heh…

the hum of the vibrator is the only sound in your room, a low, insistent buzz that seems to sync with the thudding of your pulse in your ears.

you truly had nothing on your mind as you circle your clit with your beloved vibrator- just the white noise of pleasure, the soft give of your mattress beneath you, the afternoon light filtering through your curtains in hazy, golden stripes across your bare thighs.

well. maybe not nothing.

your breath hitches as the image creeps in unbidden: gerard. always gerard. that specific someone with short brown locks, the way they fall in messy, artful disarray across his forehead, with that peekaboo section of blonde underneath the brown that only reveals itself when he pushes his hair back just so.

those hazel eyes that seem to look at you with nothing but adoration and care, even when you’re both exhausted at three in the morning, sharing a cold pizza on the couch. that pointed nose that wrinkles when he laughs, and those pink, puffy lips that seem so kissable, so biteable, always chapped and slightly parted when he’s concentrating on his sketchbook.

“fuck,” you whisper to the empty room, and your brows furrow, lips parting as your wetness grows, slick and embarrassing against your inner thighs.

your legs spread wider, shameless, desperate, and your shaking fingers grip your pillowcase so hard your knuckles ache. you press the vibrator down harder on your soaked slit, the sensation bordering on too much, not enough, perfect. your clit throbs in time with your heartbeat as a whine escapes your throat- high, needy, utterly unlike you.

your brain dives deeper into his details, unspooling like thread you can’t stop pulling. his thick, calloused fingers, ink stained and rough. the largeness of his hands, the way they dwarf his coffee mugs, the way they seem to linger whenever they touch or hold you- on your shoulder when you pass in the hallway, at the small of your back when he guides you through a crowded venue, brushing your knee when you sit too close on the sofa.

but then you think about it. him. on top of you.

the fantasy crystallizes, sharp and devastating: gerard kneeling between your spread thighs, sliding his cock between your folds, the heat and weight of him making you dizzy. he’s whining in your ear- yeah, he’d definitely be a whiner, all high pitched and broken, utterly undone- and lapping at your neck with a desperate, open mouth as he presses his cock down harder, grinding against you where you’re wettest.

“oh, god,” you moan aloud, the sound swallowed by your bedroom walls, and you press the vibrator down more, circling faster, chasing the heat that’s building in your stomach.

you curse under your breath, hips stuttering upward, so close now, warmth spreading through your body in waves that make your toes curl. but then you think of his voice- that oddly specific way his tone lilts, raspy and warm, like honey over gravel. how he would probably encourage you, breathless and filthy, how deep and wrecked it would sound as he licks the shell of your ear, his body pinning yours to the mattress:

“c’mon, honey,” he purrs in your imagination, and your jaw drops, a strangled sound catching in your throat. “make a mess all over my cock, yeah? be a good girl f’me.”

“shit- fuck-” you gasp, frantically bucking your hips as you feel it happening, the coil snapping, pleasure cresting sharp and blinding at the edge of your vision.

but of course.

of fucking course.

your heart drops to your stomach when the door to your room bursts open with a familiar, violent swing, hinges squealing in protest. gerard comes barreling in, rambling before he’s even fully crossed the threshold, his voice carrying that manic, excited energy he gets after events.

“y/n, you will not believe what went down at the signing today- this fan brought this incredible original artwork of the black parade album cover and i just had to tell you about-”

he stops.

the silence that crashes down is suffocating, absolute.

before you can even react, before you can throw the blanket over yourself or die on the spot or somehow teleport to another dimension, you hear it- his sharp, audible gasp as he takes in the sight of you- legs spread, vibrator still pressed against your swollen, glistening clit, cheeks flushed crimson, chest heaving.

“oh my god,” gerard chokes out, his voice cracking, his eyes blown wide and impossibly dark.

“fucking- shit-” you curse, ripping the toy away from yourself so fast it nearly tumbles from your numb fingers, your body curling in on itself with a mortified groan that sounds more like a wounded animal than anything human.

“oh my god- fuck, i’m sorry, i’m so fuckin’ sorry-” gerard’s voice cracks, pitch shooting up an octave as he whips around so fast he nearly smacks face first into your wall, his hands flying up to cover his eyes like he’s trying to erase the image burned into his retinas. he stumbles, shoulder clipping the doorframe with a dull thud, muttering a string of curses under his breath.

you want to die.

you want the floorboards to splinter open and swallow you whole, want to dissolve into the mattress and never exist again.

through the haze of mortification, you catch the sight of him in your peripheral- cheeks flushed a violent, feverish red even from behind, shoulders shaking with barely contained... something. embarrassment? disgust? you can’t tell, and the not knowing makes your chest ache with a sharp, piercing shame.

