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Nov. 3rd, 2010 02:27 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gala_applesSo, while I'm not doing Nano, I do have 55 stories due before the end of the year. So I pretty much have to do a fic per day.
Also, back in September I owed turps, villiagegreen, chuckaloonie, and guest_age fic. I finally wrote one. (See! I can keep promises. Eventually.)
Title: Emergency
Pairing: Gerard/Patrick
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: 1311
Summary: Gerard has a toothache. He's on the verge of being a complete asshole about it, so Patrick distracts him.
Prompt used: toothaches for h/c bingo
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
Author’s notes: also written for villiagegreen after she won a 'what is this random diagram' challenge, and asked for D/s Patrick/Gerard. It only took me two months to get around to writing it.
Gerard is maybe a bit over-sensitive when it comes to oral issues. He brushes twice a day, makes sure to floss. Even in Europe when Brian had gotten overly worried about making time and refused to pull the van over to a gas station to let him rinse, Gerard had just spit out the window and kept spitting until his mouth didn’t taste like mint anymore. But he doesn’t think he can be blamed for the sensitivity. Toothaches can turn into abscesses, like the one he had just before they got Frankie. It was horrible; the shooting pain, the swelling, the way he couldn’t touch his fucking face. Worst of all, that his tooth heat sensitive and he couldn’t drink fucking coffee. Any toothache flashes him back straight there.
“Gerard, I get that you’re worried, I do. But you’ve done all you can do.” Patrick says it with patience, like he hasn’t been saying it for the last hour.
“I know! Isn’t it ridiculous? An emergency appointment, on fucking Friday. How is that useful whatsoever? It’s not like it’s hard to schedule two or three patients, it’s not like Sheila is trying to organise Warped or something!”
Gerard talks to Patrick for a few minutes about how utterly incompetent Sheila is with scheduling but he’s pretty sure he’s not listening. It doesn’t stop him from going on, it’s no different than talking to Bob or Frank about Magic. He leans against the fridge and rants, Patrick touching his stomach a few times so he’ll move and Patrick can get an ingredient out. While neither of them are exactly domestic gods -Gerard believes the phrase Mikey used was a hole of filth and squalor, which is rich, considering the source- they have their highlights. Gerard is pretty damn awesome at interior decorating. It’s a combination of butt testing every couch in a store without shame, using strong colours, and making sure the house they bought had an abnormal amount of studs so he could hang art wherever he wants, as soon as he’s done. Patrick on the other hand is great at food. Gerard is pretty good at basic stuff, like grilled cheese, but Patrick can rock shit with ingredients Gerard’s never even heard of.
Once the smell starts wafting from the frying pan, Gerard finds himself trailing off. It’s impossible to be mad with spice and sizzling butter and whatever the fuck that green stuff is inside his nostrils. Patrick starts talking about one of the groups he’s working with, how dueling saxophones are the new rhythm and lead guitar, and while Gerard doesn’t know much about the instrument he’s content to listen.
It all changes when they sit at the table and Gerard takes his first bite of the stirfry. It hurts to chew on the side that has the cavity. It’s just like before, any hour now his mouth will start tasting like pus and it’ll be the beginning of the end. He starts to rant, using his fork with the bean still attached as punctuation. “Seriously, what kind of emergency appointment is two days away? Emergency means right the fuck now, at least that’s what it says in the dictionary! It’s not just me being a demanding rock star, it’s fucking Merriam and Webster and all the rest of them.”
Patrick glares, though the look is somewhat negates by the chipmunk cheeks of food. He chews and swallows before replying “Gerard, I really don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“I mean, where would would be if we called 911 and they said the ambulance would be there in two days? We’d all be dead!”
“Gerard!”
He stops, but it’s an uneasy silence. With each bite Gerard sweeps his tongue around to empty his mouth and ends up poking his tooth each time. It’s probably a placebo effect that makes it hurt, unless he’s tasting pus it shouldn’t be that sensitive yet. Knowing that he’s making it happen himself does nothing to relieve it. Across the table Patrick is scraping his knife against the plate harder than necessary. The decorative paint is supposed to be dishwasher safe, but Gerard wouldn’t be surprised if Patrick has shards of it on his lips by the end of the meal.
Then Patrick pulls out Gerard’s favourite brand of ice cream from the freezer. Gerard’s not sure if it’s meant to be a supplication of some sort. If it is, it fails. Miserably. His tooth is temperature sensitive, there’s no way he can have it. Gerard storms into the living room and turns on the tv. He flips through channels until he finds Housewives of Orange County. Watching other people be catty bitches helps him when he’s in a mood.
Unfortunately, fleeing for the refuge of Jeana’s kids acting totally out of control only works if he’s left alone. Instead Patrick sits beside him. He’s got a huge bowl of Ben and Jerry’s Cake Batter balanced on his knee. Gerard tries to not say anything but he can’t help it. “If fucking Sheila had given me an appointment, I could be eating that with you. Fuck.”
