Author : heathermouth aka slashxyouxup
Summary: Frank can’t stop eating at this place, seriously can’t stop. He’s actually a pretty good cook but lately his kitchen has seen less action than he has is the past few months. It’s not his fault, really it’s not. He’s just powerless to his taste buds and apparently his dick, because not only is the food in this place unbelievable but the chef is also so hot Frank actually misses his mouth first time he sees him.
Warnings: language, sex. 6,000+ words.
Disclaimer: Writer’s lie – just like your parents.
This is dedicated to peekabooby and not0_fuckin_kay. One, because they both need a little cheering up right now. Two, because they provide me and everyone else with awesome porn and THREE! Because they're awesome and I love them (:
Prompts #56, #57, #58, #59 and #60 from my Prompt Table.
Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner at Audrey’s
Frank can’t stop eating at this place, seriously can’t stop. He’s actually a pretty good cook but lately his kitchen has seen less action than he has is the past few months. It’s not his fault, really it’s not. He’s just powerless to his taste buds and apparently his dick, because not only is the food in this place unbelievable but the chef is also so hot Frank actually misses his mouth first time he sees him, which is a pretty fucking huge deal because Frank Iero never misses his mouth (take that as you will).
Audrey’s is a quiet little place, all warm and quirky and makes Frank feel like he’s sat in his grandmother’s kitchen again. There are dozens of Audrey Hepburn pictures along the walls, alongside several quotes of hers painted in silver (Frank’s favourite being “You can always tell what kind of a person a man really thinks you are by the earrings he gives you”). The menus are red pleather, smooth under his fingertips and bright against his black nail polish, and every napkin is folded neatly in an empty wine glass with the words ‘Have a nice day’ printed on the top corner. His usual table is at the far end of the restaurant, hidden just enough behind a tall potted plant so that he can people watch in comfort and peace. Most importantly though, there’s a full view of the open plan kitchen, where Frank’s close enough to see his hot chef wipe the sweat from his forehead.
It takes Frank near an hour to get through a bowl of soup as he slowly scoops up the delicious starter, one spoonful at a time, while watching his hot chef whip around the kitchen, chop, dice and toss things in to flaming pans while shouting orders to his workers in a tone that sends little zings of electricity right to Frank’s pants. He imagines different kinds of orders in a similar tone, and holds his current spoonful of soup in his mouth for a long moment while he remembers how to swallow. By the time Frank gets to his main he’s ready to take himself home, jerk off and call it a night.
And that’s how it’s been for what feels like a lifetime. Frank’s yet to learn his name and his chef has yet to learn Frank exists but already he knows so much about the hard working food master. He knows almost all of his smiles now, his happy smile, satisfied smile, triumphant, pleased and proud smile. He knows how his lips quiver when he’s frustrated and how his hips sway hypnotically when he’s dancing to a song on the radio Frank’s too far away to hear. He knows that although he shouts a lot at his co-workers he’s not an asshole, because he’s often seen smiling and laughing loudly at a joke someone just told. He’s just passionate, and Frank wonders if he shows the same amount of passion in other aspects of his life.
Today is no different from any other day that Frank visits the restaurant. He sits at his table, eats his soup at snail’s pace and watches his chef work. His cell is on silent, as it always is, and he can feel it vibrating in his pocket – just barely though because he doesn’t really have the mental capacity at the moment to concentrate on anything but his chef. He ignores it and soon it stops. It’s either his mother or Ray, most probably his mother. He’ll call her tomorrow; no doubt she wants to tell him about his grandfather’s latest DIY antics that will, and quote, “drive both him and my hair brain mother in to an early grave”.
Suddenly Frank hears his laugh and its close, closer than ever before. He lowers his cutlery, darting his eyes over to the bar. And he’s there behind it, sleeves rolled to his elbows as he leans forward, smiling brilliantly whilst he talks with one of the waitresses. At the same time as Frank’s heart sours his stomach sinks in jealously at his chef’s flirtatious grin towards the young waitress and her empty tray. Get back to work you slut, Frank thinks with narrowed eyes towards the girl before scolding himself and glaring in to his food. You fool.
