Lindsey's advice was far more successful than Gerard could have ever anticipated and soon enough, he found himself back at his apartment, and not only kissing Frank's lips, but putting his lips to good use elsewhere too.

And maybe, just maybe, even if Gerard wasn't supposed to the whore here, there was nothing he could say that would disprove the fact that he absolutely loved getting down on his knees for Frank Iero. And let's just say that Frank also appreciated the gesture, because there was really no other way to put it that didn't require extreme degrees of obscenity.

Not that obscenity was necessarily a bad thing, and this blowjob was proof of that: the proof within the way Frank was all held back hitched breaths and moans - little noises, quieter than Gerard would have expected him to be in relation to the fact that they were alone, well alone in a flat where the door didn't lock, but whatever, they were alone for now at the moment.

But this wasn't anything to do with Gerard being bad or anything, this was more to do with Frank than it ever was Gerard, because like this he didn't have to act: he didn't have to put it on and he didn't have to moan extra loud when it was nothing more than mediocre - he wasn't being paid to do this: he was doing it because he wanted to, and it was entirely different.

Frank didn't quite understand the meaning behind the phrase 'like he was paid to do it', because Frank knew more than anyone than when something became work: monotonous and forced, regardless of quality or emotion, just compulsory - it lost all enjoyment it could ever have, and the relief and break from that was a certain kind of heaven, and Frank was satisfied with nothing but relaxed, happy little moans, and Gerard seemed to be far too preoccupied with Frank's dick to really pay all that much attention to the noises coming from Frank's lips.

Gerard's hands dug tightly into Frank's lips: steadying himself around Frank, as the artist was shaking a little: a mix of anxiety and being really fucking turned on, he guessed. Frank was usually a fan of hair pulling and forcing Gerard's down onto him and being in control, but Frank was tipsy and floating as his hands stretched out against the wall behind him, letting Gerard take control and push him against the plaster with every thrust.

This was different, of course, because he trusted Gerard, he loved Gerard, and the main thing was that Frank's head had something else to focus on other than fifty dollars on the dresser.

It wasn't that Frank didn't like his job: it was certainly preferable to wasting his life away in an office as he filed away things he could never even begin to understand, and answered phone calls with the same sentence: lifeless and almost programmed into his head until he finally retired, and then it'd only be a few more years until he died, and that was that: everything.

Frank would much rather be paid to get fucked a few times and then do whatever the fuck he wanted with the rest of his life, especially if that included doing Gerard Way.

"Gerard-"Frank jumped back into reality: mildly unaware of what he was even doing and what he was even saying: everything was about his dick and just what Gerard was doing to it. "Fuck... I'm gonna, I-" Frank bit down on his bottom lip, pushing Gerard off his dick with all of the self-control in the world.

"Frank?" Gerard asked, pouting up at the twenty four year old: a little disappointed, because maybe, Gerard liked sucking dick far more than he'd ever care to admit, especially when Frank Iero's dick was involved.

"I can't come when I've just left you on your knees sucking my dick: doing everything for me, because as hot as that is, I don't want to neglect you like that." Frank finally managed to stand up probably: having supported his weight on the wall entirely for far too long now - he was fucking numb and it was Gerard's fucking fault.

"I like sucking your dick." Gerard protested, smiling up at Frank like he was made for nothing more than being the world's sluttiest whore.

"I noticed." Frank smirked, rolling his eyes a little. "Come on, get up." He gestured to Gerard, who shrugged it off and climbed to his feet, stumbling a little as he did so, having been down on his knees for far too long entirely, but then again, it really wasn't like anyone was complaining.

"What's happening?" Gerard asked, following Frank as the younger made his way through the flat, and really just away from the spot that they'd been in previously: literally about ten centimetres away from the front door: the door that didn't lock.

"Bedroom." Frank didn't explain further: he didn't need to, and Gerard didn't expect him to, only grinning a little, because hell, if Frank flirting with Pete ensured that he ended up fucking Frank, Pete could fucking marry Frank for all he cared.

