Where dreams become true~

You and Gerard loved horror. The genre was a major common interest when you first met many moons ago. You bonded over the movies, comics, and novels full of bright red splatters and far too much nudity thrown in unnecessary scenes.

Tonight's full moon gleamed through patterns of smoked clouds above Gerard's house. Gerard stumbles out the front door with crossed arms and hunched shoulders to fight the biting breeze of October, shuffling over to you quickly with a crooked smile and hair falling into his eyes. He runs his hands quickly up and down his exposed arms while greeting you with a quiet, "Hey," and a nod to the door. Your cheeks warm at the sight of him, a stark contrast to the outdoor surroundings. You follow his lead past the front door and through squeaking stairs into the basement, watching his broad shoulders and unbrushed hair fade into the dim interior.

When inside you toss your small overnight bag somewhere onto the ground and kick your wet shoes off semi-near it. You glance around Gerard's room as you shimmy off your coat, smiling to yourself at the piles of clothes shoved into not-so-hidden corners in an attempt to appear clean for you.

"So," Gerard announces, "what're you feeling for tonight?" He wanders to a stack of DVD's organized in his own chaos while watching you watch him.

You shrug in response, "Isn't it your pick this time?"

He clicks his tongue with a nod in realization, turning and crouching to scan through his collection. You wander over to his Star Wars sheeted bed across from the TV and plop onto the worn-in mattress, sinking into the springs with each shuffle as you wait for Gerard. His finger glides across the plastic disc case covers as he evaluates his options with small hums to himself, finally landing on one and sliding it from the shelf. He flashes the cover to you from across the room with a sharp smile, "Texas Chainsaw Massacre."

You groan dramatically into the stale air, "My God, seriously?"

"What? It's a classic!" Gerard laughs, "C'mon, you can't deny its greatness."

You blink at your boyfriend slowly and mumble, "We watched that like a week ago," then raising your voice slightly in an attempt to exaggerate your point, "and the last half hour is just screaming!"

Gerard is already clicking open the DVD case and hitting the power button on the player as you mutter, inserting the disc and scrambling for the remote on the ground. He tosses the remote to you as the TV flashes to the movies selection screen, illuminating Gerard's side profile in the dim room. You absent mindedly click around the volume buttons as Gerard rises and makes his way to you, joining in bed by your side with a grunt and a dip in the mattress. You press play with a glance to Gerard and the sound of high-pitched strings fill the basement. You stay seated with your knees to your chest and stare at Gerard, waiting for him to pick up on your usual que. He settles into the bed with his upper body resting on propped pillows and open arms, and you finally fold into his warmth with your head resting on his soft stomach and legs curled to interlace with his. You sling an arm across him as he readjusts his comforter to cover your lower half comfortably, finishing with a large hand softly resting on your hip as you both watch the opening credits roll.

As the movie plays your eyes wander to the hand weighing against you in casual observation. Light blue veins trail from his knuckles and wrap around hidden tissue under pale skin, disappearing past his wrist as his thumb begins small drags across your hip.

Meanwhile Gerard's mind is racing. Watching you wait to be in his arms with big anticipating eyes, hearing your soft sighs of peace, and the bearing weight on his lower stomach is simply too much for him. You've been with him not even 15 minutes!! His heart is racing like crazy in your proximity as always, praying to god his mind can stay on the movie for just this one night. It's not like you didn't want Gerard's breath fanning your neck every time you saw him, but he felt so dirty to think it so often. Christ, he could hardly make it through one night without envisioning biting into your flesh or you slapping him arou—

You interrupt his thoughts with a quiet clearing of your throat and his head snaps down to your figure in surprise as though you caught his absent mind. You feel his body jerk back and his stomach flex against your head, "Jeez, scared already?" you laugh.

Gerard huffed a half-laugh, "Yea...I guess," he stammered. His cheeks warmed by the second to your voice, thankful you can't see his pink skin from where you lay.

Gerard removes his hand from your hip to tuck black strands behind his ear out of nervous habit, placing his hand back against you with a brushing readjustment. His hand twitches from relaxed to a slight grip across the curve of your hip and back again, almost as if he's unsure of what he wants or simply fighting the inevitable. You feel him sharply inhale with a subtle shake of his abdomen against you, causing your eyes to flicker to the indecisive hand.

"...You okay?" You question softly yet smooth.

Gerard clears his rough throat before replying with a shrug, "Yea, yea. 'M fine."

You stifle a giggle at his attempted attitude and nuzzle further into his old band tee, inhaling the sharp worn smell of Gerard in musky cotton. The film plays on for a solid 10 minutes until you feel a sign of life behind you. Gerard begins to slowly rub his thumb across your hip, dipping down to graze your bone under his sprawled ivory hand. His small gesture makes your breathe hitch at the drag on the comforter, but your eyes stay glued to the screen. He continues the lazy drag casually as though he were comforting you from the screaming and hook-hanging a few feet away. That is until he lifts his hand from your body to turn the TV up a few notches, then snakes his hand under the comforter to land on your hip again. His fingers ghost where your thighs peek from your pajama shorts as he continues the taunting drag of his thumb with firm pressure, sinking his fingertips into your soft skin for security. The movie twists into flashing pictures and incoherent talking under Gerard's spur of confidence. However, the real fun is pushing to see how far he'll go before outwardly begging for your attention like an impatient dog.

His fingers stay sunk on you, occasionally squeezing in silent subtlety. You stay latched to his abdomen with relaxed muscles, moving once to rub at your eye unbothered, then back to your exact positioning. Gerard exhales with a small impatient huff, causing a fighting smile to ghost your lips. He maneuvers his testy hand to slowly slide down the front of your hip, drifting past your hip bone lightly and dipping mere centimeters into your shorts waistband, springing goosebumps down your neck as your stomach tremors in sensitivity. He continues the bold moves as you suck in a small breathe, dragging his hand up to skim your stomach as your shirt begins to bunch around his wrist the higher he goes.

"Gerard," you call out. He freezes, his palm nearing your waist, body below you stiff in tensity. You shift to sit-up with his hand still latched to you, turning to face him directly with an attempted stern look.

The dingy basement covers his blush in part, but his shot pupils and wide eyes of guilt give him away like no other, "...Yea?" He replies meekly as though his hand isn't halfway up your shirt.

You shake your head with a smile, "You're unbelievable, y'know? Can't even make it through one movie with you," you tease while inching in slowly.

He swallows hard and darts his mostly black eyes between your eyes and lips, "We've seen this one before," he breathes out with a small shrug.

You halt your dip to Gerard and laugh, "Did you plan that?"

"Maybe," Gerard replies, lifting his body from the bedframe towards you impatiently. His fingertips dig into your waist and pull you closer to him as he rises, clashing his lips into yours. The quick action drags a small yelp from your throat that Gerard swallows whole, pushing himself forward to be as close as possible. Your hands fly to his shoulders to stabilize your weight against his as he deepens the kiss with a lean. Your nails wander up the back of his neck and trail into the roots of his hair, pushing your face back into Gerard's and tugging his unwashed strands to tilt his head up. A muffled whine escapes Gerard at the sharp pull of his hair and he drags his hands down your waist to your hips, squeezing the plush flesh. You hold him in place and inch back for a gasp of air then shift to rise on your knees, gaining a height leverage to your boyfriend. Gerard's eyes eagerly follow your every move as you slightly tower him; He watches your rapidly rising chest, gasps of air, and wrinkled clothes in pure adoration.

You swing a leg to the other side of his body and hover inches over his lap, dropping one hand to your side as the other tracks from his neck to his jawline. You lean back into Gerard's pleading eyebrows and parted lips to kiss him slowly. You retreat to tilt your head to the opposite side of his face, parting your lips more with a slightly delayed kiss. You angle back the initial way, this time grazing his lips with your tongue and a cupping of his jaw. The anticipation and gentleness sends a jolt through Gerard, drawing a groan from his throat as he succumbs to your hold. Your hands roam in small scrapes down his neck and behind his ears, making the boy shutter in your grasp.

He leans into your kisses eagerly, parting his lips to welcome your warm spit and tongue against his own. His fingers dig into your hips in need of something to grab onto, further fueling his cry for friction by attempting to pull your weight down and into his lap. You feel the light tug and plant your knees in the mattress in resistance. You can't help but smile against his lips at his physical pleas. Gerard's impatience only grows in your amusement and teasing body, a small groan escaping his mouth in annoyance as he quickly drops his hands to your thighs. He wraps his hands around you to engulf the back of your thighs, dragging you into his lap with a hard pull and spread of your legs around his hips. His pull is quick and strong, unexpectedly strong. The tent of his pajama pants immediately pushes against your thin shorts and straight to the growing throb of your clit, pushing a breathy gasp past your lips.

Gerard keeps you held in place as he pushes his hips into yours. He uses your shocked gasps as opportunity to duck his head down to your jaw, planting sloppy open-mouth kisses along the bone and trailing it down your neck. The cold basement makes the wet patches left along your neck a sharp contrast to the heat of your skin. Your hands frantically hold onto Gerard's shoulders while you try to stabilize your rapidly growing breath. His strong grasp on you slides back to your hips and he keeps you held down while pushing up, slowly forcing your hips back and forth, dragging you across his erection with a drawn out Fuuckk against your neck.

Your eyes flutter at the vibration of his voice against your neck and the way he uses you for his own pleasure. Gerard speeds your rocking to a pace that causes his head to drop to your shoulder with a chocked gasp. A smile grows across your lips as you antagonize, "God, you're needy today, huh?"

"You're a fuckin' tease," he mumbles into your hair, " jus prancin' around in those tiny ass shorts and acting like it's nothin," he whines with his last words, though it's unknown if it's at the image of your ass in the shorts or the feeling of your nails creeping into the roots of his hair.

Your fingers run across the nape of his neck and up into his long hair with one hand, "No idea what you're talking about," you tease back while clenching your thighs around his frame. Gerard stifles a moan against your collarbone, biting down lightly and mouthing at the annoying fabric of your shirt. You glide your hands down his back in light scrapes that send chills through his spine, landing your grasp on his forearms and squeezing for attention with a hushed, "Baby?" Gerard slows your drags and props his jaw on your shoulder with a mumbled hm? in thought, "get on top of me, would you?"

Gerard stops moving you altogether and jerks his head back to look at you. His face is flushed crimson at your directness, but when you put on pleading eyes and tilt your head slightly, he can't help but obey immediately. He slides one hand down to grab the back of a knee while the other goes up to your back, flipping you both over quickly as you land softly against his pillow with a giggle, your hair cascading to frame your face perfectly. He's totally gonna fuck the shit outta that pillow when you leave. Gerard quickly sinks his knees comfortably into the mattress while sitting up in-between yours, eagerly throwing his shirt off and into a pre-existing pile of dirty clothes near. Your eyes widen hungrily as you giggle an olala! at his pale, soft skin, your vision b-lining to the dark strip of hair that starts at his belly button and disappears past his pants waistband. He catches your stare and takes it as an invitation to strip further, fumbling his hands to hook onto his pants without thinking.

You catch his fast-moving wrists with your hand, "Woah patience Gerard, patience," you assure with a sinister scheme. Gerard looks up at you through thick eyelashes and nods back in understanding. "C'mere" you whisper, and he rabidly lunges to hover you entirely, diving down to kiss you. His long hair falls past his face and grazes your skin, so you comb through the loose strands with your fingers, tucking them behind his ears for better access. The gentle gesture wrecks Gerard, his knees falter slightly under his weight as a groan floods your mouth.

You maintain simply kissing Gerard, pushing away any attempts of additional contact he tries with intent. Each pull of your lips from his teeth, jaw turn of redirection, and swat of his hips from yours fuels Gerard with pent-up need. His cock is begging for attention, leaking uncomfortably into his boxers, and you won't even let him use your leg for friction!!! After all, once he's stopped fighting for attention is when you treat him. He keeps at your simple kisses implied, loosing the will to push for what he wants. You interrupt another kiss with a head jerk to the side and Gerard huffs, "I didn't even do anything!"

You laugh lightly, "Yea, not that time," and snake your hands around the hem of your shirt, sliding it off to expose a black bra with equally dark lace trim, nipples poking against the thin padding.

Gerard swallows hard at the sight of you; eyes drinking in your frame and curves, bones and all. You lean up to kiss Gerard again, swiping your tongue across his lip as your hand guides his face to your jaw, permitting him to move only when you choose. He moves to your jaw with your lead, peppering kisses and moving down your neck as your hand stays knit in his hair, pawing at his roots to stay still where his devotion can be displayed. His lips move feverishly against the heat of your skin, sucking harshly and biting til you're a red and purple whining mess. He brings a hand to your breast, grazing his fingers lightly over your barely covered nipple to tease. Your fingers tighten against his scalp with a gasp, an ankle swinging over his lower back for contact.

Your mind is buzzing with the feeling of Gerard flooding your every sense, especially his muffled moans vibrating against your neck in getting drunk off of you. You slide your free hand down your stomach carefully to ensure Gerard won't notice the sudden movement. Your fingers graze past your lower stomach and into your shorts, slipping directly under your panties and to your throbbing clit. Your free leg automatically slides out to give yourself room as your fingers move in tight circles against screaming nerves, a moan leaving your slack jaw. Gerard bites down harder against your neck, spreading his hand to engulf your breast and squeezing lightly to test his allowed extents. Your fingers dip further and slide through your soaked folds, feeling for as much wetness you can gather. Your finger moves to sink into yourself, your back arching slightly off of the mattress the deeper you inch as ragged breaths fill Gerard's ear. You add a second finger, biting down on your lip as you start slowly pumping your fingers in and out. The combination of Gerard feasting on your neck vampire-like and fullness of your fingers is otherworldly, though his thick fingers would definitely illicit near screams.

You dig your heel into Gerard's lower back, dragging his hips down until his erection comes into direct contact with the knuckle beneath your shorts. A high pitched whine springs from Gerard at the unexpected contact. He lifts himself from the bruise-fest made of your neck to look in between your bodies, his eyes trailing your arm down to shorts and panties stuffed around your wrist, hand moving back and forth against yourself as obscenely wet sounds mix with gasps. On top of that was the tent in his Batman pajama pants being pushed against your hand. You continue to push his dick against you as he watches you get off, just how he did to you before. Gerard moves a hand to squeeze the pillow beside your face, whining, "Oh, fuck," as his eyes drift to meet your half-lidded ones. His eyes squeeze shut with parted lips as he begins to rut against your hand, tip grazing against the hard points of your knuckle. Gerard moans breathily above you as he moves to match the pace of your thrusting hand. The weight of his hips against you pushes your fingers deeper into yourself, the heel of your palm pushing against your clit with each thrust. The forced pressure and depth rips moans from your mangled throat, your back arching against Gerard's stature. Your free hand slides up to Gerard's wrist beside your head, digging your nails into his skin as your head tilts further into the pillow. He hisses at the burn of your grab but quickens the drag of his cock against you. You push to keep with his pace, wrist burning and hips twitching, your nails dig deeper for some form of release.

Gerard's hips falter with a twitch as one hand comes down to slap the side of your thigh, his hand lingering to dig into your plush skin as he pants above you. You kick your heel at his back in an attempt to slide his pants down, "Take 'ts off," you babble. He scrambles to move his hand from your thigh to his pants, stopping the tangle of hips for only a few seconds. Within those seconds you slip your hand from your shorts as he slides both his boxers and pants down his thighs in one motion. You smile greedily at the sight of his flushed and dripping cock, awfully prideful in your ability to push him to this point. Before Gerard can move to go back against you, you bring your slick-covered fingers to his tip, slathering his length in your wetness, mixing your fluids to a clouded white. He chokes out a string of moans, slipping grunts of your name and whined fuck's as you begin to stroke him. Your eyes glue to his furrowed eyebrows as your thumb swipes his tip with each pump, his head dropping in surrender to you. Your wrist glides against his length, altering between fast and slow strokes to watch the way his hips try to chase your hand.