“why-” your voice comes out wrecked, hoarse, and you have to stop to clear your throat, hugging your knees to your chest to hide your nakedness. “why the fuck didn’t you knock?”

gerard’s spine goes rigid, his hands still clamped over his face as he presses his forehead against the wall, his voice climbing even higher, strained and defensive, “you- you told me i never have t’knock! last week! you said, and i quote, ‘gerard, we’re best friends, you never have to knock, just come in,’ end quote, i have that shit memorized-”

you groan, dropping your head against your knees, the memory flooding back with perfect, horrible clarity. you had said that. you’d been half asleep, cuddled under a blanket while he brought you soup during your last period, and you’d mumbled something about him being family, about doors being stupid. “fuck,” you whisper. “fuck, i did say that.”

you force yourself to sit up, your thighs trembling violently, muscles twitching from the abrupt interruption. your clit throbs in angry, insistent pulses- painfully swollen, unsatisfied, that sharp edge of orgasm having drifted away like smoke, leaving behind only a dull, heavy ache between your legs and a wetness that feels more humiliating than arousing now. the loss of it makes your eyes sting.

gerard still hasn’t moved, still facing the wall like it’s giving him life saving instructions, his fingers splayed over his eyes. “are you- can i- is it safe? are you... covered?”

you reach down with clumsy, fumbling hands and snatch your underwear from where you’d kicked it off earlier, sliding the fabric up your legs with trembling fingers. the cotton sticks to your damp skin, uncomfortable and intimate in a way that makes your face burn hotter.

your eyes land on the vibrator lying on your bedspread- pink, glistening, still slick with your arousal- and you cringe so hard your spine hurts. you grab it, fumbling for the button with slick fingers until the buzzing dies with a pathetic whir.

“you can look now,” you mumble, your voice small, mortifyingly tear choked already.

gerard turns slowly, cautiously, like he’s expecting a trap. his hands drop to his sides, fingers flexing nervously. his eyes are wide, pupils blown, that flush still high on his cheekbones and spreading down his neck. “y/n, i am so- i didn’t mean to- i wasn’t thinking, i jus’ got excited about the art and i-”

you don’t let him finish. you can’t stand there naked under his gaze for another second, can’t handle the way his eyes keep darting to your bed, to you, then away, like he’s terrified of what he saw but can’t stop seeing it.

you waddle past him- waddle, because your legs won’t work properly, because you’re still swollen and wet and wrong- and escape into your bathroom, slamming the door not quite shut behind you.

the mirror shows you a disaster: hair tangled and wild, lips bitten red and swollen, eyes red rimmed and watery, cheeks flushed a feverish crimson that screams i was just about to come thinking about my best friend. you bite your lip hard, trying to stifle the sob building in your throat, but it escapes as a wet, pathetic hiccup.

you turn on the faucet with shaking hands and grab the vibrator, scrubbing it under the hot water with more force than necessary, watching the soap bubbles turn iridescent before swirling down the drain. you wash your hands next, scrubbing until your skin feels raw, but you can’t wash away the shame. it sits heavy in your stomach, oily and black- he saw you, he knows now, you’re disgusting, how could you think about him like that?

you’re so lost in your spiral of self loathing that you don’t hear him approach. you don’t hear anything until you feel it- warmth at your back, the shift of air, and then his thick, warm hands sliding under the hem of your baggy t-shirt, spreading wide against your bare stomach.

you gasp, your spine arching instinctively into the touch, your body betraying you immediately, responding to him even now. his palms are hot, slightly damp, calloused in all the places you imagined earlier, and they span your waist completely, thumbs brushing the underside of your ribs.

“honey,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough against your ear, his chest pressing flush against your back, his chin hooking over your shoulder. you can feel his breath, warm and shaky, against your neck. “please don’t be embarrassed.”

you shiver, your hands still under the running water, forgotten. “gerard-”

“don’t,” he says softly, his arms wrapping tighter around your waist, pulling you back into the solid heat of him. he’s so warm, so there, surrounding you completely. “don’t apologize. don’t you dare apologize.”

“but i-” your voice breaks, tears spilling over, hot and humiliating. “i looked so- i was so-” you gesture vaguely at your reflection, at the wreck of yourself. “gross. i looked gross, and you had to see that, and i’m so sorry, i know you didn’t want to-”

“hey,” he interrupts, turning you gently in his arms until you’re facing him, trapped between his body and the sink. his eyes are soft now, tender in a way that makes your chest ache differently. he reaches up with one hand, thumbing away a tear with a gentle swipe. “first of all? you didn’t look gross. you looked-” he stops, swallows hard, his throat bobbing. “you looked beautiful. you always look beautiful.”