That night Frank can’t sleep, no matter how hard he tries. He lies in bed and listens to the probably hookers outside his window banter with drunken cackles before turning on his side and staring hard at the wall. He can’t get his chef out of his mind, which isn’t so unusual, but now he can’t get the girl out of his head either. He just keeps thinking about the two of them, laughing and joking and flirting, maybe she stays late one night and his chef has left something in the kitchen so he comes back, maybe they get talking and maybe they fuck on the stainless steel counters in the kitchen, which he doesn’t wipe down before preparing Frank’s next meal. He groans, takes the pillow from behind his head and pushes it against his face. Three hours later, he’s still no where near sleep. He tosses the pillow to the bottom of the bed and sits up, swinging his legs over the side and planting his feet on the cold floor.
This is why he hates his head. And now he finds himself walking down his street and away from his apartment at some ridiculous hour, kicking rocks and being totally oblivious to the world, practically screaming to be mugged. Somehow he ends up back at Audrey’s, stood outside the dark and empty restaurant feeling like a complete and utter idiot. He kicks the rock he’s currently bothering across the street and carries on walking, head hung low and ears cold. As he gets to the narrow alleyway he’s brought out of his mope by the sound of a low yelp and what sounds like scattering cans. Suddenly, from the darkness of the alley, a brown scruffy dog appears. He barks and runs as the glint of a crushed can follows him. There’s a drunken slur and a figure stumbles out in to the street light. Frank can smell the alcohol on his breath before he opens his mouth. He throws another can in the direction of the dog and grunts. “Hey, stop that!” Frank says and immediately regrets it as a pair of dark and glazed eyes fix upon him and narrow.
Before Frank’s got the time to even think about his next course of action he’s being grabbed by the front of his shirt and slammed against a cold, wet brick wall. Yep, this is where you’re going to die he thinks to himself just before an unwashed fist comes colliding with his nose. Fuck. The pain shatters through his skull like breaking glass and he gasps for air, feeling sicker than ever before. With his eyes screwed shut he waits for the next one, but it never comes. Instead he hears another voice, muffled as his ears are burning, and then there are footsteps both towards and away from him. Confused, he slumps against the wall and cups his nose. He can feel the blood slip between his fingers and he feels ill, the lump in his throat rising as he thinks about puking a week’s worth of Audrey’s food all over its alley. He knows he’s got to open his eyes soon and prays that it’ll be too dark to see the blood running down his face and hand. Unfortunately, there’s an open door somewhere, and so he sees the almost black looking liquid slipping between his knuckles. Just as a face comes in to his now hazy view his eyes roll up and he feels himself slipping further down the wall.
And now you’re unconscious, idiot.
When Frank comes to there’s a soft material beneath him that he barely recognises. His head pounds with the force of several hammers and he groans before blinking at the dull light around him. When he’s blinked away the haze he’s not quite sure what he sees. A bar? As he’s trying to figure out where he is and what the hell happened he catches movement in the corner of his eye. He sits up quickly and regrets it before he’s fully upright. He holds his head with one hand and falls back against what he can now confirm is a couch.
“Hey, how you feeling?” comes a voice, smooth and maybe slightly nervous as Frank opens his eyes again. And it’s him, him, his chef, standing right in-fucking-front of him with a concerned look on his tired and beautiful face. “You took quite a hit. I uh, I think I got most of the blood cleaned up.” Frank feels around his nose with his fingertips to confirm this. “What were you doing down there?”
“A dog,” Frank mumbles as every word pounds against his skull. “He was throwing cans at this dog…”
“Oh, you mean Dali?”
“Dali?” Frank’s eyebrows quirk.
“Yeah, he’s mine. Well, not really. He’s a stray, but I leave leftovers out for him every night,” he explains before smiling kindly at Frank. “Thanks for helping him out. I’m Gerard, by the way.”
“Frank. And it’s ok,” Frank says as he tries to clear his mind a little. Gerard pulls up a chair and sits about a meter away from the couch.
“I’ve seen you here before, a lot in fact. You’re here almost every day. I think you contribute about 50% of my pay cheque.” Frank smiles uneasily.
“I like the food,” he offers as an answer, “it’s nice here, and quiet and I really like the food…”
“Yeah, you said that.” Gerard points out with a small playful smirk.
“I, uh, I did?” Gerard nods. “Oh, well I do.” Frank feels like an idiot, a complete and utter mumbling idiot.
