Title: Fill my head with pieces
Fandom: My Chemical Romance
Characters: Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Rating: Explicit
Length: 1,218 words
Content notes: Contains swearwords, spanking, kink discussion, implied orgasm delay/denial, discussions of consent, explicit sexual descriptions
Author notes: It was never going to be flowers, was it? Title from The Paper Kites Bloom (I was looking for inspiration)
Summary: Sometimes right in the thick of things is when you discover what's true about yourself. What you do with that knowledge is entirely up to you.

“C’mon, Frankie,” Gerard whines, squirming against the belt straps holding his wrists firm against the bedframe, and Frank grins, rocking back on his heels. He lets his fingers slip free from Gerard’s ass with a slick pop, eliciting an involuntary groan from Gerard, and reaches up to brush his bangs back out of his eyes. His hair’s sweat-damp to the touch, even with his lube-sticky fingers, and it’s still tacky with leftover gel as he tucks it behind his ear. Not that any of that’s going to help; he knows that as soon as he moves his head it’ll fall forward over his face again. Good delaying tactic through, he thinks, as Gerard shifts fruitlessly against the mattress, and, really, that’s the whole point.

They don’t do this much. Most of the time it’s just sweaty, desperate fucking in whatever space they manage to steal for themselves, whether that’s an empty dressing room, the back of the bus or, on one memorable occasion, hidden in a cubby underneath the stage while the crew dismantled the set above them, both of them wild-eyed and half-crazed, torn between trying to get their hands on each other and trying the shut the hell up. Frank has some fond memories of that night.

Sometimes, though, there are nights like this one. Hotel nights when there hasn’t been a show, and they don’t have to get up at the asscrack of dawn to drive to god-knows-where. Nights where there’s no-one to interrupt them and they can take their fucking time. Frank has some fond memories of nights like these as well.

“Something wrong, Gee?” he asks, eyes wide with faux innocence, and Gerard cranes his head round far enough to glare at him, his shoulders visibly straining with the effort. Frank can’t help but reach out, scratching lightly over the sharp curve of Gerard’s should blade. Gerard’s fever-hot, warm against Frank’s hand even though they aren’t really touching, and his nails leave red trails in their wake. Gerard shivers before he catches himself and visibly forces himself still.

“Fuckin’ tease,” he mutters, and Frank doesn’t even think; his hand leaving Gerard’s shoulder to connect hard with his ass in an ear-cracking smack that stings through his palm and trails up his wrist. Gerard hisses, biting off another curse with a shudder as he drops his head back down against the pillow, but Frank’s not really listening, His attention snags on the way Gerard’s skin blooms red in the wake of his blow; the hint of an impression of his palm written bright and red over Gerard’s ass. He traces the shape of it, feather light and almost reverent, even as something hot and possessive slams deep and low into his belly, making his breath catch in a throat with a heavy wheeze.

“Fuck,” he mutters, thickly, and there’s a rustle as Gerard shifts against the bedclothes above him.

“Frankie?” There’s a questioning note in Gerard’s tone, but it’s curious rather than uncertain, and Frank hums, acknowledgement and reassurance all tangled together as he scrapes his nails across Gerard’s ass again. The red is already fading; Gerard’s skin shifting back to its usual hue, and Frank’s fingers are itching inexplicably with the urge to bring it back and make it stick.

Which is… concerning, maybe?

He’s sure as hell that it’s bad sex etiquette. Frank’s not fucking new at this; it’s one thing to tie your boyfriend to the bed and maybe give him the occasional smack in the spirit of kinky fun, it’s something else entirely to beat his ass until it’s red and glowing. He’s prepared to bet that’s the kind of thing that needs discussions and negotiations first. Or, at the very least, asking.

“You could, you know,” Gerard offers, knowingly, and it fits so closely to what Frank’s thinking that his head snaps up with a jolt. Gerard’s twisted around again, his spine so impossibly curved that it’s making his muscles tremble, but his eyes are bright when Frank meets them.

“You don’t even know what I want,” he points out, and Gerard raises one shoulder to knock against his chin in an awkward shrug.

“You want to put me over your knee and spank me,” he says, unconcernedly, and Frank’s brain just… short-circuits, his subconscious stirring up images of Gerard sprawled hot and sweaty across his lap, squirming and sobbing, rocking hard and heavy against Frank’s thigh, as every blow of his hand paints Gerard’s ass burning red. He can even imagine how it’d feel; the bite in his palm, the heat against his hand and the wet warmth of Gerard’s skin, and his eyelids flutter closed against the onslaught, the air in the room suddenly feeling hot and sticky in his lungs.

Jesus, fuck. He’s suddenly so hard it hurts.

He must space out for a moment, because Gerard’s still talking happily when he tunes back in. “…never done it before, but I’m not against the idea.”

“Yeah,” Frank says, and it comes out a little shakier than he expected. “No.”

“You shouldn’t deny yourself, Frankie,” Gerard says, earnestly, and Frank swats at him again. It’s half-hearted, nothing like the last, but even the idea is still enough to make his pulse kick hard, and his fingers twitch helplessly against the curve of Gerard’s ass. Gerard arches under the touch, pushing up shamelessly against Frank’s hand, and Frank blinks, reeling a little, because he’s sure Gerard shouldn’t be picking up on the kink he just found and running with it quite so hard. He absolutely is though, because he’s Gerard and he never does anything by fucking halves. Frank, on the other hand, feels like he just got kicked sideways by a horse. His brain is scrambling to keep up, and he needs to either embrace the shit out of this (bad plan, bad plan) or get his head back in the game he’d actually been planning when he’d stolen Gerard’s belt as soon as Gerard had claimed first shower. Otherwise, in about five minutes, give or take, he’s going to find himself with Gerard face down across his lap and no fucking clue how he got there.

There’s no question, really. He can do this. He’s fucking got this.

“Not tonight,” he amends, reaching behind himself for the lube without looking away, and Gerard beams, his fingers flexing against the headboard in a gesture Frank thinks is entirely unintentional.

“Embrace your kinky s-ide,” Gerard breaks off with a hitch as Frank slides his freshly slicked fingers along the crease of his ass, sinking them back deep into Gerard’s body without wasting any more time. Gerard’s hot and tight, his muscles fluttering invitingly against Frank’s fingers, and Frank bites back a curse at the way Gerard grips him, his cock twitching as the anticipation floods him. God, he wants…

“You were saying,” he asks, because he needs to have the last word, crooking his fingers just to be an asshole, and Gerard groans as his back bows sharply, gorgeously taut.

“Motherfucker,” he bites out, “Talk later.” Frank grins, settled back into his own skin and back on track. He can get behind that; who needs anything else when they can do this.

But he can’t resist brushing his fingers against the swell of Gerard’s ass one more time.