“stop,” you whisper, but he’s already leaning in, pressing a kiss to your wet cheek, then the other, his lips soft and reverent.

“second,” he continues, his voice taking on that teasing lilt you know so well, the one that means he’s about to make a joke to diffuse the tension, “i’ve walked in on way worse. mikey once. sock on the doorknob is apparently optional in the way household. this was...” he pauses, his eyes darting to the side, a fresh wave of color darkening his cheeks. “this was just... unexpected. surprising. not... unwelcome, necessarily, just- surprising.”

you sniffle, your damp hands finding his forest green shirt, gripping the fabric to stay upright. “you’re just saying that.”

“i’m absolutely not.” he kisses your cheek again, then the corner of your mouth, so close you can taste his breath- coffee and mint. “i’m saying you’re gorgeous, and you’re allowed t’touch yourself, and i’m a fuckin’ idiot who doesn’t knock, and we both know whose fault this really is.”

you try to laugh, but it comes out watery. you turn back to the sink on shaky legs, reaching for a towel to dry your hands, but you freeze when you catch his expression in the mirror- his eyes fixed not on you, but on the counter, where you’d set the vibrator down to dry.

your face heats, nuclear level embarrassment scorching through you. “don’t- don’t look at it.”

he doesn’t look away. if anything, his gaze grows more intense, his pupils blown wide and dark. “it’s...” he clears his throat, shifting his weight, and you feel it then- the hard, unmistakable line of him pressing against your lower back, straining against his jeans. he doesn’t try to hide it. “it’s cute,” he says, voice dropping an octave, rough and deliberate. “pink. matches your... aesthetic.”

“shut up,” you groan, burying your face in the towel, but he’s laughing now, that warm, raspy sound that vibrates through his chest into your back.

“i’m serious! it’s very... you. practical but pretty. efficient but-”

“if you say buzzworthy, i will actually kill you.”

he grins against your shoulder, his arms tightening around you, pulling you impossibly closer. “wouldn’t dream of it.”

you sigh, the tension bleeding out of your shoulders in a slow wave, replaced by something heavier, warmer, thrumming between you like a live wire. you waddle out of the bathroom- there’s no other word for it, your body still aching, still unsatisfied, thighs sticky and movements clumsy- and crawl back onto your bed.

you grab the vibrator, shoving it into your nightstand drawer with more force than necessary, then bury yourself under your covers, pulling them over your head like a child. you expect him to leave. to awkwardly pat your shoulder and flee to his own room to process what he saw, what he witnessed pressed against you.

instead, the mattress dips. the covers lift. and gerard slides in behind you, his body slotting against yours like he belongs there, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against his chest.

“gerard-”

“shh,” he hums against the back of your neck, the sound vibrating through your spine. he adjusts, pressing closer, and you feel it again- that thick, hard ridge of his cock, obvious and unapologetic, nestled against the curve of your ass. he still doesn’t try to hide it. he presses in, grinding just slightly, deliberately, until you arch back into him with a shaky, involuntary whimper.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, his hand spreading wide over your stomach, pulling you tighter into the cradle of his hips. his voice is wrecked, nothing like the teasing tone from before- this is raw, desperate, honest. “jus’ lemme hold you. let me- fuck, you feel s’good.”

you should push him away. you should talk about this, should process what just happened, should apologize again or analyze or something.

instead, you press back harder, feeling the way he groans against your shoulder, the way his fingers dig into your hip, the way his cock throbs against you even through layers of denim and cotton. your clit gives a sharp, interested throb, your body remembering exactly what it wanted, exactly who it wanted, and now he’s here, warm and hard and whispering your name like a prayer into your hair.

“gee,” you breathe, and it’s not a question, not a protest. it’s an invitation.

his hand slides lower, resting just above the waistband of your underwear, his pinky finger tracing the elastic. “tell me to stop,” he whispers, his voice shaking. “tell me t’stop and i will. i’ll go t’my room and we’ll pretend this never happened and i’ll never mention the pink vibrator again.”

you reach down and cover his hand with yours, pressing his palm flat against your stomach, guiding him lower. “don’t you dare,” you whisper back.

he groans, loud and broken, and his hips jerk forward, grinding his hardness against you in a slow, deliberate roll that makes your vision spark white at the edges. “fuck, honey- you’re gonna kill me.”

“good,” you murmur, arching into him, feeling his arms band tighter around you, his breath coming in ragged gasps against your neck. “serves you right for not knocking.”

he laughs, breathless and delirious, and bites your shoulder gently, his hand finally slipping lower. “i’ll buy you a lock. first thing tomorrow. biggest lock they sell.”