“Thank you,” Gerard says softly. “How come you’re always here alone?”
Frank shrugs. “I suppose I like being here on my own. Why are you here alone, in the middle of the night?” he asks and Gerard shrugs before smiling,
“I guess I like being here on my own too.”
There’s a silence between them for a few moment, and Frank can’t decide whether it’s uncomfortable or not. Soon he says, “Thank you, for cleaning me up I mean. You didn’t have to.”
“I wasn’t going to leave my best customer to bleed to death now, was I?” he replies, smiling as he nudges Frank’s foot with his own. Frank laughs quietly and rubs the back of his aching neck.
“I, uh, I guess not.” And that’s about the last time Frank feels awkward and uncomfortable around Gerard. He grabs ice from the bar and wraps it in a napkin before handing it to Frank to hold against his face. They talk from then on, about food and drinks and music and it’s all terribly cliché of them, right down to the moment that Gerard asks Frank on what Frank is damn sure classes as a date.
“So, seen as we’re both night owls, how about I make you a late dinner tomorrow? Say around 2am?” Gerard’s smiling though Frank’s sure he detects the slightest hint of nervousness there.
Just like that, Frank’s 13 again. He smiles sheepishly and shrugs his head in to his shoulders. “Sure,” he says, “that sounds nice.”
“Great!” Gerard’s beaming and searching his pockets frantically before he pulls out a sharpie. He reaches for Frank’s hand and pulls it towards himself, Frank nearly jumps but soon eases himself in to the feeling of Gerard’s fingers around his. He writes his number on Frank’s hand with a smiley face next to it. “If you can’t make it, or something comes up, then give me a call and we’ll reschedule.” Something come up? Oh no, nothing is going to come up. Even if hell freezes over Frank’s going to get there, maybe by fashioning skates out of old shoes and butter knives, he’s GOING TO GET THERE.
Gerard practically ushers him out then, insisting that he’s kept Frank away from well needed rest long enough. Frank reluctantly leaves, smiling at Gerard’s smile and shaking his hand for a few seconds longer than necessary. When he’s sure Gerard’s stopped watching him walk away he skips a little and resists the urge to heel click all the way home.
When Frank gets home he falls in to bed with a content sigh and sleeps until his alarm goes off some four hours later.
Frank’s job is not all that terrible but maybe only more than slightly awesome. He mans the desk in Ray Toro’s recording studio. He answers the phones, books bands in and out, cleans a little and plays Mind Sweeper; and that’s about it. The job’s not all that challenging and doesn’t make him any where close to ‘well off’, but it pays the bills and his Audrey’s addiction and he gets to hang out with people he actually likes – sometimes.
Today he is so close to beating his top score that he’s actually getting a little excited as he carefully selects his next tile on the grid. He looks rough as hell and he knows it. With little sleep and shitty weather he looks and feels like Ice Man slapped him in the face. Though he doesn’t seem to care and is surprisingly cheery, this both confuses and worries Ray. He leans over the top of Frank’s desk an hour before close up and eyes Frank curiously, who’s filling out a time table while humming Ghost Busters. “Go home, Frank.”
Frank looks up with a pen lid between his lips. “Huh?”
“You’re freaking me out. Go home and do whatever you’re dying to do. You can come back when you’re miserable and normal again.” Frank looks at Ray curiously for one eyebrow raising moment before he spits out the pen lid and grins.
“Cool!” and then he gets the hell out of there before Ray changes his mind.
So when Frank gets home it’s almost six and he’s got at least seven hours before he could set off. He thinks that maybe he should nap, but when he gets to his room he stares at his bed for a good minute or so before deciding his brain is far too active and hands far too jittery to sleep. So he takes a trip around the rest of his apartment, picking up odd bits of rubbish and clothes that have accumulated there over the weekend. When he gets back to where he started he sees that not more than twenty minutes have passed. He grumbles and throws an odd sock towards the back of the couch in protest.
By nine o’clock his place is spotless and is actually, probably cleaner than when he first moved in. He looks at the clock and sighs before throwing himself back on the couch and propping his feet up on the small coffee table. Every TV channel is boring, pretty much, and he rather shamefully finds himself settling on the cooking channel before stretching out across the battered leather and switching the volume to low. He slowly drifts off to sleep with the sound of sizzling food and bubbling water running through his mind.
