#frerard fluff

“You actually did it,” Gerard hissed, fingers digging into Frank’s hips hard enough to leave crescent moons through the thin fabric of his jeans. The stage lights had cut out seconds ago, plunging them into the smoky half-dark backstage area, but Frank could still see the wild gleam in Gerard’s eyes. Part fury, part something hotter.

Frank wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning despite the way his pulse hammered in his throat. “Yeah, and you fucking loved it.” The crowd’s roar still vibrated in his bones, and their chants of encore, muffled behind the heavy curtain. He’d planned the move weeks ago. The drag of his tongue up Gerard’s cheekbone, slow and obscene. He’d even rehearsed it in the mirror until his jaw ached. But the way Gerard had shuddered against him, the choked noise they’d made mid-song? That wasn’t part of the script.

Someone shouted Gerard’s name from across the wing, and they jerked apart like they’d been caught, though no one was looking. Frank’s skin prickled where Gerard had gripped him, phantom warmth lingering. He watched their throat bob as they swallowed, watched their fingers flex like they wanted to reach for him again.

The stage manager barreled past, clutching her clipboard like it was her lifeline. “Five minutes to load-out,” she barked, already vanishing into the maze of equipment.

Frank’s fingers tightened around Gerard’s wrist, their pulse hammering against his thumb. The stage manager’s voice had faded into the din of clattering gear and roadies shouting over each other, but all Frank could focus on was the way that Gerard’s pupils swallowed the dim light. “Five minutes,” Frank echoed, voice rough, and Gerard’s breath hitched. Just once, barely there, before they twisted their hand free only to shove Frank backward into the narrow gap between two towering amps.

The metal was cold against Frank’s spine, but Gerard’s body was fever-hot where they pressed against him, one knee slotting between Frank’s thighs with practiced ease. “You’re such a little shit,” Gerard murmured, but their hands were already working Frank’s belt loose, fingers skimming the damp waistband of his briefs. Frank bit down a groan, head tipping back against the amp with a dull thud. The noise of the crew was too close, too loud, but Gerard’s mouth on his neck was louder. Sharp teeth and wet, open-mouthed kisses that made Frank’s hips jerk forward helplessly. 

Gerard’s laugh was a dark, pleased thing against his skin. "Thought you wanted an audience," they taunted, palming Frank through his jeans just hard enough to make his breath stutter. Frank’s nails dug into Gerard’s shoulders, gripping the sweat-damp fabric of their shirt. The stage had been one thing. That was calculated and choreographed. But this was something else entirely. The risk of being caught, the way Gerard’s fingers trembled ever so slightly as they undid his fly, it was all too real, too fucking much.

Someone dropped a mic stand nearby with a clatter, and Gerard froze, their breath hot against Frank’s collarbone. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Then Gerard’s hand slid into Frank’s briefs, fingers curling around him with a grip that bordered on cruel, and Frank’s vision whited out for a second. "Fuck—" he choked out, hips bucking into Gerard’s fist, but Gerard just clamped their free hand over his mouth again, smothering the sound.

Frank’s knees nearly gave out when Gerard’s thumb swiped over his cockhead, smearing precome down his length with a roughness that bordered on punishment. The hand over his mouth tasted like sweat and stage smoke, but Frank couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when Gerard was jerking him off with the same rhythm they’d used onstage, all sharp, controlled movements that left Frank gasping against their palm.

Gerard leaned in, lips brushing the shell of Frank’s ear. “You gonna come for me?” they murmured, voice dripping with mock sweetness. “Right here, where anyone could see?” Their fingers tightened, twisting just shy of painful, and Frank’s hips jerked forward with a muffled whine. The amp behind him rattled with the force of it, and Gerard’s grin turned downright predatory. “Christ, you’re pathetic,” they breathed, but their own thighs were pressed together tight, rocking against nothing like they couldn’t help it.

A burst of laughter erupted somewhere to their left. Too close. And Frank went rigid, heartbeat slamming against his ribs. Gerard didn’t stop, just slowed their strokes to a torturous crawl, dragging their thumb over Frank’s slit in slow circles until his thighs trembled. “Scared?” they taunted, but their own breath hitched when Frank bit down on their fingers, teeth sinking in hard enough to leave marks.

The noise Gerard made was filthy, half groan and half laugh, and Frank could feel the vibration of it where their chests were pressed together. He arched into their grip, desperate for more friction, more anything, but Gerard pulled back just enough to watch him unravel, eyes dark and gleaming under the backstage lights. “Look at you,” they murmured, voice wrecked. “All worked up over nothing.”

Frank’s knees hit the amp with a metallic thud as Gerard’s grip twisted, their thumb pressing punishingly into the underside of his cock. The sting of it shot straight to his gut, and Frank’s vision blurred. Half from the pleasure, half from the sheer fucking audacity of Gerard doing this here, now, with roadies shouting just feet away. He could hear the clatter of equipment being loaded onto the bus, the distant hum of the crowd still chanting outside of the venue, but all of it faded beneath the wet sound of Gerard’s hand working him over, slick with sweat and precome.

Gerard’s teeth grazed Frank’s earlobe, breath ragged. “You’re dripping,” they muttered, like it was an accusation, and Frank choked on a laugh that came out more like a sob. Their fingers curled tighter, dragging up his length in a slow, filthy stroke that had Frank’s hips jerking forward uncontrollably. The amp rattled again, loud enough that someone nearby shouted, ‘Hey, watch it!’, but Gerard didn’t flinch. Just pressed their forehead to Frank’s, their noses brushing, and fucked him faster with their hand, their own hips grinding against Frank’s thigh in a desperate, uneven rhythm.

Frank’s breath came in sharp, punched-out gasps against Gerard’s palm. He could feel them shaking against him, could hear the way their breath hitched every time Frank’s teeth dug into their fingers. It was messy, too fucking much. Gerard’s knuckles bumping his zipper, the wet slide of skin on skin, the way their knee kept slipping between Frank’s thighs like they couldn’t decide whether to pin him or rut against him. Frank’s stomach tightened, heat coiling low and urgent, and he bit down harder on Gerard’s hand just to hear them groan.

Then there were footsteps. Close. Way too close.

The footsteps stutter to a halt just beyond the amps, and Frank’s entire body locks up, his breath trapped behind Gerard’s fingers. Gerard goes still, their hand still wrapped around Frank, thumb pressed obscenely against his slit. For one agonizing second, Frank can hear his own pulse roaring in his ears, then the footsteps pivot away, swallowed by the din of the crew. Gerard exhales sharply through their nose, their grip tightening reflexively, and Frank nearly bites through their palm.

Gerard leans in, lips brushing Frank’s temple. “Close?” they murmur, voice ragged. Their hips stutter against Frank’s thigh, fabric catching damply, and Frank nods frantically, thighs trembling. Gerard’s laugh is breathless, uneven. “Yeah, me too.” Their thumb circles Frank’s cockhead, smearing precome down his length, and Frank whines high in his throat, hips jerking.

For a long moment, they just breathe, foreheads pressed together, sweat dripping between them. That was until the PA system crackled to life, “Final call for load-out crew. Wheels rolling in ten.”

Frank’s knees gave out completely when Gerard finally pulled away, their fingers leaving his skin sticky and oversensitive. He slumped against the amp, chest heaving, and Gerard wiped their palm on their jeans with a lazy smirk. The PA system blared again, “nine minutes,”but Frank barely registered it over the ringing in his ears. His body felt boneless, wrung-out, but Gerard was already straightening their shirt like nothing had happened, like they hadn’t just wrecked him against a goddamn amp in the middle of a backstage frenzy.

“You’re gonna kill me,” Frank muttered, voice hoarse. He swiped a hand over his mouth, tasted sweat and Gerard’s skin, and shuddered.

Gerard’s grin was all teeth. "Only if you’re lucky." They reached down, hooked a finger under Frank’s chin to tilt his face up, and Frank’s pulse stuttered all over again at the look in their eyes. Dark, possessive, hungry. "Now get your shit together before someone sees you like this." They patted Frank’s cheek twice, condescending as hell, and Frank wanted to bite their fingers clean off.

Instead, he grabbed Gerard’s wrist again, yanking them close enough to smell the salt on their skin. "You don’t get to walk away first," Frank growled, and Gerard’s eyebrows shot up, amused. Frank didn’t give them time to quip back, just spun them around and shoved them face-first into the amp with a dull thud. Gerard’s breath hitched, shoulders tensing, but they didn’t resist when Frank crowded against their back, mouth hot on their neck. "You’re mine," Frank whispered, biting down just hard enough to make Gerard gasp. "Remember that."

The PA crackled again, “eight minutes”, but Frank barely registered it over the rush of blood in his ears. Gerard’s back was pressed flush against his chest, their breath coming in sharp, uneven pants as Frank dragged his teeth down the nape of their neck. He could feel the hitch in Gerard’s ribs when his fingers slid under their shirt, skimming the damp skin of their stomach, and the sound they made, half protest, half plea, sent a fresh wave of heat straight to Frank’s gut.

“You’re insatiable,” Gerard gasped, but their hips arched back into Frank’s grip anyway, their ass grinding against his still-hard cock. Frank’s laugh was ragged against their shoulder, his fingers digging into Gerard’s hip hard enough to leave marks. “And you’re full of shit,” he muttered, nipping at Gerard’s earlobe. “Like you weren’t begging for it.

Gerard twisted in his grip, their smirk sharp enough to cut glass, and Frank’s breath caught at the sight of them. Lips swollen, hair a mess, their shirt riding up where Frank’s hands had been. They looked wrecked, and the knowledge that he’d done that, that he was the reason Gerard’s knees were still shaking, sent a thrill down Frank’s spine. 

Then Gerard’s knee knocked between Frank’s thighs, their grin turning downright mean, and Frank’s vision blurred for a second. “You gonna do something about that?” they taunted, nodding pointedly at Frank’s crotch, and Frank growled, shoving them back against the amp hard enough to make the metal shudder.