“shut up and touch me,” you whisper, and his fingers don’t slide home gently- they claim, pressing flat and firm against your soaked slit, spreading your wetness in messy, deliberate strokes that make your hips jerk involuntarily. he groans against your neck, the sound vibrating through your spine as he finds your clit, still swollen and throbbing from before, and circles it with the pad of his middle finger- slow, torturous, maddening circles that have you whining high in your throat.

“so wet,” he breathes, reverent and wrecked, his voice barely recognizable. “fuck, look at you. look how wet you are, sweetheart. is this all for me? did i do this?”

you can’t answer. you’re arching back into him, grinding shamelessly against the hard ridge of his cock still trapped in his jeans, feeling the heat and pressure of him even through the denim. he rocks against you in time with his fingers, a filthy, rhythmic grind that has you seeing stars, his hips rolling in deep, deliberate thrusts that simulate exactly what he wants to be doing.

“fuckin’ answer me,” he demands, but his voice cracks on the last syllable, desperate and pleading, that submissive edge bleeding through even as he commands you. he bites your neck- not hard, but possessive, sucking the skin into his mouth and lapping at it with his tongue, hot and wet and obscene. “tell me. tell me this is mine.”

“yours,” you gasp, your hand flying back to grip his hair, pulling him harder against your throat. “gee, please-”

“please what?” he kisses up the column of your neck, open mouthed and messy, his breath hot and ragged against your ear. his finger speeds up on your clit, circling faster, pressing harder, while his other hand slides down to grip your hip, pulling you back against his thrusting cock with bruising force. “please make you come? please fuck you? please worship you? ‘cause i’ll do all that shit. i’ll do fuckin’ anything, just- jus’ lemme hear you, feel you-”

he pushes two fingers inside you without warning, thick and calloused and perfect, curling them immediately to find that spot that makes your vision blur. you cry out, loud and broken, your hole clamping down around the intrusion, and he groans like he’s the one being touched, his hips stuttering against you.

“that’s it,” he encourages, his voice dropping to that rough tone that you fantasized about earlier, but now it’s real, now it’s here, vibrating against your skin. “that’s my girl. takin’ my fingers so well, fuck- you’re jus’ soakin’ huh? can feel you squeezin’ me-” he scissors his fingers, stretching you, his thumb circling your clit in tight, merciless figure eights. “y’feel incredible- doin’ so good, honey, so fuckin’ good f’me-”

he’s panting now, wrecked, his dominance slipping into something more desperate, more needy. he presses his forehead against your shoulder, his movements becoming jerky, uncontrolled, as he grinds his cock against your ass with increasing urgency. “can feel how close you are,” he whispers, almost to himself, almost worshipping.

he crooks his fingers again, pressing deep, and your orgasm crests suddenly, violently, building in waves that have your toes curling, your back arching so hard it hurts. you’re right there, whimpering his name like a prayer-

and then his fingers are gone.

you cry out at the loss, the sound torn from your throat, raw and devastated. “what the fuck-”

“shh, i’ve got you,” he murmurs, but his voice is different now- lower, darker, more controlled. before you can process the emptiness, before you can mourn the loss of his touch, he’s flipping you onto your back with a strength that surprises you, the movement swift and deliberate.

you stare up at him, dazed and trembling, your body aching, throbbing, empty. but he’s already there, already settling between your spread thighs, his hair falling into his face, his eyes black with arousal, his lips swollen and bitten red.

“don’t worry,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. “m’not leavin’ you. never gonna leave you like this.” he reaches over, yanking open your nightstand drawer with a rough, impatient movement, and retrieves the pink vibrator.

your face floods with heat, embarrassment and arousal warring violently as he holds it up, examining it with dark, hungry eyes. “jesus christ,” you manage, your voice hoarse, your thighs parting wider of their own accord, traitorous and desperate.

he smirks. it’s a filthy expression, all teeth and dark promise, so different from the flustered, apologetic man who stumbled into your room. “y’looked so pretty,” he says, his voice dropping to a register that makes your stomach flip. “when i walked in. legs spread, touchin’ yourself, all flushed n’wet-”

he leans down, his mouth hovering over yours, his breath mingling with yours. “prettiest fuckin’ thing i’ve ever seen. wanted t’drop to my knees right then. wanted to taste you.” he turns the vibrator on. the buzz fills the silence, low and insistent, and your hips buck upward involuntarily, seeking, needing.

he holds it just above your clit, so close you can feel the vibrations in the air, teasing, torturing. his eyes lock with yours, dark and endless. “wanna watch you come with this,” he whispers.