You stroke him a few more times before stopping abruptly, his shoulders drop with a defeated whine that's burrowed in your shoulder, "Pleasepleaseplease, don't—why'd you stop," Gerard pleads.

You feel his waist with your free hand, running your hand up and down his ribs, "You wanna cum now or inside?" you question. Gerard's head rises from your comfort with raised brows, "your choice, you've been good enough tonight to pick," you tease.

Gerard's lips run faster than his brain can function, stuttering out, "A-ah, uhm, inside?"

You beam and reply softly, "Good. Now, can't do much with these in the way, huh?" you motion to the rest of your clothes with your eyes. Gerard nods quickly, sitting back to shimmy your shorts and panties down your legs, throwing the pieces in opposite directions of his room, secretly hoping you'll give up on looking for your panties in the morning when they're not with the other discarded clothes.

Gerard settles back over you, holding you open with a hand on your inner thigh and the other planting your hips against his sunken mattress, his fingers burning into your sensitive skin. You grab onto his shoulders as your teeth decorate your lip with harsh indents, watching him line himself against you, glancing up at you to watch your face as he pushes in inch by inch. Your mouth drops as your eyebrows knit at the fullness, pulsing around Gerard until he bottoms out with a heaving chest. His nails dig into you, crescent moons left semi-permanent under his chipped nail polish.

He begins moving, slow at first while watching over every feature in your face take the never-ending shock of his dick against your walls. You gasp Gerard's name when his tip kisses your cervix, moving a hand up to hold the back of his neck. His cock twitches at the sound of your voice, speeding up his thrusts to drag more from you. He maintains a speed fast enough to build up friction but keep you crying for more, your hand scraping down his shoulder and arm to mark as incoherent curses push past your mouth and against his fallen hair. Gerard's eyes squeeze shut as your pleads build in volume, trying so, so, hard to keep it together for you. His hips snap against yours as his mind is trying to ignore the image of his cock disappearing into you and coming out slick, the painfully red marks he left on your neck, and the way your hips jerk under his hold. Ok, so not helping. He removes his hand from your thigh and brings it to your clit, circling fast and hard to bring you as close as he is to the edge.

You scream his name as your legs scramble to embrace his body, "Fuckfuckfuckfuck, Gerard I—ohmygod," you word-vomit into the basements now humid air, Gerard's hips stuttering against yours as girlish moans leave his scrunched face.

"C'mon, baby, cum with me," he pants with a dip of his head against your collarbone, biting down as your vision blurs. Your body convulses against his with his final rabid thrusts, and you clench around his cock with a throw of your head back. Gerard holds your hip against his as he buries fully into you, warm ropes of cum spilling deep inside as he licks the sting of fresh bites to soothe.

Gerard collapses his weight fully on you in exhaustion. Your chests sync in heaves of air as you wipe a sheen of sweat from your brow, hand dropping to nestle in Gerard's damp hair with small pets. Your breaths simmer to chocked puffs of air after a few moments of silence. You stroke Gerard's hair then tug lightly, "You're kinda suffocating me."

He murmurs a mhhh against your skin, absorbing your warmth a few moments more before lifting his upper body from yours, slowly pulling out of you with a hiss. He sighs before moving to lay next to you on propped elbows, looking down at you with a small sideways smirk. He begins to sit up, "Gonna grab a rag or shirt or some shit real quick."

You reach out to grab his shifting arm, "Hold on," Gerard looks at you with a quirked brow, "can we just...stay for a second?"

His eyes flash from yours to your lips, quickly darting to your exposed body before returning to your blown pupils, "Yea, course," he replies.

Being left home alone, Frank and Gerard had plenty to do while you went to your appointment. “I’ll probably be an hour or so. I’m going to run a few errands as well.” You reminded them while putting your shoes on, approaching the door and flashing them both a sweet smile. “Be good, boys.” Both men nodded, sitting at the table eating some filling breakfast you made as they exchanged goodbyes. Both were always well behaved while you were gone, but Gerard had the urge to disobey the rules of nothing sexual while you weren’t there. Again, the rule was never disobeyed, but it would make sex ten times hotter knowing they’re breaking the rules. Plus, it was unusual for Gerard to be thinking about breaking rules. That was Frank’s job, the one who was typically punished. Touching himself without permission, cumming without permission, pissing his pants to make a mess. But this time the bad dog was Gerard.

After eating, Frank and Gerard would get up and clean. Considering you made the food, they did the clean up. Gee washed, Frankie dried, meaning Gerard was usually done first doing the first steps. Once the dishes were washed, Frank reaching up to put the dishes away, Gerard crept up behind him. Wrapping his arms around Frank, Gerard slid his hands along the shorter man’s ribs underneath his shirt, pressing himself firmly against Frank. It didn’t hit Frank immediately, until feeling Gerard biting at his fluffy ear, making him squirm and try to turn around only to realize Gerard has him trapped against the counter. “G-Gee!” He stammered with an awkward laugh, realization fully hitting him, the one usually humping against Gerard to get caught when you’d get home. “The fuck ya doing?” As he asked, he felt Gerard’s hands travelling higher, smoothing over his chest. There was no response, just a soft groan from Gerard while burying his nose to get the scent off his hair deep between Frank’s ears.

Frank squirmed enough to turn around, Gerard’s hands now on Frank’s back while nibbling and kissing on his neck. “Gerard, seriously, what do you think you’re doing?” “Wanna have some fun, Frankie.” A hand hooked under the bend of Frank’s knee, hoisting it to Gerard’s waist so their crotches press together. The other hand holds Frank’s waist in place, hardening against each other. A moan slips from Frank, trying to suppress his mind from getting cloudy with dirty thoughts. “Gerard! We a-at least need to go to another room. If she walks in, we’re right in the scene!” At Frank’s suggestion, Gerard shakes his head no, before bringing Frank to the ground with him and mounting him on the floor to begin frotting more. Frank’s hands gripped onto Gerard’s hips, given up on the sudden good boy mindset and turning to pleasure. The two eagerly rubbed against each other, moaning and pawing at each other, completely enjoying it and unknowing to you returning minutes later.

Not even five minutes down the road, you got a call about the cancellation of your appointment. The errands weren’t necessary yet, so there was no point going for that far drive and back for little duties. Instead, you took a small drive to loop around back home. Frank heard your keys, the opening of the door. But when he warned Gerard, Gerard was laying down on Frank with his face buried in Frank’s neck, continuing to drag his hips along the others. “Gee, Gee, she’s coming!” He whisper hollered, but it was too late, your steps into the place guiding you to see the two puppies humping each other. Both of them automatically looked up with guilty, open-mouth expressions, movements stopping. Immediately, you rage, “Hey! Seriously? Get up!” The two scrambled to their feet, shamefully hard and unable to even look you in the eye. “Not even an attempt to explain yourselves? Nothing? Complete silence?” Still no answer, resulting in you sighing. “Get to the bedroom.”

In the bedroom, you instructed both to strip, leaving no way for them to hide their raging hard ons. You got undressed yourself, but only to your underclothes so they remained teased, standing in front of them while they sat on the edge of the bed. “What should I even do with you two? ‘S mommy’s first day off, and I need to punish both of you on it!” Ears down in shame, they both continued being quiet. They knew not to talk back. “You’re both getting punished, but whoever started it is being put in the worse situation. Spill.” Frank was quick to reveal it was Gerard, immediately pointing at him, who had that extra guilty look on his face. Your eyebrows raised, a little laugh escaping you. “My good pup’s gotten a bit rotten, I see. Frank’ll get the pleasure of undressing me, then. Come on, Frankie, sit.” At your demand, Frank gets to his knees, eagerly staring up. Tapping your waistband, he raises slightly, biting on the fabric to pull down your legs. Then you put your back to him, his eyes dragging from your ass to the clasp of your bra, which he stands and unclips.

Once you’re undressed, you lay on the bed. “Gerard.” You call, not evening bothering for any nicknames. Spreading your legs, Gerard crawls up to you, hips settling between yours. But you make him sit back, grabbing the cock ring from the bedside drawer and handing it to him. Gerard stretches it over to his base, groaning at the tightness, and how your spit slick hand lubes his cock. “Come on. Put it inside, and don’t move.” Obediently, he slides pass your wet cunt’s resistance until deep inside, whining and head dropping to your chest. “C-Can I-” “Don’t ask for anything, either of you,” you cut off Gerard, “Just listen to me.” Standing patiently to the side was Frank, unsure what you’re going to do, considering it’s usually one pup being punished. “C’mere. Stand here for a second.” As he assumes the position you want, you spit in your hand, and demand Gerard to do the same. Your hand wraps around Frank’s length, pumping it wet just a few times. “Now get inside Gee.” Being completely eager, Frank mounts Gee from behind, entering with a sharp thrust that makes them both cry out.

“Both of you can move. You’re allowed.” The opportunity seems generous enough, Gerard’s hips moving to pull out and push back inside of you, while also pushing back on Frank thrusting inside of his tight hole. Nothing gentle or slow, both desperate to feel good. “Wasn’t even gone an entire half hour, and you two are acting like some horny strays. Thought you’d know better yourself, Gee.” He moans at a slap you give him across the face, shaking his head, “‘M sorry, mama. Wanted- I really wanted Frankie.” “Does that mean mama doesn’t spoil you pups enough? You’re both ungrateful mutts. And Frank, get closer. Put your weight on Gee. Give him some resistance to squirm.” The position allows Frank to be closer to you, resulting in a slap to his cheek as well. Each pup stills rams in and out of what they can, already feeling an approaching orgasm. “Mommy- Mommy, really wanna cum in him,” Frank moans. Gerard nods as well, whimpering loudly as he cock grows extra sensitive from the cock ring. “‘M g-gonna-” “Stop.” “What?” You huff, “I said stop, mutts.”

Each stops thrusting, and were extra upset for you to instruct them to switch positions after being so close. Nonetheless, Frank slides into your cunt, and Gerard’s red throbbing cock into Frank’s tight behind. “Alright. Again.” Frank moans loudly, hands squeezing your thighs while his ass gets aggressively filled with each thrust, as does your cunt with his choppy thrusts. Unlike Gerard, he tries feeling you up, hands leading up to your tits before you push his hands away so he’s not allowed to massage them. “Gotta make you f-feel good, mommy!” He complains with a pouty look, but you don’t give in. “Don’t need either of you to make me feel good. Really think I’m that dependent on other of you?” You keep a harsh grip of Frank’s ears, holding his head up as he cries out. “Could always send you mutts elsewhere. Get some better, well-behaved puppies.” As you speak, Gerard’s hips secretly slow, knowing he can’t cum but how Frank clenches around him and the feeling of the cock ring threatens him to spill quickly.

You quickly notice, laughing, “Keep fucking him, Gee. Don’t stop unless I say so.” “I can’t, mommy, I can’t…” Gerard whines, and clearly, you have no choice. “Alright, both of you lay down. Now.” Switching places, the two lay at the top of the bed, staring at your naked form propped up on your elbows with your legs spread. Sucking your fingers until they’re spitty, you place them on your clit, rubbing tight circles that allow you to let out a sigh. “It’s so nice to actually pleasure myself while you two are pent up. Must suck when you can’t cum, hm? That’s what bad dogs get, though.” Neither of them touch themselves, despite the urges, just because you haven’t said so. Meanwhile you get to feel the minimum amount of pleasure you could still cum from. “You’re both so hard too,” you giggle, letting them get embarrassed over it. “Especially Gerard. You’re near purple from that ring, baby. Bet it’s so sensitive. Frankie, be a good boy and see how sensitive he is?” Doing as you say, Frank just lightly skims over Gerard, who sucks in a deep breath while he tip leaks precum.

Pouting at Gee, he begins to beg, “Please give me something. Anything.” Despite rolling your eyes, you show some mercy. “Both of you touch yourselves for me. Real fast, but don’t cum.” Each of their bodies near shake at being able to get pleasure, after being edged twice. It’s getting harder and harder for them, but you don’t real care. Plus, the sight is something you get to rub your clit faster too, watching with your own noises falling from your lips. “So wet for my puppies - mmmm,” you exaggerate your moans while sucking your juices off your fingers before resuming, “So tasty, too. A shame neither of you get any, isn’t it?” Whines in response come from both of them, who both seem to be struggling to resist cumming all over their fists. Their noises grow louder, and of course Gerard starts begging. “Please, need to- need to-” But you shake your head no. “Not until mama does. Will one of you pass me the vibrator?” Before Frank can even think, Gerard grabs it, wanting you to cum faster so they can.

Both of them briefly stop while you touch yourself more, until you direct them to keep going. Despite getting close yourself, you still mention to the how they’re not allowed to cum until you say so. Even if Gerard has it rougher, Frank’s getting more squirmy, hips rocking and twitching, “Mommy, G-Gee’s right, it’s getting really really hard to hold back.” “I know, I know. I’m teasing my poor boys so bad. You know I gotta do it if you’re bad, don’t you?” Gerard and Frank nod, near tearing up even if they agree. You feel your orgasm nearing, forcing yourself to keep your legs open so they can both watch as you begin moaning for both of them, making it even harder for them to see you starting to orgasm. Your back arches, shakes overcoming you while you orgasm, and you hear the men jerking themselves off trying to restrain themselves in dirty moans.

— stalker!gerard who keeps various polaroids of you. while most of them are innocent in nature, one of his most treasured ones was taken from outside your window, after you had gotten out of the shower. he gets off to the fact you had no idea he was there.

— stalker!gerard who has tupperware containers crammed full with usb ports filed with pictures of you, most are shakily taken from your closet, or outside your window. in the videos all you can hear is his heavy breathing.

— stalker!gerard DRYHUMPING!! he’ll hump anything that even remotely smells like you, even better if it’s the real deal. loves humping your thigh, sheepishly hiding his face in the nape of your neck while doing so.

— stalker!gerard who leaves hickies on every inch of your skin. he feels deeply insecure that you’ll leave him, and the only way to prevent this is too mark his territory. he loves if you do it back, he proudly shows the marks off.

— stalker!gerard who takes all your clothes. you don’t even notice they’re gone, since they were dirty. he loves how they smell like you, especially fond of stealing your underwear. he sleeps with one of your old shirts pulled over his pillow, huffing your scent.