Frank's fingers dug into Gerard's hips, the fabric of their jeans bunching under his grip as he ground against them slowly and deliberately, just to watch their throat bob when they swallowed hard. "You talk too much," Frank muttered, lips dragging along the shell of Gerard's ear before biting down, sharp enough to make them gasp. The amp behind them rattled with every shift of their bodies, and Frank could feel the way Gerard's breath hitched when his knee pressed tighter between their thighs. 

Someone shouted, “Move your asses, wheels in five!” from across the wing. Jesus, how was time moving that fast? They hadn’t heard the PA system over the heavy breaths between them. Frank didn’t care, though. Not when Gerard's back arched for him, not when their fingers scrabbled at the amp's edge like they were trying to hold on. Frank slid a hand up their shirt, palming the sweat-slick skin of their stomach, and Gerard made a sound, half laugh, half groan, before twisting their head to catch Frank's mouth in a kiss that was more teeth than tongue.

Frank could taste the adrenaline on them, the sharp tang of stage smoke, and the faint copper hint of blood where Gerard's lip had split during the set. He chased it, licking into their mouth with a hunger that bordered on desperation, their teeth clacking together before Gerard bit down hard enough to make Frank hiss. The sting of it only made him grind forward harder, his cock throbbing against the rough denim of Gerard's jeans. 

Gerard's hands flew up, fingers tangling in Frank's hair to yank his head back. "You're obsessed," they breathed, lips slick and swollen, but their voice cracked halfway through, betraying the way their thighs trembled against Frank's knee. Frank grinned, wild and mean, and dragged his thumb over the damp spot on Gerard's crotch, watching their pupils blow wide. "Yeah," Frank agreed, voice rough. "And you're fucked."

The PA system screeched again, “Four minutes”, and Gerard's grip tightened in Frank's hair, pulling until his scalp burned. "Then fuck me," they demanded, low and wrecked, and Frank's breath stuttered. He could feel the heat of Gerard's body through their jeans, could smell the sweat and sex clinging to their skin, and the sheer audacity of them, demanding this here, now, with the crew shouting just feet away.

Frank didn't hesitate. He spun Gerard around again, shoving them face-first into the amp with enough force to draw a clang from the metal beneath them. Gerard's breath punched out in a gasp, their fingers scrabbling for purchase on the slick surface, but Frank was already yanking their jeans down just far enough to expose the curve of their ass. He spat into his palm, slicking himself up with rough, hurried strokes, and Gerard groaned, low and throaty, when Frank pressed the head of his cock against them.

Gerard's back arched, shoulders tensing as Frank pushed in, slow, deliberate, savoring the choked noise Gerard tried to swallow. The amp behind them rattled with every thrust, the metal cold against Gerard’s palms where they braced themselves. Frank leaned in, biting the jut of Gerard’s shoulder blade through their damp shirt. “Quiet,” he growled, but Gerard only laughed, breathless and sharp, when Frank’s hips stuttered at the clench of their body around him.

Footsteps clattered past, too close, and Frank froze, fingers digging into Gerard’s hipbones hard enough to bruise. Gerard’s breath hitched, their muscles tightening around Frank in a way that made his vision blur for a second. Then the footsteps faded, swallowed by the roar of the loading bay doors slamming shut, and Frank exhaled harshly through his nose before snapping his hips forward again, harder this time. Gerard’s muffled curse was half-lost in the creak of the amp, their knuckles whitening where they gripped the edge.

Frank leaned in, lips brushing the shell of Gerard’s ear. “You gonna come?” he murmured, mimicking Gerard’s mocking tone they’d taken with him earlier, dragging his teeth over the sweat-slick skin just below Gerard’s jaw. “Right here, where anyone could see?” His hand slid around Gerard’s hip, fingers curling around them with a grip that bordered on cruel, and Gerard’s hips jerked forward with a punched-out gasp. Frank grinned against their shoulder, thumb swiping over their cockhead in slow, filthy circles. “Fucking pathetic,” he breathed, but his own thighs trembled where they pressed against Gerard’s.

Gerard twisted their head to glare over their shoulder, lips swollen and pupils blown wide. “Shut up,” they hissed, clearly feeling mocked, but the effect was ruined by the way their voice cracked when Frank’s fingers tightened. Frank laughed low and mean, and fucked into them harder, the wet slap of skin echoing beneath the hum of the PA system’s countdown. “Three minutes.”

Gerard’s knees buckled when Frank’s thumb pressed into the underside of their cock, twisting just shy of painful. They bit down on their own wrist to muffle the groan, shoulders shaking as Frank fucked them harder into the amp. Each thrust was punctuated by the metallic creak of the casing. The noise alone should’ve been enough to get them caught, but Frank didn’t care. Not when Gerard’s body clenched around him like a vice, not when their breath came in ragged, punched-out gasps against their own skin.

Frank leaned in, lips dragging along the sweat-damp curve of Gerard’s spine. “You’re close,” he muttered, more observation than question, and Gerard’s hips jerked back into his grip with a broken noise. Frank’s grin was all teeth. “Yeah, I know.” He tightened his fingers, stroking Gerard in time with his thrusts, and watched their shoulders tense, their fingers scramble for purchase on the slick metal.

The PA system crackled to life once again, “Two minutes,” but Gerard barely registered it over the white-noise rush of blood in their ears. Frank’s teeth sank into the nape of their neck, sharp enough to leave marks, and Gerard’s vision blurred at the edges, their thighs trembling. They could feel Frank’s breath hot against their skin, could hear the ragged hitch in his voice when Gerard clenched around him on purpose just to watch Frank’s rhythm stutter.

Frank growled, low and rough, and pinned Gerard harder against the amp. “You fuck,” he hissed, but his hips snapped forward anyway, driving into Gerard with a force that made the metal shudder even louder. Gerard’s laugh came out strangled, their fingers slipping on the amp’s edge, and Frank’s hand shot out to brace them, his palm flat against the casing beside Gerard’s head.

Frank’s fingers dug into Gerard’s hipbones, the sharp press of bone against his palms the only anchor as he fucked into them with rough, uneven thrusts. Gerard’s breath hitched with every snap of Frank’s hips, their shoulders tensing as the amp rattled behind them, loud, too loud, but Frank didn’t care. Not when Gerard was biting down on their own wrist to stifle the noises, not when their body clenched around him like a vise every time he dragged his thumb over the head of their cock.

Gerard’s knees gave out just as the PA system blared “One minute,” their hips jerking forward into Frank’s grip with a choked-off gasp. Frank caught them by the waist, yanking them back against his chest, and Gerard’s head tipped back against his shoulder with a ragged exhale. “Fuck—” they breathed, voice wrecked, and Frank grinned against the sweat-damp skin of their neck.

“Yeah,” Frank muttered, twisting his fingers just shy of cruel. “Like that.” He could feel Gerard trembling against him, could hear the way their breath stuttered when Frank’s teeth scraped the shell of their ear. The amp was cold against Frank’s forearm where he braced them both, but Gerard’s skin was fever-hot under his hands, their pulse rabbiting beneath his fingertips.

Gerard’s hips stuttered, their thighs shaking as Frank’s thumb circled their cockhead, smearing precome down their length in slow, filthy strokes. “Frank—” they managed, voice cracking, and Frank bit down on their shoulder just to feel them jerk in his grip.

Frank didn't let up. Not when Gerard's back arched against him, not when their fingers scrabbled at the amp's edge hard enough to leave marks. He kept his grip tight, his strokes relentless, watching the way Gerard's throat worked as they swallowed back noises that would've given them away instantly. The PA system blared “Thirty seconds,” a death knell. But Frank only fucked into them harder, the wet slap of skin lost beneath the crew's shouted warnings about the bus doors closing.

Gerard came with a silent, shuddering gasp, their body clamping down on Frank so tight it stole his breath. Frank bit down on their shoulder to muffle his own groan, hips stuttering as he chased his climax. Rough, frantic, barely holding on. The amp rattled violently when Gerard's knees finally gave out, their weight dragging Frank down with them in a tangle of limbs and damp fabric.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. They just breathed against each other's skin, sweat-slick and trembling until the PA screeched “Doors sealing in ten,” and reality came crashing back. Frank jerked upright, wiping his hand hastily on his jeans before yanking Gerard to their feet. "Move," he hissed, shoving their jeans back up with rough hands. Gerard's laugh was breathless, uneven, but they staggered upright, their shirt clinging to their back in damp patches.

They barely made it, Frank's boot hitting the bus steps just as the hydraulics whined behind them, the door sealing shut with a hiss. The driver didn't even glance back as they stumbled down the aisle, still half-hard and reeking of sex, but Ray shot up from his bunk when Gerard collapsed onto the bench opposite him with a groan.

Ray's smirk was immediate, sharp as a blade. "Jesus. You two look like you just got dragged through a tour bus exhaust pipe." He kicked Gerard’s boot lightly, nose wrinkling when they didn’t even bother flipping him off, just slumped against the seat, breathing ragged. "Or," Ray added, grin widening, "almost like someone rode you through one."

Gerard’s fingers twitched against the vinyl seat, still shaking from the aftershocks, and Frank watched the way their throat worked as they swallowed, like they were trying to piece together words through the haze. Ray’s grin didn’t falter, sharp as a switchblade, and Frank kicked his boot up onto the bench beside Gerard, deliberately crowding into their space just to watch their breath hitch.  

"Exhaust pipe’s got nothing on me," Frank muttered, voice rough, and Gerard’s laugh came out punched-out, half a groan. Their knee knocked against Frank’s thigh, warm even through denim, and Frank didn’t miss the way their fingers curled into the seat like they were stopping themselves from reaching out.  

Still no answer. Instead, I received a tiny cry.

"No one has ever been this nice to me."

Those words struck my heart. No one? I moved closer to him and took his hand into mine. As I laced our fingers together, he brought his gaze onto me. "I've lived the cliche unpopular high school life. I wasn't like the other guys, you know? I liked art, I liked music, I liked fashion. To this old-school town, I was just some weird kid, some outsider. I never felt like I belonged. On top of that, I could never find any friends. My only friend was my brother. He's younger than me, about 3 years. Only he understood me and liked the things I liked. And since I never had friends, I never got a girlfriend. I had thought girls never liked me, so maybe...maybe boys did. That was a mistake on my part," He frowned now and looked away. "Those idiotic jocks...you don't want to know what they did." His brows knit together. Whatever they did, it must've been an awful experience. I squeezed Gerard's hand. "It's why I dropped out early and became the mess I am today. I mean...look at me—" He gestured over himself with a disgusted look. "I'm wearing a skirt! Only girls wear skirts."