“wait,” you gasp, your hand shooting out to grip his wrist, stopping him just as he’s about to press the vibrator against your throbbing, aching clit.

he freezes, his brow furrowing, concern flickering through the haze of arousal. “what? what’s wrong? did i-”

“not just me,” you breathe, your voice shaking but certain, your eyes meeting his with a challenge that makes his breath hitch. “i want you t’feel it too- feel it with me.”

he stares at you, processing, his pupils blown wide, his chest heaving. then, slowly, a devastating smile spreads across his face- worshipful, desperate, completely yours.

“shit,” he breathes, his voice breaking. “fuck- okay. i can do that. whatever you want, honey- anything you want-” he obliges.

“baby,” you whimper, the word tasting like saccharine sin on your tongue, your fingers already tangling in his hair and pulling- hard, desperate, demanding. “please, i need-”

gerard doesn’t let you finish. he tears your baggy shirt off with a violence that surprises you both, the fabric ripping slightly, and you gasp at the sudden exposure, at the cool air hitting your heated skin.

but he’s already there, already kissing down your heaving chest, his mouth hot and open and worshipful, tracing the valley between your breasts with his tongue, lapping at your necklace he gifted you, your sternum, your ribs, every inch of skin he can reach.

“so beautiful,” he breathes against your sternum, his voice muffled, reverent, wrecked. “look at you, honey. so fuckin’ perfect.” he nips at the underside of your breast, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make you arch, your back bowing off the mattress. “these pretty tits. been thinkin’ about ‘em. been thinkin’ about you. every fuckin’ day, y’know that?”

you tug his hair harder, pulling his head back until his hazel eyes meet yours- pupils blown to hell, his lips swollen and wet. “less talking,” you manage, your voice a pathetic whine that contradicts your commanding grip. “more touching, baby. c’mon-”

he smirks against your skin, that filthy, devastating expression that makes your stomach flip. “bossy,” he accuses, but there’s no heat in it, only adoration, only desperate, hungry submission. he nips at your collarbone, then soothes it with his tongue, traveling up to your neck and lapping at the pulse point, sucking hard enough to leave marks. “so bossy. think you’re in charge, honey? think you get to tell me what to do?”

“yes,” you gasp, even as your thighs spread wider, even as your body betrays you, arching into him, seeking his heat, his weight, his control.

he laughs, low and dark, the sound vibrating against your throat. “cute,” he murmurs, and then he’s traveling down, his mouth tracing a hot, wet path down your stomach, his tongue dipping into your navel, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force. he settles between your thighs, his face hovering just above where you’re soaked and aching, still covered by your underwear.

“gee-” you whine, your hips bucking upward, seeking friction, seeking him. he doesn’t rush. he presses a soft, open mouthed kiss to your mound through the cotton, his tongue pressing flat, hot even through the fabric, and you mewl, high and pathetic, your hands flying to his hair again.

he groans against you, the vibration making you see stars, and then his hips buck into the mattress- once, twice, desperate, seeking friction for himself, his own arousal making him clumsy, making him weak.

“please,” you beg, your voice cracking, your pride evaporating. “please, baby, hurry up, i need you inside, i need-”

he tuts, the sound muffled against your underwear, and then he bites- gently, so gently it’s torture- right at your clit through the damp fabric. you jolt, a sharp cry tearing from your throat, your spine arching violently. he pulls back just enough to smirk up at you, his chin wet with your arousal even through the cotton, his eyes dancing with dark mischief.

“patience, sweetheart,” he coos, but his own voice is shaking, breaking, that submissive whine creeping back in even as he commands you. “wanna take my time.. you’ve been teasin’ me for years, honey. years. y’gonna make me rush now?”

you groan, throwing your arm over your eyes, your body trembling with denied pleasure. “you’re evil,” you accuse, but you’re smiling, delirious, drunk on him.

he laughs again, that warm, raspy sound, and then he’s moving, sitting back on his heels, his hands going to his own shirt. he pulls it off in one smooth motion, and your breath catches- actually catches in your throat- because fuck, he’s beautiful.

his skin is so soft, slightly pudgy in the most perfect way, pale and unmarked and pretty, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, his nipples peaked and pink. he’s soft and hard at the same time, all contradictions, all gerard, and your clit throbs painfully at the sight, your thighs falling open wider, inviting, begging.

he notices you looking, notices the way your eyes track down to where his cock strains against his briefs, the outline thick and heavy and obscene. his own face flushes deeper, crimson spreading down his neck, his chest, and he hooks his thumbs in the waistband.

“want this?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, submissive and hopeful even as he maintains eye contact, even as he controls the pace.

“yes,” you breathe. “please, baby. show me. let me see you.”

he pulls them down, slow and deliberate, and his cock springs free- slaps against his soft tummy, against his dark pubic hair, heavy and flushed and glistening. the tip is crimson, angry looking, precome dribbling in a steady stream that makes your mouth water, your hole clenches around nothing.

he’s thick, beautifully thick, with a vein running along the underside that you want to trace with your tongue, and he groans as the cool air hits him, his hips jerking forward involuntarily.