— stalker!gerard who has a collection of porno magazines, all of the models have a feature of yours. same hair color, skin color, or body type. it looks like some kind of arts n’ crafts project with all the pages he has cut or ripped out.

the air backstage at maxwell’s is thick with the ghosts of the past and the electric hum of anticipation. your mind is a tangled mess of what ifs and almosts, a reel of moments playing on a loop- gerard’s body pressed against yours in the cramped bunks, his breath hot on your neck as he mapped out constellations on your skin with his lips, the silent promises whispered in the dark that vanished with the morning light.

projekt revolution had been a turning point, a supernova of tension that left you and gerard becoming closer, the gravitational pull between you undeniable to everyone but yourselves.

was it all just part of the show? a carefully constructed performance for the fans, a convenient outlet for his loneliness when the roar of the crowd faded? or was it something more, something terrifyingly real? the question gnaws at you, a dull ache in your chest as you sit here, waiting.

a familiar large hand squeezing your thigh pulls you from the spiral, the pressure firm and possessive. “honey?” the low rasp of his voice is a physical thing, a vibration that travels up your spine and settles deep in your bones.

you jolt, blinking rapidly as the dressing room comes into sharp focus. right. hoboken. jersey. the scent of stale beer and cigarettes hangs in the air, a comforting reminder of where you are. you’re on the couch, gerard a solid, warm presence on your right, his denim clad thigh hot against your own.

his arm is already slung around your shoulders, a casual claim that feels anything but, the rough denim of his jacket a delicious friction against your bare skin. he easily pulls you closer, eliminating the last sliver of space between you, and you go willingly, melting into him.

his pretty hazel eyes, flecked with gold in the dim lighting, search yours, a universe of unspoken things swirling in their depths. the messy dark hair frames his face, a perfect, artful disaster that makes your fingers itch to run through it.

his striped shirt stretches across his chest, and you watch the rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing. jesus christ. you are utterly, irrevocably gone for your best friend, and the terrifying part is, you think he might be gone for you too.

you suck in a sharp breath, the air catching in your throat as the intensity of his stare pins you in place. heat floods your face, a creeping blush you can’t control, and your gaze drops to where his hand remains on your bare thigh. his fingers are possessive, a brand, yet grounding, and the slow, deliberate circles his thumb traces into your flesh send a shiver through you.

goosebumps rise in their wake, a silent testament to your body’s betrayal, and you know he feels them. you can sense the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips without even looking, a certainty confirmed by the low, teasing lilt of his voice as he somehow manages to lean in even closer, eliminating any pretense of personal space. “nervous now that we’re back in jersey?”

that’s it. the carefully constructed dam of your composure cracks, and you finally meet his gaze. his face is flushed, a rosy hue that mirrors your own, and he’s caught somewhere between a shy boy and a man utterly unashamed of his desire. he tilts his head, a gesture so achingly familiar, and squeezes your thigh again, a silent punctuation mark.

you somehow find your voice, attempting to sound firm and confident, but the way he’s looking at you- as if he’s devouring you with his eyes- makes the words come out breathless and shaky. you cross your arms, a flimsy shield. “m’jus’ thinkin’, that’s all really.”

he hums, a low, rumbling sound in his chest, and unconsciously licks his lower lip. it’s not a deliberate show, just a habit, but it still sends a jolt of heat straight to your core, your clit beginning to pulsate with a slow, insistent throb. a genuine smirk graces his lips as he glances down, as if he can somehow sense the riot he’s causing beneath the surface of your skin.

your breath stutters, hitching in your chest as he easily lifts the thigh he’s holding, maneuvering it over his own thick, denim clad one. the movement is fluid, practiced, and it merges you two into a single, tangled entity.

he looks back at you, his eyes dark and impossibly blown, and you feel his fingers shift, casually adjusting the strap of your bra where it rests on your shoulder. you’re trying to keep it together, to hold onto some semblance of control, but it’s a losing battle.

“thinkin’… huh…” he murmurs, his voice a low purr against your ear. “that’s dangerous.” you can tell he’s being playful, sensing your frayed nerves and offering a distraction in his own signature, theatrical fashion. you fall for it easily, just as you always do.

you furrow your brows, trying to ignore the way his grip on your thigh has become more secure, his fingers skating higher on the sensitive inner flesh, circling the skin there with an absentmindedness that feels anything but.

he coos at your pout, and you respond, trying not to inhale deeper, to resist the pull of his proximity, but it’s too late. his scent- a heady, intoxicating mix of stale cigarettes, warm vanilla cologne, and dark coffee- invades your senses, making your head spin. “fuck is that supposed to mean?”

he just grins, that slow, knowing curve of his lips that makes your stomach flip. “it means,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that’s somehow louder than a shout, “that when you get that look in your eye, trouble’s comin’. and i, for one, can’t fuckin’ wait t’see what kind.”

you want to snap back, to say something witty and cutting that will put him in his place, but his fingers are skating higher, a maddeningly slow journey up the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. your brain short circuits. he’s a fucking menace, a beautiful, frustrating menace who knows exactly which buttons to press to turn you into a whimpering mess.

you’re melting, the solid resolve you’d mustered moments ago turning into a puddle in his hands. he can feel it, you know he can. he’s pressing his advantage, leaning in until you can feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek, his gaze dropping to your lips. he’s going to kiss you. right here, right now, and you’re going to let him. you’re going to let him drag you into some dusty back room and-

“hey! are you two gonna fuck or are y’gonna come help us soundcheck?” frank’s voice, a shrill, obnoxious blast of jersey bred impatience, cuts through the thick, hazy air like a bucket of ice water.

you jolt so hard you almost knee gerard in the balls. you whip your head around to glare at the doorway, where frank stands, grinning like an idiot, with ray and mikey flanking him. ray immediately whacks frank upside the head.

“dude, what the hell?” ray hisses, looking mortified.

“what?” frank shrugs, completely unrepentant. “it’s a valid question. they’ve been eye fucking since we got here. we’re on a schedule.”

you huff, a frustrated sound that’s half annoyance, half relief. saved by the jackass. but gerard, the absolute bastard, just grins, huffing out a soft laugh against your hair. instead of letting you go, he takes the interruption as an invitation. he easily maneuvers, tangling himself in you further as he guides your arms until they loop around his neck.

he rests his head on your shoulder, his arms completely snaking around your waist, pulling you flush against him. you try, you try so fucking hard, to keep it together, but his heat is pressing into you, everywhere, and you can feel the pointed tip of his nose as he inhales deeply, nosing at the sensitive skin behind your ear.

“he’s unfortunately got a point, you know,” ray sighs, oblivious. “we gotta go. bob’s gonna have an aneurysm.”

“m’busy,” gerard mumbles against your neck, the words muffled by your skin. he’s literally acting like a puppy begging for attention, and fuck, it’s working. you’re trying to maintain eye contact with frank, to argue back, but gerard chooses that exact moment to lick a slow, hot stripe up the column of your throat.

a choked off gasp escapes you, and your fingers instinctively tangle in his dark hair, tugging just enough to make him hum. he rewards you with a soft, open mouthed kiss right over your pulse point, mouthing at the flesh there. “gerard,” you hiss, a pathetic warning.

“tell ‘em t’go away,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear. “that you’re busy with me.”

you want to. god, you want to. but, you also want to teach him a lesson sometimes, especially when he gets like this- all needy and desperate and clinging, especially on stage. you know he does it on purpose, knows it drives you insane, that he does it specifically for your attention, to get a reaction out of you.

and you always give him one. you think you might actually crack tonight. you think you might just grab him by his stupid denim jacket and drag him into that back room yourself.

“come on, guys, for real,” mikey says, his voice flat but with an underlying edge of urgency.

with a monumental effort, you push lightly at gerard’s shoulders. “we’re coming,” you call out to the doorway, your voice strained.

gerard just whines, a low, vibrating sound against your skin, and finally, finally starts to untangle himself. but as you get up and head for the stage, he’s right there behind you, clinging easily. his hand is possessive on the small of your back, and he leans in one last time, his lips ghosting over your ear. “don’t think m’done with you yet,” he whispers, a promise and a threat all in one. “not even close.”

the stage lights hit you like a physical blow, a wall of heat that makes sweat instantly slick down your spine. the air in maxwell’s is thick, a soupy mix of musk, spilled beer, and the feverish energy of a crowd packed in like sardines. they’re pressed right up against the poor excuse for a barrier, a stage not even four feet tall, and you internally cringe for the ones getting crushed against it.

your head spins from the oppressive heat, a stark, deep contrast to the sharp october chill lurking outside. you push a stray strand of wild hair over your shoulder, the cropped tank sticking to your skin, doing nothing to help. your shorts are giving you a wedgie from hell, and the soles of your feet ache in your boots. yeah, you might look hot to some, but you feel like absolute shit.

you tune your guitar alongside frank, the cramped stage a throwback, a ghost of your earlier days. you’re all so used to the sprawling arenas now, the massive stages of projekt revolution a recent memory- speaking of which-

before the thought can fully form, a hot, large palm cups your bare hip. thick fingers skate with practiced ease under the hem of your top, and you don’t even have to look. it’s gerard, of course. he’s in your space before you can register his movement, a force of nature that doesn’t understand the concept of personal space.

mikey instinctively takes a small step back, a well practiced maneuver to avoid being caught in his brother’s antics. your eyes flick up, your face instantly heating as a collective ooo ripples through the crowd, followed by a few knowing ahhhs. they’re eating this up.

your eyes meet gerard’s, and he grins, a slow, predatory thing. he leans in, and for a heart stopping second, you think he’s actually going to do it, he’s going to kiss you right here on stage. but his mouth dodges yours at the last second. what a fucking tease.

his cheek brushes against yours, the slight rasp of his stubble a delicious friction against your flushed skin. his soft lips find the shell of your ear, his mouth hidden by your side profile as he whispers, low and impossibly teasing, “not gonna pass out on me, honey?”

you click your tongue, a shaky sigh escaping your lips as his fingers dig more firmly into the flesh of your hip, the grip possessive and completely visible to the hundreds of eyes watching you. fine. two can play at that game. you retaliate by sneaking your own arm under the loose fabric of his striped shirt, letting the neck of your guitar rest against your hip.

your fingers find the soft flesh of his waist and you squeeze, hard. he hums against your ear, a low, vibrating sound of approval that you feel straight through to your bones. you lean back just enough to see his face, to catch the playful, challenging look in his eyes.

you lean back in, covering your mouth with his side profile, mimicking his move as you whisper right back into his ear, “you’re being a little shit tonight, y’know that?”

he laughs, a deep, knowing rumble that vibrates through his chest and into yours. he leans back, and you can’t help but crack a real, genuine smile, a private thing just for him amidst the public spectacle. he squeezes your hip one last time, a final, firm press, and you do the same before he finally, reluctantly, returns to his spot at the center mic.

you shake your head, a futile attempt to clear it, and catch frank’s eye on your right. he just gives you a long, knowing look, a smirk playing on his lips that says he saw the whole damn thing, and he’s not letting you forget it.

the first chord tears through the thick, humid air, and the world dissolves into a primal, sweating, screaming organism. there is no space, only bodies- yours, frank’s, mikey’s, ray’s, and the hundreds of pulsing forms pressed against the stage.

you’re practically glued to frank, the heat radiating off both of you a furnace in the cramped space, your shoulder bumping into mikey’s with every frantic shift. and then there’s gerard. he’s a fucking supernova in the center of it all, a magnetic force of pure, raw energy that holds every single person hostage. he’s hypnotic, a mess of thrashing limbs and dripping black hair, his voice a ragged, beautiful scream that cuts right through you.

he moves with an impossible grace, a predator stalking his tiny kingdom. he drops to his knees at the edge of the stage, his face inches from the outstretched hands in the front, a genuine, concerned look crossing his features as he checks on a girl getting crushed, his own gerard way of showing he gives a shit.

he’s attentive, he’s theirs, but then his eyes find you. in the split second break between songs, he crouches, grabbing a water bottle and tilting his head back. his throat works as he swallows, and then, so slowly it’s obscene, he lets the water spill from his lips, a cascade that traces the line of his jaw and drips down his sweat slicked neck.

he catches your stare through the haze, and a fucking smirk twists his lips. he knows. he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, and he’s reveling in it.

the set grinds on, a relentless, sweaty assault. your top is a second skin, your shorts digging into your hips, every inch of you thrumming with a bassline that feels like your own frantic heartbeat. ray is a whirlwind of controlled chaos on gerard’s left, his curls bouncing as he shreds through a solo, pure joy etched on his face. but your eyes keep drifting back to the center stage, to him.

he’s taking all the attention so easily, without even trying, his cheeks flushed a deep, fevered pink, his hair dripping into his eyes, his chest heaving with every ragged breath. and those jeans. jesus fucking christ, those jeans are hugging his thighs, the denim stretched taut over solid muscle with every lunge and crouch. he looks lethal, like a beautiful, dangerous creature that could devour you whole.

and then he does something that makes your entire nervous system short circuit. in the middle of a bridge, he drags his tongue across his palm, slow and deliberate, his eyes locked on yours. but then, it gets worse at another point of the set.

he holds your gaze as he fists his hand, pretending to knock on a door, then bringing it to his mouth, slacking his jaw in a blatant, filthy imitation of giving a blow job. it’s a challenge, a promise, a declaration whispered without a single word, and it hits you like a physical blow, a wave of heat so intense you feel lightheaded. you’re completely, utterly ruined.

the opening notes of mama slither through the humid air, a theatrical, menacing prelude to the chaos you know is coming. and gerard is the eye of that storm, a captivating, unhinged force of nature. he’s so fucking hot it’s criminal, his voice, already raw from the set, now dipped in something deliciously depraved and guttural.

he prowls the stage, a caged animal finally tasting freedom, and his eyes, dark and wild, find yours in the suffocating heat. they don’t leave. he holds your gaze through every snarled lyric, every manic gesture, a silent, desperate conversation happening between the two of you while the crowd watches. he’s so down bad it’s almost painful to witness, a raw, open wound of need that he’s directing solely at you.

the song builds to its fever pitch, a cacophony of sound and sweat, and then it happens. as the final chords hang in the air, you’re panting, your chest heaving, watching him as he abruptly turns from the center stage and stalks towards you. it’s a predator’s walk, all coiled energy and singular focus.

you and frank are panting when mikey, with a comical speed that betrays years of experience, practically teleports out of the way. and then gerard is there. he drops to his knees in front of you, the movement fluid and sudden, and a collective gasp ripples through the crowd, especially from the fans right at your feet.

he echoes the lyric, “mama,” but his voice is wrecked, a pathetic, ruined tone that’s so full of simulated agony it causes your head to spin. you bask in it, a slow, triumphant smirk spreading across your lips as you look down at the beautiful, broken man at your feet. he’s slipped into some kind of headspace, a performance within a performance, and he’s not stopping.

one by one, the instruments fall away. frank and ray’s guitars cease their wail, mikey’s bass falls silent, leaving only the haunting piano melody to underscore the scene. gerard rests his chin on your bare thigh, the damp denim of his jacket a cool shock against your overheated skin. he wraps an arm around your leg, his fingers splaying wide across your flesh, a possessive, claiming gesture.

his glassy, unfocused eyes meet yours from below, his cheeks flushed, his hair soaked, his chest panting. he brings the mic to his swollen lips, and his voice breaks, sounding so wrecked, so utterly fucked out, as if you’re the one currently fucking his brains out right here on stage.

the room is silent, save for a few nervous titters and gasps, because how the hell do you even react to this? his voice is a needy, whiny thing, a desperate moan that’s all for you. “i can’t go on.”

he drags his face across your thigh like he’s begging, like a man kneeling at an altar, and your clit throbs in response, a sharp, insistent pulse. you let the neck of your guitar rest against your hip, your free hand coming down to card through his sweat slick hair.

you laugh, a breathless, shaky sound, and he continues, his voice a broken whine that’s practically a pornographic moan. “i can’t go on-” then he pitches it higher, full on theatrical insanity. “MOM TO WHO?” he looks up at you again, his eyes fluttering closed as he pretends to be in agony, his voice a ragged scream. “MOM TO WHOOOO?”

the crowd fucking erupts, a deafening roar of approval and disbelief. his head droops, panting against your leg, and you give his hair a sharp, satisfied tug. you know, with absolute certainty, that the fans are going to be eating this shit up for weeks. then, as if a switch is flipped, he snaps out of it.

his head shoots up, still on his knees, his jaw slightly slack as a slow, wicked smirk spreads across his lips. jesus christ, he’s so pretty it hurts. there’s a challenge in his eyes, a silent what are you gonna do about it? he rises to his full height in one fluid motion, and just before he can turn and walk away from the mental spiral he just dragged you both into, you act.

you bring your hand back and smack his ass, hard. he jumps slightly, a genuine yelp of surprise, and the crowd goes absolutely fucking insane. he turns, laughing, a real, genuine, beautiful sound, and raises his brows at you, a look of pure delight and shock.

he saunters back to the center of the stage as if nothing happened, as if he didn’t just get on his knees and publicly worship you. but everything just fucking happened. and you know, with a certainty that settles deep in your bones, that you are going to ruin this man, very soon.

the rest of the performance was a goddamn fever dream. your fingers move on autopilot, your body remembering the chords and the cues, but your mind is a complete fucking wreck, replaying the scene on a loop: gerard on his knees, the desperate, worshipful look in his eyes, the feel of his stubble on your thigh.

he doesn’t let up, of course. the bastard spends the remainder of the set catching your eye, putting on a private show just for you, his every move a deliberate, sensual provocation that was so blatant it was almost laughable. almost.

then comes the final song, cancer. the stage clears, you and the guys making your exit, leaving gerard to his solitary, haunting spotlight. as you squeeze past him on the cramped stage, his hand shoots out, catching you by the waist with a speed that steals your breath. he leans in, his lips brushing your ear, the whisper so fast and low it was almost lost in the roar of the crowd.