As soon as those words left his mouth, I shook my head. "We can wear skirts too," I said calmly. "Besides, I think it fits you. You look stunning." Gerard looked me in the eye again. This time something completely new was on his face. Was that love?

"I can't possibly look great," He muttered. Oh, what will it take to get through his thick skull? I was done with the "attempts" and the questioning. I wanted to feel something new. I'm sick of the doubt and worry that always held me back. This time I'm going all in. I gave Gerard's hand another squeeze as I leaned over to plant a soft kiss on those lips I had always stared at.

Kissing another man was different than I'd imagine. I always thought it would be the same as kissing a woman, but boy was I wrong. It almost felt as if I were kissing myself. Gerard wasn't just any normal man though. His lips felt soft yet a little on the wetter side. It's like they've never seen a chapped day. The only strange part about this was that it felt completely natural. I thought that if I gave in, the Heavens would open above us and the angels would smite us for a homosexual act. However, that never happened.

I parted our kiss now, and as I sat back, I noticed Gerard has been moved to tears. He was happy though. He wore a thin, curved smile at me, and it felt genuine. At that moment, I felt as if my feelings have finally been reciprocated.

"Where have you been my entire life?" He whispered. "I wish I knew you before..."

"Me too." My answer surprised me. For some reason, I did wish I had met Gerard before all of this. Though tonight was magical, I wished we had more time together.

Gerard let my hand go so that he could cup the side of my face. He still wore that thin smile. His eyes glanced over every feature of me. "You're always saying I'm beautiful, but I think you're the beautiful one, Frankie. You don't give yourself enough credit."

"Neither do you."

He laughed softly. "Oh, there's nothing to like about me," He said. Now his eyes focused on mine. "If only I could draw you right now. I think you'd see how beautiful you are then."

How I wish we could stay in this moment forever. I would be happy to escape the daily hustle and bustle of my everyday life to live a more carefree life with Gerard.

"Do you have a place?"

"Of course I do!" Gerard laughed at my question. "Do you think I just roam the streets like a homeless person?"

I blushed, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you." Gerard waved me off as if to dismiss my apology. He stood up now, but our hands were still holding one another. Not a word escaped his lips as he led me back into the heart of Belleville. We took all sorts of twists and turns on the streets before coming across a small, rundown neighborhood. Although its appearance wasn't the best, it also wasn't the worst neighborhood in Belleville. It was livable, and that was all that could be said about this part of town.

Alas, we reached the place Gerard has been leading me too. Appearance-wise, I could tell it was in a much better condition than the other homes we passed. It had a new coat of paint on its siding and front porch. The roof looked reshingled as well. I took notice that the lawn was freshly mowed too. At least some people had some decency.

I followed Gerard up to the porch. Before we stepped inside though, I took a hold of Gerard's arm. "Is anyone else staying here?" I needed to ask in case I had to introduce myself.

"Yeah, just my brother," He assured. "I'm sure he's just sleeping right now though." With those words hanging in the air now, he stepped into the house and led me through the hallway to his room. Once inside, I closed the door behind me as softly as I could. Near the bed, Gerard shimmied off his skirt and grabbed a pair of raggedy jeans off his bed. There was an assortment of different clothes scattered on his bed. Something about it was more artistic than messy.

"Sorry for the mess," Gerard said quietly. "I'm not really tidy."

"Me neither," I smiled. An effort to reassure him. I took a seat next to him on the bed and took a glance around the room. His room isn't really that bad. I think it's comfortable. Of course, it could use some cleaning. I rested my gaze on Gerard now and gave him a smile again. 

"Did you wanna sleep?" He blushed, his head ducking slightly. I could tell he felt awkward, and honestly, I did too. "Sure," I said. "I can sleep on the floor if you want."

"No, it's fine," He blurted. "I mean, my bed's big enough anyway." He got himself situated underneath the bed covers. His eyes met mine afterward, and he raised a brow. Taking the cue, I shrugged off my jacket and untied my tie. When I felt I was comfortable enough, I crawled over to the other side of the bed and laid down. We were both turned on our sides to where we were looking at each other. There was silence for about a good minute until he spoke up.

"I wonder how Mikey's gonna react to you," He said with a growing smile. 

I shrugged my shoulder and I gave him a slight smile. "I don't know, maybe he'll like me."

"Heh, well, he's shy, so talk carefully." 

The strongest memory Gerard had of Frank—the one that played behind their eyelids whenever they caught him smirking during a reprimand—wasn’t from the office. It was from a Thursday afternoon six months ago, when Frank had leaned against the copy machine with a half-eaten sandwich in one hand and a misprinted contract in the other, grinning as if he’d just won something. 

“You realize this is the third time this month you’ve used the wrong template,” Gerard had said, adjusting their cuffs with deliberate precision.

Frank crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it into the recycling without looking. “Yeah, but it’s fine. I caught it before it went out.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?” Frank licked mayo off his thumb. “The client’s happy, the numbers are right—”

Gerard’s fingers tightened around their pen just enough for the plastic to creak. “The point,” they said, voice low, “is that I shouldn’t have to rely on you catching your own mistakes after you’ve made them.”

The thing about Frank was that he listened, but never heard. Gerard had seen him memorize entire case files overnight, recite deposition transcripts verbatim, yet somehow still miss the glaringly obvious that rules existed for a reason.

The second strongest memory Gerard had was from three weeks ago, when they’d walked into the break room to find Frank perched on the counter, swinging his legs like a kid while he explained to a Junior Associate how to bypass the document review system. “Just submit it straight to drafting,” he’d said, tossing a sugar packet into his coffee. “They never check the headers anyway.” Gerard had cleared their throat. Frank hadn’t even startled. He just turned with that same infuriating smile and said, “Hey, boss. You want in on this? Saves like twelve hours of—”

The memory resurfaced unhelpfully as Gerard stared across the conference table.

“You’re impossible,” Gerard said now, tossing the corrected contract onto the table between them.

Frank leaned forward, elbows on his knees, sandwich forgotten. “Yeah, but you love me for it.”

Gerard’s pen hovered over the final clause of the contract, their knuckles going pale around the grip. “Love,” they repeated, the word sharp enough to make Frank’s smile twitch. “Is that what you think this is?”

Frank stretched his arms behind his head, the hem of his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a strip of skin above his belt. “Dunno. You tell me.” He tilted his chair back on the two legs, balancing precariously. “You keep me around. Even after the— what was it? ‘Goddamn trainwreck of an exhibit list last month.’”

The chair legs hit the floor with a crack as Gerard stood, looming over him. “I keep you,” they said deliberately stern, “because when you’re not cutting corners, you’re the best goddamn legal assistant in this firm.” They leaned down, bracing one hand on the armrest of Frank’s chair. “But don’t mistake tolerance for affection.”

Frank’s throat bobbed. For once, he stayed quiet.

Gerard straightened, adjusting their cuffs. “And sit properly. You’re not a teenager.”

Frank exhaled sharply through his nose, almost a laugh. His fingers tapped once, twice against the armrest of his chair before he deliberately planted both feet flat on the floor. “Yeah, okay,” he said, voice lighter than his expression. “But you do tolerate me. Kinda feels like affection coming from you.”

Gerard didn’t blink. “You’re exhausting.”

“And yet.” Frank spread his hands, palms up. “Here we are.”

For a moment, the only sound was the hum of the office HVAC. Then Gerard turned away, grabbing their briefcase from the edge of the conference table. “Pack up. We’re going to dinner.”

Frank blinked. “What?”

Frank didn’t move. His fingers twitched against the armrest, his usual smirk frozen halfway to forming. “Dinner,” he repeated like the word was in a foreign language. “Like… client dinner?”

Gerard didn’t look up as they snapped their briefcase shut. “No. Like food. At a restaurant. Unless you’ve forgotten how to eat between rewriting deposition notices and dismantling my filing system.”

Frank’s chair creaked as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You’re not serious.”

Gerard straightened their jacket with a sharp tug. “Seven-thirty. Villa Toscana. Don’t be late.” They turned toward the door, heels clicking against the tile.

Frank’s laugh was sudden, bright, and entirely too loud for the office. “Holy shit, are you asking me out?”

The office door clicked shut behind Gerard, leaving Frank stunned and staring at the frosted glass panel like it might offer some explanation. His fingers drummed against the armrest again, three quick taps, then two slower ones. He grabbed his phone and fired off a text to his best friend, Ray: "Think I just got asked out by Satan in a pencil skirt."

Villa Toscana was the kind of place Frank usually avoided. White tablecloths, wine pairings, waiters who looked like they’d judge him for using the wrong fork. He showed up fifteen minutes early anyway, which was unprecedented enough that Gerard raised one perfectly arched brow when they found him already seated, fidgeting with the stem of his water glass.

"You’re never early," Gerard said, sliding into the chair across from him. The candlelight caught the sharp angles of their cheekbones, casting shadows that made Frank’s throat go dry.  

Frank shrugged, aiming for nonchalance and landing somewhere closer to nervous. "Yeah, well. Figured you’d leave if I was late." 

Gerard unfolded their napkin with deliberate precision. "I would have."

Frank’s fingers twitched against the tablecloth, tracing the rim of his glass like he was mapping the edge of something dangerous. The waiter appeared with menus thicker than some of the briefs he’d filed, and Frank almost laughed at the absurdity of it—Gerard, watching him over the top of their wine list like this, was another deposition.

“You’re staring,” Gerard said without looking up.

Frank leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs under the table until his foot brushed Gerard’s ankle. He didn’t move it away. “Just trying to figure out if this is a business dinner or if I should be nervous.”

Gerard's gaze flicked up, sharp as a blade between his ribs. "Would you be nervous?"

The air between them crackled with something Frank couldn’t name. Tension? Anticipation? He swallowed, suddenly aware of the way Gerard’s collar dipped just low enough to reveal the hollow of their throat. “Depends. Are you gonna yell at me over scallops?”