“fuck,” he whispers, his hand going to himself, stroking once, twice, his eyes fluttering shut. “look what you do t’me. y’see how hard i am for you, honey? only you. always you.”

you whine, your thighs falling apart completely, your body open and exposed and his. he looks at you- really looks at you, his eyes roaming over your spread legs, your heaving chest, your flushed face- and he smiles. it’s soft and devastating and full of something terrifying, something that looks like love, like forever.

he leans down, his body covering yours, his skin hot against your skin, and he kisses you.

it’s your first kiss, real and true and everything, and it’s perfect- messy and desperate and heated immediately, his tongue sliding into your mouth. you moan into it, your hands coming up to grip his shoulders, his back, pulling him closer, trying to drag him down, trying to get him inside you, on top of you, everywhere-

but before you can drag him down more, before you can align his cock with your entrance and sink down on him, he lifts up.

you whine, the sound high and broken, your hips chasing his, your fingers digging into his arms. “gee- baby-”

he just coos at you, the sound soft and patronizing and impossibly tender, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your swollen lips. “shh, shh, i know. i know, honey. want me inside? want me t’fill you up?”

“yes,” you sob, nodding frantically. “yes, please, i need you-”

“gonna get there,” he promises, his voice dropping to that lower register that makes your toes curl. “but first-” he travels down your body again, his mouth leaving hot, open mouthed kisses down your stomach, your hip, the inside of your thigh. he hooks his fingers in your soaked panties and pulls them down, slow and torturous, his eyes locked on your cunt the entire time.

when they’re off, when you’re completely bare and exposed and dripping for him, he groans- long and low and guttural, the sound vibrating through your core. “fuck,” he breathes, his eyes dark, his face flushed, his cock twitching against his stomach. “look at you. so fuckin’ soaked. drippin’. all f’me, s’that right?”

he reaches over to the nightstand, his hand closing around the pink vibrator, and he holds it up, examining it with dark, hungry eyes before looking back at you- at your spread thighs, your throbbing, glistening clit, your desperate, open folds.

he positions it just above your soaked slit, his thumb hovering over the button, his eyes meeting yours with a question and a command and a promise.

“ready, honey?” he whispers, and you know he’s asking about more than just the toy- he’s asking about everything, about this, about you, about him.

you nod, your throat too tight to speak, your body trembling, your heart hammering against your ribs. he smiles- devastating, perfect, and presses the button.

the buzz fills the room, low and insistent, as gerard finally presses the vibrating silicone against you. the sensation is immediate, overwhelming, a sharp spark of pleasure that has your back arching violently off the mattress, your mouth falling open in a silent scream.

“that’s it,” he breathes, his voice wrecked, his eyes locked on your face with an intensity that makes you want to hide and bare yourself simultaneously. “look at you, honey. takin’ it so well for me.”

he’s encouraging you, praising you, his free hand gripping your hip with bruising force while his cock- thick and heavy and impossibly hard- ruts against your inner thigh, smearing precome in messy, desperate strokes. he’s in a trance, you can tell, lost in the sight of you, in the vibration.

“baby,” you whimper, your hands finding his shoulders, his chest, anywhere you can touch. “come here. please- need you on top. need t’feel you-”

he blinks, like he’s surfacing from deep water, his face flushing an even deeper crimson, spreading down his neck, his chest. “you- are you sure? honey, i don’t wanna-”

you don’t let him finish. you grip his biceps and drag him down, your strength surprising you both, and his eyes widen- huge and blown- as he collapses forward, catching himself on one elbow just before he crushes you.

his tip, flushed and angry and dripping, comes into contact with the vibrator where it’s still pressed hard against your clit, the silicone sandwiched between his cock and your most sensitive bundle of nerves.

the sound he makes is devastating- a high, broken whine that turns into a full throated moan, his hips jerking forward involuntarily, his whole body shuddering. “oh- oh fuck-” he gasps, his brows furrowing, his jaw slacking, his face already so fucked out, so gone.

you smirk up at him, delirious with power even as you’re trembling beneath him. “now you know how i feel,” you tease, your voice hoarse, your hips bucking up to grind against him.

he laughs- breathless, delirious, desperate- and then he’s crawling over you properly, settling his weight between your thighs, his hand gripping the vibrator harder and pressing it down against you with renewed force. you moan, loud and broken, your arms circling his neck and pulling him down, anchoring yourself to him as he begins kissing along your jaw, your neck, open mouthed and messy.