“remember what i said earlier, honey.” you furrow your brows, your mind racing back to his threat on the couch- but he just fucking smirks at you, a knowing, infuriating curve of his lips, as the first heartbreaking notes of the piano fill the air. security helps you down, and you make your way through the grimy hallway, gerard’s voice becoming a beautiful, muffled ghost behind you.

in the dressing room, you were truly losing your shit. restlessness thrums under your skin, a frantic, caged energy that makes sitting impossible. you’re on the couch, but it feels like you’re vibrating out of your own skin. frank was trying- and failing- to engage you in some conversation about a post show pizza place, his voice a distant, annoying buzz.

suddenly, you shoot up, the movement so abrupt the guys all flinch and stare. “what the fuck is up with you?” frank mutters, eyeing you like you’ve grown a second head.

“i need a smoke,” you rasp, the words scraping out of your throat.

frank sputters, gesturing wildly with his hands as the others just roll their eyes, so used to this dance. “yeah, because you conveniently decide you need a nicotine fix the exact second gee ends the one song that requires actual silence and emotional vulnerability? real subtle.”

you only catch a part of his obnoxious complaint as you storm out, the dressing room door swinging shut behind you. the hallway was dim and eerily quiet, the muted roar of the crowd a distant beast. your heart is racing, a frantic drumbeat against your ribs, and you’re so lost in your own head you practically run straight into a solid, familiar chest.

you stumble back, looking up into the flushed, disoriented face of gerard. a lethal smirk spreads across his lips as his hands instantly find your waist, his grip firm and possessive. your eyes widen as he leans down, his voice a low, teasing rumble that vibrates through you. “lookin’ f’me?” you scoff, the sound sharp and dismissive, and grab him by the front of his denim jacket.

he stumbles, nearly tripping over his own feet, but he obeys instantly, like a puppy caught misbehaving. you drag him with you farther down the hallway, your steps purposeful and angry. you swerve, shoving open a heavy, unmarked door to a dark, cluttered back room, and yank him in there with you, the door slamming shut behind you, plunging you both into shadow.

before you can even process the shift, he’s on you. gerard crowds you against the door, his body a hot, solid line of pressure, his hands planted on the wood on either side of your head, caging you in. he’s all cocky confidence, a predator who’s just cornered his prey.

his hazel eyes are glinting in the dim light, a smug, triumphant grin playing on his swollen lips. “so,” he breathes, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrates through your very bones. “couldn’t stay away, huh?”

a slow, dangerous smile curves your own lips. you meet his challenging gaze head on and raise your arms, wrapping them around his neck, pulling him down to you. your fingers tangle in the sweat damp mess of his hair, and you tug, hard.

he laughs, a low, breathy sound, but you can feel the facade crumbling. the confident act melts away, replaced by a deep, submissive hum that vibrates against your skin. he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his pointed nose tracing a frantic path over your pulse point.

he’s so fucking sweaty, his body radiating a desperate, post show heat, and he’s panting against you, each exhale a hot gust that makes you shiver. you tighten your grip in his hair, yanking his head back just enough to make him whimper.

“jesus,” you murmur, your voice a low, teasing purr against his ear. “all that big talk on stage, and here you are. putty in my hands.”

“fuck,” he chokes out, the sound muffled by your skin. he laves at your neck, his tongue hot and slick, a desperate, open mouthed kiss that has your toes curling in your boots. “please...”

his hips jerk forward, a frantic, involuntary rut against your thigh. you feel the hard line of his cock through the layers of denim, and a sharp laugh escapes you. “oh, you poor thing,” you coo, dragging a palm down his heaving chest. you can feel his heart hammering against your hand, a wild, frantic rhythm that matches your own. “jus’ so fuckin’ desperate for me?”

he whines, a high, needy sound, and continues his assault on your neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive flesh. “please,” he begs again, the word a ragged prayer. “need- fuckin’ need you-”

you let your hand drift lower, your fingers tracing the waistband of his jeans before toying with the heavy leather of his belt. “tell me what you want, gerard,” you command, your voice dropping to a husky whisper. “use your words.”

he moans, a broken, filthy sound that goes straight to your clit. “fuck me,” he gasps, his hips bucking again, seeking friction. “god, please- jus’ fuckin’ use me. i’ll do anything, just... please.” he’s so desperate, it makes your head spin.

you finally give him what he’s begging for, pressing the heel of your palm firmly against his bulge. he bucks into it like he’s in heat, a choked cry tearing from his throat as he fucks himself against your hand. you tease the head of his cock through the denim, rubbing slow, maddening circles. “that’s it, baby,” you murmur, feeling him twitch and leak through the fabric. “fuck yourself on my hand.”

he’s already such a mess, a whimpering, pleading wreck, and it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. with one last, hard press against his cock, you push him back. he stumbles, but obeys instantly, his body pliant and willing as he falls back onto the dusty couch, his legs spread wide, his eyes glassy and fixed on you with an expression of worship.

you stand over him, a slow, cruel smirk on your lips as his hand moves to palm the straining bulge in his jeans. he moans, his head falling back against the couch as he looks up at you, his expression one of need. he’s so unashamed, so fucking gone for you, and it’s the most potent aphrodisiac you’ve ever known.

you click your tongue, a sharp, disapproving sound. “did i say you could touch yourself?” you ask, your voice deceptively sweet. you hook your thumbs into the waistband of your shorts and shimmy out of them, letting the denim pool around your ankles. “such a greedy little thing.”

he just laughs, a breathy, whiny sound. “can’t help it,” he groans, his hand still working his cock through his jeans. “not when you’re lookin’ at me like that.” he’s basking in it, eye fucking you with an intensity that could burn the room down.

his gaze drops, taking in the sight of your lace panties, already soaked through- a testament to the sweat of the stage and the relentless, filthy teasing he’s subjected you to all night.

you kick your shorts aside and straddle his thighs, the heat of him searing through the thin fabric of your panties. his hands automatically fly to your hips, trying to rut up, to feel anything at all. you tut disapprovingly and yank his hair, a sharp, punishing tug that rips a groan from his throat, his neck bared in a perfect, vulnerable arc.

you lean down, your lips brushing his ear as his hands find your ass, squeezing the flesh hard. you drag your tongue across the salty skin of his neck, tasting his sweat and his desperation, and press a soft, biting kiss to his pulse point. he whimpers, a high, desperate sound.

“take your cock out,” you command, raising your hips just enough to give him room. of course he obeys. he’s frantic, his movements clumsy with need as he keeps one hand possessively on your hip, using the other to fumble with his belt. he unbuckles it one handed, his eyes never leaving yours, his face so flushed and pretty, his eyes glazed over and half lidded with lust.

his jaw goes slack as he tugs his jeans and boxers down just enough. his hot, heavy cock slaps against his dampened striped shirt, leaving a smear of precome in its wake. the tip is glistening and sticky, an angry, desperate red, and his balls rest heavily above the waistband of his jeans.

you hum, wrapping your smaller hand around his thick length. his hips jerk violently, a choked moan tearing from his lips as he thrusts into your grip. “think you deserve this?” you ask, your voice a low murmur.

he sputters, a stream of nonsense and curses, “fuck- yes, please, i need it- need you-”

you slide your thumb over the sensitive slit, pressing down just hard enough to make him see stars. he hiccups, a broken, pathetic sound. “speak properly, baby.” you command, your tone dangerously soft.

“yeah,” he chokes out. “yeah, i deserve it.”

you scoff, a dismissive, cruel sound, and let go of his cock. he whimpers at the loss of contact, his hips bucking into empty air. you stand up just long enough to hook your thumbs into your panties and pull them down. “look at you,” you say, your voice a soft poison he loves to drink. “falling apart before i’ve even touched you properly. so pathetic, hmm?”

he moans, a deep, guttural sound at the sight of your glistening pussy, puffy and swollen from hours of arousal, your clit throbbing and exposed. you kick the lace away and straddle him properly again, lining him up with your entrance but not letting him inside. “you’re not going to come until i say you can,” you tell him, your voice firm. “you take what i give you, and you hold it. understand?”

he looks like he might cry, his bottom lip trembling, but he nods, his eyes wide and obedient. “yeah,” he whispers. “i understand.”

instead of sinking down on him, you decide to be cruel. you lower your hips just enough to feel the fat, swollen head of his cock begin to stretch you, a tantalizing promise of what’s to come. and then you sit back up, leaving him empty.

he nearly sobs, the sound muffled as he bites down on his plush, swollen lip, his eyes tearing up from the sheer denial of it all. he’s panting, his hands firm and desperate on your hips, leaving what you know will be bruises tomorrow. you hum, a low, satisfied sound, and the slick, sticky noise of your combined arousal is loud in the silent room, a filthy testament to your mutual need.

you change tactics, starting to rub your slick folds up and down the length of his cock. the friction is exquisite, a perfect, maddening tease. your arms circle his hot neck, your fingers playing with the damp tufts of hair at his nape as you feel the rough fabric of his denim jacket kiss your knees.

you roll your hips, a slow, deliberate rhythm that has his head lolling back against the couch. he’s losing it, you can tell, but he’s trying so hard to be a good boy for you, to obey your command not to come. his lips part, and a broken, needy sound escapes him. “mama.” and that’s when it happens.

your clit gets caught perfectly on his pulsating tip, a jolt of pure, electric pleasure that has both of you moaning in unison. you laugh, a hot, breathy sound, and lean down to drag your tongue across his pretty pink cheek, licking the salt from his damp sideburn.

“mama?” your voice is a mocking purr. “s’that what you’re calling me now, you filthy thing?” but your clit throbs harder at the name, a dark, delicious thrill shooting through you. you fucking love it. “say it again,” you encourage, your voice softening, “c’mon, baby.”

he whimpers, a high, desperate sound, and moans it again. “fuck- mama.” the word is a prayer on his lips, and it unleashes something in you. you fasten your pace, rutting against his thick cock with a newfound urgency. the veins and taut skin of his shaft create a perfect, dizzying friction against your swollen pussy, and your head spins. “that’s it, baby,” you pant, your voice thick with lust. “tell me what you need.”

“oh, god-” he sobs, his hips bucking up to meet your movements. “jus’ need you, mama- ha- fuck, y’feel so good.”

you drag it out, pushing him closer and closer to the edge, only to slow down, making him whine and beg. his face is a mess of tears and sweat, his lips swollen from his own bites, his eyes glassy. you can feel your own orgasm building, a tight coil in your gut, and you know he’s right there with you.

his breath hitches, a tell tale sign, and you grab his chin, forcing him to look at you as you grind down harder. “don’t you dare come,” you demand, your voice sharp and commanding. “you don’t come until i say so, y’hear me?”

he curses, a litany of “fuck” and “shit,” but he obeys, his fingers digging into your hips, surely leaving marks. he can’t stop watching where you two are almost connected, his eyes glued to the sight of his cock disappearing under you with every roll of your hips. he’s so pussy drunk, so completely wrecked for you. “please,” he begs, his voice a broken whine. “fuckin’ use me, mama- use me t’come- need t’feel y’come on me.”

you just smirk, a triumphant, wicked thing, and moan as you let go. the orgasm hits you hard, a blinding, intense wave of pleasure that feels so fucking good. it rips through you, and you cry out, your body convulsing as you grind against him. he helps you, his hands on your hips guiding you through it, his own body taut as a bowstring as he fights not to come.

just as you feel him start to twitch, just as you know he’s about to lose his battle, you sit up slightly. a wet, obscene noise emits from where you were joined, so sticky and slick with your arousal, and he whines, a high, pathetic sound of loss and denial. his tip is an angry, furious red, glistening and desperate.

“lie back,” you demand, your voice husky and sated. he obeys, lying against the couch cushions, a beautiful, wrecked offering, and you take a moment to just look at him. his cheeks are flushed a deep, feverish pink, his eyes are completely glazed over, half lidded and unfocused, and his lips are parted, swollen and wet.

“fuckin’ please,” he slurs, his voice thick and wet. “fuck, you’re so... i can’t- need you so bad, honey- i’ll be so good, i promise, jus’- please.”

he hiccups, a pathetic little sound, and mewls when you finally lower yourself just enough to grind your slick, swollen clit against the shaft of his cock. his large hands fly to your hips, kneading your ass cheeks with a desperate, possessive grip. you splay your palms over his heaving chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart under your touch as you grind back and forth.

your clit, still sensitive from your orgasm, throbs with every movement. he’s practically sobbing at this point, tear tracks cutting through the sweat on his cheeks, but he’s trying so hard to be good for you, to keep still. he can’t help it, though.

his hips keep bucking up, a mindless, instinctual movement, and his fat tip keeps catching on your clit, sending jolt after jolt of pleasure through you. you hum, grinning down at him. “beg for it,” you command, your voice a low hum. “beg me t’fuck you.”

and of course, he does. it’s a litany of broken, pathetic pleas. “please, please, mama- i need it so bad- please jus’ fuckin’ ride me, m’so hard it hurts, fuck, i’ll do anything, just please...”

you decide he’s begged enough. finally, you sink onto his thick cock. the stretch is perfect, a delicious, burning ache as he fills you inch by inch. you both moan, a shared, guttural sound of relief. his jaw goes slack, his head thrown back against the couch, his words slurring together. “fuck- you’re so fuckin’ wet, so perfect, holy shit, y’feel so- fuck,”

you laugh, a low, throaty sound, and purr back at him, “that’s it, baby. takin’ me so well.” you start a ruthless rhythm, fucking yourself on his cock with a punishing pace.

“fuckin’ shit, honey- jus’- jus’ like that,” he sobs, his hands on your hips helping you grind back and forth. his curved cock is kissing your gspot with every thrust, a perfect, devastating friction that has your walls fluttering around him. you try so hard not to fold, to maintain your control, but the feeling is overwhelming. your clit is constantly stimulated, rutting against his coarse pubic hair with every roll of your hips.

you keep changing it up, grinding in slow, dirty circles, then snapping your hips faster, taking him deeper, harder, whatever makes him crack more. he keeps begging to come, his voice a desperate, whiny mess. “please, mama, can i come? m’so fuckin’ close, i can’t- please, i need t’come so bad-” it’s so pathetic, but so fucking cute, and you drag it out, pushing him to his absolute limit.

just when you feel him start to pulse inside you, just when you know he’s about to lose it, you stop. “sit up,” you demand, pulling off his cock with a wet pop. he whines, a high, desperate sound of protest, but he obeys, struggling to sit back up against the couch.

