You raised your leg, pinning it around his narrow hip and bringing his body closer.

"Shhhh... it's okay, baby boy," you whispered against the heat of his skin, feeling the involuntary shiver that ran through the young man's lean, bony frame. "It's me. I'm right here with you."

Gerard seemed to be at the absolute limit of his sanity. With trembling, cold hands, he tried to position himself, but insecurity still held him. You took the initiative, firmly and sweetly guiding the base of his cock to your entrance, which was already pulsing in hungry anticipation.

The moment his tip entered, just a brief initial contact, Gerard let out a long moan. He closed his eyes tight and bit his lower lip until it almost bled, feeling the firm, warm, and wet contraction of your pussy welcoming him.

"Mommy... oh, God... thank you... thank you for this," he began to babble, words coming out disconnected and shaky, run over by a brain that could no longer process the magnitude of reality. "You're... you're so warm, your pussy is so soft... I can't... how is this possible? I'm... I'm really inside you now? Please, I beg you, don't tell me to stop..."

Gradually, under your experienced and patient guidance, he entered completely, filling you with a depth that made him let out a dry, noisy sob of pure pleasure and relief.

"Now, baby," you said, your voice sounding like a sweet command as you pulled him into a quick, wet kiss. "Fuck me the way you always imagined you would while you were down here alone."

That was the final trigger. He began to move, slow and shaky at first, feeling the delicious and overwhelming friction, but soon the rhythm began to increase as his youthful confidence took over.

"I imagined... I imagined this every night of my life," he confessed, his voice raspy and deep, interrupted by moans as he buried himself in you. "I used to jerk off to you in this basement, mommy. I looked at my unfinished drawings and could only see your face... I was sure you’d never look at someone like me."

He pushed his hips harder, skin slapping against yours with a rhythmic sound, eyes now open and fixed on yours, overflowing with an adoration that bordered on the manic.

"Before I could even realize... you were already my addiction," he gasped, his voice vanishing in his throat as you kissed him hard, swallowing his moans of surrender.

Gerard went deeper, exploring every limit of your body. His size was a delicious and powerful surprise that filled your every space, making you feel every throbbing vein and every pulse of burning blood running through him. The intensity was such that you felt the pressure in the bottom of your womb.

"You're so tight, mommy..." he murmured, sweat dripping down his pale forehead and onto your chest, mixing with your own. "It's exactly as I imagined in every detail. I can't believe... I can't believe I'm managing to get your pussy this wet... that you're feeling all this because of me..."

He was marvelling, almost in shock, at his own power over you. The fact that a thirty-year-old woman with experience and maturity was moaning his name was something he judged impossible.

"I'm not going to be able to hold on much longer, mommy... I'm... I'm very close." he admitted, his voice thick and wet with the pleasure consuming him.

"Stay on top of me, baby." you ordered, your voice broken by short breaths.

He obeyed promptly, moving with an agility you didn't expect. You grabbed his waist with your legs, holding him tight, and he invaded you again without any shame or hesitation. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed off the walls; seeing your breasts bouncing freely as you moaned loud looking directly at him was the final blow to what little remained of his self-control.

Gerard tried to kiss you desperately, trying to fix the way your body molded perfectly to his.

"Mommy... I'm going to... can I?" he asked, his voice failing in a whisper laden with almost painful need. "Can I come inside you? Please, mommy... let me come in you so you can't forget me tomorrow... so a part of me stays in there... please."

The raw vulnerability in his request, the almost desperate need to leave a physical mark of his existence in you, was what made the moment unforgettable.

"Yes, baby boy, go on, come for me..."

He let out a raspy, prolonged cry, his body tensing to the extreme, his back muscles standing out as he sank as far as he could inside you. You felt the rhythmic spasms of his cock, the pulsations sending waves of heat into your pussy, making you let out a long, loud moan that seemed to last an eternity. Gerard collapsed exhausted on top of you, hiding his face in the warm curve of your neck, his heavy breath against your skin.