Gerard set their menu down with a quiet finality that made Frank's pulse jump. "I don't yell over dinner." Their fingers tapped once against the stem of their wine glass. A tell Frank had catalogued months ago during various client dinners, the only outward sign of irritation they ever allowed themselves. "I yell in my office. With the door closed."

Frank's grin faltered as Gerard's heel pressed deliberately against his instep under the table, the sharp point of it digging in just enough to sting. The waiter reappeared with two glasses of red. Gerard's usual order, and, Christ, they'd gotten Frank's preferred Malbec without asking. Frank took a too-big gulp, the tannins drying his mouth as Gerard watched him with that infuriatingly patient expression, like they were waiting for him to misstep so they could correct him.

“Relax,” Gerard murmured, swirling their wine. “You’re fidgeting.”

Frank forced his fingers to unclench from around the glass. “You’re not exactly making this easy.”

“That’s the point.” Gerard leaned forward slightly, the candlelight catching the silver threading through their dark hair. “Tell me why you really rearranged the Clarkson deposition schedule last week.”

Frank's fingers tightened around his wine glass. He could lie. He could say he'd done it for efficiency, could claim some half-baked reasoning about overlapping depositions, but Gerard's gaze was already stripping him bare. "Because," he said, voice lower than he intended, "you were scheduled for three back-to-backs, and I knew you wouldn't cancel even though your back was fucked from working that trial last month."

Gerard’s expression didn’t change, but their fingers stilled against the stem of their glass. “You could have asked.”

Frank snorted. “Right. Like you’d ever admit you were in pain.” He traced the rim of his glass, avoiding Gerard’s eyes. “Besides, it worked. Nobody noticed, you got a break, and the client didn’t complain.”

"That's not—" Gerard cut themself off with a sharp exhale. The waiter arrived with their appetizers, and Gerard waited until he'd retreated before continuing, voice dangerously quiet. "You don't get to decide what I can handle."

Frank stabbed a fork into his bruschetta harder than necessary. "Yeah, well. Somebody had to."

The silence between them stretched tight as piano wire. Gerard's fingers flexed around their wine glass, the candlelight catching the sharp edge of their ring as they set it down with deliberate precision. When they spoke, their voice was low enough that Frank had to lean in to hear them over the ambient clatter of silverware and murmured conversations. "Do you really think so little of me?"

Frank’s fork clattered against his plate. “What?”

"That I wouldn't notice." Gerard's gaze locked onto him, unblinking. "That I wouldn't care."

Frank's throat worked around nothing. He'd seen Gerard eviscerate opposing counsel with that same calm intensity. He had watched them dismantle entire arguments without raising their voice. But this wasn't cross-examination. This was something far more dangerous. 

Gerard tilted their head slightly, the movement predatory in its precision. “You rearrange my schedule. You intercept my coffee orders after midnight filings. You—” Their lips thinned. “You hover, Frank. Like I’m some fragile thing that needs protecting.”

Frank’s pulse hammered against his ribs. He’d seen Gerard like this before. Eyes dark with something between fury and fascination, but never directed at him outside the office. Never over candlelight and half-finished wine. “I don’t think you’re fragile,” he said voice rough. “I think you’re—”

"Exhausted," Gerard finished, sharp as a blade between his ribs. "Which is rich, coming from someone who hasn’t slept more than four hours a night in months."  

Frank’s fingers twitched against the tablecloth. "How the hell do you know that?"  

Gerard’s smile was razor-thin. "Because I pay attention,  Frank. Unlike you, I don’t just assume things will fix themselves."

Frank’s wine glass hovered halfway to his lips, the Malbec suddenly tasting like iron on his tongue. The ambient noise of the restaurant faded into white static—just the rapid thud of his own pulse and Gerard’s unwavering stare pinning him to his chair. 

Frank’s wine glass hovered halfway to his lips, the Malbec suddenly tasting like iron on his tongue. The ambient noise of the restaurant faded into white static. Just the rapid thud of his own pulse and Gerard’s unwavering stare pinning him to his chair. 

“You’ve been tracking my sleep schedule?” Frank managed, his voice too light for the way his knuckles whitened around the stem of his glass.

Gerard’s fingers traced the rim of their wine glass, deliberate as a chess move. "Noticed," they corrected softly. "The bags under your eyes. The way you jerk awake when I call your name after lunch. The three—" Their lips quirked. "—very creative typos in last week’s motion that only happen when you’re running on caffeine and spite." 

Frank exhaled sharply through his nose, the laugh sticking somewhere between his ribs. "Jesus Christ. You’re terrifying." 

Gerard leaned forward, the candlelight carving shadows under their cheekbones. "And yet," they murmured, echoing Frank’s words from earlier, "here we are."

Frank’s fingers tightened around his wine glass until he felt the delicate stem might snap. The waiter reappeared with their entrees—Gerard’s impeccably plated sea bass, Frank’s eggplant parmigiana—but neither of them moved to eat.

“You know,” Frank said finally, dragging his thumb through the condensation on his glass, “most people don’t memorize their coworkers’ sleep schedules.”

Gerard sliced into their fish with surgical precision. “Most coworkers don’t make it their personal mission to rearrange my life like some—” The knife scraped against the porcelain. “—overprotective stray.”

Frank stabbed his eggplant hard enough to send a dribbling pool of marinara sauce across the plate. “Yeah, well. Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t work yourself into an early grave.”

The silence that followed was heavy enough to drown in. Gerard set their silverware down with deliberate care, folded their napkin, and leaned forward until the candlelight caught the flecks of gold in their green eyes. "And who," they asked softly, "is making sure you don’t?"

Frank’s fork froze halfway to his mouth, the bite of eggplant suddenly tasteless. Gerard’s question hung between them like a blade. Sharp, deliberate, and impossible to ignore. He opened his mouth to deflect, to crack a joke about surviving on spite and energy drinks, but the words died in his throat when Gerard reached across the table and caught his wrist with surprising gentleness.

"You’re shaking," Gerard murmured, their thumb brushing over the rapid pulse point beneath Frank’s skin.

Frank swallowed hard. "I’m fine."

Gerard’s grip tightened fractionally. Not painful, just present, grounding in a way Frank couldn’t articulate. "Try again."

The restaurant noise faded into static as Frank stared at their joined hands. Gerard’s perfectly manicured nails against his chipped black polish, the contrast stark under the candlelight. “I don’t—” His voice cracked. “Nobody’s ever asked me that before.”

Gerard’s fingers didn’t move from Frank’s wrist. Not tightening, not retreating, just there, an anchor point in the storm Frank hadn’t realized was raging inside him until now. The ambient clink of silverware and conversations faded into the white noise, leaving only the sharp hitch of Frank’s breath and the way Gerard’s thumb pressed lightly against his pulse point, counting each rapid beat like evidence in a deposition.

"Tell me," Gerard said, voice low enough that Frank had to lean in to hear it. Not a demand. Not a request. Something in between. An order wrapped in velvet.

Frank’s throat worked around nothing. He could lie. He could crack a joke about surviving on caffeine and spite, a call-back on what Gerard had quipped about earlier, but Gerard’s gaze was already stripping him bare, peeling back layers Frank hadn’t realized he’d built so high. "It’s just—" He exhaled sharply, fingers twitching under Gerard’s grip. "Nobody’s ever noticed before."

Gerard’s expression didn’t change, but their fingers flexed slightly around Frank’s wrist. A silent go on. 

Frank swallowed hard, still staring at the way his chipped black polish contrasted against Gerard’s flawless manicure. "My mom got sick last year," he said, the words rough as if dragged over gravel. "Nothing terminal, just— Chronic. Expensive. And my sister’s still in school, so I—" His thumb traced the rim of his wine glass, avoiding Gerard’s eyes. "I picked up overtime at the firm. Started freelancing after hours. Figured I’d sleep when she was better."

Gerard didn’t move. Their grip on Frank’s wrist stayed firm, their expression unreadable in the flickering candlelight. Frank expected judgment. Pity, even. But Gerard’s voice was startlingly soft when they finally spoke. "And now?"

Frank’s laugh was brittle. "Now she is better. Mostly. But the bills aren’t." He dragged his free hand through his hair, tugging at the roots until the sting grounded him. "And I’m—" The admission caught in his throat like a fishhook. "Tired. Jesus Christ, I’m so fucking tired."

The words hung between them, raw and exposed. Frank braced for the inevitable you should have told me, the reprimand about proper channels and HR protocols. Instead, Gerard’s thumb traced a slow, deliberate circle over his pulse point. “You idiot,” they murmured, so quietly Frank almost missed it.

Frank’s head snapped up. “What?”

Gerard’s grip tightened, not enough to hurt, just enough to make Frank focus. "You could have come to me." Their voice was low, measured, the same tone they used when explaining a particularly complex legal strategy to a junior associate. "At any point. For anything."

Frank’s pulse jumped under Gerard’s fingers. The wine glass slipped from his grip, rolling onto the tablecloth with a dull thud. "Yeah, right," he muttered, staring at the spreading stain like it was easier than meeting Gerard’s eyes. "And what? You’d have patted my head and written me a check?" His laugh was too sharp, too loud for the hushed restaurant. "Come on, Gerard. You don’t do charity cases."

Gerard’s fingers tightened as they leaned forward, the candlelight carving shadows under their cheekbones. "No," they said, voice dangerously soft. "But I do expect my legal assistant to function." Their thumb pressed into Frank’s wrist, right over the erratic flutter of his pulse. "Which you clearly aren’t."

Frank’s breath hitched. He could feel the heat of Gerard’s palm through his sleeve, the slight roughness of their signet ring against his skin. "I’m fine," he lied, automatic as breathing.

Gerard’s exhale was almost a sigh. They released Frank’s wrist just long enough to flag down the waiter and murmur something about settling the bill. Frank barely registered the exchange. His whole world had narrowed to the imprint of Gerard’s fingers on his skin, the way their gaze never wavered from his face.

"Come on," Gerard said, standing with that fluid grace Frank had always envied. They tossed a black card onto the table without looking. "We’re leaving."

