(no subject)
Dec. 27th, 2011 11:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gala_applesTitle: Couch Crashing Seduction
Pairing(s): Established Ray/James, Frank/Ray/James
Rating: nc17
Warnings: asshole!Frank
Word count: 2857
Summary: Frank is going to make Ray want him. Even if he has to move into his apartment and overwhelm Ray into seeing how fucking awesome he is.
“For the record, that is a stupid idea.”
“Why so, Mikeyway?” Frank speaks through a mouthful of pretzels, but half their conversation is through food, so he knows he understands him.
“Because Ray is not going to put up with your crap the way I do.”
“What crap?”
Mikey raises an eyebrow as he crashes beside him on the couch, Frank thinks, though it’s hard to tell under the hair. “You want an example?”
“Try a hypothesis, motherfucker, you don’t have shit.”
“Try last night. You puked on my pillow.”
Frank snorts, beer nearly going up his nose before he swallows the swig. “I had to use your bed. You were with some skank in mine.”
“She thought my room smelled.”
“It does smell.”
“Yeah, like puke.”
Frank laughs. The puke is a recent addition; Mikey’s room has smelled since the day after they moved in. Ways are good people, but just nasty.
The bag of pretzels is on Frank’s left side, propped up by the arm of the couch. It’s a defense strategy that fails miserably. Mikey just leans over him, getting all up in his personal bubble to grab a handful. A wave of crusted salt falls on his lap as Mikey squeezes a bit too tight sitting back up.
“Even if he doesn’t kick your ass out within twenty minutes, it’s still pathetic. I don’t have to move in with someone to get into their pants.”
Frank laughs again. If anyone else called him pathetic he’d break their nose, but he and Mikey understand each other. “That’s because you don’t care whose pants you get into. I have a very specific set I want. I need long term access.”
“Frank Iero, settling down. Who woulda thought?”
“Suck my dick.” He laughs, because he knows Mikey would, and Mikey smirks because he knows he would. They’re good.
***
Frank doesn’t bring all his shit with him. It’s not like he’s planning on staying with Ray forever. Mikey’s definitely right, not that he would ever say those words to the little fucker. Mikey Way is a man who doesn’t need more confirmation of his awesomeness. But he is correct. Living with a boyfriend or girlfriend would suck. All the responsibility of keeping shit clean, with the consequence of Ray being a bitch and not putting out if he doesn’t. He’s gonna keep paying rent, and once he’s balls deep in Ray’s probably virgin ass, he’s going to move back in with Mikey. They can be squalor buddies.
He knocks on Ray’s door twice. When he doesn’t answer it Frank knocks again, and this time keeps up a continuous barrage. There’s no way Ray’s not home. Ray’s not quite as crazy hermit as Gerard, but it’s close. He probably just thinks it’s Jehovah’s Witnesses or something. Frank can be obnoxious enough to not be mistaken for a religious nut. A Jehovah wouldn’t knock for five minutes straight.
Ray opens it with a muttered “God.” His voice gets louder once he sees who it is. “You couldn’t have fucking texted? I was in the damn shower.”
Of course he could have texted. But where’s the fun in that?
“If you wanna go hang out somewhere I’m gonna need like twenty minutes to get my hair dry and shit.”
Frank decides not to rip on Ray for being a girl and needing to be pretty. Besides, Mikey’s almost as bad. “Not gonna drag you to a bar all unmade up.” Okay, maybe just a little ripping.
“What do you want then?”
“Mikey’s a whore. There are tits and cocks everywhere. I’m staying here.” Frank ducks under Ray’s arm and walks into his new apartment.
“I don’t have a guest room.”
“I’m not too good for a couch.”
He slings his backpack into the corner and crashes on said couch. It’s better than his and Mikey’s; it’s not doused liberally with food crumbs and it doesn’t smell like other people’s perfumes and colognes. Not to mention that none of the springs are broken. It’ll make a great bed for the few days he’ll need it before he’s sharing Ray’s.
“If you’re staying here, three rules.”
Frank throws his feet up on the coffee table. A glass goes flying off, but it’s probably empty and Ray doesn’t notice, so whatever. “‘Kay.”