You began to make slow, circular caresses on his back, feeling the shoulder blades under the sweaty skin and the tremor that still shook him.

"I don't want to get out of you... ever again," Gerard whispered, his voice becoming playful again.

You laughed softly, the sound vibrating gently in his chest, and planted a loving kiss on his sweaty forehead.

"You need to get out, Gee. We need to breathe a bit," you joked, trying to bring some lightness to the intensity of the moment.

He let out a small protest but eventually slid out of you slowly, lying by your side. The "shy mode" seemed to return instantly; he avoided direct eye contact, his cheeks flushed a vivid shade—you couldn't tell if from extreme physical effort or the sudden, overwhelming awareness of what had just happened between you two.

"(Y/N)?" he called, his voice small, almost a whisper.

"Hi, Gee..."

"Would you... would you go on a date with me?" He blurted out the question with desperate speed before his courage fled completely. "Like... a real date. Outside of the coffee shop counter. And it's okay if you don't want to! I know... you know, it’s not because we... well, you know what happened... it's not because that happened that you have to go out with me out of obligation. I totally understand if this was just a one-night thing for you, or if you think I'm too young or... I just wanted to very much. And if you want to repeat this here too... I swear I wouldn't mind at all..."

He would continue talking for hours, mentally building a huge wall of justifications, theories, and excuses to protect himself from a possible rejection he already expected by habit. You leaned over him, silencing him with a long peck.

"You talk too much, Gerard Way," you whispered against his lips, seeing him finally fall silent and focus all his attention on you.

You reached out and grabbed a piece of scrap paper and wrote down your address and phone number clearly and firmly.

"Pick me up tomorrow at 7:00 PM and don't get lost on the way, since I won't be in the passenger seat to guide you this time."

A slow, wide, and dazzling smile began to spread across Gerard's face. His tiny, slightly misaligned teeth appeared, shining in the yellowish gloom of the basement.

You settled into the pillows, the exhaustion of body and mind finally overcoming the rest of the adrenaline. Instinctively, Gerard hugged you from behind, fitting his body perfectly to yours, as if they were made to measure. In a few minutes, the sound of his breathing became heavy, regular, and deep.

You took the three to your room, lying on your bed. “Gerard, can you keep the camera and come stand right here?” At your request, he stood beside the bed where you pointed, camera in hand roaming up and down your body. Spitting into your hand, you started stroking him, then gesturing to Ray. “Listen, honey, I’m gonna get you to straddle me n’ fuck my tits. I think you can do that. He nodded, nervous, but proceeding to straddle your chest, placing his cock between your tits, using his hands to push them together. Unintentionally, Ray begin grinding, but he obediently stopped when told. “And I get front or back door?” Frank asks, waiting impatiently beside the bed with his arms crossed. You rolled your eyes. “You get to use my face however you want. Is that enough for you?” Considering that’s what Frank has wanted this entire time, he gladly climbs on the bed, kneeling beside you while sliding his cock along your lips.

When Frank moves, Ray moves, and you keep your hand moving along Gerard’s cock. The cameraman, Gerard, gets is sure to get the best shots. The way Ray squeezes your tits together, taking his time really fucking then. Any faster speed, he’d spill. Frank slaps his cock on your tongue, making you stick it out for him to rub his tip all over it and your spitty lips. “I’ll have to get you alone sometime. Usually don’t let a girl suck my cock til I’m done going down on her.” What a douche, but the offers nice. On Gerard’s cock, your hand keeps a steady pace, more than enough to please him. Watching how you whorishly let the three of them use you at one is the equivalent to a good fist fucking. With him being the one with the most hands out of your four, he stands as low on your horizontal body as he with your grip still intact. Slim fingers spread your thighs, pulling the fabric on your short little shorts aside, and your panties, to gently flick your clit. The gentle moan you let out around Frank is enough for him to continue, and feeling the way your hand grips around his cock.