He dreams about Gerard cooking his heart in a large steel pot along with goose liver and potatoes, and subconsciously decides to never fall asleep to the cooking channel ever again.
At twenty past midnight Frank awakes with a start. The TV screen is blue and bleeping the off air noise and he’s pretty sure it’s raining outside. As he’s trying to blink away the sleep there’s a crack of thunder and rain spatters sharply against the window. Yup, definitely raining. He yawns, stretches and rolls from the couch and on to the floor with an ‘umpf’. He stays there for a further minute before he remembers why his brain has beaten himself in to consciousness at this time. His eyes widen “Fuck!” and he scrambles up and races off to his bedroom.
The rain is easing off by the time Frank gets outside, jacket collar pulled up around his cold ears. He shoves his hands in to his pockets, amongst the lint and fluff, and lets his feet lead him to his destination. He doesn’t realize how fast his heart is beating until he stops to cross the road and he can hear it, loud and hot in his ears. He worries his lip between his teeth and crosses as he thinks, oh shit, I’m nervous. But before he knows it Audrey’s is in view and getting closer and closer as he can’t seem to slow himself down. As utterly terrified (kind of) as he is, it appears his body isn’t, because now he’s at the back door and now he rising a cold wet fist and now he’s knocking. Fuck. Breathe. Breathe.
Gerard’s smiling when he opens the door and his chef’s hat (which actually looks more like a sailor hat) is slipping forward passed his eyebrows. “Frank,” he says as he places a hand on his shoulder and pulls him inside, “hi.” Frank looks around the kitchen, this being the second time he’s been in here but the first time he can see it.
“Hey,” he replies, rubbing his cold hands together. Gerard tucks his fingers round the back of his jacket collar.
“I’ll take your coat. Go through, it’s warmer in the restaurant.” Frank lets his coat slide off his shoulders and down his arms. The kitchen smells amazing and is oddly quiet as he walks through it, steps echoing off the tile. In the dining area there’s one table set up; two seats, cutlery, plates and crystal clear glasses. The butterflies in his stomach flutter up his throat and he has to stop himself from giggling nervously. This really is a date and he is such a girl. Gerard appears behind him and pulls out a seat. “Sit,” he says and guides Frank to the table. He takes the opposite seat and rolls his sleeves up to his elbow. “I thought you wouldn’t come.”
Frank toys with the napkin on his plate. “Really?”
“Yeah,” he admits sheepishly. “I thought you’d come to your senses or something. Maybe go on a normal date at a normal hour with someone else.”
It’s a date, it’s a date. Calm, calm – breathe!
Frank sucks his lip ring in to his mouth. “Normal’s boring,” he finally says and almost chokes on a butterfly when Gerard smiles winningly and reaches across the table to gently stroke a fingertip across Frank’s knuckles. He swallows hard and tries to ignore the burning in his cheeks. “I much prefer this.”
“Good,” Gerard says before pulling his hand back (to Frank’s disappointment) and pushing himself up from the table. “Be back in a moment.”
Frank doesn’t watch him walk back to the kitchen, as much as he wants to. Gerard’s not wearing his typical chequered pants tonight; instead he’s just wearing jeans with his chef’s jacket and hat (which might actually be the hottest thing Frank’s ever seen). He stares at the silver words along the walls in effort to not go in to further detail of what else Gerard would look good in, and he almost doesn’t realise when Gerard places a bowl in front of him. He looks down at the soup, which sort of looks like and smells like what he usually orders, but a little different. “This looks nice,” he says with the appropriate ‘Mm’ noises. Gerard sits down opposite with a triumphant grin.
“I’m trying some new things out tonight. So you’re being my ginnie pig, I hope that’s ok.”
Frank picks up his spoon, now aware he’s going to have to eat at normal speed and not get caught perving. This is going to be harder than it looks. He takes a mouthful and nods. “That’s fine by me. Fuck, this is delicious!” And really, it is. It’s all tomato and herbs and something else he doesn’t really recognise. It’s smooth and hot and warms him from the tongue down. He hums to himself contently and takes another spoonful, unaware he’s being watched so intently.