“so good,” he whimpers against your throat, his cock rocking against the vibrator, against you, the friction making him shake. “so fuckin’ good, honey. you feel- god- the vibration, i can feel it through you, it’s-” he breaks off with another whine, his hips stuttering, losing that careful dominance he’d been maintaining, falling into something more desperate, more needy.

the sight is dizzying- gerard above you, hair falling into his flushed face, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open, rutting against the toy like he’s lost his mind, like he’s never felt anything better. both of you are feeling it, the vibration traveling through your clit into his cock, a shared circuit of pleasure that has you both panting, both trembling.

“pretty,” he praises, dragging his mouth back to yours, biting your lower lip before soothing it with his tongue. “so pretty. y’look so pretty like this. my pretty girl.”

“you’re pretty too,” you manage, tugging his hair hard enough to make him gasp, his eyes flying open to meet yours. “look at you, baby. look how fucked out you are. so pretty for me.”

he whimpers- actually whimpers- and buries his face in your neck, his body shuddering violently. “wanna-” he slurs, his hand moving from the vibrator to his own cock, gripping himself and positioning the vibrator so it’s pressed between his shaft and your clit, the pressure intensifying, the sensation doubling. “like this? is this- tell me what t’do, honey. tell me-”

“yes,” you gasp, your hips bucking up to meet his rutting movements, the friction perfect, devastating. “just like that- keep going. you’re doing so good, gee. so, so good-”

he’s rutting against you now, against the vibrator, his cock sliding through your folds, the tip catching on your entrance with every thrust but not pushing in, just teasing, torturing, while the vibration hums between you. he’s so cute like this- cheeks flushed and whining and completely lost, his walls crumbling even as he tries to maintain control, tries to make you feel good.

he drags his mouth back to yours, his jaw slack, his eyes rolling back slightly. “fuckin’ christ,” he curses, his voice barely recognizable. “never- fuck- never felt anything like this. you’re perfect- gonna- shit, m’gonna-”

you tug his hair harder, pulling him closer, feeling your own orgasm building sharp and fast, your clit pulsating against the vibrator, your hole clenching around nothing, desperate to be filled. “close,” you warn him, your voice breaking. “gee, m’so close-”

“yeah?” he opens his eyes, meets yours, and there’s that look again, flashing through the desperation. “y’gonna come? gonna make a mess?” he presses the vibrator harder, rocks his hips faster, his cock sliding through your wetness, the vibration traveling into him, making him groan. “come on, sweetheart- wanna feel you-”

you break.

the orgasm crashes through you violently, your back arching, your mouth falling open in a silent scream that turns into his name, over and over, your body convulsing, your thighs clamping around his hips.

he feels it- feels you come apart beneath him- and with one more desperate, rutting thrust against the vibrator, he’s coming too, spilling hot and thick across your stomach, your thighs, his whole body shuddering, his moans high and broken.

you rock through it together, wave after wave, his mouth finding your jaw, your neck, soothing kisses pressed to overheated skin as you whimper and tremble beneath him. when you’re reduced to pathetic, shaky whines, he finally removes the vibrator, turning it off with fumbling fingers and tossing it aside.

he collapses back down, his weight settling over you, his face buried in your neck, his breathing ragged and warm against your skin. for a moment, you just breathe together, tangled and messy and perfect.

then- just as you imagined earlier, just as you fantasized- his cock, still half hard and sensitive, starts sliding through your slit, the tip dragging through your folds, seeking, wanting.

you moan, your arms tightening around his neck, your nails digging into his back. “gerard,” you whisper, desperate, clinging to him like you’ll die if he moves away. “please. fuck me. now.”

he lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours- dark, endless, full of promise. and he doesn’t make you ask twice.

with a strength that surprises you both, he grips your hips, positioning you, spreading you wider, his eyes locked on where you’re dripping and open and ready for him. he lines himself up, his tip kissing your entrance, and the contact alone makes you both gasp- him with his head thrown back, throat exposed and vulnerable, you with your nails raking down his chest, leaving red marks in their wake.

“look at me,” he hums, but his voice breaks on the last syllable, submissive and desperate even as he takes control. “don’t look away, honey. wanna see your face when i fuck you, hmm?”

he pushes in.

it’s slow, torturous, deliberate. he fills you inch by inch, his thickness stretching you, burning so perfectly you see stars. your mouth falls open, your back arching as he bottoms out, his hips flush against yours, his cock buried to the hilt inside your tight heat. he groans, long and guttural, his forehead dropping to yours, his breath ragged and warm against your lips.

“fuck,” he whispers, his voice shaking. “y’feel so fuckin’ good around me, honey. so perfect. made jus’ for me.”

he starts moving- slow, deep thrusts that drag his cock against your walls, his tip kissing that perfect spot inside you with every upward stroke. it’s maddening, devastating, and he knows it. he sets a rhythm that’s just enough to keep you teetering on the edge, filling you completely before pulling back until just his tip remains, making you whimper and arch, before slamming back in.