“No, seriously, three rules or you go the hell home. The first, buy your own groceries. You and Mikey eat more than some third world countries.”
“Sure.” He’s gotta buy fakon anyway. Ray won’t actually notice if he eats anything else though. No reason to waste money when Ray’s fully stocked.
“Two. Keep the volume down after midnight. I work hours you don’t.”
“Sure.” Although it’s hard to watch a horror movie at low volume. If he does he won’t be able to hear the low creepy overture that means a skank is about to get stabbed.
“Three. Don’t jerk off on the couch. I just bought it.”
“Yeah.”
“Wanna play Smash Brothers?”
“Dibs on Peach.” She kicks ass.
They play for almost five hours, then break for dinner. It’s like a real Sunday dinner. Ray cooks shit, instead of sticking something in the microwave, or eating something that’s supposed to be microwaved cold. And they eat at the table. He and Mikey don’t even own a table. The closest thing is the angled drawing table in Mikey’s closet for if Gerard ever leaves his parents basement to nestle in Mikey’s bedroom. A few more hours of video games, this time Mario Party, and then Ray goes to bed. Alone in the living room, Frank considers his options.
He could go crawl into Ray’s bed and stick his dick in his mouth. But then Ray might choke to death and that would be shitty. Besides, doing that without permission isn’t cool. He’s gotta wait until they’re dating and Frank knows Ray’s down with sex attacks.
He could suck his dick, except Frank doesn’t really do that. It’s got the same permission issue anyway.
The best option really seems to be watching tv and creating a plan of attack for tomorrow. Frank grabs a bag of chips and the remote, and puts his feet up. He channel scrolls until he finds Mythbusters. The episode is pretty interesting, and he’d totally fuck the shit out of Grant and Tory. If he wasn’t so into Ray, that is. For the time being his dick is a one man dick.
It’s not that late when the marathon starts repeating, but Frank decides to sack out anyway. The problem with couch surfing is as soon as the house owner is awake, the bitch on the couch has no choice but to get up. Maybe Gerard could sleep through someone sitting on his legs and watching tv, but Frank can’t.
A quick rifle through his bag shows him that while he brought a comb and nail clippers, he totally spaced on toothbrush and toothpaste. He scowls for a second, and then retreats to Ray’s bathroom. There’s no spare, but it’s not that horrific. A week from now he’s gonna eat out Ray’s ass; using his toothbrush shouldn’t freak him out. He’s halfway done, blue tinted foam at either corner of his mouth when it hits him like a football to the gut. His mouth tastes how Ray must taste, except for when he’s eating. He’s hard in an instant.
Frank drops his boxers and starts jerking off. He half considers going back to the couch and doing it there out of spite, but he doesn’t. When it starts getting to be too much he leans forward until his head is supported by the wall. He comes soon after that, breath fogging up the mirror.
***
“Did you come on my couch?”
“No. I said I wouldn’t.” Frank would be hurt, or something, if he wasn’t a man. He gives his best wounded expression anyway.
“Yeah, well, you were up until three watching Mythbusters, exploding and shooting shit at max volume, and you’re eating a bowl of my cereal. So pardon me if I want to make sure I’m not sitting on jizz.”
“No.” Not now, anyway. One day soon Frank’s gonna tie Ray up for a day or two and jerk off on him every hour. His own personal statue, except with come, not birdshit.
Ray sits on the other side of the couch with a plate of Nutella covered toast. Frank considers snagging a piece. He doesn’t really like Nutella, but it’s the principle of the thing. Only assholes use a four slice toaster to make four pieces for themselves. His movement is aborted by someone jiggling the doorknob. As the door opens Frank changes the grip on his cereal bowl. He’s not the best athlete, but he can probably hit the guy in the head with it. If it doesn’t knock the B&E fucker out, it should at least distract him and give one of them time to call 911.
Ray doesn’t have the right reaction. The guy is coming in, tall and thick and blue haired, and when Ray doesn’t shout something like get the hell out of my house! Frank glances at him. He’s smiling.
The man doesn’t pull a gun or a crowbar, just kicks off his sneakers. Which is one thing, a thing that says unintroduced friend. Blue settling in the middle cushion before nestling into Ray and tugging down Ray’s collar to nip his neck before smoothing the work wear back to presentable says something else completely.