“I’m glad you like it,” says Gerard as he unbuttons his chef’s jacket to reveal the black long sleeved top beneath. He shakes off his hat so it falls to the floor and smiles. “Tah-dah,” and Frank has to remember how to breathe. He’s never seen him in normal fitting clothes before, and now more and more of his past fantasies are becoming complete. He slurps up another spoonful while trying to keep his composure.
For main course Gerard brings out this creamy pink coloured pasta, which may be the gayest looking thing Frank’s ever eaten but most definitely one of the tastiest. “The tomatoes turn the cream pink,” Gerard explains as Frank tries to look like he’s listening intently instead of staring at Gerard’s mouth, though he thinks he’s probably not pulling it off very well. Gerard explains the food with a real passion and a sort of geekish excitement which makes Frank want to sigh and stroke Gerard’s hair as he talks. He feels like he gets to know more about him when he talks about his food, rather than when he rarely adds in snippets of his personal life. All he’s gathered by now is that he likes art, lives alone and has a younger brother.
By the time Frank’s bowl is empty (not far away from being licked clean) he’s told Gerard practically his whole life story, at double speed with extra detail. He’s surprised Gerard hasn’t interrupted him with a fake yawn and a ‘wow, look at the time’ line. Instead he’s just sat there; listening to Frank’s every word and sipping red wine with a soft smile on his face. When Frank gets to the point where he could probably say “and that brings us to today,” he’s still listening and looking eager to know more. And though he knows he probably shouldn’t, not on the first date anyways, he falls in love a little.
Dessert brings vanilla ice cream encased in white chocolate and honestly, Frank could melt from the amount of mouth-orgasms he’s had tonight. This is definitely the most intense first date he’s ever had, mostly because they’re the only people in the restaurant so his every move and sound is echoed throughout the large dining area. When they’re quiet it’s really quiet, and the sound of cutlery against plates is almost deafening. Gerard doesn’t seem too phased by this, which makes Frank even more phased.
“Did you enjoy everything?” Gerard asks as he refills Frank’s glass with the newly opened second bottle of wine.
“Yeah,” Frank nods eagerly, “everything was amazing, really. You’re a culinary genius!” Gerard grins and maybe blushes as he fills his own glass and sits down again. The table is clear now, save for their glasses. “I feel like I should have helped, maybe washed up at least.”
Gerard shakes his head. “No need, there’s huge mother fucking dishwashers in the kitchen. It’ll be done in seconds.”
“The joys of technology,” Frank comments as he strokes the stem of his glass. The wine’s starting to wrap his brain in a warm soft blanket.
“Not really,” Gerard replies after taking another sip, “the amount of arguments I have with the machines in that kitchen is ridiculous. I shout at them more than my staff,” he admits with a breathy laugh. Frank drags his glass closer and giggles.
“I know exactly what you mean.”
When the second bottle is almost empty they’ve talked about every inch of Audrey’s, and Frank’s more than once confessed his ridiculous love and obsession with the place. Gerard takes every compliment with a lop sided smile as he tells Frank that this little place is his whole world, his passion and life. “I’ve let this place consume me,” he admits, “spent every second of free time on my work and not any real life. Don’t get me wrong, I love it to the core but damn, this is the first date I’ve been on in almost two years.”
“Maybe you’ve been hiding,” Frank says, though he’s pretty sure by this point that’s the wine talking. “Maybe you feel safer here. Maybe if you never take any risks, you think you’ll never get hurt.”
Gerard looks across the table at Frank, stares at him with a thoughtful expression that Frank is finding difficult to read and it’s unnerving him. He’s not really sure what Gerard’s thinking or what he’s going to do next, it’s quiet and all Frank can seem to hear is his own breathing and he doesn’t like it. “So,” he finally says and the word almost startles the pair of them, “are you a risk?”
“I don’t know,” Frank answers instantly, “are you?” Gerard smiles coyly and leans back in his seat. It’s quiet again but this time not so intense and not so awkward. He picks up the empty bottle of wine and stands, intending on making his way over to the bar for another one but Frank’s hand on his wrist stops him. He eases the bottle from Gerard’s grasp and places it back on the table before standing himself. He doesn’t let go of Gerard’s wrist and with the other hand he cups Gerard’s cheek and brings his face in to his for the kiss they’ve been dying to have all night.