Frank didn’t argue when Gerard steered him out of the restaurant with a hand between his shoulder blades. Firm, unyielding, guiding without force. The night air hit his face like a slap, sharp and bracing after the cloying warmth of candlelit wine. Gerard’s car was parked illegally at the curb where the valet had left it, hazards blinking red in the dark like a warning. Frank expected them to shove him into the passenger seat with another clipped order. Instead, Gerard paused, their fingers lingering at the small of Frank’s back just long enough to feel him shiver.

"Get in," Gerard said, but it lacked their usual edge; it was softer, almost concerned, which was somehow worse.

Frank slid into the leather seat, the scent of Gerard’s bergamot cologne clinging to the upholstery. He stared at his own hands, the chipped black polish stark against his pale knuckles. The driver’s side door opened, and Gerard slid in with that effortless precision Frank had spent a year failing to emulate. The engine purred to life, but Gerard didn’t pull away; they just sat there, fingers drumming once on the steering wheel before stilling.

"You’re not taking me home," Frank realized aloud, his voice rough.

Gerard didn’t look at him. "No."

The car smelled like bergamot and something sharper. Tonka bean, maybe, with the faintest hint of cigarette smoke clinging to Gerard’s collar. Frank pressed his forehead against the cool window glass, watching streetlights blur into streaks of gold as Gerard drove without speaking. He should’ve asked where they were going. Should’ve made a joke, deflected, done something to break the tension thickening between them. Instead, he traced the condensation on the window with one fingertip and said nothing.

Gerard’s building was all steel and darkened windows, the kind of place that looked expensive just standing still. Frank followed them through the lobby in silence, his usual smirk absent for once. The elevator ride was worse. Too small, too quiet, the only sound the soft hum of machinery and Frank’s own pulse thudding in his ears. Gerard’s keys jingled once, sharply, before the front door swung open to reveal an apartment as immaculate as their office; everything in its place, nothing out of order.

"Sit," Gerard said, nodding toward the leather sofa. Not a request.

Frank sat. The leather creaked under him, cool against the backs of his thighs. He watched Gerard move through the space with familiar precision, hanging their coat and pouring two fingers of whiskey into a tumbler without asking if Frank wanted any. The glass appeared in front of him with a quiet click against the coffee table.

"Drink," Gerard ordered, standing over him with their arms crossed. The dim lighting caught the silver strands in their hair, the sharp line of their jaw. "Then we talk."

Frank wrapped his fingers around the glass but didn’t lift it. The whiskey swirled amber in the low light, catching the shadows under Gerard’s cheekbones as they stood over him. "What’s there to talk about?" he said, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. His voice cracked on the last word.

Gerard’s sigh was almost imperceptible. They sank into the armchair across from him, legs crossing at the knee, fingers steepled under their chin. "You know exactly what." Their gaze pinned Frank to the spot. Not angry, not even disappointed. Just waiting.

Frank swallowed hard. The whiskey burned its way down his throat, but it did nothing to loosen the knot in his chest. "I fucked up the Clarkson filings," he muttered, staring at the ice melting in his glass. "I know. You don’t have to—"

"Not the filings." Gerard’s voice was quieter now, edged with something Frank couldn’t name. "You’ve been lying to me for months."

Frank’s head snapped up. "I didn’t lie. I just—"

Gerard leaned forward, elbows resting on their knees. The dim light caught the hollow of their throat as they spoke, their voice low and deliberate. "You didn’t just omit things, Frank. You actively hid them. Rearranged my schedule behind my back. Covered your tracks when you were exhausted. That’s not just ‘not telling me’. That’s deception."

Frank’s fingers tightened around the whiskey glass, the ice clinking softly. "What was I supposed to do? Walk into your office and say, ‘Hey Boss, I’m drowning, mind throwing me a lifeline?’" He laughed, sharp and humorless. "You’d have fired me on the spot."

Gerard’s expression didn’t flicker. "Try again."

Frank exhaled sharply through his nose, his thumb tracing the rim of the glass. The silence stretched between them, thick enough to choke on. Finally, he set the whiskey down with a quiet click and met Gerard’s gaze head-on. "I didn’t want you to see me like that," he admitted, voice rough. "Weak. Struggling. Failing."

Gerard’s fingers twitched where they were steepled under their chin. "Weak," they repeated, the word slow and deliberate. "Is that what you think this is?"

Frank’s mouth opened, then closed. Gerard’s gaze was a scalpel peeling back his defenses layer by layer, exposing the raw nerve beneath. “Isn’t it?” he challenged, but his voice lacked its usual bite.

Gerard stood abruptly, the movement so fluid Frank barely registered it until they were looming over him, one hand braced on the back of the sofa beside his head. Their bergamot scent enveloped him, sharp and unyielding. “No,” they said, voice low enough to vibrate through Frank’s ribs. “It’s called being human. Something you seem determined to avoid at all costs.”

Frank's breath hitched when Gerard's free hand came up to grip his chin, forcing him to meet their eyes. Their thumb pressed against his bottom lip, the same way their heel had dug into his instep under the dinner table. "You think I keep you around because you're perfect?" Gerard murmured, their breath warm against Frank's cheek. "I don't. I keep you because you're brilliant, even when you're a mess."

Frank’s pulse thundered in his ears. He should pull away, crack a joke, deflect. But Gerard’s grip was firm, their gaze unwavering, and for once in his life, Frank couldn’t look away.

"You're exhausted," Gerard continued, thumb tracing the curve of Frank's lower lip. "You're overwhelmed. And instead of asking for help, you've been running yourself into the ground trying to prove something to me that I never asked for." Their fingers tightened fractionally. "That stops tonight."

Frank’s breath caught when Gerard’s grip shifted from his chin to the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the short hairs at his nape. The pressure was firm and grounding. Impossible to ignore. “Look at me,” Gerard murmured, and Frank’s eyelids fluttered open before he’d realized they’d fallen shut. Gerard’s expression was unreadable in the dim light, but their thumb traced the line of Frank’s jaw with deliberate precision. “Tell me what you need.”

Frank’s lips parted, but no sound came out. Gerard’s fingers tightened in his hair, and he exhaled sharply through his nose. “I don’t—” His voice cracked. “I don’t know how to.”

Gerard’s thumb brushed over the hinge of his jaw. “Try.”

The word landed like a gavel strike. Frank swallowed, the whiskey burn long faded to an aftertaste. His fingers twitched against the sofa, itching for something to hold onto. “I need—” The admission lodged in his throat like a bullet. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Fuck. I need you to make me.”

Gerard went perfectly still. The hand in Frank’s hair didn’t move, but their breath hitched audibly. “Make you what?”

“Stop.” Frank’s pulse rabbited under Gerard’s fingertips. “Just— stop thinking. Stop running. For five fucking minutes.” He laughed, jagged and raw. “Pathetic, right?”

Gerard’s hand slid from Frank’s hair to cup the back of his neck, their grip unyielding. “No,” they said, voice low and certain. “It’s not pathetic.” Their thumb pressed against the rapid flutter of Frank’s pulse. “But it is reckless.” 

Frank exhaled shakily, his fingers curling into the sofa leather. Gerard’s breath was warm against his cheek, their cologne sharp and grounding. “Tell me,” Gerard murmured, their lips brushing the shell of Frank’s ear, “have you ever done this before?”

Frank’s throat worked. “Not— Not like this.”

Gerard’s fingers tightened in Frank’s hair, pulling just enough to make his scalp sting. “Good,” they murmured, their lips grazing the curve of Frank’s ear. “Then you’ll listen when I tell you how this works.” Their free hand settled on Frank’s thigh, the pressure deliberate through the fabric of his slacks. “You don’t move unless I say. You don’t speak unless I ask. Understood?”

Frank’s breath hitched when Gerard’s nails dug in slightly. “Yeah,” he managed, the word rasping out of him.

Gerard’s grip shifted to his chin, tilting his face up with unyielding precision. “That’s ‘yes, Gerard.’” The correction was soft but absolute.

Frank’s pulse jumped under Gerard’s fingers. “Yes, Gerard.”

“Better.” Gerard stepped back, their heels clicking against hardwood as they circled the sofa. Frank tracked their movement by sound alone, his shoulders tense under the weight of anticipation. The air smelled like bergamot and something darker; whiskey and leather and the faint metallic tang of Gerard’s ring when they pressed it against the nape of his neck.

Frank inhaled sharply as Gerard’s ring pressed cold against his skin. The weight of their silence coiled around him tighter than any command. He could hear the rustle of fabric, the deliberate click of their heels circling him. Predatory and precise. But he kept his hands relaxed on his thighs, eyes fixed straight ahead.

"Stand," Gerard said, low and firm from somewhere behind him.

Frank stood too fast, his knees cracking against the coffee table. Gerard's hand landed between his shoulder blades, steadying him without gentleness. "Slowly," they corrected, fingers splaying possessively over his spine. Their breath ghosted warm over the shell of his ear. "You don’t rush unless I tell you to."

Frank swallowed hard. "Yes, Gerard."

Their palm slid down to the small of his back, guiding him forward until his shins hit the edge of the sofa. "Knees."

Frank’s knees hit the rug before Gerard finished speaking. The impact vibrated up his thighs, the fibers scratching through his slacks, but he didn’t shift. Not when Gerard’s heels clicked closer, not when their fingers threaded through his hair with deliberate ownership. 

“Good,” Gerard murmured, their thumb tracing the shell of Frank’s ear. The praise landed like a live wire down his spine. “Now look at me.” 

Frank tilted his head back, throat bared without conscious thought. Gerard stood over him, backlit by the dim lamplight, their skirt brushing his shoulders. Their free hand unknotted their tie with practiced efficiency, the silk whispering against itself. “Open.” 

Frank’s lips parted on an exhale. Gerard looped the tie around his throat, not tight enough to restrict, just enough to leash. The silk warmed against his skin as Gerard tugged, guiding him forward until his forehead pressed against their thigh. Their fingers tightened in his hair. “Breathe.” 

Frank inhaled shakily, Gerard’s scent flooding his senses. Their thumb brushed his cheekbone, then slid lower, pressing against his bottom lip. “Wider.”