“keep it down,” you warn, your voice sharp. “y’don’t want anyone t’hear what a needy little slut you’re bein’ for me, do you?” he just shakes his head, his eyes wide and pleading. you bring your hand to his mouth. “suck,” you command, dipping your ring and middle fingers into his hot, wet mouth.

he sucks and licks so eagerly, his tongue swirling around your fingers, his cheeks hollowing as he takes them deep. “that’s it, baby,” you egg him on, your voice low, encouraging. “get ‘em nice and wet f’me.” he looks up at you, his eyes full of worship and desperation, and you know you have him exactly where you want him.

you pull your fingers from his mouth with a wet pop and straddle him properly again. you hover over him, the slick head of his cock nudging your entrance, a promise you’re in no hurry to keep. his hazel eyes are wide, pleading, a beautiful, watery mess. “y/n,” he whimpers, his voice a broken, pathetic thing, and your heart stutters. “please, no more teasing- jus’... please, it hurts.”

you sigh, a faux pout forming on your lips. “oh, so you’ll be good?” you taunt, sinking down just enough to let his head breach you before pulling back up. he sobs, a raw, desperate sound. “you’ll be whatever the fuck i want you t’be, won’t you, gerard?”

he nods frantically, his hands clutching at your hips. “fuck- yeah, yes, anything- m’yours, jus’ please...”

you lean in, your faces inches apart, and spit directly into his open, waiting mouth. he moans, a filthy, appreciative sound, and swallows without hesitation. “such a pretty boy,” you murmur, your voice a low, possessive growl. “so fuckin’ pretty when you’re fallin’ apart f’me.” and then you sink down, taking his cock to the hilt in one smooth, brutal motion. the feeling is so good it steals your breath.

he’s so deep, so perfect, and he fucks up into you, a hard, instinctual thrust that has you seeing stars. he’s loud, a series of choked moans and curses, and you can’t help it. you have to kiss him. it’s messy and desperate, a clash of teeth and tongues, a frantic, primal exchange of breath and need. you pull his hair, tilting his head back, and he slurs against your lips, “fuck, y’feel so good- you’re so pretty, mama…”

you start to ride him, a ruthless, punishing rhythm that has the couch creaking in protest. his hands are everywhere, kneading your ass, gripping your hips, roaming up your back. he latches onto your neck, lapping at the sweat slick skin before sucking a bruise into the flesh, marking you. “mine,” you gasp, your voice a ragged command. “you’re fuckin’ mine, gerard.”

“yours,” he sobs, his agreement immediate and absolute. “all yours, honey, only yours.” he’s so down bad, so completely wrecked for you, that he starts to cry, real tears of overwhelming pleasure and submission streaming down his flushed cheeks. you lean in and lick them away, tasting the salt of his surrender, and he whimpers, his hips bucking up erratically.

he keeps crying, his body trembling with the force of it, and you know he can’t hold on any longer. “come,” you command, your voice a harsh, authoritative growl. “come for me, baby. fill me up.”

with a final, broken sob, he obeys. you feel him pulse inside you, a hot, thick flood of his release as he comes, and it triggers your own orgasm. it hits you like a tidal wave, a blinding, overwhelming rush of pleasure that has you crying out his name.

it’s so messy, so raw, and he makes sure he fucks it all up in you, his hips jerking as he empties himself deep inside. you grind down, milking him for every last drop, your own walls fluttering around his spent cock. you collapse against him, your bodies slick with sweat and come, and you kiss him again. this time it’s slower, softer, a soothing balm after the storm.

Mikey tend to bring over a lot of friends from university, he was popular like that, in an odd way. Whether it was for projects, study sessions, or simple hangouts— Gerard always found a new face in the living room, kitchen, or porch almost every day.

Some he got familiar with, like this guy named Ray who could shred the guitar like no one Gerard had ever seen before. That guy was capital "C" cool. Others, too, but most were just acquaintances, which was fine since he didn't particularly find most of Mikey's friends all too intriguing. They were just nice enough, just interesting enough, and just friendly enough to incite a conversation here and there but it was mostly cordiality.

Sure, Gerard might have wanted to pursue things with some of the girls Mikey brought over, but he was always way too shy to feasibly do anything; and well, more importantly, they weren't ever... interested in him and instead had their sights already set on Mikey.

Or they just completely weren't attracted to him at all.

This was the case most of the time.

Gerard tried not to let this get to him but he couldn't help but feel disheartened whenever this happened; not because of any reason like he felt as though he was "owed" something, no, that was dumb. It was more so because these girls looked like they wanted to be possibly anywhere but with him. Some even looked straight up repulsed.

That made Gerard wonder— was he really that bad?

Looking in the mirror, he saw greasy, matted hair that was too long for the average guy. His face was nothing special; it wasn't like he thought he was ugly, but definitely not "handsome", either. Just average. Maybe a little below because of how he dressed and probably how he smelled. Speaking of... he should really get out of this hoodie and put it in the wash. The thing was becoming a biohazard at this point.

Gerard knew Mikey would bring over company again, so he at least wanted to look presentable whether the person in question was a cute girl or not. But "presentable" to him was a low, low bar and in the end, he just put on another— slightly cleaner— hoodie and called it a day.

Making his way up the stairs, Gerard heard Mikey's voice first, and then, a girl's voice. He hung around the entrance of his bedroom for a bit since, admittedly, he was a little nervous. It was embarrassing that at his grand age of twenty-three, he was still out here getting bashful around women, yet here he was, doing just that. Gerard took in a deep breath before coming out of his hole.

"There you are," Mikey greeted when he saw him approaching. "That's my older brother, Gerard." He said to you.

You smiled, "Oh, so that's Gerard. Nice to meet you, Mikey loves to sing your praises."

"Hey..." Mikey murmured as you laughed and extended your hand to him.

Gerard was floored. Out of all of Mikey's friends, you were by far the most gorgeous. Just his type (to be fair, any girl that'd give him the time of day was his type) and nice to top it off. Well, he had no way of actually knowing that but you gave him a warm smile instead of a poorly made fake one to hide your disdain, so there was that. It almost felt wrong to take your hand, especially because he knew how sweaty he could get, but leaving you hanging there was worse so he just did it.

A quick, minimal contact handshake. Gerard revelled at how soft your hands were from the few seconds he touched them, and he swore he could smell some fruit-scented lotion on his fingertips. It must be residue from you.

Gerard blushed, "Sorry, I... um, I didn't quite catch your name."

You gave it to him, and Gerard thought it was the most perfect name in the world to suit a perfect girl like you.

Okay, he needed to chill out. Even if you weren't revolted by his existence now, you probably would be if he couldn't get normal around you. So, Gerard tried to straighten himself up, but groaned and failed seconds after because he was cursed to forever be a hunchback.

"Back problems?" You asked.

He flushed, "Scoliosis."

"My friend's got that. It happens to the best of us."

"Haha, I guess..."

"Just relax, alright? We're all friends here."

"Mhm."

"You two get situated, I'm gonna go to the bathroom." Mikey suddenly interjected. Gerard had been so enamored that he forgot he was even there— sorry, Mikes!

When Mikey left, it was just the two of you, naturally. You were standing on one end of the kitchen island and he was on the other, about four feet of distance in between. Still smiling, you bent down to rest your elbows against the countertop and Gerard could see all the way down your shirt because it was so low-cut.

That almost killed him. About two seconds into this meeting and he was already thinking perverse thoughts.

"So, where do you go to college, Gerard? Or university. I don't think I've seen you around our campus."

It was a miracle he even heard that because his eyes were so fixed on your breasts. He really had to thank God himself that this counter was there to shield the bottom half of his body because he was sure that even through his baggy jeans, you could probably see his...

Gerard gulped and quickly answered your question, "Um, I go to the School of Visual Arts... it's in New York... or I used to since I graduated a year ago."

"Oh, right, I forgot you're older."

Gerard froze. He dared to look into your eyes and you were staring at him so... intently. Inside, he was a wreck and he was sure that reflected outwardly, too. Was he just so delusional he imagined the way you said that? The way your voice got low, even curious, when you said he was older.

It didn't help that your breasts were still so visible and he had to do everything within his power to both keep perfectly still so anywhere past his hips couldn't be seen while also fixing his vision straight ahead, at the cabinet behind you so you wouldn't notice him being weird.

"What have you been doing since graduating?" You asked again, back to sounding normal.

"I'm an intern..."

"Where?"

"Cartoon Network... it's a channel on TV for kids."

"Are you good with kids?"

"Somewhat."

"Do you want them in the future? Because I do."

"Yeah, having kids sounds nice..."

"Doesn't it? I think one is good, but maybe I'll have two if my husband is really good."

Again. That voice again. This time it had to have been some kind of innuendo. Gerard found it harder and harder to look at the cabinet.

"That's way in the future, though. I'm only twenty. This is prime time for dating," You stated, normal and carefree while he was suffering. "Do you have a girlfriend?"

"I don't."

"Single like me then, huh? Have you ever had one?"

Wow, these are getting invasive, Gerard thought, but felt obligated to reply. "Not yet."

"Seriously?"

Gerard knew he probably sounded like a mega loser after that— if, if you had even an inkling of interest in him before, then that was probably fully gone by now. A beautiful girl like you would never interact with someone like him normally, and especially not now after finding out that he was a virgin.

I didn't have a chance, anyway—

"Hey, Gerard? Is there a reason why you won't look me in the eyes?"

That immediately broke the one-sided staring contest he was having with the cabinet.

"H-Huh?" Gerard uttered stupidly, feeling like he was obligated to look at you after you said something like that.

"Finally," You sighed dramatically, leaning even more forward so your breasts were prominent. "I was starting to think you didn't like me."

You were smirking this assertive, playful smirk with a firm hand on your hip, which was a pretty lethal combo but at least you were standing up now so Gerard couldn't see directly into your shirt anymore. Still, the way you eyed him and the confidence which exuded from you— it was both impressive and incredibly attractive. You were everything he wasn't; so sure of yourself yet not crossing that threshold of being full of yourself while still handling things gracefully, only being direct in certain moments. You were toying with him, Gerard was sure of it.

And he wasn't sure if he minded. He didn't mind at all, actually.

What he did mind was his erection, however, and with how dangerous you were, he was afraid you'd do something and see it somehow.

Then, Gerard heard the sound of the bathroom door opening and he whipped his head to the side, "Hey, Mikes, what took so long?" He asked, a slight tremor in his voice.

Mikey raised a brow, "I didn't take that long...?"

"Um, yeah, anyway, I'm gonna go now. Nice meeting you." Gerard dismissed quickly, giving you a tiny wave before he ran off, making sure to turn his back on you and Mikey so neither of you could see the situation in his nether regions.

"Did something happen?" Mikey asked, standing beside you.

"Not at all, we just had a lovely conversation," You shrugged. "Let's get started on the project now, yeah?"

Of course you wouldn't tell MIkey what happened, and especially not what you were thinking. To him, you were just his good friend, someone who was an upright citizen and definitely not the type to intentionally flaunt her breasts while oh so boldly hitting on his brother.

Definitely not at all...

-

You swung by the Way residence a lot more frequently after that. For both innocent and not-so-innocent reasons.

There was the fact that you genuinely enjoyed Mikey's presence; the guy had a knack for being quite charming, and had endless wit despite his reserved appearance. But then, there was also the reason of Gerard.

Sweaty, bashful, nervous-wreck Gerard.

You thought he was absolutely adorable, and the fact that he was a certified virgin made you a hundred times more intrigued. You wondered what he would do during sex; all the ways he'd fumble around like an absolute mess, hands shaking and audibly gulping as he took off your bra and slid your panties off your legs. From the way he could hardly even look at you clothed, you could only imagine how he'd unravel if he ever saw you naked.

The only question now was just how far you could push him until he finally crumbled.

Maybe that was a bit evil, it was certainly wicked, but you couldn't help yourself.

Thus, every time you went over to hang out with Mikey, you'd do your hair all nice, put on your best outfits, and flaunt around in a way that left just enough to the imagination to drive anyone crazy. Most of the clothes you wore around Gerard consisted of shirts that showed your cleavage since you knew that was his biggest weakness— a guy like him who had trouble keeping eye contact as is being forced to look either directly at you or at your tits, it was greatly amusing in a morally dubious way. And because you were you, if he ever tried to look at anything else that wasn't you or your body, you'd call him out for it. To which, Gerard would ultimately be forced to keep intense eye contact with you since that was the "safest" option.

Today was the classic tank top and jean shorts combo. Simple and incredibly basic but effective, and you had a solid excuse if anyone were to ask or be suspicious because it was hot outside. God bless summertime.

You came whistle toning to the Way's front door, smiling ear-to-ear. As you rang the doorbell, you thought, Wouldn't it be great if Gerard opened the door?

Lady Luck was on your side because lo and behold, it was Gerard who came to you, not MIkey as it normally was.

Your eyes went wide and your smile got even bigger, "Hey, Gerard!"

"Oh," He learned to look straight at you whenever you wore these shirts. "Hi."

"Can I come in? Where's Mikey?"

"He's um... helping our dad out with something in the garage... gonna be out soon."

That's great, You tried not to giggle to yourself as you waltzed right in. "This house never gets old. You guys have a certain charm about you, it's comforting."

"Really? I think it's just a normal house."

"Well, that's 'cause you live here, silly."

You elbowed him in the arm, nothing intense, you weren't even trying to be flirtatious about it but Gerard made a weird noise. It was a cross between a grunt and a very faint whimper.

Wow.

It was like no matter what you did or said, whether intentional or not, Gerard would have some kind of reaction to it. Moreover, he would look incredibly embarrassed about it afterwards, too; and the fact that he was so pale didn't help him as any pop of color on his face, even if it was just a light blush, would stick out like a sore thumb.

Gerard covered his mouth, his head tilted to the side, looking like he was praying that you wouldn't mention his little slip up. You decided not to, sparing him some humiliation. Instead, you just asked, "How long do you reckon Mikey will take?"

"Um... dunno really, maybe ten minutes?" He looked and sounded so relieved.

"Dang, ten minutes, huh..." You pretended to think for a moment, but you already had everything planned out. "How about we do something in the meantime?"

Gerard blinked, "Like what?"

"Gimme a house tour! I've been here so many times but I've only been delegated to here, the kitchen, and Mikey's room. Show me yours!"

"My room?"

You nodded earnestly, hands behind your back, "Don't want to?" You asked, doe-eyed and taking a step forward.

Gerard was in complete and utter disbelief, his face was so expressive you found it funny in a "cute" sort of way. Whenever he felt something, his facial features would betray him and show it to the world. Right now, his brows were raised super high as his mouth was slightly agape, chapped lips parted. His eyes were sort of blank, staring at you while still fully processing your request. He was flatlining, of course, one heart palpitation away from being rushed to the hospital because what the fuck.

A girl, a really nice, beautiful girl was excitedly asking him to give a tour of his room as though it was something special or had anything to offer someone like you. While wearing such a bold outfit, too— did you know he had a weakness for jean shorts? Especially the ones you were wearing now, the low-rise ones that were so short your midriff and thighs were impossible to avoid.

This was every geeky, no-experience, never-even-having-a-girlfriend, nerd's fantasy.

Gerard had already made a fool out of himself, he had to just accept this and coolly give you a tour of his room, as asked. Maybe then you would have some respect for him.

"Yeah— I mean, no. I would like to. Er, follow me."

"Awesome."

You followed him, practically humming in excitement. But instead of being led upstairs, you were led to the other side of the house, to a door, "Wait, this is your room?"

Gerard looked a little ashamed, "Kinda weird my room's in the basement, right?"

Look, you might be a little mischievous, but you weren't cruel. You realized that maybe your tone was a little harsh there, and Gerard was frozen because of it, his hand clinging onto the doorknob, not wanting to turn it.

"I didn't mean that in a negative way. I just meant that I've never seen someone's room be in the basement before! Let's go in, let's go in."

That got his confidence back up and Gerard got the will to allow you in.

If you had to be honest, there was a bit of a smell.

Okay, a lot. Most of it wafting from a dirty pile of clothes in the corner. It wasn't to the point where your nostrils were getting viciously bombarded and you had to leave or anything, but this was still the basement-room of a twentysomething guy who probably rarely left his house, so... it was bearable, though. You just had to breathe through your mouth sometimes.

Otherwise, you found it quite cool. Gerard had one of those rooms that was super personal to himself. It was posters, games, figurines, and comic books galore. A total nerd paradise. What you found most interesting, however, were all the art supplies scattered across his desk.

"Ooh, you draw?"

Gerard nodded, mumbling something under his breath as he looked down at his feet.

"Can I see?"

He nodded again, eyes still cast downwards.

You bounced towards his desk and marvelled at everything that was scattered across it. He really was a messy person, there was no rhyme nor reason to anything there yet it all made sense, somehow. Markers were sorted to one side, pens all jumbled on the other, pencils in the middle and looking like they'd been through hell— all of them varied in quality, too, from brand new and straight out of the package to missing caps and being sharpened so much they were basically just a nub. The drawings themselves were phenomenal, but you wanted a closer look.