And Frank finds out that yes, Gerard does show the same passion he has for food in other aspects of his life as he kisses Frank with sweet nips and tongue. He tastes like wine and tomatoes and chocolate and Frank groans and pulls him in further to taste more, claws at his hair like he’s trying to melt their faces together. Both of Gerard’s hands press firmly against the small of Frank’s back, keeping them as close as possible as Frank flicks his tongue against the roof of Gerard’s mouth, to which he sighs and slips a hand under Frank’s shirt. The kiss echoes out across the restaurant, and on one rather sloppy slide of lips Frank giggles at the noise and in to Gerard’s mouth. Gerard smiles a bumps their noises together, taking this opportunity to take a breath before pecking at Frank’s lips several times. Gerard feels like saying some corny line about how Frank tastes better than anything he could ever cook, but doesn’t want to ruin the moment. So he nudges Frank’s cheek with his nose instead.
Frank tries to hold in his yawns, really tries but damn he’s tired. Reluctantly, Gerard tells him to go and get some sleep. He gets Frank’s jacket and walks him to the back door like a gentleman. “I’ll call you,” says Frank as he’s working up the courage to tear himself away from the warmth of Gerard’s chest, “tomorrow?”
Gerard nods. “Sure, I finish at seven tomorrow,” and kisses him again.
“Ok,” Frank smiles giddy and content before reluctantly pulling himself away from the embrace. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
He walks home a little dazed, smiling even though it’s cold as fuck and still the hobo-ing hour of New Jersey. He floats, almost, across the road and on to his block as he touches his lips with his index finger. He can still feel Gerard buzzing through them and wants to lick them every couple of seconds. When he’s home he strips off most of his clothes, contemplates jerking off but decides he’s too tired and so snuggles in to his pillow instead and sleeps.
The next morning he’s still smiling when his alarm goes off and even when he steps on to the cold bathroom floor to shower. He thinks about last night like it’s the most awesome dream he’s ever had and replays those kisses over and over until he’s a slow stroke away from a full on boner. Without knowing the exact time he decides there’s time for this and slumps back against the wall, cock in hand, and strokes until he’s panting and whispering Gerard’s name like his favourite curse.
When he finishes getting dressed and heads to the kitchen he feels more awake than usual and on the way to work contemplates perhaps replacing his morning coffee with morning jerking.
Not even two hours into his day he really can’t resist picking up the phone and quick dialling Gerard’s number. On the third or fourth ring he answers and Frank’s heart skips. “Hi,” he starts and before he’s got time to finish Gerard interrupts.
“Frank! Hi. I thought it might be you.”
“You’re not busy are you?” Frank asks as he opens a new game of Mind Sweeper.
“Just chopping up some herbs, actually, but don’t worry I can multi task. What’s up?”
Frank’s still trying to get over the multi tasking line when he bites his lip and asks, “Wanna come ‘round mine after work and watch a movie?”
“Sure, only if we can order pizza.”
“Isn’t take out like, an insult to you or something?”
Gerard laughs, smooth and low and it goes straight to Frank’s pants. “I think I’ll get over it. I uh, gotta get going, sorry. But I’ll see you tonight.”
“Yeah, ok. Sure. See you tonight.” And just like that he’s got his second date in two days. He also beats his top score on Mind Sweeper. Today is win.
After work Frank rushes home to clean his apartment at loony toon speed, but when he’s standing in the middle of his spotless living room he remembers yesterday’s ‘pass the time’ activities. “Oh,” he says dumbly to himself before skulking off to the kitchen to see if there’s anything embarrassing in the fridge or cupboards. When he finds nothing (well, maybe those biscuits for 12 month olds that just taste so damn good) he decides to change his bed sheets – just in case.
At twenty past seven Gerard shows up with a bottle of wine from work, the same as they were drinking the other night. “You found the place ok?” Frank asks, as you should always ask when a guest arrives – or so his mother taught him. Gerard nods and hands Frank the bottle. “Thanks, I’ll get some glasses.” And he disappears in to the kitchen leaving Gerard to make himself comfortable in the living room. As he pulls down two glasses from the top cupboard those damn butterflies make another appearance, and so he shakes his head in hope to shoo them away. He’s not nervous, he’s not. Well, maybe…
‘From Dusk Till Dawn’ is the movie Gerard picks out of Frank’s ever growing DVD collection (that has consumed almost half of his living room). Frank hands him a glass of wine and stares for the whole of the opening credits at Gerard’s out stretched arms before finally biting the bullet and placing himself right at Gerard’s side, head on his shoulder. This is nice, he thinks as he chances a glance at Gerard’s chin and then back to the screen. Gerard’s hand falls on to his shoulder and stays there, warm and comforting as Frank smiles and leans his head against Gerard’s.