Gerard closed the bedroom door behind them, watching as Frank pulled his jeans and boxers off: his shirt long gone, and now lying somewhere on the hallway floor for them to find a few days little with awkward smiles and blushes.

"Are you going to get your clothes off too, or just watch me, huh?" Frank raised his eyebrows in Gerard's direction, leaning back against the wardrobe, watching Gerard pull his shirt over his head from across the room. "You're beautiful, you know? You're a work of art - I can see why you're such a good artist - you're art yourself."

"I remember you once said something about hating pretentious people, especially art and artists." Gerard mused, smirking a little as he discarded the rest of his clothes on his bedroom floor.

"You may have changed my mind on that one, Gerard Way." Frank stepped forward, grabbing his boyfriend by the hand and pushing him down onto the bed.

"Can't I just make you come- you're so hard- I... I... want to." Gerard choked out under the two strong hands pinning his shoulders back down against the mattress.

"And I want to make you come, so how are we going to decide, huh?" Frank raised his eyebrows, pulling away a little, and just watching the cute little puzzled expression upon Gerard's face.

"Rock, paper, scissors?" 

"Or I could just make you come before you even have a choice." Frank suggested, pushing Gerard up the bed and spreading his legs like he was nothing, and really, there was no denying the fact that Gerard completely fucking melted into Frank's touch.

"H-How will you do that?" Gerard choked out, blushing like hell itself, because, well, this was Frank Iero and if he wasn't blushing and completely fucking turned on by now, something had to be severely wrong with him.

"Eat you out." Frank mumbled: his voice nonchalant as he spread Gerard's legs further and pushed his face between the twenty eight year old's thighs, at first planting kisses on the pale white skin of his thighs, and having Gerard moaning already: he was far more vocal than Frank, to say the least.

"Fuck- Frank... I.. I've never done that before..." Gerard blushed, shaking a little as Frank continued to tease him: trailing kisses up and down the tender skin of his inner thighs.

"Well, that's even better." Frank grinned, pulling away just a little to make eye contact with his boyfriend.

"W-why's that?"

"Honestly, because then I don’t' have to worry about being bad because you're still going to think this is the best thing ever."

"What if I don't like it?" Gerard asked, smirking a little, and really, he just should have now that he was going to get absolutely fucking nowhere with this, but, of course, Gerard was stubborn, and nothing was stopping him from trying.

"Trust me: you will." And that was a promise made.

And a promise kept as Frank took Gerard by surprise, pressing his tongue up against Gerard's ass, feeling the younger jolt at the touch, and clenching around him, closing his legs a little, which really, Frank was having none of, and made sure Gerard was well aware of that fact and just who was in charge here as he pushed Gerard's legs apart again, his hands digging into Gerard's thighs as he held them in place, before pushing his tongue in deeper this time, feeling Gerard jolt twice as hard at the touch.

"Fuck..." He moaned aloud this time, and Frank couldn't help but smirk in response: already hard, and fucking harder from just how wonderfully Gerard was taking it. "Please."

Frank pulled away at that, just to be an asshole, and a fucking tease... to Gerard... and his asshole. "Told you that you'd like it, didn't I?"

"Yeah..." Gerard's tone was breathy and strained in consequence of just how fucking hard he was already, and really, Frank would not be wrong to say that Gerard really fucking liked this: hell, Gerard might just have a thing for this, and dear god, it was like a dream come true to Frank (the word 'come' being used rather literally, because that dream was most certainly not the only thing coming today).

Frank gave Gerard absolutely no forewarning before pressing his tongue back to Gerard's ass, pushing at Gerard's thighs as spreading him wider, allowing Frank to get his tongue in deeper, and fuck, Gerard really liked this.

He was fucking close already, and it was fucking ridiculous, and Frank loved how he could just tell, but of course, Frank fucking did this for a living: he had to know when people were about to come, but, of course, there was nothing quite like the way Gerard jerked like hell, going tense, and then shaking, before finally just letting go.

Frank grinned to himself, rubbing his hard dick against the mattress a little, because fuck, before going all out, and as deep as he could: digging deep enough into Gerard's thighs for it to hurt, but, fuck him, which was pretty much what Frank was doing right now, because damn, Gerard was going to have to deal with Frank wanting to make him come like this if it turned Frank on so much.