“Who the fuck is this?”
“James. My boyfriend.”
Ray’s motherfucking boyfriend. “The fuck. For how long?”
“Like four months.”
“The fuck. And you didn’t tell anyone?” Forget being a man for a minute, he’s fuckin’ upset he didn’t know.
“I told Gerard. Mikey’d report me to the CDC in case commitment was contagious, and you’d be an asshole.”
“So you’re Frank, then?”
James recognises him because Ray refers to him as the asshole. Ray’s a prick. Frank scowls and digs another spoonful of cereal out. James picks up a piece of toast from Ray’s plate. He takes a bite, then holds the rest of the slice out and Ray leans forward to bite his own chunk off. It’s not quite Lady and the Tramp, but it’s still disgustingly domestic.
Thankfully for Frank’s digestive system, James declares it’s time to head to work before Frank can actually vomit. It’s obvious James doesn’t work at the same firm Ray does, not with blue hair and a Motorhead t-shirt instead of loafers and a button down with lightly patterned tie.
“Bye Frank. Don’t worry about locking the door, you need the code to get in the building anyway. I don’t have a spare key, but if you do come back, I’ll be home way before you get off work.”
It’s good that he’s got the house to himself for the day. Frank needs to have a heart to heart with his dick. He needs to figure out what he’s going to do about this boyfriend thing. Should he drop it, or try to push for a threesome? He wanted monogamy, but he can try trigamy, or whatever it’s called. The most important factor is to see if he can get off on James. If he’s not turned on what’s the point in getting to know him?
***
Frank keeps walking quickly into rooms, hoping to catch James blowing Ray so he can ask to cut in. They keep on not fucking. It’s weird. If Frank had Ray, he’d have him on his knees every fucking minute.
It takes him a while to realise that it’s not just that they’re not just in the room he pounces into, they’re not in any room. Frank’s not a whiney latchkey kid. Shit, he doesn’t even have a key, he just has to hope the door is unlocked whenever he comes back. But it is annoying. If he wanted to live in silence he would have gotten his own apartment instead of renting a two bedroom with Mikey.
When James finally is there one night, it’s a relief. About fucking time, really. Frank decides to approach it nicely. “Haven’t seen you around a lot.”
“Been spending time at mine. Ray kinda thinks you’d spy.”
Now is the perfect time, as far as Frank can see. They’re already talking sex, and they both have beer like civilized human beings. “Less spying, more I really want to see you come on his face.”
“Huh. And if I wanted to beat the shit out of you for saying that?”
Frank takes threats from no man. “Fuckin’ let’s go then!”
“Okay. And what if I only let you touch my boyfriend if I got to fuck you in the ass?”
Frank considers the question, but not for long. Ray is totally worth being the girl. Besides, it’s kinda the prime fag real estate, when you consider the prostate. “Deal. Where’s your lube at?”
“Hold on. I’m okay with this, I have to see if Ray is. We can’t just do this without talking about it.”
Christ. Talking. The longer he stays here, the more complicated it’s getting.
“Fine.” There’s only two reasons he says it. He still thinks Ray could be great, even if he does come with someone attached. And Mikey is going to be obnoxious if he goes home and hasn’t gotten laid after a full week of living with Ray.
The next day when he gets back to Ray’s after work they’re both actually there, cuddling or some shit in the living room. Frank figures twenty four hours is more than long enough for easy questions like do I want awesome sex to be decided upon. He tosses his jacket towards to closet, kicks his sneakers off and joins them. More specifically, he straddles James.
“Fuck me so I can come on his face,” he demands, grounding down for emphasis.
For a second he wonders if he’s going to get punched in the face. No one’s saying anything, Ray’s just staring. And then James smirks. “Get on your hands and knees then.”
Frank hits the carpet. Position doesn’t matter to him, and if it’s what James wants, fuck it. Might as well please the bastard. Kneeling, he undoes his awesome bottle opener belt buckle and shoves his jeans halfway down his thighs. It’s all the room James should need; his asshole, cock, and balls are all easily accessible.