“Didn’t they make more of these?” Gerard asks just as Frank’s eyes are about to slip closed.
“Uh, yeah, another two I think. But they’re not very good.”
“This one’s awesome though,” he says, looking down at Frank and smiling. Frank swallows down a lump of butterflies and nods. Gerard’s still smiling a few agonisingly slow moments later and Frank chews on his bottom lip, feeling as though a butterfly is about to fly out of his mouth. At least it would be a distraction from the way Gerard’s looking at him, all intense and…lustfully (if that’s even a word, Frank’s not sure). When Frank looks away for a split second Gerard’s fingers cup his chin. “Hey,” he whispers and when Frank can’t think of anything to say back he shuts off his brain and presses his lips to Gerard’s – because that seems like the best logical answer.
It’s down right awesome to be kissing Gerard again, and even though it’s much slower than before Frank drinks in every ounce of it like Gerard’s water and he’s parched. He’s soon scrambling to his knees and straddling Gerard’s lap, gulping at his lips because he has never been more thirsty for someone’s kiss. He rushes Gerard’s lips, because now he wants to be frantic and he wants to feel the hard press of fingertips against his hips – just like that. Gerard pulls Frank against him and down on him, fast and sudden so that Frank gasps in to his mouth. His breath is hot and Gerard’s suddenly hard as fuck and the way Frank’s squirming is both delicious and torturous, but Gerard needs more.
Like Frank can read minds he grabs the back of the couch and grinds himself down on to Gerard, moaning low as hard denim rubs against hard denim. He bites on Gerard’s bottom lip because it juts out in front of his teeth, pink and irresistible. “Frank,” Gerard pants when he gets his lip back, “fuck.” Frank grins and palms Gerard through his jeans with one cupped hand while the other pulls at the hair on the nape of Gerard’s neck. Gerard presses his fingertips harder in to Frank’s hips and keeps the movement going himself, scratching at the beautifully tanned and ink filled skin. As Frank presses the heel of his palm against the bulge in Gerard’s jeans he throws his head back and hisses. “God, oh God,” he groans and pulls Frank’s face towards his with one hand. “Need you, fuck,” he pants on to Frank’s wet lips, “fucking need you,” and with the look in his eyes he’s close to begging.
“Yeah. How much?” Frank whispers in to the shell of Gerard’s ear. “Tell me how much,” he says as he flicks the button of Gerard’s jeans open.
“So much,” Gerard replies, whining and breathless as he watches Frank’s fingers disappear beneath hot denim. He grabs Gerard through his boxers before pulling at the waistband, knuckles grazing against rough hair and warm skin. “Yeah,” Gerard breathes, barely aware he’s said anything at all. Frank toys with a few hairs and brushes his fingers lower and lower until he grabs a hold of Gerard’s dick, firm and tight. “Jesus,” Gerard chokes as his hips snap forward. Frank pulls slowly before bringing his hand out, licking from palm to fingertip, and placing it back around Gerard’s aching cock. And really, Gerard could have come from that alone but Frank’s pressed against him, face flushed and hair falling over his eyes and he just can’t let it end yet. Not when it feels this good.
“I bet you taste so good,” Frank says after a few firm strokes, each one making Gerard’s thighs tremble. “I wanna taste,” he adds almost impatiently before pushing himself away from Gerard’s lap and on to the floor in front. He licks his lips and pulls at Gerard’s jeans and underwear until everything’s on show. He slips between Gerard’s spread knees and licks the tip of his cock before blowing gently. Gerard’s hips buck again as he curses, fighting the urge to pull on Frank’s dark hair and fuck his pretty wet mouth. Finally he grabs the base and devours as much of Gerard as possible, fighting back the urge to gag as Gerard loses control of his hips. He sucks, hard, and hollows his cheek for extra saliva he can slick down Gerard’s dick with his tongue. Gerard’s eyes are half lidded when Frank looks up, and he’s cursing quietly, gripping cushions until his knuckles turn white. Frank hums and lowers a hand to undo his own jeans, sighing almost when there’s a little less restriction. He palms himself as he strokes Gerard, who gasps every time Frank’s teeth graze his cock.