Frank’s lips parted further, the silk tie tightening fractionally as Gerard’s thumb pressed down on his tongue. The bitter tang of their ring flooded his mouth. Metal, salt, and something indefinably Gerard. His jaw ached instantly, but he didn’t pull away; he couldn’t.

"Good," Gerard murmured, their voice gone dark at the edges. Their thumb dragged slowly over Frank's tongue, pressing down just shy of gagging. "You take direction beautifully when you're not fighting me."

Frank's pulse hammered against the silk looped around his throat. He watched, wide-eyed, as Gerard unfastened their belt with their free hand, the leather sliding through the loops with a whisper that made his stomach tighten. The belt joined the tie; it was loose, just for show, but the zipper's rasp was unmistakable. Frank's breath hitched when Gerard guided his face forward, their fingers tightening warningly in his hair.

"Don't rush," they chided, their thumb hooking in the corner of Frank's mouth to keep him open. Their other hand slid into their underwear, pulling themselves out with deliberate slowness. Frank's vision blurred at the edges; Gerard was half-hard already, flushed and perfect in the low light. "Look at you," Gerard murmured, tilting Frank's head back further. "Desperate for it and you haven't even touched me yet."

Frank whined around Gerard's thumb, his own cock throbbing untouched in his slacks. Gerard's grip shifted, their fingers dragging through his spit-slick lips to wrap around their length. They stroked once, twice, watching Frank's pupils blow wide, then guided the head to his lips. "Go on," they murmured. "Show me how badly you want this."

Frank's breath shuddered out of him when the blunt head of Gerard's cock nudged against his lips. The scent of them, warm skin and something faintly musky, flooded his senses, thick enough to taste. He hesitated, just for the space of a heartbeat, and Gerard's fingers tightened in his hair.

"No thinking," Gerard murmured, their voice velvet-dark. "Just do as you're told."

Frank opened wider, letting the weight of Gerard settle on his tongue. The groan that ripped from Gerard's throat when he took them deeper sent a violent shiver down Frank's spine. His jaw ached instantly, his lips stretched obscenely around Gerard's girth, but the sharp pull on his hair kept him from pulling back.

"Good," Gerard breathed, hips rocking forward in a shallow thrust. Their free hand tangled in the silk tie still looped around Frank's throat, not pulling, just holding. Anchoring. "You look perfect like this." Their thumb swiped over Frank's spit-slick lower lip, catching on the stretch of his mouth around them. "Such a pretty mouth when you're not running it."

Frank's eyelids fluttered shut, his fingers clawing at his own thighs to keep from reaching up. Gerard's grip tightened, tugging his hair sharply. "Eyes on me, Frank." The command required no argument. Frank forced his gaze upward, meeting Gerard's hooded stare through his lashes. Gerard's lips parted on a silent exhale when Frank swallowed around them, the wet heat of his mouth drawing another broken sound from their throat.

Gerard’s fingers flexed in Frank’s hair, guiding his rhythm with ruthless precision. Every shallow thrust punched a ragged noise from Frank’s throat. Half-choked, half-wanting, and that seemed to vibrate straight through Gerard’s hips. They watched, rapt, as Frank’s lips stretched redder, as his eyelashes fluttered with the effort of holding still, as the silk tie darkened with spit where it pressed into the hollow of his throat.

"Slower," Gerard murmured, pressing their free hand flat between Frank’s shoulder blades to still him. Frank froze instantly, his breath hitching through his nose, their cock resting heavy on his tongue. Gerard traced the damp line of his jaw with their thumb. "Good. Now take it properly."

They pushed in deep, past the point where Frank’s breath stuttered, until his nose brushed the crisp fabric of their skirt. Frank’s fingers spasmed against his thighs, his nails biting crescents into the fabric of his slacks. A low, punched-out sound escaped him, and Gerard’s hips jerked in response.

"Christ," Gerard breathed, their grip tightening reflexively in Frank’s hair. They held him there for a long, suspended moment, savoring the tight clutch of his throat around them, the way his body trembled with the effort of staying pliant. When they finally pulled back, it was only to thrust in again, slow and inexorable, their fingers twisting tighter in Frank’s hair with each inch.

Frank’s eyes watered, tears clinging to his lashes, but he didn’t pull away. Didn’t even try. Gerard watched, fascinated, as his throat worked around them, as his Adam’s apple bobbed with each forced swallow. They crooked a finger under the silk tie, tightening it just enough to feel the rapid flutter of Frank’s pulse. "You’re doing so well," they murmured, their voice gone rough at the edges. "Taking me just like I asked."

Frank’s breath stuttered through his nose, his lips stretched obscenely around Gerard’s cock. Every slow thrust punched a whimper from his throat, but he kept his hands locked on his thighs, fingers trembling with restraint. Gerard’s grip shifted from his hair to cradle his jaw, their thumb pressing against the stretched corner of Frank’s mouth. “Look at you,” they murmured, voice gone dark with approval. “So good for me when you’re not fighting.”

The praise burned hotter than the stretch of his jaw. Frank moaned around them, the vibration drawing a sharp inhale from Gerard. Their hips jerked forward instinctively, pressing deeper, and Frank gagged—once, twice—before forcing himself still. Gerard’s fingers flexed against his cheekbone. “Breathe,” they ordered, pulling back just enough to let Frank drag in a ragged gasp.

Their thumb swiped through the spit slicking Frank’s chin. “You can take more,” Gerard decided, watching the way Frank’s throat fluttered at the assertion. They guided his head forward again, their free hand sliding beneath his jaw to feel the bulge of their cock as Frank swallowed them down. “That’s it. Just like that.”

Frank’s vision blurred at the edges, his whole world narrowing to the weight on his tongue, the press of Gerard’s thighs against his shoulders, the silk tie tightening fractionally with each shallow thrust. He could feel the moment Gerard’s control frayed. The stutter in their rhythm, the way their fingers dug sharper into his scalp, sent a violent shudder down his spine.

Gerard cursed under their breath, hips snapping forward once, twice, before stilling deep. Frank’s throat convulsed around them, his eyes watering, but he didn’t pull away. He just let Gerard fuck his mouth with slow, deliberate rolls of their hips until they came with a bitten-off groan, their fingers tightening almost painfully in Frank’s hair.

Frank swallowed reflexively, the bitter tang flooding his mouth as Gerard's grip kept him pinned in place. His jaw ached, his throat burned, but the sharp pull on his hair grounded him, an anchor point in the storm of sensation. Gerard's breath hitched above him, their thighs trembling against his shoulders as they rode out the aftershocks, their fingers still twisted tight in Frank's hair.

"Good boy," Gerard murmured at last, their voice rough as they carefully withdrew. Their thumb swiped across Frank's lower lip, catching the mess there. "Such a good boy for me."

Frank's breath came in ragged pants, his lips swollen and slick. He didn't move, didn't speak, he just waited, his gaze fixed on Gerard's face, the tie still loose around his throat. Gerard's expression was unreadable in the dim light, their pupils blown wide as they traced the reddened curve of Frank's mouth with their thumb.

"Stand," Gerard ordered softly, their fingers sliding from Frank's hair to cup his jaw.

Frank rose on unsteady legs, his knees protesting after so long on the carpet. Gerard's hands settled on his hips, guiding him backward until the sofa hit the backs of his thighs. Their touch was firm. No hesitation, no uncertainty. Frank shivered as Gerard's palms slid up his sides, pushing his jacket off his shoulders in one smooth motion. The fabric pooled on the floor behind him, forgotten.

Gerard’s hands didn’t pause at Frank’s shirt buttons. They tore his shirt open with a sharp twist, sending plastic skittering across the hardwood. Frank gasped at the sudden exposure, his chest heaving under Gerard’s appraisal. Their nails scraped down his sternum, leaving faint pink trails that burned hotter than any whiskey.

"Strip," Gerard commanded, stepping back to watch. Their skirt clung to their thighs as they leaned against the armchair, fingers drumming once on the leather. "Everything but the tie."

Frank’s fingers fumbled at his belt, the silk tie still looped loosely around his throat, brushing his collarbones with every ragged breath. Gerard watched, impassive, as Frank shed his ruined shirt and kicked his slacks and underwear away, leaving him bare except for the tie and the flushed, desperate line of his cock curving against his stomach. 

Gerard stepped forward, their heel catching the discarded fabric and sliding it aside with clinical precision. "Turn around," they murmured, fingers trailing down Frank’s chest to hook in the silk tie. "Hands on the sofa."

Frank obeyed without hesitation, bracing himself against the leather backrest. The tie tightened as Gerard wrapped it once around his fist, the silk whispering against Frank’s throat before Gerard wrenched it between his teeth. Frank groaned around the makeshift gag, his shoulders tensing as Gerard’s free hand traced the dip of his spine. 

The silk tie pulled taut between Frank’s teeth, Gerard’s knuckles pressing into the hollow of his cheek as they secured the knot behind his head. A whimper escaped Frank’s throat, half-protest, half-submission as Gerard’s free hand slid down the trembling plane of his back, pausing just above the curve of his ass.

"Count," Gerard commanded, their voice razor-sharp. The first slap landed with calculated precision, the crack echoing off the apartment walls. 

Frank jerked forward against the sofa, the number "one" muffled around the gag. His fingers clawed at leather cushions as Gerard's palm connected again, harder this time, the heat blooming across his skin in waves. By "five," tears pricked at the corners of his eyes; by "ten," his thighs trembled with the effort of staying upright.

Gerard paused, their breath warm against Frank's shoulder blade. "Still so stubborn," they murmured, tracing the reddened skin with feather-light fingertips that made Frank shiver. "But not for long." Their hand disappeared, returning slick with lube from the side table, and Frank tensed instinctively. 

The first finger breached him without preamble, pressing deep in one smooth motion that punched a ragged groan from Frank's chest. Gerard's teeth grazed his earlobe. "Too much?" they taunted, crooking their finger just enough to make Frank's knees buckle. "You've taken worse from me."

Frank nodded frantically, the silk tie soaking through with drool as Gerard worked him open with ruthless efficiency. Their free hand tightened in his hair, pulling his head back to expose his throat. "Words, Frank."  