And let's just say that as Gerard finally let go, that he really didn't mind at all, and the fingerprints and marks they'd leave on his thighs were nothing more than memories and reminders of this and everything they were, and everything they would be.

Gerard came against his stomach, and Frank grinned, satisfied with himself and the mess he'd made, before sitting up between Gerard legs and curling a hand around his dick to finish himself off.

"Hey-" Gerard sat up, grabbing his hand and stopping him right there, and really, Frank was so hard that he was about to fucking slap him across the face with his dick for that. "I said I wanted to suck your dick until you come, and I am."

And really, Frank was in no position to stop him as Gerard pushed Frank down as his lips slid down Frank, his head bobbing up and down a little, but really, he hadn't even long enough to get a rhythm going before Frank was coming everywhere and Gerard was struggling to swallow: managing most of it, before spitting out a little into the carpet: a stain and a problem that he could worry about later, because all he knew right now was that Frank Iero was fucking beautiful, and of course that he really loved being eaten out.

"I'm sorry that I overreacted about you and Pete." Gerard's apology was late, and late enough to ensure that it didn't matter at all, but still, it was the thought that counted, surely.

"You didn't, look, I'm sorry, Pete and I- things are complicated and there's no away around the fact that Pete and I have fucked multiple times, but look-"

"Hey, if you're feeling guilt about flirting with Pete ends in you doing this, then fucking hell, Frank, go and make out with him." It was ridiculous and so was Gerard, but the twenty eight year old was still kind of caught up with the butterflies in his stomach and the tingling feeling in his body after he'd came that wouldn't go away for quite a while now, but still, it'd never ever last long enough.

"Trust me: I'd much rather make out with you."

-

Pete wasn't exactly all that opposed to Lindsey spending so much time in his house as of late, especially when she made a habit of bringing him some form of alcohol whenever he did so, and in return, Pete refrained from making any awkward lesbian comments when Alicia turned up with her.

After all, Alicia did have a boyfriend, didn't she?

But, of course, poor old Mikey Way was completely oblivious to this all, for now at the very least, that was.

However, the likelihood was that the aforementioned was going to change very soon indeed.

"More alcohol, Lindsey?"  Pete asked, having not even met Lindsey's gaze as she made her way inside: having acquired her own key recently with the whole using Pete's house as a masquerade for her suspiciously homosexual activities with Alicia.

"Pete-" Lindsey shook her head firmly, leaving Pete to gasp aloud as he noticed the guy slumped against Lindsey's side.

"Who the fuck is that? And is he dead? No dead bodies in the house, Lindsey, goddamn we don't fuck with dead bodies, remember?" Pete panicked so much that he almost dropped his can of beer, and really that was a damn hell of a lot of panicking, like man, he could have been at a disco right now.

"Calm down, for fuck's sake: he's not dead, and I don't even know who he is: I just found him passed out in the alleyway next door, and I wasn't going to fucking leave him there to get stabbed by the next trigger happy girl with a gun there, am I?" Lindsey rolled her eyes, leaving Pete to watch with wide eyes as she laid the guy out onto the sofa. "He should just wake up and be alright, I guess, but..." Lindsey shrugged, as Pete made his way over to the guy who had now take up residence upon his sofa.

"He probably just got drunk and fell asleep, Lindsey: we don't need to go all super nanny on him, come on - where's the alcohol?" Pete whined like an alcoholic toddler, and really, if Lindsey didn't spend the entirety of her life not giving a single fuck, she would have been really concerned about Pete's health in general right now.

"Not everyone's you, Pete. Just leave it, and do something other than have a drink, for once, would you?" Lindsey doubted that Pete even had any more hobbies, but whatever would shut him up for a minute or two was good enough for her.

But, it seemed that the guy on Pete's sofa was intent upon waking up before Lindsey could get one moment of peace and quiet - not that she should have ever expected that by heading to Pete's house, but whatever.

"What- I-... I-" And then before anyone could even know what was happening, sofa guy was vomiting all over Pete Wentz's shiny mahogany floor.