Once you’re wet enough, Gerard slides his fingers inside of you, your back arching your tits further into Ray’s grip. Two skills fingers curling deep inside you, automatically spreading your legs further and encouraging you. Your free hand grips Frank’s thigh, pulling him forward to push deeper down your throat. Of course, he takes the invitation, shakily fucking your throat. “Yes, yes, you like that? Fuck…” Frank stutters, the only talkative one, and Ray silently whimpers, shy to be vocal. Briefly, you pull Frank from your mouth. “F-Faster, you two.” Talking about Ray and Gerard, Gee speeds his fingers up in your soaked cunt. The noise makes each man groan, while you let out loud noises around Frank’s cock. It takes him a minute, but Ray starts confidentially fucking your tits, watching his tip hit your chin with every hard thrust. And now you have Gerard in an iron grip, stroking his with a tight fist while he fingered you. The feeling of being close already began.

Like he predicted, Ray spills all over your chest, knowing it was going to happen if he went any faster. Some cum landed on your chin and neck, mostly on your chest. The fact one already came made Frank more eager, fucking your throat worn lewd noises filling the room. Spit covered his cock, so he pulled out, jerking off in your face. That dazed out expression on your face drove him crazy. “Eyes on me. Look at me until I cum on your pretty face.” Each man paid attention, looking at your doe eyes as Frank’s cum shot in spurts all over your face, catching some in your mouth to swallow. Left was Gee, who judged Ray to climb off you, and then climbed between your legs. Trusting him to not penetrate you while he removed his fingers, he began rubbing his pulsing cock along your clit, hard and fast as you writhed. Gee’s chest began to rise and falls with yours, your moans filling the room louder, reaching over and gripping onto Ray’s used cock to tease him with a firm grip while Gerard finished you. He let out a loud, shaky moan, but let you use his cock as something to hold onto.

Then, of course, Gerard came all over your tummy right after your orgasm washed over you, sobbing in pleasure while the last man to cover you in cum orgasmed. Frank took the camera from Gerard, being sure to get a shot of where the cum landed on you. Face, tits, belly, and then Frank instructing Ray to scoop it and put it in your mouth until most of it was gone. Then the stop recording button was pressed, Gerard dressed, leaving to return with a wet facecloth he grabbed from your towel rack. “Well… how was that?” Gerard asked, wiping you down while you laughed. “Not too bad.” You joked, watching Frank and Ray getting dressed, meanwhile you just grabbed an oversized shirt laying on the floor. “I have another joint. Want some more before yas leave?”

You’ve been taking on guitar lessons for about the last month, and do you ever have a crush on the guy! His name is Frank, a lonely middle aged man who loves music, doing guitar lessons, working half at a music shop and half at a tattoo parlor. The lessons are cheap and relatively close to where you pursue your bachelors, and something that takes your mind off stress. The reason you’ve come to conclusion for your feelings for him is the way your tummy sparks when he helps, the way he pats his thigh to help you keep rhythm, the way he’s so passionate about this, the way he calls you honey, his hot bulky body, his tatted fingers dancing on the fret board, basically everything about him and everything he does. Except you’d never come forward about it. He’s two years over twice your age. But little do you know, Frank himself wishes he could take you and mold you into his sweet girl.

Today, you were a little off your game. You must’ve been starting your period soon, because everything Frank did made you fucking horny. When his fingers adjusted your hand on the neck of the guitar: butterflies. The way he laughed, shaking his head at you and saying something teasing about how silly you are: blushing . And now, where you were sat in front of him, his legs on the outside of yours with your back to his chest, arms wrapped around you tightly: gushing. “This okay? It’ll help you play?” Frank questioned, one hand not touching you and the other on your hand with the guitar pick. You nodded, sighing softly, “‘M just tired, I’m sorry I keep fucking up.” The fact you kept fucking up worried you you’d frustrate him. “(Y/N), honey, don’t beat yourself up. Clearly, there’s something bothering you, but that’s okay. Do you wanna talk, or wanna play?” Helping you strum, while using the fret himself, you relax a little into the touch of him on your back.