James takes forever to prep him. It’s like he thinks they’re in love or something. Finally, after about the twentieth time Frank demands he stop being a pussy and just fuck him, James does. He goes soft when James pushes in. It’s like a kick right to the asshole. He doesn’t reach for his dick to help him out, but he doesn’t start pounding either. As far as manners go, it evens out.
The rips in Frank’s jeans are big enough that the carpet burns his knees when James drags him back and forth. Between that, his stretched ass, and trying to not squeal like a girl when James hits the right spot, he’s pretty focused on what’s happening to him. It takes a minute to raise his head from where it’s hanging as he pants. Ray is on the very edge of the couch leaning forward, cock in hand. It’s a good look for him.
“You can come on me.” Frank plans on doing it to Ray in a minute, but Ray looks like he’s ready to shoot. Frank can be the gentleman and let him go first.
Turns out the kink goes both ways. It’s pretty awesome, Ray coming on him while James comes in him. It’s hard to tell what feels hotter, the splash of heat on his cheek or the way his asshole tightens reflexively when James starts to go soft.
Frank doesn’t stay still long though. He pulls off and stands at the end of the couch, toes against Ray’s, so he can streak his hair. He shakes once for the last dribbles, then smirks. “Dibs on first shower.”
He stays in longer than is strictly necessary. Frank wants to see how bad Ray’s hair gets when he can’t shower because there’s no hot water left. He bets Ray will care more than Mikey would. He’ll probably try to comb the clumps of spunk out. Good fucking luck with that.
They’re snuggled together on the couch when he comes back, Ray’s massive robe wrapped around him about three times. Ray’s hair is oddly fuzzy and damp, like he went at it with a wetnap. Frank crashes on the floor between them and throws his still damp head on James’ knee. “So, that’ll be a regular thing, huh.”
“We’ll talk about it.”
Talking is for bitches, but it’s better than a straight up no. Then he’d probably have to brawl James for the right to Ray. Waiting involves fewer black eyes and more eating Ray’s food and paying no rent. Waiting works much better for his life goals of getting shit for free and having orgasms.
Pairing(s): Established Ray/James, Frank/Ray/James
Rating: nc17
Warnings: asshole!Frank
Word count: 2857
Summary: Frank is going to make Ray want him. Even if he has to move into his apartment and overwhelm Ray into seeing how fucking awesome he is.
“For the record, that is a stupid idea.”
“Why so, Mikeyway?” Frank speaks through a mouthful of pretzels, but half their conversation is through food, so he knows he understands him.
“Because Ray is not going to put up with your crap the way I do.”
“What crap?”
Mikey raises an eyebrow as he crashes beside him on the couch, Frank thinks, though it’s hard to tell under the hair. “You want an example?”
“Try a hypothesis, motherfucker, you don’t have shit.”
“Try last night. You puked on my pillow.”
Frank snorts, beer nearly going up his nose before he swallows the swig. “I had to use your bed. You were with some skank in mine.”
“She thought my room smelled.”
“It does smell.”
“Yeah, like puke.”
Frank laughs. The puke is a recent addition; Mikey’s room has smelled since the day after they moved in. Ways are good people, but just nasty.
The bag of pretzels is on Frank’s left side, propped up by the arm of the couch. It’s a defense strategy that fails miserably. Mikey just leans over him, getting all up in his personal bubble to grab a handful. A wave of crusted salt falls on his lap as Mikey squeezes a bit too tight sitting back up.
“Even if he doesn’t kick your ass out within twenty minutes, it’s still pathetic. I don’t have to move in with someone to get into their pants.”
Frank laughs again. If anyone else called him pathetic he’d break their nose, but he and Mikey understand each other. “That’s because you don’t care whose pants you get into. I have a very specific set I want. I need long term access.”
“Frank Iero, settling down. Who woulda thought?”
“Suck my dick.” He laughs, because he knows Mikey would, and Mikey smirks because he knows he would. They’re good.
***
Frank doesn’t bring all his shit with him. It’s not like he’s planning on staying with Ray forever. Mikey’s definitely right, not that he would ever say those words to the little fucker. Mikey Way is a man who doesn’t need more confirmation of his awesomeness. But he is correct. Living with a boyfriend or girlfriend would suck. All the responsibility of keeping shit clean, with the consequence of Ray being a bitch and not putting out if he doesn’t. He’s gonna keep paying rent, and once he’s balls deep in Ray’s probably virgin ass, he’s going to move back in with Mikey. They can be squalor buddies.