“Gerard, I told you. I’m getting- you know what? No. Get on your knees.”
It’s not the first time Patrick’s pulled out bedroom routines during the day but it seems different now. Gerard looks at Patrick, trying to assess. He could safeword out. Patrick would back down and they’d return to watching tv. He might still be a bit pissed, but only because of the repetitive conversation, not because Gerard didn’t feel comfortable doing what he wanted.
He could, and knowing he could and Patrick would listen is what makes it easy to slide off the couch and kneel.
“Hands behind your back. Open your mouth. Don’t move.” Gerard does both things. He twists his arms slightly so each hand is holding on to the other wrist. Having something to hold on to reminds him to keep his arms still. Without any other warning Patrick shoves his jeans to his knees and pushes himself inside Gerard’s waiting mouth. It’s not very often Patrick says he’s going to fuck Gerard’s mouth, they’re both singers who understand the hazards of constant deep throating. But they both love it when Patrick decides it’s going to happen.
Patrick jerks forward with abandon. His hand is loosely curved around the back of Gerard’s neck, but Gerard knows if he tried to move Patrick’s grip would get iron hard. He doesn’t flinch, just tries to keep his lips wide, tongue entrancing. Patrick only lets off as he’s coming, making sure to coat as much of Gerard’s mouth as he can. Gerard waits until Patrick says it’s okay to swallow.
Patrick doesn’t offer to return the blowjob. It’s possible he’s aware that he doesn’t need to, that Gerard filled his boxers like some teenager while sucking Patrick. That or he doesn’t think Gerard deserves it, and this was an unstated punishment for the diatribe. Either way Gerard is happy. And from what he can tell, Patrick is too.
“There. Better now?” Patrick says, slumping to the couch without pulling his jeans back on. It’s one of the reasons they have suede couches instead of leather, suede doesn’t rip your skin off when you stand up after naked fun times.
“You do realise we’re not in the seventeenth century and poultices of spiderwebs or semen won’t make my teeth hurt less, right?” Gerard replies. But there’s no bite in his words; he’s smiling. He always smiles after Patrick takes the reins for a bit. Whatever they end up doing, it just takes the edge off the world for a while.
“Shut up and come sit down. The episode’s not over yet.” Gerard climbs up and curls into Patrick. He can change later. He’s had worse filth than come filled underwear, far worse.
Also, back in September I owed turps, villiagegreen, chuckaloonie, and guest_age fic. I finally wrote one. (See! I can keep promises. Eventually.)
Title: Emergency
Pairing: Gerard/Patrick
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: 1311
Summary: Gerard has a toothache. He's on the verge of being a complete asshole about it, so Patrick distracts him.
Prompt used: toothaches for h/c bingo
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
Author’s notes: also written for villiagegreen after she won a 'what is this random diagram' challenge, and asked for D/s Patrick/Gerard. It only took me two months to get around to writing it.
Gerard is maybe a bit over-sensitive when it comes to oral issues. He brushes twice a day, makes sure to floss. Even in Europe when Brian had gotten overly worried about making time and refused to pull the van over to a gas station to let him rinse, Gerard had just spit out the window and kept spitting until his mouth didn’t taste like mint anymore. But he doesn’t think he can be blamed for the sensitivity. Toothaches can turn into abscesses, like the one he had just before they got Frankie. It was horrible; the shooting pain, the swelling, the way he couldn’t touch his fucking face. Worst of all, that his tooth heat sensitive and he couldn’t drink fucking coffee. Any toothache flashes him back straight there.
“Gerard, I get that you’re worried, I do. But you’ve done all you can do.” Patrick says it with patience, like he hasn’t been saying it for the last hour.
“I know! Isn’t it ridiculous? An emergency appointment, on fucking Friday. How is that useful whatsoever? It’s not like it’s hard to schedule two or three patients, it’s not like Sheila is trying to organise Warped or something!”
Gerard talks to Patrick for a few minutes about how utterly incompetent Sheila is with scheduling but he’s pretty sure he’s not listening. It doesn’t stop him from going on, it’s no different than talking to Bob or Frank about Magic. He leans against the fridge and rants, Patrick touching his stomach a few times so he’ll move and Patrick can get an ingredient out. While neither of them are exactly domestic gods -Gerard believes the phrase Mikey used was a hole of filth and squalor, which is rich, considering the source- they have their highlights. Gerard is pretty damn awesome at interior decorating. It’s a combination of butt testing every couch in a store without shame, using strong colours, and making sure the house they bought had an abnormal amount of studs so he could hang art wherever he wants, as soon as he’s done. Patrick on the other hand is great at food. Gerard is pretty good at basic stuff, like grilled cheese, but Patrick can rock shit with ingredients Gerard’s never even heard of.