Frank knows that he’s a little too close with you, but you’re a sweet girl and he seems to be your favorite person around here. If there was something wrong and you wanted to tell him, he was there to listen. “Well,” you began, incredibly quiet while Frank played the guitar around you, using one of your hands to strum and his other on the fret board making the music come to life. “I guess being very independent, studying away from home, can get a bit tiring. It’s not like I’m not having fun; I’m having plenty of fun. I’ve made good friends, went to parties, caught up in school. But my parents don’t answer the fastest from my messages and calls, so that’s messing me up a bit.” It all makes sense to Frank. You’re craving that parental love, that validation, those check ups to make sure everything is okay and how your time far, far away from home is going. “You’re having fun, just missing love. Hm?” He concludes, spot on as you nod in confirmation.

He sighs. “Well why don’t we keep it simple today? Let’s try a song you already know.” You’re given the song title, one you’ve played countless times, but when you try to play regular tempo and everything, you keep fucking up, resulting in frustration. On your third try, your fuck-ups really start to piss you off. “I don’t think I can even do this today.” “Hey, don’t get like that,” Frank barely even lets you finish before correcting you, “Take it slow, as if you were learning again. You’re still doing good.” Attempting at doing it slow,, the first chord sounds scratchy. When you take a deep, tense breath, about to complain, Frank doesn’t even let you. “Alright, honey, let’s just take a deep breath and get situated. Before you blow your lid.” Looking away with your frustrated pout, Frank moves himself to sit beside you instead, but pats his thigh. Your eyes dart between him and his thigh, but he just gives you that “I’m waiting” look. You take the guitar and sit on his lap.

“It won’t be so hard if you just relax, (Y/N),” you certainly wish he wasn’t talking about the guitar playing skills, “go really slow again. With me.” First, Frank counts, and you start on three. Each string you go to pick, he says the fret number first, letting you match along with him. Almost done the song, you fuck up again, stopping to look at Frank with another frustrated sigh. “Frank-” “Come on, hun! You did so good. Quit putting yourself down like that, and you’ll get somewhere. It was one mess up when you were almost done the song. You’re doing great. Again, with me.” Repeating the process again, slow and steady with his deep voice guiding you through it, but you get a little distracted watching his fingers tap along his thigh, causing you to fuck up again. There’s no frustration this time, because come on, that was your fault reasonably…. And Frank just smiles, corny and placing a small tap to your nose with the same thick, calloused fingers you were staring at. “That’s alright. We still got all the time in the world. I don’t got anyone after you today.”

Another shot, and you successfully get through it without messing up, a small, prideful smile coming to your face along with a blush from Frank’s gentle praise. “That was your very best, honey. See how you just gotta relax sometimes and you can do hard things? Wanna try another song?” Analyzing your exhausted face, your mouth hesitantly opens at first, and Frank knew you were going to say yes just because there was no other option, but you looked so tired. “Actually,” Frank added, “why don’t we just relax here in the studio til you gotta go? We can talk some more.” That option, with or without the additional of your dirty thoughts, sounded best, so you nodded. The feeling of Frank’s hands around your hips made your heart stop for a second, but it was just to scoot you to the cushion beside him while he stood up.

Grabbing two bottles from the mini fridge, he tossed one to you, then took the guitar from you to place back on the guitar stand before sitting next to you. “So, you’ve been lonely. A sweet thing like you shouldn’t be lonely. What can I do?” Frank’s very straight to the point, wanting to help you in anyway he can. There’s plenty of ways you want him to help you, and those are the exact ways he wants to help you, but the idea of you saying it first simply terrified you. To seem unsure, you have a small shrug, taking a sip of water to swallow the truth. “I don’t know what I can even do.” There, still truth, but not about how much you want him. He cocked his head, sighing, “Well, I can help in many ways. I’ve been on this earth longer than you, and assuming I have more experience than you and a different perspective, I could give you advice.” Nervously fiddling with your pick, you think about how to put it. Maybe he can help you with some boy talk. “I’m making friends, but… I thought when I’d go away, there’d be boys interested in me too. Boys don’t really seem interested in me. I’ve even tried dating apps, but they end up being pervs.”