When Gerard looks down and sees Frank touching himself he gets jealous and turned on and maybe a little sad all at the same time. He wants to touch Frank, wants to feel him hot and heavy in his own hand. He wants to taste him and be the one to make him arch, scream and come. He tugs on Frank’s hair to get his attention. “Up,” he demands and repeats it again when Frank looks oddly at him. He pulls Frank up when he finally releases Gerard’s cock from his warm and wonderful mouth and brings him back in to his lap.
When Frank’s back in place Gerard fights his way in to Frank’s pants and grabs a hold of his cock. It’s hard and already leaking pre-come and Gerard just wants to taste it, wants to lick his fingers dry. But with the way Frank moans and exposes that beautiful neck he can’t bare to let go. He presses his thumb against Frank’s pubic bone and squeezes gently. Frank’s head flops forward and he presses his forehead to Gerard’s. “Yeah,” he breathes as he grabs a hold of Gerard’s cock again, “so good,” he whispers and starts to stroke Gerard quickly, in hope he’ll follow and do the same. He uses one hand to steady himself on the back of the couch as he squeezes and loosens and squeezes again.
Gerard’s choking on a lump of words, caught between getting off and getting Frank off. He wants to moan louder, wants to grab Frank’s hair and kiss him with teeth until their lips bleed. He wants to go down on Frank, wants to feel him in his mouth, pressed between his lips. He wants to see how far down he can go before he gags, wants to smell the sweat so close. He licks Frank’s lips before kissing him, hard and desperate as he bucks beneath his weight. He fists Frank’s hair and kisses him harder, sucking his bottom lip in to his mouth and biting as he strokes Frank faster, tugging as Frank moans low in to his mouth.
Frank’s thighs are starting to burn along with the pit of his stomach, his blood is running warm and hips are stuttering faster towards the end. “Come on,” he growls at Gerard, “come. I want to feel it,” Gerard’s breath hitches and Frank can feel his legs shake. “Yeah, that’s it,” he pauses to moan himself, lets his eyes shut as his balls pull up. “Fuck, yeah. Come, come Gerard. Coming, fuck-” he stutters, squeezing Gerard in a death tight grip as he comes himself, hitting his arm against the back of the couch as he empties. His face slides on to Gerard’s shoulder and he turns to bite Gerard’s neck, tugging hard three, four times before Gerard’s spurting all over his hand and jeans.
They pant against each other, fighting for breath and unable to move for the next minute or so. They’re hot and sticky, a sweaty mess but it’s beautiful all the same. Gerard peals Frank’s t-shirt away from his back to rub his hand against the bare warm skin. Frank sighs and smiles in to Gerard’s shirt.
Unable to move very far Gerard lies on the couch, pulling Frank with him as he goes until he’s lay on his chest. It’s quiet and comfortable and Frank kisses lightly at Gerard’s collar bone as they watch the Japanese kid throw holy water condoms at the blood sucking creatures.
Frank’s sat at his table in Audrey’s again, eating the soup that’s new to the menu but not to him. He smiles as he watches the kitchen. There’s a new sue chef, Matt something or other, and Frank’s watching him run nervously around the kitchen.
“Is this seat taken?” Frank grins as Gerard pulls back the opposite chair and sits down. His chef’s jacket is open and the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looks a little tired and his hair is some what matted beneath his hat.
“How’s the new guy working out?” Frank asks as he feeds a spoonful of soup to Gerard.
“Good, I think he’s getting the hang of it. It’s nice having more help.”
“It’s nice that you finally get a break too,” says Frank before passing Gerard a bread roll and moving the bowl to the middle of the small table. Gerard hums and takes a bite out of the roll. “How about I make you dinner tonight?” Frank suggests.
“I didn’t know you could cook,” Gerard says with a raised brow as Frank smiles smugly.
“One of my many talents,” he shrugs.
“Many, huh? I like the sound of that.”
“I guess you’ll have to stick around to find them all out” and he steals back the bread roll and winks.