Once the smell starts wafting from the frying pan, Gerard finds himself trailing off. It’s impossible to be mad with spice and sizzling butter and whatever the fuck that green stuff is inside his nostrils. Patrick starts talking about one of the groups he’s working with, how dueling saxophones are the new rhythm and lead guitar, and while Gerard doesn’t know much about the instrument he’s content to listen.
It all changes when they sit at the table and Gerard takes his first bite of the stirfry. It hurts to chew on the side that has the cavity. It’s just like before, any hour now his mouth will start tasting like pus and it’ll be the beginning of the end. He starts to rant, using his fork with the bean still attached as punctuation. “Seriously, what kind of emergency appointment is two days away? Emergency means right the fuck now, at least that’s what it says in the dictionary! It’s not just me being a demanding rock star, it’s fucking Merriam and Webster and all the rest of them.”
Patrick glares, though the look is somewhat negates by the chipmunk cheeks of food. He chews and swallows before replying “Gerard, I really don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“I mean, where would would be if we called 911 and they said the ambulance would be there in two days? We’d all be dead!”
“Gerard!”
He stops, but it’s an uneasy silence. With each bite Gerard sweeps his tongue around to empty his mouth and ends up poking his tooth each time. It’s probably a placebo effect that makes it hurt, unless he’s tasting pus it shouldn’t be that sensitive yet. Knowing that he’s making it happen himself does nothing to relieve it. Across the table Patrick is scraping his knife against the plate harder than necessary. The decorative paint is supposed to be dishwasher safe, but Gerard wouldn’t be surprised if Patrick has shards of it on his lips by the end of the meal.
Then Patrick pulls out Gerard’s favourite brand of ice cream from the freezer. Gerard’s not sure if it’s meant to be a supplication of some sort. If it is, it fails. Miserably. His tooth is temperature sensitive, there’s no way he can have it. Gerard storms into the living room and turns on the tv. He flips through channels until he finds Housewives of Orange County. Watching other people be catty bitches helps him when he’s in a mood.
Unfortunately, fleeing for the refuge of Jeana’s kids acting totally out of control only works if he’s left alone. Instead Patrick sits beside him. He’s got a huge bowl of Ben and Jerry’s Cake Batter balanced on his knee. Gerard tries to not say anything but he can’t help it. “If fucking Sheila had given me an appointment, I could be eating that with you. Fuck.”
“Gerard, I told you. I’m getting- you know what? No. Get on your knees.”
It’s not the first time Patrick’s pulled out bedroom routines during the day but it seems different now. Gerard looks at Patrick, trying to assess. He could safeword out. Patrick would back down and they’d return to watching tv. He might still be a bit pissed, but only because of the repetitive conversation, not because Gerard didn’t feel comfortable doing what he wanted.
He could, and knowing he could and Patrick would listen is what makes it easy to slide off the couch and kneel.
“Hands behind your back. Open your mouth. Don’t move.” Gerard does both things. He twists his arms slightly so each hand is holding on to the other wrist. Having something to hold on to reminds him to keep his arms still. Without any other warning Patrick shoves his jeans to his knees and pushes himself inside Gerard’s waiting mouth. It’s not very often Patrick says he’s going to fuck Gerard’s mouth, they’re both singers who understand the hazards of constant deep throating. But they both love it when Patrick decides it’s going to happen.
Patrick jerks forward with abandon. His hand is loosely curved around the back of Gerard’s neck, but Gerard knows if he tried to move Patrick’s grip would get iron hard. He doesn’t flinch, just tries to keep his lips wide, tongue entrancing. Patrick only lets off as he’s coming, making sure to coat as much of Gerard’s mouth as he can. Gerard waits until Patrick says it’s okay to swallow.
Patrick doesn’t offer to return the blowjob. It’s possible he’s aware that he doesn’t need to, that Gerard filled his boxers like some teenager while sucking Patrick. That or he doesn’t think Gerard deserves it, and this was an unstated punishment for the diatribe. Either way Gerard is happy. And from what he can tell, Patrick is too.
“There. Better now?” Patrick says, slumping to the couch without pulling his jeans back on. It’s one of the reasons they have suede couches instead of leather, suede doesn’t rip your skin off when you stand up after naked fun times.
“You do realise we’re not in the seventeenth century and poultices of spiderwebs or semen won’t make my teeth hurt less, right?” Gerard replies. But there’s no bite in his words; he’s smiling. He always smiles after Patrick takes the reins for a bit. Whatever they end up doing, it just takes the edge off the world for a while.
“Shut up and come sit down. The episode’s not over yet.” Gerard climbs up and curls into Patrick. He can change later. He’s had worse filth than come filled underwear, far worse.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2010-11-03 07:03 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-11-05 11:42 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-11-04 10:54 pm (UTC)But man, I want ice cream now.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-11-05 11:43 pm (UTC)