Frank can definitely help with this topic. Except how could boys not be interested? You’re absolutely adorable, intelligent, completely unique. If an old man like Frank wants you, younger boys should. But he shakes his head, remembering how much teenagers have probably changed. “If you feel no boys think you’re as amazing as you are, then either you’re wrong, or they’re blind. Have you tried… different types of men? Different cliques, different personalities, different ages, different standards?” Of course, he had to slip in the age one, unaware of how fuzzy it’d make your mind. Except it’s really hard to lie to Frank with how comfortable he makes you feel. “All of that, but… but age. I haven’t had a lot of, um, sexual experiences, but I’m not inexperienced. I feel someone older would expect more.” Frank laughs, “If you’d like my point of view, that makes you more endearing. I’d want to be associated that way with a girl like you.” Now he’s really teetering over the edge, watching your every language. How you constantly drink some water for the change to look away, how tense you are, how your body betrays your shyness while you completely face him.

Poor girl. You just really need two things: a parental figure and sex. The only way you’re going to get want you want is to say it, and you really, really want to say yes, you just can’t be the one to confirm what you’re saying yes to. That’s completely set, and Frank will do what he needs to do. With that, he stands before kneeling in front of you, a hand on each knee. And you were still avoiding eye contact before he even opened his mouth. “I’m going to need you to look at me, (Y/N).” Once your eyes are him, Frank begins. “I can help you, honey. You’re absolutely fuckin’ gorgeous and the sweetest thing I’ve ever met. You’re also not the only one lonely. It’s been a while f’me too. There’s a lot of factors of why I want you. Yeah, there’s some just plain desire, you’re beautiful and young, but there can be more behind that. ‘S that what you need, honey? Just say yes, and I’m yours.” Every word is exactly what you wanted to hear, and you nodded a little too quickly with how eager you are. “I just… yeah, I want exactly what you’re thinking, Frank. I’m sorry. I hate to sound desperate, I just want…. I want you really, really bad.”

“Oh, sweetie, don’t worry about being eager. It’s cute - no hiding your face either, come on.” You immediately went to hiding your face, but he yanked you into his lap as soon as he sat next to you. Frank didn’t let you hide your face, cupping your face and guiding it right to his while he twirled your hair between his fingers. “There, get to see your pretty face. Are you gonna keep hiding it, or gonna listen to me?” With your eyes darting between his eyes and lips, you shook your head no, resulting in a growing smile from him. “Atta girl. Now we know what you want, but no explicitly. Now that I took you in my lap, I think that’s enough for in exchange, you tell me in detail what you want me to do to you.” Obviously, you whine in disagreement, but he gives you a disapprovingly look. How can you take his disapproving look when all you crave is his praise? “I know you must’ve pictured some stuff. You didn’t think twice about saying yes.” He wasn’t letting you out of this, clearly.

Taking a deep breath, you collected your thoughts, looking at your lap but not hiding your face like he said. One hand stays in your lap, but the other played with the fabric of his shirt, around the neck where his tattoos peaked from. “Like… sex?” You stall, making Frank laugh. “You know what I mean. You’re not that stupid. You’re a smart girl.” Squirming the slightest bit, licking your lips subconsciously, you begin, “I’ve always really wanted to know what a guys tongue feels like o-on me.” Pausing, you swallow the build up in your mouth from it watering over the look of Frank. “And… letting you do what you want to me. I think you’d know what I need. I think you could help me.” “That’s right, smart girl. You know I know what you need. Do you want that?” Collapsing into him, you just buried your face in his neck, unable to show your blushing face anymore, especially with how much you need this. “Oh, Frank, please! I’m so sorry, but I just need it so bad. I need to know what it feels like. Please just give me it.” There’s no way you could beg like this get away with something gentle, considering Frank turned hard almost immediately. When your thighs curled up to your chest, squirming around on his lap like it was nothing with your face to his chest.