"Y-yes, Gerard," he gasped around the gag, his voice cracking when they added a second finger without warning. The stretch burned, just shy of pain, and Frank rocked back instinctively, chasing the pressure. Gerard chuckled darkly, their thumb circling his rim where they were stretched taut around their fingers.

"Disgraceful," they murmured, scissoring their fingers in a way that made Frank's vision blur. "Begging for it like this after all your lip today." Their free hand trailed down his flank, nails scraping lightly over his ribs before wrapping around his cock. "Especially after that little stunt with the Clarkson deposition."

Frank whimpered, hips jerking into Gerard's grip as they stroked him. Once. Twice. Before releasing him with a sharp slap to his inner thigh. "No," Gerard chided, pressing their fingertips against his prostate in slow circles. "You don't get to come until I say."  

Frank's thighs trembled violently, his breath coming in ragged bursts around the gag. Gerard twisted their fingers deep, their other hand pinning his hips flush against the sofa when he tried to rut back. "Still," they commanded, and Frank froze, sweat beading along his spine as they fucked him open with deliberate precision.

Gerard watched the tears clinging to Frank's lashes, the way his shoulders shook with restraint. "Count," they ordered, curling their fingers just enough to make Frank's breath hitch. "Every time you ruined my schedule this week."

"Mm—" Frank's throat worked around the silk, his fingers clawing at the leather as Gerard stroked over his prostate again.

"One," Gerard supplied, snapping their fingers sharply against his inner thigh when Frank's hips jerked. They continued the ruthless rhythm, two fingers pressing deep on "two," a third stretching him obscenely on "three" until Frank's thighs were slick with precome, his cock flushed and leaking untouched.

Gerard's breath ghosted hot over the shell of Frank's ear when he reached "seven," their fingers stilling just shy of his prostate. "Look at you," they murmured, twisting their wrist to watch Frank's body clench around them. "So desperate to be good now that it matters." Their thumb pressed against his perineum, the pressure just shy of painful. "You could have had this anytime if you'd just listened."

Frank sobbed around the gag, his knees buckling as Gerard withdrew their fingers entirely. The sudden emptiness wrenched a broken noise from his chest, his hips chasing their retreating hand fruitlessly. Gerard's palm landed sharply against his ass cheek—once, twice—the sting blooming hotter than the whiskey they'd shared earlier. "Hands behind your back," they ordered, catching Frank's wrists in one smooth motion before securing them with the loose end of the silk tie.

Frank trembled violently as Gerard guided him forward until his chest pressed flush against the sofa back, his cock trapped between leather and his own stomach. Gerard's knee nudged his thighs wider, their fingers trailing down the dip of his spine before circling his abused rim. "Tell me why you're here," they murmured, pressing just the tip of one finger inside.

Frank whined high in his throat, the silk gag muffling his attempt at speech. Gerard tugged it loose with a sharp jerk, letting it dangle around his neck. "Words, Frank."

"B-because I fucked up," Frank gasped, his voice wrecked. Gerard's finger pushed deeper, curling just enough to make his vision blur. "Because— ah— because I didn't listen!"

"Again," Gerard added a second finger, scissoring them slowly. Frank's hips jerked, but the silk around his wrists held firm.

"Because I'm yours!" The confession tore from Frank's throat raw and unvarnished. His chest heaved against the sofa, tears streaking his flushed cheeks. "Fuck— Gerard, please—"

Gerard's fingers stilled inside him. The sudden absence wrenched a sob from Frank's chest. "On your knees. Since that wasn’t enough for you," Gerard commanded, stepping back just far enough to watch Frank scramble onto the carpet. Their polished heel pressed into the dip of his spine when he arched too eagerly. "Slowly."

Frank forced himself still, trembling as Gerard knelt behind him. The silk tie brushed his collarbones—still damp from his own spit—before Gerard wound it twice around their fist. "Open." Frank obeyed instantly, the silk pressing heavily on his tongue as Gerard knotted it securely behind his teeth. Their thumb swiped through the tears on his cheeks. "Count every time you disrespected me this week again."

The first slap landed with surgical precision. Frank's muffled "one" dissolved into a whimper when Gerard's fingers returned to his rim, circling without penetration. The second strike overlapped the first, the heat blooming across his skin as Gerard murmured, "Two. You rearranged my deposition schedule without consultation."

Frank's thighs trembled when Gerard finally pressed a finger back inside, just the tip, before withdrawing again. "Three." Their palm cracked against his other cheek. "You rolled your eyes during the Thompson reprimand." They punctuated each number with alternating strokes. One finger breaching him on "four," two twisting cruel and slow on "five", until Frank's choked counts dissolved into wordless pleading.

Gerard's free hand fisted in his hair, wrenching his head back to expose his throat. "Six." Their fingers curled just shy of his prostate while their thumb pressed bruising-hard against his perineum. "You called the Morgan files 'a tomorrow problem' in front of associates." Frank's body convulsed, his cock dripping untouched onto the carpet. The silk tie muffled his scream when Gerard added a third finger without warning.

Frank's hips jerked forward involuntarily, his cock dripping onto the carpet beneath him. The silk tie muffled his desperate whimpers as Gerard's fingers twisted deep inside him. Three now, stretching him obscenely wide with every slow scissoring motion. Tears streaked his flushed cheeks, his whole body trembling with restraint.

"Please," he gasped around the gag, the word barely intelligible. "Gerard— fuck— please let me—"

Gerard's fingers stilled, pressing hard against his prostate. "Let you what?" they murmured, their breath hot against the shell of Frank's ear. Their free hand trailed down his chest, nails scraping lightly over his ribs before wrapping loosely around his cock. "Use your words."

Frank sobbed, his thighs shaking violently. "Let me come," he begged, his voice raw. "Please—I  can't— I need—"

Gerard's grip tightened fractionally, their thumb swiping over the slick head of his cock. "No," they chided, their voice razor-sharp. "Not yet." Their fingers withdrew entirely, leaving Frank clenching around nothing, his breath coming in ragged bursts. "Turn around."

Frank twisted onto his back, the silk tie still tight between his teeth, his wrists straining against their makeshift bindings. Gerard loomed over him, skirt riding up their thighs as they knelt between his legs. Their fingers traced Frank’s inner thigh, slow and taunting, before dragging upward to circle his twitching hole.

“Please,” Frank slurred around his gag, hips jerking weakly. His cock lay flushed and untouched against his stomach. “Gerard— Fuck— Let me—”

Gerard’s thumb pressed hard against his perineum. “Let you what?”

Frank’s vision whited out for a split second. ‘Come,” he begged, voice cracking. “God, please— Just let me—”

Gerard’s fingers returned to his rim, pressing in shallowly, just the tips, before withdrawing again. Frank whimpered, thighs trembling violently. “Look at you,” Gerard murmured, tracing the slick mess Frank had made of himself. “Disgusting.” Their thumb smeared precome across Frank’s lower belly. “Go on.”

Gerard's fingers pressed just inside Frank's rim, not enough to satisfy, just enough to tease, and Frank's back arched off the carpet like a live wire. "Gerard—" His voice cracked around the silk tie, spit soaking the fabric where it stretched between his teeth. "Fuck, just— just fuck me already—"

Gerard's thumb swiped over his perineum, pressing hard enough to make Frank's vision blur. "You'll take what I give you," they murmured, their voice low and dangerous. Their fingers twisted shallowly inside him, retreating every time Frank tried to rock back onto them. "And you'll come when I say."

Frank sobbed, his cock twitching against his stomach, untouched and leaking. He writhed beneath Gerard, his bound hands clawing at nothing behind his back. "Please," he begged, the word slurred and wet. "I can't— I need—"

Gerard's free hand wrapped around his throat, not squeezing, just holding. Their fingers stilled inside him, pressing firm against his prostate without moving. "Come," they ordered, their voice razor-sharp.

Frank's whole body locked up. His back bowing, his thighs trembling, before he came untouched, his cock pulsing against his stomach as white streaked his chest. The orgasm ripped through him violently, his vision whiting out for a split second before crashing back into his body with shuddering gasps.

Frank's vision swam back into focus in fractured pieces. The silk tie still knotted between his teeth, their fingers sliding wetly from his body. He made a noise of half-protest, half-plea that dissolved into a whimper when Gerard merely wiped their hand on his trembling stomach.

"Again?" Gerard murmured, arching one eyebrow. Their thumb pressed against Frank's lower lip, tugging the silk tie loose enough for speech. 

Frank gasped around the spit-slick fabric, his voice shredded. "Want— want you inside. Properly." His hips jerked weakly, oversensitive and twitching. "Fuck me, Gerard, c'mon—"

Gerard's laugh was a dark, velvet thing. They curled two fingers back inside him without warning, scissoring sharply. Frank's back arched off the carpet, a broken scream muffled by the gag. "You can barely take my fingers," they observed, twisting their wrist to watch Frank's body clench around them. "And you want my cock?" 

Frank nodded frantically, tears streaking his temples. Gerard withdrew their fingers with a wet pop, pressing them against Frank's tongue instead. He sucked greedily, hollowing his cheeks, until Gerard wrenched his head back by the tie.

Frank's lips moved soundlessly around the silk tie, his tongue darting out to lick uselessly at Gerard's fingers still pressed against his mouth. His hips twitched involuntarily. Tiny, aborted thrusts into empty air as aftershocks wracked his oversensitive body. Tears blurred his vision when Gerard's thumb swiped through the mess on his stomach, smearing it across his heaving ribs.

"Pathetic," Gerard murmured, their voice rough with something darker than amusement. They dragged their damp fingers down Frank's sternum, watching his muscles jump at the contact. "Look at you. Came untouched like a desperate whore and still begging for more."

Frank's throat worked around the gag, his bound hands flexing uselessly behind his back. He tried to speak. To plead. But all that emerged was a wet, garbled noise that made Gerard's lips curl. 

Their hand slid lower, fingertips tracing the trembling line of Frank's inner thigh. "You really think you can take me?" Gerard asked, tilting their head as they pressed two fingers back inside Frank without warning. His body clenched violently around them, his scream muffled by silk. "Your hole's practically weeping already." They crooked their fingers just enough to make Frank's vision go white again. "You really think you can handle that?"