Now, you could have just picked one up and stared at it like a normal person, but oh no. You wanted to have some fun.

Knowing Gerard had been firmly standing behind you the whole time, his feet rooted into the dusty carpet, you bent over his desk to better view the drawings. Your shorts rode up just a little bit because of their impossibly small length.

If Gerard wasn't frozen in place before, then he certainly was now. God, he was gross. He was so nasty. He was the absolute definition of a loser virgin. Again, like before, his pants tightened, he just couldn't help it, everything about you was maddening. What Gerard wanted, more than anything, was to be near you; sexual or not, to be near you would certainly become his most cherished memory.

Gerard wanted to see what your skin would feel like for himself, he wanted to look up at you while you looked down at him with certainty. Your boldness. Gerard loved that so much. All of these clothes and the angles of your breasts or backside were one thing, but they'd be obsolete without your eyes or the way you talked to him. Friendly, of course, Gerard was sure this was the nicest a girl had ever been to him, but with this underside he couldn't quite shake. How would this attitude of yours translate to the bedroom? Would you be as bold? He hoped so.

Your words, how they'd linger on certain phrases while your eyes lingered on him. How you'd tell him directly to look at you, or show skinship so openly.

Now? You were bent over his desk. Your figure was so perfect, he could stare at it forever, it was so enchanting.

While he was mesmerized, you decided you sifted through his drawings enough and turned around so suddenly Gerard didn't have time to react; which wouldn't be a problem except he was hard.

And unlike before, he didn't have an island counter or any other piece of furniture to hide it.

Your eyes trailed up, then down, and Gerard knew for a fact you'd seen it. How could you not? It was so there, so prominent, nothing hid it, and his pants were not baggy enough to camouflage anything.

You wordlessly approached him and Gerard squeezed his eyes shut, expecting you to berate him for being so pathetic and gross and weird. He deserved it. Who gets this hard this fast over the sight of someone bending over? Your shorts might have ridden up enough to reveal the curve of your— thinking about that was not helping.

Either way, Gerard got ready to be chewed out. Except, you didn't call him disgusting nor a pervert, nor did you storm out of the house to probably tell your friends and everyone you knew that Mikey Way's older brother was a grade one creep.

You did none of those things. You just stood next to him, put your hand on your shoulder and simply said, "Your drawings are sick. Show them to me again sometime, yeah? I'm gonna go check on Mikey now. See you."

Gerard dared to open his eyes, but you were already gone by the time he did so. He hesitantly watched you leave, and you purposefully swayed your hips the slightest bit to give him a little show and something to remember for later tonight, probably.

You met Mikey at the top of the stairs, actually, he said that he was going to travel down to find you, so this was perfect timing.

"Why'd you wanna go see Gerard's room?" He asked, scratching his head.

"Eh. Boredom."

That's when his expression turned a little serious, "Don't tell me you're into him."

"Totally not."

"Alright..."

Mikey led you to the living room to watch the movie he'd been raving on and on to the entire friend group for about a week now— no one wanted to see it, and you didn't really want to, either, but you supposed it couldn't be that bad so you decided to give it a chance.

(Also, you wanted any excuse to come over. That might have been the realer reason.)

Anyway, it ended up working out for you because you got a real important piece of information, or more like the confirmation of a theory you were harboring.

Gerard Way was totally into you.

-

When Mikey decided to host an end of summer party, of course you were invited. It was set to be on a perfect Saturday evening; the weather wouldn't be too hot, people were antsy to get drunk one last time before school or work inevitably started again, and most importantly... the parents were gone.

It would just be twenty or so college students, some older, but definitely none younger. Gerard would probably be the oldest there, and he also probably wouldn't have gone but his invitation was from forced proximity because, well, this was his house, too. Not that you were complaining or anything, this was great, actually. Amazing, even.

You arrived around thirty minutes after the initial starting time 'cause who the hell is punctual for a party (and also you might have taken a tad bit long to choose an outfit). The condition was BYOB, and you brought a nice six-pack of beer.

"Beer, huh?" Mikey commented when you came to the door. "I thought you'd bring a harder liquor."

"Let a girl enjoy a beer." You rolled your eyes, moving past him and into the house.

Music was blasting, and practically the entire guest list was already there plus a few strangers since this was a house party, not a planned event. Everything was casual, extremely lowkey, there was no dancing nor crazy screaming, most people just lounged around and enjoyed each other's presence while also enjoying some booze. Speaking of, the kitchen island was stacked. Wine, vodka, gin, tequila, copious amounts of beer... your six-pack looked puny compared to it all. Despite that, you began unloading the cans to join the table.

At that moment, Gerard emerged from his room, hair messier than usual— did he just awake from a nap? It was like nine o'clock.

Gerard looked disoriented, weaving through the people walking past him and even bumping into a wall as he made his way over to the kitchen. You chuckled to yourself before calling out, "Think fast, Gerard!" As you threw a can at him.

Surprisingly, he caught it— fumbled around with it like a hot potato, but caught it nonetheless. The coldness of the can woke him right up.

That and seeing you.

It ended up being quite worthwhile that you took as long as you did since the dress you picked out made his eyes pop right out of his sockets.

Gerard didn't know where to look. The whole thing hugged your body ridiculously well, especially your hips. "I didn't know the party was... today."

"Is that why you took a nap?"

"How did you...?"

You ruffled his hair and that was all the answer he needed. Gerard immediately put the can you tossed at him down and went to comb down the pieces that were sticking out with his hand, using the microwave as a makeshift mirror. In his reflection, he saw how hard his face was trying not to twist into embarrassment. He enjoyed you ruffling his hair much more than he should have.

From behind him, you approached, "Don't worry about the bedhead too much. I think you look cute like this."

Just like that, he stopped and left his messy hair as is, stifling a short, "Oh... thank you." As though he'd never been complimented in his life.

You didn't know what it was about tonight, but you were feeling much more ballsy then you usually would, and that was saying something considering how you normally acted. It could have been the setting; a party at the end of summer, surrounded by buzz and a little bit of chaos. It could have also been that little buzz from alcohol since you might have had a glass or so of your mom's wine before coming over. Whatever it was, you were sure Gerard wasn't going to know what hit him by the end of tonight.

"How do you think I look tonight, Gerard? I picked this out just for you."

Gerard choked on air, "For me?"

"You have a lot of red in your room, so I wore a red dress. Is that your favorite color?"

It was one of his favorites, but Gerard ended up nodding, anyway. Were you fibbing or did you actually go out of your way to wear something you thought he'd like? If so, why? What could be the end goal here?

"I wanted to wear something you'd like because I wanted to impress you."

"Impress me? Why?"

You were getting closer, Gerard was getting redder.

"Why else?" You leaned in directly into his ear. "Because I like you."

A shiver ran down Gerard's spine. He was frozen in place, stiffer than a rock, everything quiet despite the noise around him. It felt like it was only you and him at that moment, and he almost moaned when your hand crept up around his waist, pulling him in even closer.

"Do you like me, too?"

Gerard was sensitive to people touching him, and your hand firmly, almost territorially being placed on his waist made it so that he had to breathe before answering or else he actually might have moaned out loud in front of all these people.

"Well?"

"I do."

"That settles it, then." You finally crept back and allowed Gerard to breathe.

He didn't dare look at you, he couldn't, he was one glance and one touch away from getting hard and he couldn't have that. Not right now, not in this place, not in front of everyone.

What a way to wake up from a nap.

"You know what would be a great idea?" You asked casually, as if none of that had happened. "Give me another tour of your room. I feel like the last one was cut way too short. I wanna see more of your drawings and stuff." Lies.

"Um, yeah, I can do that for you..."

"Lead the way, big guy." You put your hands on his shoulders, squeezing them like you were about to massage him and pushed him forward from the back. That was it. Gerard's pants tightened against his will under your grip, a small sound left him but it was graciously muffled by the blasting music and boundless conversations.

Gerard led you to his room again— or more like you guided him, steering him around like you were a train conductor— and the two of you quickly slipped in without anyone noticing. Because you were behind him, you made sure to sneakily lock the door, too since who knows what might happen down here?

The smell was the same as before but a margin better since the dirty pile of clothes was gone. Everything else was the same, still, which was expected since only a week or so of time had passed between then and now. A whole week without seeing each other, though, how did Gerard take that, you wondered.

Right, You remembered. I can just ask.

"Hey, Gerard? What'd you do throughout the week?" The question started off relatively harmless at first, but before Gerard could even begin to answer, you followed it up with. "Did you have any thoughts about me?"

You smiled, "Any at all?"

Gerard was full-blown hard by now, and he was trying to angle himself so that you couldn't see it. Of course he had thoughts about you. Asking a question like that was akin to asking if he'd breathed at all this week. Your image was fully burned into his mind, and suddenly, all the girls in the pinup mags and on those sketchy websites weren't so appealing anymore.

His fantasies were fuelled by purely you. Gerard felt guilty about it, obviously, but he had dirty needs that needed to be done.

He would wonder, where all of your semi-flirting would lead to, if anywhere. All of the outfits, the touching, and especially the things you would say, it gave Gerard more "action" than anyone else in his life. Perhaps one day, he fantasized, you would make the first move and just grab him by the face and kiss him while shoving him onto his own bed. Gerard would die for that to happen since he knew he didn't have the gull to do anything himself. You were just so experienced and confident, it made him nervous in the way that went right to his dick.

Now, he was getting closer to that. Or so he thought (hopes).

"Are you gonna answer me or do I have to force it out of you?" You asked sweetly, tracing your finger across his sweaty neck.

Gerard gulped deeply, his throat bobbing against your fingertip. "... Uh, what was the question again?" He gasped as though he were dehydrated.

You knew that question was bullshit, he definitely heard what you said. Sighing, you started fixing up the collar of his hoodie and brushing the crumbs and dust and such off it, "You get hard whenever you see me, but you don't think about me in any way? I find that hard to believe."

"I'm not..." Gerard stopped right there, knowing it was futile to deny it.

That's what I thought, You smirked and took a step back. "So, I'll give you two options. Do you want me to either make your dreams come true right now or... I walk."

Oh Jesus Christ.

Gerard was choked up, seriously, his throat felt swollen and every part of his body was grossly clammy. This was unreal. He had to be sleeping still. He couldn't believe the words that had come out of your mouth, through your pretty and glossed lips.

"Tell me what you want, Gerard." You hummed.

"I want... I want you." Gerard finally sighed, and admitting that felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

You smiled, a mix between pity and sympathy, "You want me? How do you want me?"

"Anything. Just, anything."

"Anything? Well, I can't just give you that for free..." You trailed off then suddenly pushed him to his bed, just like in his fantasies. Gerard flopped onto it and you were standing above him. "I want you to beg for whatever you want to do, and if I feel like you begged well enough, I'll comply. Okay?"

Gerard was so hard his pants might rip.

"I asked you a question, Gerard." You chastised, pulling his hair to make him look up at you.

Gerard whimpered, "Yes, I'm sorry."

With a satisfied smile, you let him go and crossed your arms, "Well, what is it you want?"

"I... I want you to t—" Gerard was feverishly red. "I want you to... touch... me."

You scoffed, "Touch you where?"

"Here..." Gerard shamefully gestured down to his crotch, wanting to put his head down but knew you would just force him up again.

"Use your words, baby." You cooed, and he squeaked in response because you were stroking his hair while you did and it felt so damn good.

"My dick, I want you to touch my dick. Please?"

"Do you want my hand or mouth?"

"H-Hand, please." Gerard stammered. In reality, he'd be grateful with absolutely anything, but he felt like the second you put your mouth on his cock, he'd cum right on the spot so he decided against that.

"Alright, I'll touch your dick with my hand. Anything else you want?"

Gerard shook his head for now.

You got to work, getting on your knees to slip off his pyjama pants which were incredibly dorky and so him— they were black with little images of cartoon pinup girls all over it. Adorable. Expectedly, his underwear was dark grey, just your standard boxers but his erection was sticking out of it so blatantly. Gerard covered his face as you undressed him further and your eyes went wide at his cock springing free.

"You're pretty big there, Gerard." You whispered, he whined in response. You had half a mind to just wrap your lips around it right then and there, but alas, deal's a deal and you went to sit next to him on the bed instead.

Gently, you put your arm around his shoulder and brought him closer to you so that his head was practically cushioned against your breasts, which made his erection twitch. Wrapping your head around his head, you began with slow stroking motions. You didn't even have to do this for long before Gerard shuddered against you, whimpering like crazy, looking like he was already going to pass out. It made sense. You were probably the only hand besides his own that had gone anywhere near his dick.

Gerard was clinging onto you, breathing heavily as your hand started gaining speed, pumping his cock as precum kept dribbling out. For some reason, though, his hand was kept firmly on your shoulder and his head was even angled as far off from your breasts as possible, even though it looked like he was uncomfortable.

"Are you trying to intentionally avoid groping me?" You slowed down to ask.

"N-No, I—"

"—Tell me the truth, Gerard." You gave his cock a little squeeze.

A sad whimper left him and he nodded.

"You can touch my boobs if you want, I'll even let you suck on them," You offered graciously, stroking him again. "If you beg, that is."

Gerard could hardly get a worthwhile word out of his mouth while you were touching his cock, how was he supposed to beg? But he really did want to touch your breasts, and your offer of letting him suck on them... that was once a wild, delusional, fantasy and now, it could come into fruition. All he needed to do was beg.

"Can..." His embarrassment was palpable. "Can I please touch your breasts?"

To torment him a little, you sped up, "Hmm. What else?"

Gerard moaned, full on, girlish moaned. The next words that came from him were basically just slightly coherent whimpers, "And, would I be able to... hnngh—" Gerard suddenly tensed and curled up real small because he was so close and you could feel his cock throbbing against your hand. "—Please, please, oh god, let me put my mouth on them, too. Please."

"Alright, I'll let you because you've been so good." You relented a little and took your hand off his cock for a moment to pull your dress down past your bra, then unhooked that, too.

Gerard almost came from the sight alone, and he probably would have if you were still touching him. Meanwhile, you chuckled to yourself because his eyes were as wide as saucers, like this was a million bucks and not just your breasts. Slowly, he approached, lips pressed together thinly and trembling slightly as he wrapped his damp hand around one of your breasts, squeezing it so incredibly softly.

You allowed him to feel them up as he pleased since he did beg for it. Gerard was absolutely mesmerized by their shape, their feel, how soft they were, and especially how this was him experiencing something as great as being able to feel your breasts. Then, as slowly as he was when he first neared them, Gerard opened his mouth and gently wrapped his lips around one of your nipples while his hand stayed firm on the other one.

A small groan escaped you, that groan evolving into moaning when he began sucking, Gerard's whole mouth and tongue practically wrapped around your nipple. You reached over and started stroking his dick again, his moans sending vibrations across your chest.

With your movements, you didn't only focus on his base, but his tip, as well since that was any guy's weak spot. All five of your fingers rubbed that area, almost playing it like a guitar, coating you in precum. Gerard rutted his hips into your hand as his body was pressed more firmly against you; he was trying really hard not to use teeth to not hurt you, but you were making it impossible to keep composure like that.

He had to let go for a moment and mewled as his tongue was against your nipple, licking it instead, "I'm so close, I—I, Jesus."

Gerard was panting too hard, breathing too deep to do much except lean against you, using everything in his power to not put his entire weight on you. He was unravelling fully, and with his face buried in your breasts, he came in ropes with a slew of high pitched whimpers.

"Hng, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

The aftermath of finishing was still shocking his body like tiny bolts of constant static electricity, and he was so weak that he was now fully relying on you to support his weight. Still unmoving from his place against your breasts, he honestly could have fallen asleep from how plush they were and how much the orgasm had wrecked him.

"Are you okay there, Gerard?" You asked after a while, your voice barely above a whisper.

Gerard mumbled something, it sounded like a "no" but you weren't so sure.