Forcing you to stand up, he pulled you around by your hips like you were his doll, before bending you over the arm of the sofa. Your pants and underwear were ripped from you, causing you to squirm shyly at the fact Frank groaned at the view of your cunt. He kneeled, tongue diving eagerly between your folds, listening to your surprised gasps as he held right to his face. “Oh my god, honey, you taste so sweet.” Frank mumbles, out of breath while sloppy travelling between your clit and tasty hole. “How’s that feel? D’you like my tongue?” “Yes, yes, daddy! I really like it!” You can’t help but moan while pushing back on it while he growled into you. The fact you want to call him daddy, he can totally fuck with. Except he wanted to thoroughly eat you out, but the name made his cock ache. So, he spread you open one last time to spit on your pussy, before he dropped his own pants and lined up with your tight pussy. Ever so slowly, he pushed just the tip in, letting you quiver around him with little whines. “Fuck, fuck, my sweet girl’s so tight. I bet I could get you to cum on just the tip of I tried enough. My sweet, sensitive girl.” As he pushed pass another ring of resistance, you sharply cried out, gripping the couch with how he was halfway inside of you. More praise came from Frank, whose hips were near trembling to slam into your pretty little cunt. “You’re taking me sososo well. So lucky to have you right here, over an old man’s couch. Wish I could see more of this body, though. D’you think you could take your shirt off, honey?” Still eager to please, you quickly maneuver your shirt off, unclasping your bra immediately as well.

And the moment you did, you were full of Frank, enough to make you feel like cumming on the spot of he went near your clit. Your moans filled the room, out of breath just from being filled by him. “What, honey? Daddy’s cock too big for you?” Slowly, he pulled out, with a slow, controlled thrust back in, and another groan. “So fucking tight. You’ll be screaming like a good girl in no time.” Being slowly, lovingly fucked allowed you to adjust to his size, long moans being dragged from your throat. All your brain could think about was his praise. “Fuckin’ soaked all from just me teaching you guitar.” “Thereee ya go, nice n’ easy, in n’ out.” “Tight little cunt is filled to the brim. God, I think you’d fall apart if you took anything bigger than me.” “But you won’t be taking bigger than me, will you? You’re mine now, aren’t you, sweetie?” You couldn’t help beginning to bounce back onto him, needing more. “Yes, daddy! All yours, ‘m pussy is all yours. All yours.” Big hands suddenly held you still, continuing to pump in and out slow.

Frank even tsked in disapproval. “Didn’t say you could do that, honey. Daddy didn’t say fuck back onto him. Can’t be getting too needy. Gotta let daddy stay in control. Do you think you can do that? Just let daddy pump this pussy.” With that, he uses one hand on your back to pump firmly, not fast yet, while the other wraps around to pull you up. His tatted fingers trace along the sculpture of your chest, letting goosebumps rise before touching any sensitive skin. Your cunt fluttered around him when he pinched your nipple softly, rolling it between his fingers. “Perfect tits too. Tell me, you play with them while you rub your pretty clit? Do you rub and tease them, or pinch and pull them?” Every movement he mentions, he preforms on your tit, sticking to pulling on them because of how you whine. “I said tell daddy.” He reminds you. “‘M sorry, I’m sorry, I can’t think with you inside me, daddy. Feels g-good. I p-play with them like this thinking of you.” “Good girl. Using the little cock dumb brain to think just enough f’me.” Frank praised, before fucking you ruthlessly. Deep, fast, hard, making your noises fill the room.