He knocks on Ray’s door twice. When he doesn’t answer it Frank knocks again, and this time keeps up a continuous barrage. There’s no way Ray’s not home. Ray’s not quite as crazy hermit as Gerard, but it’s close. He probably just thinks it’s Jehovah’s Witnesses or something. Frank can be obnoxious enough to not be mistaken for a religious nut. A Jehovah wouldn’t knock for five minutes straight.
Ray opens it with a muttered “God.” His voice gets louder once he sees who it is. “You couldn’t have fucking texted? I was in the damn shower.”
Of course he could have texted. But where’s the fun in that?
“If you wanna go hang out somewhere I’m gonna need like twenty minutes to get my hair dry and shit.”
Frank decides not to rip on Ray for being a girl and needing to be pretty. Besides, Mikey’s almost as bad. “Not gonna drag you to a bar all unmade up.” Okay, maybe just a little ripping.
“What do you want then?”
“Mikey’s a whore. There are tits and cocks everywhere. I’m staying here.” Frank ducks under Ray’s arm and walks into his new apartment.
“I don’t have a guest room.”
“I’m not too good for a couch.”
He slings his backpack into the corner and crashes on said couch. It’s better than his and Mikey’s; it’s not doused liberally with food crumbs and it doesn’t smell like other people’s perfumes and colognes. Not to mention that none of the springs are broken. It’ll make a great bed for the few days he’ll need it before he’s sharing Ray’s.
“If you’re staying here, three rules.”
Frank throws his feet up on the coffee table. A glass goes flying off, but it’s probably empty and Ray doesn’t notice, so whatever. “‘Kay.”
“No, seriously, three rules or you go the hell home. The first, buy your own groceries. You and Mikey eat more than some third world countries.”
“Sure.” He’s gotta buy fakon anyway. Ray won’t actually notice if he eats anything else though. No reason to waste money when Ray’s fully stocked.
“Two. Keep the volume down after midnight. I work hours you don’t.”
“Sure.” Although it’s hard to watch a horror movie at low volume. If he does he won’t be able to hear the low creepy overture that means a skank is about to get stabbed.
“Three. Don’t jerk off on the couch. I just bought it.”
“Yeah.”
“Wanna play Smash Brothers?”
“Dibs on Peach.” She kicks ass.
They play for almost five hours, then break for dinner. It’s like a real Sunday dinner. Ray cooks shit, instead of sticking something in the microwave, or eating something that’s supposed to be microwaved cold. And they eat at the table. He and Mikey don’t even own a table. The closest thing is the angled drawing table in Mikey’s closet for if Gerard ever leaves his parents basement to nestle in Mikey’s bedroom. A few more hours of video games, this time Mario Party, and then Ray goes to bed. Alone in the living room, Frank considers his options.
He could go crawl into Ray’s bed and stick his dick in his mouth. But then Ray might choke to death and that would be shitty. Besides, doing that without permission isn’t cool. He’s gotta wait until they’re dating and Frank knows Ray’s down with sex attacks.
He could suck his dick, except Frank doesn’t really do that. It’s got the same permission issue anyway.
The best option really seems to be watching tv and creating a plan of attack for tomorrow. Frank grabs a bag of chips and the remote, and puts his feet up. He channel scrolls until he finds Mythbusters. The episode is pretty interesting, and he’d totally fuck the shit out of Grant and Tory. If he wasn’t so into Ray, that is. For the time being his dick is a one man dick.
It’s not that late when the marathon starts repeating, but Frank decides to sack out anyway. The problem with couch surfing is as soon as the house owner is awake, the bitch on the couch has no choice but to get up. Maybe Gerard could sleep through someone sitting on his legs and watching tv, but Frank can’t.