Feeling pretty tired yourself, you steadily rolled his head off your chest and guided it to his pillow before laying down next to him. Gerard was fully naked from the waist down and you were naked from the waist up, it was kind of fitting in a funny, "two puzzle pieces finding each other" kind of way.

Gerard's eyes were closed, his breathing shallow but not sleeping because when you placed your hand against his cheek, he flinched.

Scooting a little closer, you placed a kiss on his sweaty forehead before wrapping your arms around his body to pull him in all close. Gerard felt your breasts bundle against his face again, but instead of focusing on that, he fixated on being able to hear your heartbeat instead. It was regular, and his was beating way too fast. He hoped you wouldn't be able to hear it.

you never intended to walk in on your roommate.

your best friend, ray, to be precise.

you were close with him- yeah. why? well, for starters, he was a gentle giant in his own way, effortlessly charismatic, able to light up a room with just a joke, a smile.

but what truly unraveled you?

those private moments when he’d coax you into cuddling, peeling off his sweatshirt with practiced ease, the hint of his happy trail taunting you as your face burned for daring to look. the way he’d grin- wide, boyish, oblivious- as he handed it to you, making you feel guilty for imagining him like that.

because that’s your best friend, for fuck’s sake.

so what if he was the most beautiful man alive, with those curls he let you run your fingers through like you had any right? so what if he nuzzled into you like an overgrown puppy, his body swallowing yours whole?

he saw you as a friend. nothing more. and you were supposed to respect that.

which is why your reaction was so goddamn unacceptable when you pushed through the apartment door- supposedly away for the weekend- only to find ray completely bare, some nameless girl pinned beneath him as he fucked into her with a desperation that bordered on violence.

his curls hid their faces, but not the filthy words he snarled into her ear, not the way she moaned for more.

your keys hit the floor. your back slammed against the door.

you told him you wouldn’t be home till monday night.

but of course, you forgot your fucking toothbrush.

he froze the second he heard you- that sharp, familiar gasp. his heart dropped straight through him.

you were shaking, scrambling for your keys like a trapped animal, tears already spilling over as he choked out your name.

the girl under him- jessica? jenna?- whined in protest as he yanked his clothes on, barking at her to leave while you stammered apologies, already bolting. his voice was wrecked when he shouted after you, stumbling into the hall in mismatched converse.

“jesus- y/n, wait!”

why? why was he chasing you? you were just friends. so why were you crying? why did he feel like he’d been gutted?

but by the time he reached the hallway, you were gone.

his hands fisted in his wild curls, frustration boiling over into something dangerously close to tears.

the girl shot him a glare on her way out. “can’t believe you invited me over when your girlfriend was coming home.”

ray exhaled, letting her leave before murmuring to the empty air, “not… not my girlfriend.”

and that- that truth- cut deeper than anything else.

a week. seven days. and you still hadn’t come home. ray felt fucking sick.

he always respected your privacy, your boundaries- that’s why he waited until day three to even text you. you were supposed to be gone for two days, tops. but monday came and went without you, and when he called, you didn’t answer.

that was the first prick of anxiety, sharp and insistent under his ribs.

playing guitar had always been easy- fingers moving without thought, muscle memory carrying him through songs like breathing.

but now? now he was a wreck.

gerard noticed first. of course he did.

it was day five when gerard finally pulled him aside after practice, after ray had fumbled through riffs he could normally play blindfolded. the studio door clicked shut behind mikey and frank as they bid their goodbyes after a long session, leaving them alone.

gerard moved carefully, slow, like approaching something skittish. his voice was rough from singing but soft when he said it. “toro. you okay, man?”

ray hadn’t realized he was packing his guitar with mechanical precision, jaw clenched, until gerard’s hand landed on his shoulder. he flinched- then slumped, just slightly, because it was just gerard. safe.

gerard squeezed his shoulder. “m’not tryna be a dick, but you’ve been eatin’ shit in practice these past few days. and i’ve never seen that happen with you.” a pause. “what’s goin’ on?”

ray’s throat tightened.

what could he even say?

that he was so mindless, letting you accidentally walk in on him fucking some girl who didn’t matter, because you weren’t there? that he was losing his goddamn mind because you were gone, and you weren’t answering, and he didn’t know if you were ever coming back?

he swallowed hard.

i don’t know.

but that wasn’t the truth.

gerard would see right through it anyway. so ray pushes the anxiety down, lower lip trembling as he shakes his head, curls bouncing when he scratches his neck. he avoids eye contact, murmuring with a voice shredded from crying every night since you left- your horrified expression etched into his skull.

“she hasn’t come back, and it’s been-” he sucks in a breath. gerard’s face softens into something understanding before ray even finishes.

ray doesn’t even have to say your name.

“it’s uh- it’s been almost a week now, man.” a dry laugh escapes him, but the tears prick again, threatening to spill. gerard hums softly, guiding him onto the shitty small couch.

ray sighs as he leans back beside him, finding his voice while gerard flicks his lighter. the cigarette burns slow, giving ray time. gerard doesn’t stare- doesn’t push- just exhales smoke and waits.

ray’s steadier now, but his rough, calloused hands still shake as he wipes sweat onto his tight jeans. “she was supposed to be gone this weekend, so i was reckless. invited some random chick to blow off steam since we’re touring soon, and i’m already-”

gerard smirks, killing the tension with a joke. “balls deep in her?”

ray laughs, shaking his head like a puppy shaking off water, before sobering. he punches gerard’s arm lightly as he apologizes. “sorry. continue.” gerard takes another drag, hazel eyes steady.

ray hums, nervous. “right, well- yeah. that. but then, y/n walks in- she looked petrified. can’t blame her. she ran out the door, and i chased her- after getting dressed, obviously- but she was already gone.”

gerard sighs, low and knowing. looks right at him. serious. “i think there’s a deeper problem here.”

ray’s heart stutters. he gulps. dizzy. he knows exactly what gerard meant.

one hell of a week.

that’s what it’s been since you walked in on your best friend, fucking someone on your shared couch.

technically, ray paid for the damn thing, but still. you bolted to bailey’s place like your life depended on it, which, at the time, felt accurate.

what was supposed to be a weekend crash turned into six days, then a full week of rotting in her spare bedroom, dragging yourself to work, and rotting some more on her couch.

avoidance was the game, and you were winning.

until this morning.

bailey sat you down before heading out, her curls pulled back into a 90’s bun, flawless, work attire crisp as hell, that familiar i’m done with your bullshit look plastered across her face.

you were curled up in ray’s old band shirt and pajama shorts, halfway through another episode of whatever show you’d been numbing yourself with, when she hit you with it.

“listen, y/n, i love you, but- from what you told me on saturday? your reaction? his reaction? that’s not how friends react when one catches the other fucking someone.”

your throat tightens. “yeah,” you mumble, voice thin. “kind of realized that the first time you sat me down last week…”

she exhales, checking her watch. “what i’m saying is, hiding from him is just making it worse. you two need to talk. like adults.”

guilt twists in your gut. “yeah. yeah, you’re right. sorry for, uh… burdening you with this.”

bailey rolls her eyes, grinning as she punches your arm. “dude, please- i love having you here. i’m just tired of watching my best friend waste time when she could be getting dicked down by her roommate-”

you sputter, hands slapping over your burning face as she cackles, already halfway out the door. “YOU’RE INSANE!” you yell after her.

her wink was the last thing you saw before the door shut, leaving you in silence- just your racing heart and the inevitable, looming dread of facing ray… and whatever the hell that meant.

time dissolves on the couch.

five hours- maybe six- as your eyelids grow heavy and your body sinks into the cushions. sleep tugs at you, but your thoughts spiral through every unspoken thing between you and ray.

the way his gaze locks onto yours across crowded rooms, how he pulls you close without hesitation, calloused palms anchored on your hips, his stubble grazing your neck as he nuzzles in, indifferent to onlookers. he offers bites of his food, sips from his water bottle even when he’s the one sweating after a show he insisted you attend, just so he could catch your reaction. his eyes always find yours first, always-

a frantic knock splinters the moment.

your spine jerks upright, pulse spiking. who the hell could that be? bailey’s gone for two more hours. laurel? she barges in unannounced, but she has bailey’s spare key, doesn’t she?

you rub your face, smearing days old eyeliner, fingers catching in tangled hair. ray’s oversized shirt sags off one shoulder, your shorts ride up, fabric whispering against your hip as you shuffle to the door.

a yawn cracks your jaw. the tv flickers off, plunging the room into silence as you brace yourself and crack the door open.

truthfully, you have no clue who to expect on the other side- bailey’s got a damn army of friends, after all. but when you swing it wide and come face to face with ray fucking toro, your heart plummets straight to your ass.

your hands tremble against the doorframe as he freezes mid knock, just as stunned as you are. he shoves his hands into his black leather jacket, the fabric straining over the firm plane of his chest beneath a snug black shirt. dark blue flared jeans cling to his thighs like a second skin, his scuffed boots shifting awkwardly as he swallows hard.

his dark curls bounce slightly when he scratches the back of his neck- that nervous habit of his- golden skin flushing under your gaze. his full lips part, stuttering over words before he manages, “hey! m’sorry for bein’ a creep- and- uh- coming here when you clearly want space- but- jesus!”

you don’t let him finish.

muscle memory kicks in, and you yank him inside with every ounce of strength you’ve got. he lets you, even though he could bench press you without breaking a sweat. the door slams shut, lock clicking into place as you launch yourself at him, arms locking around his neck with a choked sob.

his hands- rough, familiar- catch you effortlessly, fingers hooking under your thighs as you bury your face against his shoulder, breathing him in like you’ve been starved.

a week without him. seven fucking days.

“god, ray-” your voice cracks, muffled against his jacket. “m’so fuckin’ sorry for ghosting you- i shouldn’t’ve-”

“shh,” he murmurs, breath warm against your skin as his curls brush your cheek. his lips linger at your temple- too long for something casual- before he pulls back just enough to speak. “hey. i get why you left. really, angel.” the words are low, rough at the edges, like he’s been holding them in.

when he sets you down, your knees wobble slightly, but his grip tightens, thumbs pressing into the dip of your hips beneath the hem of his shirt. another kiss, this time to your forehead, deliberate. chest to chest, you feel the vibration of his next words before they leave his throat. “i jus’ think there’s a deeper thing goin’ on here.”

and fuck, he’s right. friends don’t do this.

your fingers knot in his hair as you tilt his head back, studying the way his pupils swallow the soft brown of his irises. “let’s sit?” you suggest, voice unsteady.

he hesitates, glancing around bailey’s apartment like he’s expecting a trap. the way his hair flops with the movement is stupidly endearing- wide eyed, tense shouldered- and you bite back a laugh despite the gravity of the moment. tugging him toward the couch, you watch as he perches on the edge, spine rigid, torn between surrender and alertness.

you don’t think. just swing a leg over him, settling into the familiar cradle of his thick thighs. his body recognizes you before his mind catches up- hands locking around your waist, shoulders dropping with a shuddering exhale.

thank god you’re not mad- his face says it before his mouth does. your palms cradle his jaw, rough stubble catching against your skin as he leans into the touch with a quiet desperation. a shaky exhale escapes him when you press closer, close enough to taste the tension between you.

“jesus, y/n,” he murmurs, thumbs tracing slow circles over your hips, voice raw. “can i just- fuck, i’m sorry.” his grip tightens, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he doesn’t hold on. “i know it’s weird apologizing in hindsight, but i shouldn’t have acted so goddamn dense. should’ve considered how you’d feel before i went and did something that fuckin’ stupid-”

you shush him with a gentle scratch at his scalp, and he groans, head tipping back, exposing the long line of his throat. christ, he’s beautiful- enough that warmth pools low in your stomach, your thighs pressing together instinctively.

trying- and failing- to keep your voice steady, you tug lightly at his curls. “i get it. but we never actually talked about this before, ray. you couldn’t have known.”

he huffs, cheeks flushing pink, brows knitting together in frustration. his voice pitches higher, almost petulant. “yeah, but still! i wanna clear the air- admit how fuckin’ dumb it was to bring some random girl over.” a pause. a wince. “not- not an excuse, but i knew i was gonna miss you that weekend, so i, uh-”

your smirk sharpens, head cocking like a predator savoring the kill. “thought with your cock instead of your brain?” his groan vibrates through your chest as his thick fingers dig into your thighs- retaliation, apology, worship- all at once.

his face crumples, hands flying up to shield himself from your laughter, but you catch his wrists, dragging them down while his leather jacket rasps against your feverish skin.

puppy eyed and unraveling, his voice splinters. “i never do shit like that- well- not in a long time. some stupid part of me thought-” a sharp inhale. “maybe i’d prove i’m not completely fucked in that… department. shit.”

he cringes as you dissolve against his shoulder, your laughter shaking against him. pathetic. fucking some nameless girl just to purge you from his mind?

the obsession is delicious.

power thrums under your skin as you press your lips to his throat. his gasp is ragged, hands clawing at your hips to yank you down harder. a moan punches out of him, teeth sinking into that plush lower lip as you grin against his pulse. “so,” you purr, nipping his earlobe, “you’ve been aching to dick me down for how long? so desperate for a distraction, you wasted your shot on some random?”

his whimper is filthy, the sound rough and desperate as his nose drags along your temple, hips jerking up- denim grinding against your clit in a brutal, accidental tease that makes you arch.

your moan ignites him, his breath fracturing into uneven gasps as you roll down, deliberate and hard, his voice already fucking wrecked. “shit, angel- please- m’so sorry-”

you laugh, mean and breathless, circling your hips now in a deep, torturous grind that forces his head back, his cock twitching beneath the strained fabric of his briefs, his jeans too tight to give him any mercy.

more wetness soaks your underwear as you hum, low and teasing. “you’re sorry? then prove it, ray.”

before he can sputter a response, you’re already hooking your thumbs into your pajama shorts and panties in one fluid motion, shoving them down. his eyes widen, dark and hungry, fingers fumbling for his jeans as you demand, “take your cock out. there y’go.” you smile sweetly- too sweet- kicking them off while silently apologizing to bailey for what you’re about to do to her couch.

his button pops, the zipper rasping open, his blush deepening as his cock strains against the confines of his briefs. his voice cracks. “r- really? y’gonna lemme fuck you-”

you shut him up, leaning down to capture his mouth in a searing, slow kiss. and jesus christ, kissing him in real life is so much better than in your dreams- his lips so full, soft, yielding as he groans against you, his hands shaking where they grip your hips.

you pull his thick, hot cock free, wrapping your smaller palm around him, and his hips buck up into your hold instinctively. his large hands skate up his shirt you’re wearing, before squeezing your ass with a moan, like he can’t fucking believe this is real, that you’re letting him.

you lick into his mouth, fucking him with your hand a few rough strokes before pulling back with a wet pop. he chases your lips, eyes tearing up from the loss, and you coo down at him, “patience, baby.”

the whimper that escapes him is pathetic- and god, it’s perfect, the way his gaze drops heavy lidded, jaw slack like he’s already halfway to ruined. and the sight of you? pressing his cock against your soaked folds, swollen and slick, the head catching just there- it’s insane, the way your face crumples for a second, pleasure sharp enough to make you gasp.

his pulse thrums against your clit, a relentless, filthy rhythm, and the sound? that obscene, wet drag of your sticky folds around him, clinging like they’d never let go- it nearly breaks him, hips twitching helplessly.

then your voice, a siren’s tease between moans, breathless and mean. “gonna be a good boy and jus’ fuck me from now on? hmm?”

and he shatters. babbles nonsense into your neck, tongue laving over your shoulder where his shirt slips off your frame, worshiping the sweat slick skin there. the way your hot, greedy folds kiss his twitchy cock with every rock of your hips- unreal.

but you’re just getting started.

a sharp tug to his curls, forcing his throat bare, and he groans, hips bucking up like he can’t help it, drool spilling down his chin.

you tut, grinding faster, watching him hiccup, cheeks blazing, hands digging into your ass like he’s trying to fuse you together. “fuck- yes- please, angel- gonna- m’gonna be good for you- oh fuck-”

your hum vibrates smug, dripping with the satisfaction of finally sinking onto his cock. the shared moan borders on comedic, jaws slack in perfect unison, but then you’re moving, setting a pace so brutal it wrenches cries from his throat- your smirk a wicked curve as he fills you just right, like his very existence was carved for this.

your voice is wrecked, breathless, yet laced with cruelty as your fingers tighten in his fluffy hair, tugging hard. your other hand splays across the sweat slick heat of his chest, trapped under the leather jacket clinging to him, amplifying the fever between you.

sweat beads down his neck, his face flushed raw as you dip low- still bouncing, relentless- dragging your tongue up the column of his throat before pulling back. his hips jerk, fucking up into you with frantic, uncoordinated thrusts as you hum approval, yanking his hair harder. “god, look at you. already so pussy drunk n’desperate, aren’t ya?”

you circle your hips, taking him deeper, and he chokes- a punched out sound- as his gaze drops to where your swollen folds cling to him, glistening slick swallowing his cock with every bounce. he’s transfixed, dazed, head lolling back as you pet him, his lips nuzzling into your palm like a plea before he whimpers. “mhm- feels s’good, angel- don’t deserve this-”

you laugh, slowing to a filthy grind that steals his breath, his thrusts turning lazy but no less insistent. his fingers dig into your hips, possessive, sure to leave bruises- like a puppy claiming its favorite toy- as he licks his lips, staring up at you with glassy eyed adoration. and fuck, you can’t stay cruel, not when he looks like that.

you hook your arms around his neck, dragging him into a searing kiss, teeth scraping his lower lip as his hands spread over your lower back, pressing you down onto him harder. a moan tears from you when his tip kisses your gspot just right, your head spinning as he falls apart beneath you, just as much of a mess as you are.