“more,” you beg, your voice pathetic, your hips trying to meet his thrusts. “please, gee, harder-”

he slows down. deliberately. pulling out so slowly you feel every vein, every ridge, every pulse of his heartbeat, before pushing back in with agonizing precision. he coos at you, mocking and sweet, his thumb brushing your cheek with tender cruelty.

“what’s that?” he breathes, his hips rolling in deep, lazy circles that make your vision blur. “want more, honey? want me t’fuck you properly? gotta beg better than that. gotta mean it.”

“do it- now-” you choke out, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling hard.

he hisses, his hips stuttering, losing control for just a second before he regains it, that smirk playing at his lips even as his eyes are blown wide, desperate, down bad for you. “such a brat,” he murmurs, leaning down to bite your neck, sucking hard, marking you. “my pretty little brat. gonna fuckin’ take what i give you. gonna take it and say thank you, yeah?”

he worships you even as he teases- his mouth traveling down to capture your nipple, laving it with his tongue, his free hand sliding between your bodies to circle your clit in time with his thrusts. but he keeps the pace slow, maddening, dragging his cock through your heat until you’re sobbing, until your walls are fluttering around him, until you’re begging in earnest.

“please, oh god,” you whimper, tears pricking your eyes from the overwhelming need. “fuck me harder. need you. need y’so bad-”

his control snaps.

with a growl that’s more animal than human, he hooks his arms under your knees, pushing your legs back, opening you completely, and slams into you. the sound of skin on skin fills the room, wet and filthy. he fucks you in earnest now, hard and deep, his hips pistoning, his cock hitting that spot with every thrust, making you see white, making you scream his name.

“that’s it,” he pants, his hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, his eyes locked on yours with terrifying intensity. “take my cock. so good f’me, honey. so fuckin’ good-”

he’s losing himself, you can tell- his dominant mask slipping to reveal the desperate, whining mess beneath, his thrusts becoming erratic, his moans high and broken. but he keeps his pace punishing, relentless, dragging you toward the edge with every stroke.

you feel it building, sharp and electric, your orgasm coiling tight in your belly. but you want more. you want him.

with a burst of strength, you grip his shoulders and flip him.

he goes with a surprised yelp, his eyes widening as he lands on his back, his cock still buried deep inside you. you waste no time- you settle over him, your hands pressing into his chest, and you start to ride.

your hips circle and roll, back and forth, finding a rhythm that’s all yours, grinding down on him so his cock drags against your walls, hitting that spot with devastating precision. you set a brutal pace, fucking yourself on him, using him, and the shift in power is immediate, electric.

under you, gerard is wrecked.

his hands fly to your hips, gripping tight, his knuckles white, but he doesn’t try to take control- he lets you use him, his eyes rolling back, his mouth open in a silent scream. tears are streaming down his temples, genuine, overwhelmed tears, his face flushed and fucked out and utterly in love.

“love you,” he babbles, his voice cracking, broken. “love you so fuckin’ much. so much. please- honey- please don't stop-”

you coo down at him, leaning forward to capture his lips in a messy kiss, your hips never stopping their relentless pace. “love you too, baby,” you breathe against his mouth. “so pretty like this under me. taking it. my good boy.”

you sit up, your hands finding his throat- not hard, just enough pressure to make his eyes widen, his hips buck up into you involuntarily. you spit in his mouth, watching it dribble down his chin, and he moans like you’ve given him a gift, his cock throbbing inside you.

“touch yourself,” you command, your voice dropping to that dominant register. “wanna see you make a mess- feel you come inside.”

he obeys immediately, his hand flying to his cock where it meets your body, stroking the base, feeling where you’re connected. the added sensation makes you both cry out, your movements becoming jerky, desperate.

“close,” you warn, your clit throbbing, your walls clamping down on him. “gee, i’m so close-”

“come with me,” he begs, his free hand gripping your hip, his hips rising to meet your downward thrusts. “please, honey. come with me-”

your orgasm crashes through you violently, your back arching, your walls spasming around his cock in rhythmic waves that milk him, pull him over the edge with you. he cries out- loud and broken- and then he’s coming too, emptying his load deep inside you, hot and thick and endless, filling you, marking you, claiming you.

you rock him through it, your hips slowing to gentle rolls, your hands stroking his chest, his face, his hair. he’s babbling beneath you- incoherent, delirious, tears still streaming down his face as he spills every drop inside your tight heat.

“i love you,” he whispers, over and over, his voice raw. “i really fuckin’ do, y/n.”