Frank nodded frantically, his eyelashes sticking together with tears. Gerard's fingers withdrew with a filthy sound, replaced instantly by the blunt head of their cock pressing against his ruined rim. Frank whimpered high and broken as Gerard leaned over him, their breath hot against his ear.

Gerard pressed in with torturous slowness, their hips rolling forward inch by relentless inch. Frank’s whole body convulsed beneath them. It was too much, too soon after his first orgasm, his muffled scream vibrating against the silk ties still knotted between his teeth.

"Breathe," Gerard murmured, their hands bracketing Frank's hips as they bottomed out. They held there, unmoving, watching tears track down Frank's temples while his muscles fluttered violently around them. Their thumb swiped through the mess on Frank's stomach, still warm from his first release, smearing it across his trembling abdomen. "Look at you. Ruined already and I've barely started."

Frank whined high in his throat when Gerard withdrew halfway, only to sink back in with the same deliberate pace. His thighs trembled against Gerard's hips, his cock twitching pathetically against his stomach. Still oversensitive, still leaking. 

Gerard set a rhythm that was almost cruel in its restraint; deep, rolling thrusts that dragged against Frank's prostate with every pass but never quite built to relief. Their fingers tangled in the silk tie still looped around Frank's throat, using it to tilt his head back. "You'll come again like this," they murmured, watching Frank's eyelashes flutter. "Just from my cock. No hands." 

Frank sobbed around the gag, his hips jerking weakly when Gerard changed angles to grind harder against his prostate. The pleasure built in slow, unbearable waves; each thrust pushing Frank closer to the edge, only to retreat at the last second. His second orgasm crashed over him without warning, his body seizing as he came dry; nothing left to spill but the violent contractions of his muscles around Gerard's cock.

Gerard didn’t pause, didn’t slow; just kept fucking him through it, their rhythm unbroken as Frank’s vision whited out. His oversensitive body convulsed with every thrust, his cock twitching emptily against his stomach as tears streaked his temples.

When Gerard finally pulled out, Frank's hole clenched around nothing, reddened and twitching. Gerard's fingers traced his ruined rim, pressing just inside to feel the way Frank's body still trembled. "Again." they taunted, watching Frank's exhausted nod. His cock stirred weakly against his thigh, half-hard despite his exhaustion.

Gerard flipped him onto his stomach without ceremony, his bound hands trapped behind him. They pressed back in with a single brutal thrust that punched a scream from Frank's chest. This time their pace was relentless; no teasing, no restraint, just deep, punishing strokes that jolted Frank forward with every snap of their hips.

Frank's third orgasm hit like a delayed reaction; his body seizing violently as he dry-heaved around the gag. Nothing came out but spit and broken sobs as his prostate throbbed under Gerard's merciless attention. Gerard's fingers dug into his hips hard enough to bruise when Frank's hole fluttered uselessly around them, still trying to milk their cock despite having nothing left to give.

Gerard's rhythm stuttered then, a single ragged thrust before they buried themselves deep with a bitten-off groan. Frank felt the hot spill inside him, Gerard's hips jerking through the aftershocks as their fingers twisted tight in his hair. They held there for a long moment, their breath hot against Frank's shoulder blade, before slowly pulling out.

Frank came back to himself in slow, fractured pieces. First, the press of carpet fibers against his cheek, then the dull ache in his wrists where the silk tie still bound them. His entire body felt liquid and heavy, his limbs refusing to obey simple commands. Distantly, he registered the wetness between his thighs, the cooling mess on his stomach, the raw ache of his throat. 

Gerard’s hands were gentle as they untied the silk from his wrists, and then the back of Frank’s head, loosening the gag, their fingers massaging the indents left behind. Frank whimpered at the touch; oversensitive and overwhelmed, but Gerard didn’t stop, their thumbs circling the delicate bones of his wrists with practiced care. “Easy,” they murmured, their voice softer now, stripped of its earlier edge. “I’ve got you.”

Frank blinked up at them, his vision blurred with unshed tears. Gerard’s face was unreadable in the dim light, their expression hovering somewhere between satisfaction and concern. They cupped Frank’s jaw, their thumb swiping away a stray tear. “Can you sit up for me?”

Frank tried, he really did, but his body refused to cooperate, his muscles trembling violently when he attempted to push himself upright. Gerard didn’t scold him. Instead, they slid an arm beneath his shoulders, lifting him with effortless strength until his back rested against the sofa. Frank sagged against the leather, his head lolling to the side until Gerard guided it to rest against their shoulder.

A blanket materialized from somewhere, soft, warm, and draped over Frank’s shaking frame. Gerard tucked it around him with meticulous care, their fingers brushing his collarbones as they adjusted the fabric. Frank leaned into the touch, his eyelids fluttering when Gerard’s palm settled against his chest, right over his heartbeat.

“Breathe,” Gerard murmured, their lips brushing his temple. Frank hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until the command loosened something in his chest. He exhaled shakily, his ribs expanding beneath Gerard’s palm. “Again. Slower this time.”

Frank obeyed, his breath hitching on the inhale. Gerard’s hand moved with the rise and fall of his chest, their touch steadying. Frank’s fingers twitched where they lay limp in his lap, half-open until Gerard took one hand in theirs, kneading the tension from his palm with deliberate strokes.

“There you go,” Gerard murmured when Frank’s breathing evened out. Their free hand carded through his sweat-damp hair, their nails scraping lightly against his scalp. Frank shuddered, his eyelids drooping. “Good. Just like that.”

A glass of water appeared in Frank’s line of sight, condensation beading on the rim. Gerard guided it to his lips, their fingers steadying his chin when his hands proved too uncoordinated to hold it himself. The first sip was lukewarm, the second cooler as Frank’s awareness sharpened fractionally. He drank greedily until Gerard pulled the glass away with a soft click of their tongue.

“Enough,” they chided, setting the glass aside. “You’ll make yourself sick.” Their fingers returned to Frank’s hair, combing through the tangled strands with unexpected gentleness. Frank leaned into the touch, his body growing heavier with each passing second, pulling him towards sleep.

Frank blinked awake to the press of warm lips against his forehead, soft, lingering, and the scent of bergamot soap filling his lungs as Gerard towel-dried his hair with methodical precision. The bathroom tiles were warm beneath his bare feet, steam curling around the edges of the shower door where Gerard had washed him with clinical care, their hands never lingering, never teasing. Just efficient strokes of a soapy washcloth over every trembling inch of him, rinsing away sweat and semen with the same focus they’d once used to dismantle his legal briefs.

"You with me?" Gerard’s voice was low, roughened at the edges like worn leather. Their fingers traced the hinge of Frank’s jaw where the silk tie had left faint imprints just noticeable enough to make his breath hitch when their thumb brushed the spot.

Frank nodded, his eyelids fluttering as Gerard guided him back to the sofa, where a fresh shirt and sweatpants lay folded. The clothes smelled faintly of Gerard’s detergent; the same crisp linen scent that clung to their office suits. Frank swayed slightly as Gerard dressed him, his limbs leaden and pliant under their hands. The sweatpants were too long, pooling around his ankles until Gerard rolled the cuffs twice with precise flicks of their wrists.

"You kept these here," Frank mumbled, his tongue thick with exhaustion. He stared at the rolled fabric. "For me."

Gerard’s hands stilled on his waistband. They exhaled through their nose, a quiet, measured breath before smoothing the fabric over Frank’s hips. "Yes."

The admission hung between them, heavy as the silence that followed. Frank watched Gerard’s fingers pull the shirt over his head with methodical care, their nails catching faintly on the fabric. They’d done this before, he realized. Planned for it. Imagined the aftermath down to the extra toothbrush now sitting by their bathroom sink.

Gerard’s palm pressed between his shoulder blades, guiding him forward until his forehead rested against their collarbone. Frank inhaled sharply as Gerard’s fingers carded through his damp hair. "You’re thinking too loud," they murmured.

Frank’s laugh came out cracked and watery. "That’s my job." 

"No." Gerard’s thumb traced the shell of his ear. "Your job is to let me take care of you. Just this once."

The words unraveled something in Frank’s chest. He pressed his face harder against Gerard’s shoulder, his fingers twisting weakly in their skirt. They allowed it, allowed him to cling, their arms tightening around him in silent answer.

Gerard’s heartbeat was steady under Frank’s cheek. Slower than his own frantic pulse, measured in a way that made his breathing sync without thought. Their fingers traced idle patterns down his spine, each stroke lingering over vertebrae as if memorizing the terrain.

"You kept count," Frank mumbled into their collarbone. His throat ached. "All those times I fucked up."

Gerard’s exhale ruffled his hair. "Of course I did." Their palm settled between his shoulder blades, warm through the borrowed shirt. "You think I’d miss a single one?"

Frank’s laugh hitched. He’d expected—hell, he didn’t know what he’d expected. Anger, maybe. Disappointment. Not this: Gerard’s hands carding through his hair with methodical care, their voice low and rough at his temple. Not the way the shower handle needed a quarter-turn to the left for perfect heat. Not the way they’d washed him without speaking, their touch firm but never cruel, rinsing shampoo from his hair with cupped palms.

"You’re quiet," Gerard observed. Their fingers skimmed the nape of his neck, blunt nails scraping lightly. "That’s new."

Frank swallowed against the lump in his throat. "Counting," he rasped. "My fuckups." His fingers twisted in Gerard’s sleeve. "You remembered all of them."

Gerard’s thumb pressed against his pulse point. "I remember everything." The words landed like a punch to the ribs. "Your deposition notes from April. The way you take your coffee." A pause. "The look on your face when I called you into my office that first time."

Frank’s breath stuttered. He remembered that first time, too. Gerard’s glacial tone, the way their pen had tapped once, precisely, against the desk blotter. The way his stomach had dropped when they’d said his name without looking up.

"You terrified me," he admitted into their collar.

Gerard’s chuckle vibrated against his forehead. "Good." Their fingers tightened in his hair; not painful, just present. "You needed terrifying."

Frank exhaled shakily, his breath warm against Gerard’s collarbone where their shirt had fallen open. The admission hung between them, and for once, he didn’t rush to cloak it in sarcasm or deflection. Gerard’s fingers stilled in his hair, their grip shifting from possession to something quieter, more deliberate.