“you’re so good for me,” you murmur, smirking as he whines, hips stuttering. “knowin’ your place.”

and he does- devouring praise like a man starved, driving up into you with a frenzied hunger, your bodies crashing together in a rhythm that borders on violence.

his voice fractures against your skin as his mouth trails your jaw, your fingers twisting in his curls while you ride him with reckless abandon- grinding, circling, fucking yourself onto him with a greed that borders on obscene.

“y/n- fuck, you’re so goddamn perfect, i can’t-” his hips jerk, losing their rhythm, and you know he’s teetering. but so are you, shamefully close, though who could blame you? years of stolen glances, of imagining this, and now his cock is right there, hitting that spot inside you with every thrust, dragging heat through your veins until you’re aching for it.

you yank his shirt up over your chest, and his eyes go wide, his breath stuttering as you smirk down at him, still rolling your hips, still milking him for every inch. “christ, you talk,” you pant, voice frayed at the edges, “just- move, baby, fuck-” and he does, hands scrambling up your stomach, palms rough as they cup your breasts, his mouth latching onto a nipple with a groan that vibrates through you.

his tongue is relentless, his teeth a sharp contrast to the way his thumb teases the other, flicking, pinching, until you’re gasping, arching, your fingers tightening in his hair.

it’s too much- the drag of his cock inside you, the wet heat of his mouth, the way he whimpers when you tug him closer. “ray- right there,” you choke out, and he obeys instantly, fucking up into you harder, his lips sealing over your other nipple with a filthy sound.

he’s wrecked, his moans ragged, his hips stuttering as you clench around him. “love these- fuck- these tits,” he slurs against your skin, then corrects himself with a breathless chuckle, “breasts, i mean- god-”

laughter spills from your lips- dizzy, reckless- even as you ride him harder, even as the coil of your orgasm tightens low in your stomach. his curls are wild under your grasping fingers, his mouth relentless, and when your body finally snaps, clenching around him like a vice, his groan is nothing short of victory.

“shit, angel-” his lips leave your nipple with a wet pop, trailing fire up your chest to your throat, sucking a bruise into your pulse as you gasp. your arms lock around his neck, a cry tearing from your lips as you fuck yourself onto him, thighs burning in protest- until he meets your frantic rhythm effortlessly, driving up into you harder, his cock twitching, the rough friction of his pubic hair against your clit with every thrust making you grind down shamelessly.

exhaustion and overstimulation blur your senses, your gasps ragged, until his voice drops- low, coaxing. “y’gonna come? c’mon, i got you-” a hum vibrates against your skin, and you sob as your orgasm slams into you, hiccuping through the waves.

his hips stutter, cock twitching one last time before he groans, spilling thick and hot inside you, your greedy hole milking him for every drop as your movements slow to a lazy grind.

he fucks up into you with drowsy thrusts, lips brushing yours softly, murmuring against them as you cling impossibly close. “god, you’re so incredible, y/n- fuckin’ love you-”

his eyes widen the second the words escape, face flushing, already scrambling to backtrack- but you laugh, sealing his confession with another searing kiss, twisting a curl around your finger as you smile against his lips. “love you too, baby.”

his cock twitches in response, and you stifle a moan, drinking in his dazed expression before humming, teasing as you press a kiss to his cheek. “but we seriously gotta clean bailey’s couch now.”

his cheeks burn crimson, hands flying to his face like he didn’t just ruin you moments ago. “shit, you’re right.”

The New Jersey bar was a dive, dim lights and sticky tables, and also that jukebox’s 90’s pop classics. You were out with your friends, a lively group in your early thirties who lived for nights like these; filled with gin and tonics, annoying laughter and the occasional scandalous gossipy story. You’d already knocked back a few cocktails, the alcohol buzzing through you, making your skin tingle and your confidence soar. Your friends knew your reputation all too well: when the drinks flowed, you had a habit of vanishing into the night with some intriguing stranger. They found it hilarious, always teasing you about your “disappearing acts.” Tonight, as you caught their knowing smirks across the booth, you felt that familiar pull to make mischief.

Your gaze landed on a group of men across the bar. Victims. One stood out: a pale guy with messy black hair, mid-twenties, you reckoned, dressed in a faded band tee, an old leather jacket and loose jeans. He was hunched over a napkin, sketching something, while his mates— a curly-haired one with a warm smile, a skinny one with glasses, and a shorter guy with tattoos and a cocky grin, all chatted animatedly. The black-haired one seemed quieter, almost shy, his hazel eyes flickering with a mix of curiosity and nerves when he glanced up.

You slid out of the booth, ignoring your friends’ jokes. “And… off you go,” one muttered, raising her glass. “Text us when you’re home alive!” another called and you shot them a cheeky wink before drunkenly walking over to the guys in that table.

“You lot look like you’re having a laugh. Do you mind if I join?” you asked, leaning against their table with a tipsy grin.

The tattooed one smirked, pulling out a chair. “Go for it.” The curly-haired one nodded, and the skinny one shot a quick glance at the black-haired one, who blushed faintly but managed a soft, “Sure.”

His voice had a real Jersey lilt, nervous but sweet.

“I’m Gerard” he added, almost as an afterthought.

You gave your name, sliding into the seat next to him. The conversation sparked up easily, they were in a band, playing tiny venues and had an album out already. Gerard mentioned his background in comics, his voice lighting up despite his shy demeanour. You leaned in close, your knee brushing his under the table, your fingers grazing his arm as you smiled at his stories.

“Your lips would look gorgeous begging, you know?” you whispered at one point, your breath hot against Gerard’s ear. His face went scarlet, his eyes darting down. A small, nervous smile tugged at his lips.

His friends kept the conversation going, Frank was slinging one-liners that had everyone laughing, but you kept your focus on Gerard. He was weak, blushing every time you teased him, his responses were soft and hesitant. The drinks kept on flowing, shots of something sharp that burned your throat and the night blurred into a haze of flirtation and lingering touches under the table. Your friends caught your eye now and then, raising their glasses in mock salute, clearly amused by your game. They knew you’d slip away soon enough.

As closing time neared, you turned to Gerard. “You can walk me home, yeah? It’s not far.”

His friends grinned, Ray clapped him on the shoulder with a wink, wishing him a good night. Mikey, who you’d learned was his brother, asked for their house keys.

Gerard nodded quickly, almost tripping over himself to follow you. You waved at your friends, their laughter echoing as you left.

“Don’t break him!” one of your friends yelled, and you flipped her off playfully.

The night air was cool, sobering you just enough to sharpen your senses. You linked your arm through Gerard’s, guiding him down the quiet streets. He rambled nervously about his band’s last gig, but you silenced him with a kiss against a lamppost, your lips firm and demanding. He melted into you, a soft whimper escaping as his hands hovered uncertainly before settling on your waist. You smirked against his mouth, already knowing you’d have him exactly where you wanted.

Your flat was a cosy mess, books strewn across shelves, fairy lights casting a warm glow, a half-empty bottle of red wine on the counter. The door barely clicked shut before you pushed him against it, your mouth crashing into his. You could taste the nerves in his mouth, his kisses were eager and yet submissive, letting you take the lead. You pulled back, cupping his chin gently to make him meet your gaze. “You’re gonna be a good boy for me, aren’t you?” you murmured, your tone leaving no room for argument.

“Y-yeah,” he stammered, eyes wide and pupils blown. “Whatever you want.. Yeah.”

You led him to the bedroom, your hand firm around his wrist. In the soft light of your bedside lamp, you stripped him slowly, savouring the way he shivered under your touch. His pale skin flushed pink, caressing his bare shoulders and he stood docile, letting you tug off his shirt and jeans. You pushed him onto your bed, his back hitting the mattress with a soft thud. He looked up at you, lips parted. Completely at your mercy.

Kneeling between his legs, you ran your hands up his thighs, feeling him tremble. “Aren’t you desperate?,” you teased, your fingers hooking into his underwear and pulling them down. His dick sprang free, hard and leaking, the tip glistening. You wrapped your hand around him, stroking slowly, watching his face contort with need.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice was already weak and you hadn’t even started yet.

You leaned down, your tongue flicking over the head, tasting the saltiness of the pre-cum and his sweat. He gasped, hips twitching, but you pinned him down with a hand on his stomach. “Stay still, baby,” you ordered, and he obeyed instantly, biting his lip. You took him into your mouth, inch by inch, your lips stretching around him. Years of experience made this second nature, you knew exactly how to work him, hollowing your cheeks, swirling your tongue along the underside, humming to send vibrations through him.

Gerard was a mess underneath you, whimpering and moaning, his hands gripping the sheets.

“Oh God, please, fuck,” he babbled, his voice was now high and desperate. You took him deeper, your throat relaxing to accommodate him, your right hand massaging his balls. His hips bucked slightly, but a sharp look from you made him still, his apologies tumbling out in a rush.

You kept the pace relentless, sucking hard and fast. When he started to tense, his moans turning into broken pleas, you didn’t slow down. “I’m, I’m gonna—” he gasped and with a final deep thrust on your throat, he came, hot and thick in your mouth. You swallowed every drop, working him through it until he was shaking. Poor Gerard was oversensitive and whining softly.

You pulled back, licking your lips, and smirked at his flushed and confused expression. Your hands caressed his face gently. “Do you think you can give me another one of those, baby?” you asked, with a soft command.

He nodded weakly, his chest heaving. “Yes, please… I’ll try my best,” he whispered, so submissive it sent a thrill through you. You didn’t give him time to recover, your mouth returning to his softening cock. You licked and sucked with deliberate slowness this time, coaxing him back to hardness. He whimpered, oversensitive but accommodating to you, his hands hovering near your hair until you nodded permission. His fingers threaded through gently, not daring to tug it.

You teased him mercilessly, grazing your teeth lightly along his length, then soothing with your tongue. Your fingers massaged circled on his ass, not entering but pressing just enough to make him arch off the bed.

“Please, oh, fuck me with your fingers, please,” he begged, face flushed completely “Fuck.”

“Not tonight, baby,” you answered.

That second orgasm built slower, his body trembling under the intensity, but when it hit, it was devastating. He came with a sob, his whole body convulsing, another smaller load spilling into your mouth as you took it all, savouring his surrender.

You crawled up beside him, letting him curl into you, his head on your chest as he caught his breath. His fingers traced patterns on your skin, his eyes were wide when he stared at you. “That was… I’ve never…” he trailed off, too overwhelmed to even say what he wanted to say.

You chuckled, brushing a lock of hair from his face.

“Maybe next time you can bring your cute friend with the tattoos,” you said with a wicked grin, watching his eyes widen in flustered surprise.

From that night on, Gerard was somehow yours. He sought you out at the bar, sent you shy e-mails with doodles and song snippets, his thoughts consumed by you.

basement!gerard who shamelessly stares at you at your job at the only comic book store in town since the first day you started working there

basement!gerard who will stay in the store for hours, refusing to check out until you're not behind the counter anymore because he's scared to talk to you

basement!gerard who rehearses talking to you every night, talking to himself in the mirror and cursing to himself under his breath whenever he messes up, running a hand through his greasy hair

basement!gerard who doesn't know how to react the first time you initiate a conversation with him. "oh! i love that one" you say over his shoulder as you pass behind him carrying a box of comics. his eyes go wide and he just nods quickly, ducking his head before placing it back and leaving the store without a word

basement!gerard who jacks off to you that night, remembering the sound of your voice and imagining you saying all kinds of dirty and depraved things to him while he furiously grips his cock. he cums with your face in his mind, then rolls over and lets the guilt eat him alive until he falls asleep in his own mess

basement!gerard who doesn't come back to the store for weeks after that night, too ashamed to even be in the same room as you

basement!gerard who can't look you in the eye as you serve him at the counter. your colleague was on break and he really needed the new issue of doom patrol

basement!gerard who's hands shake as he hands you the cash. "you've got good taste," you tell him as you hand him his change, and he blushes, thanking you quietly before rushing out

basement!gerard who finally talks to you first, offering a small "hi" as he passes you in the store, then lets you drag him into a conversation about comics. his eyes practically turn into heart shapes as he listens to you talk passionately about your favourite authors, realizing you have a lot in common

basement!gerard who is lost for words when you tell him you'd like to see his collection sometime. "sounds impressive," you tell him, and he just makes a small noise of agreement, thinking about you both in his basement room together and what it could lead to

basement!gerard who tries and fails to avert his eyes during the heat wave when he sees you bent over in shorts stocking shelves, feeling the blood rush to his dick and hiding behind a shelf until it had gone down

basement!gerard who works up the confidence to ask you over to his place to look through his collection, and grins when you agree enthusiastically, asking if you can come over tonight

basement!gerard who actually showers and attempts to clean his room that afternoon, then paces back and forth by the front door until you arrive

basement!gerard who gets hard almost immediately when you lay on your front on his bed in your shorts, flicking through a few comics he'd laid out for you

basement!gerard who can't help but palm himself through his jeans while you have your back to him, and freezes when you turn around and catch him

basement!gerard whose eyes go wide when you crawl off the bed towards him, settling on your knees in front of him and begin to unbuckle his belt

basement!gerard who is so loud and vocal, whimpering and whining as you suck his cock, thrusting into your mouth with his hands tangled into your hair

basement!gerard who constantly apologizes and thanks you while you're on your knees for him. "ah, shit. thank you, oh fuck- you're so- so good at this. thank you, fuck, thank you. i'm- i'm gonna-"

basement!gerard who cums after only a few minutes, a shaking mess as he thrusts into your mouth, cumming into the back of your throat and apologizing constantly, holding you there until he's completely spent

basement!gerard who looks like he's going to cry as soon as he releases you. "i'm sorry, god. so sorry. i didn't mean to-"

basement!gerard who gets embarrassingly hard again as soon as you stand up to push him backwards onto the bed, stripping off your clothes and straddling him

basement!gerard who can't believe his luck when you fuck his brains out, begging you to talk down to him, whimpering underneath you when you do. "god, you're such a pervert. you like it when i fuck myself on you? how many times have you jacked off to me like this? such a desperate little man"