"Fuck my life." Pete rolled his eyes, making his way into the kitchen, and grabbing... you guessed it: an orange Capri Sun. "I'm not cleaning that shit up." Pete announced as he continued to sip his Capri Sun, leaving Lindsey to shake her head and brush off any thoughts of just punching the guy right in the face - not sofa guy, but Pete, but then again, if he'd never vomited...

"Where am I?" Sofa guy's tone was groggy and very much on the same emotional level as Pete right now, who stood in the kitchen, sulking and glaring as he continued to sip his Capri Sun, just like gang leaders did, and six year olds didn't, of course. "What happened?"

"I found you passed out in an alleyway, and well, that wasn't exactly the best place to leave you... if you didn't want to be killed, that is, so I took you to Pete's house here: it's literally just next door - this isn't a kidnapping, I promise." Lindsey's 'I'm not a psychopath, I promise' impression wasn't exactly up to scratch today, it seemed.

"O-ok... I... I... don't remember... I-"

"Drugs. What were you on?" Pete was rather straight to the point, and really, that was one of the very few straight things he'd done in his life, besides his ex-girlfriend (about four years ago) that was. Pete was technically pansexual with a preference for people with dicks, but Pete Wentz didn't tend to get into technicalities, so he was attracted to whoever the fuck he was - end of.

"I... uhh... I wasn't..." Sofa guy blushed a bright shade of 'guilty red', and Lindsey couldn't help but chuckle at that.

"He does more drugs than he can count, just fucking answer the goddamn question." Lindsey rolled her eyes a little, getting up and beginning to clean up the sick (reluctantly so, of course) after she'd concluded that sofa guy wasn't going to just die at any moment.

"Maybe some coke." Sofa guy finally answered with a blush: this wasn't particularly something that he totally people about, in fact, it was kind of his biggest secret, but it seemed that perhaps it wasn't entirely that secret anymore.

"Cool. Do you have a name or is it just 'that coke addict who puked all over my floor'?" Pete asked, finishing his Capri Sun and sitting down on the sofa opposite the one the sofa guy was sat upon: Lindsey having finished cleaning up the sick and glaring at Pete as she sat down beside the sofa guy.

"Uhh..."

"I'm Lindsey - that's Pete: he's an asshole. I apologise in advance for anything and everything he does." Lindsey rolled her eyes, smiling a little at the guy in an attempt to make him look slightly less mortified.

"Mikey." He finally answered, forcing a smile that wasn't even the tiniest bit convincing. "I need to get back home before my girlfriend comes home though... she doesn't know about... well... no one does... I'm not really a... drugs person... I... I'm just-"

"Depressed as fuck and thinking what the hell." Pete finished for him, leaving Mikey just a little lost for words. "I've been there: granted, I was sixteen at the time, but I know the feeling, and trust me, drugs made my life so much better-"

"I'm not sure that's entirely true." Lindsey protested, narrowing her eyes a little in Pete's direction.

"Okay, it was extensive therapy and getting out of school and into college, and then doing more, better drugs with my friends... but... in the long run... it's the same thing, isn't it?"

Lindsey shook her head. "He was passed out on the floor outside - you are not suggesting that he continues to do this shit. Do you want him to puke on your floor again?"

"I'm pretty sure there are other places for him to puke-"

"No, Pete, I will personally ensure that he pukes nowhere but your living room floor, trust me."

"Do... I... I not get a say in where I puke?" Mikey piped up, blushing a little as he asked.

"I would say no, because I don't know you and you just ruined my floor, but... you're cute... so tell me, Mikey, where would you like to puke?"

And you knew it was fucking tragic when Pete Wentz started involving vomit in his pick up lines, but then again, Pete Wentz's pick up lines were just tragic regardless of content.

-

i would say that this was to make up for antichrist but im not sorry about that at all;) whatever hey enjoy this whatever the fuck this is because i literally have like absolutely no fucking idea as to what the hell the plot is here like seriously i have no fucking clue all suggestions are highly welcomed and appreciated. votes and comments would be cool because gerard's ass!!!!! i love you all<3