A quick rifle through his bag shows him that while he brought a comb and nail clippers, he totally spaced on toothbrush and toothpaste. He scowls for a second, and then retreats to Ray’s bathroom. There’s no spare, but it’s not that horrific. A week from now he’s gonna eat out Ray’s ass; using his toothbrush shouldn’t freak him out. He’s halfway done, blue tinted foam at either corner of his mouth when it hits him like a football to the gut. His mouth tastes how Ray must taste, except for when he’s eating. He’s hard in an instant.
Frank drops his boxers and starts jerking off. He half considers going back to the couch and doing it there out of spite, but he doesn’t. When it starts getting to be too much he leans forward until his head is supported by the wall. He comes soon after that, breath fogging up the mirror.
***
“Did you come on my couch?”
“No. I said I wouldn’t.” Frank would be hurt, or something, if he wasn’t a man. He gives his best wounded expression anyway.
“Yeah, well, you were up until three watching Mythbusters, exploding and shooting shit at max volume, and you’re eating a bowl of my cereal. So pardon me if I want to make sure I’m not sitting on jizz.”
“No.” Not now, anyway. One day soon Frank’s gonna tie Ray up for a day or two and jerk off on him every hour. His own personal statue, except with come, not birdshit.
Ray sits on the other side of the couch with a plate of Nutella covered toast. Frank considers snagging a piece. He doesn’t really like Nutella, but it’s the principle of the thing. Only assholes use a four slice toaster to make four pieces for themselves. His movement is aborted by someone jiggling the doorknob. As the door opens Frank changes the grip on his cereal bowl. He’s not the best athlete, but he can probably hit the guy in the head with it. If it doesn’t knock the B&E fucker out, it should at least distract him and give one of them time to call 911.
Ray doesn’t have the right reaction. The guy is coming in, tall and thick and blue haired, and when Ray doesn’t shout something like get the hell out of my house! Frank glances at him. He’s smiling.
The man doesn’t pull a gun or a crowbar, just kicks off his sneakers. Which is one thing, a thing that says unintroduced friend. Blue settling in the middle cushion before nestling into Ray and tugging down Ray’s collar to nip his neck before smoothing the work wear back to presentable says something else completely.
“Who the fuck is this?”
“James. My boyfriend.”
Ray’s motherfucking boyfriend. “The fuck. For how long?”
“Like four months.”
“The fuck. And you didn’t tell anyone?” Forget being a man for a minute, he’s fuckin’ upset he didn’t know.
“I told Gerard. Mikey’d report me to the CDC in case commitment was contagious, and you’d be an asshole.”
“So you’re Frank, then?”
James recognises him because Ray refers to him as the asshole. Ray’s a prick. Frank scowls and digs another spoonful of cereal out. James picks up a piece of toast from Ray’s plate. He takes a bite, then holds the rest of the slice out and Ray leans forward to bite his own chunk off. It’s not quite Lady and the Tramp, but it’s still disgustingly domestic.
Thankfully for Frank’s digestive system, James declares it’s time to head to work before Frank can actually vomit. It’s obvious James doesn’t work at the same firm Ray does, not with blue hair and a Motorhead t-shirt instead of loafers and a button down with lightly patterned tie.
“Bye Frank. Don’t worry about locking the door, you need the code to get in the building anyway. I don’t have a spare key, but if you do come back, I’ll be home way before you get off work.”
It’s good that he’s got the house to himself for the day. Frank needs to have a heart to heart with his dick. He needs to figure out what he’s going to do about this boyfriend thing. Should he drop it, or try to push for a threesome? He wanted monogamy, but he can try trigamy, or whatever it’s called. The most important factor is to see if he can get off on James. If he’s not turned on what’s the point in getting to know him?
***
Frank keeps walking quickly into rooms, hoping to catch James blowing Ray so he can ask to cut in. They keep on not fucking. It’s weird. If Frank had Ray, he’d have him on his knees every fucking minute.
It takes him a while to realise that it’s not just that they’re not just in the room he pounces into, they’re not in any room. Frank’s not a whiney latchkey kid. Shit, he doesn’t even have a key, he just has to hope the door is unlocked whenever he comes back. But it is annoying. If he wanted to live in silence he would have gotten his own apartment instead of renting a two bedroom with Mikey.
When James finally is there one night, it’s a relief. About fucking time, really. Frank decides to approach it nicely. “Haven’t seen you around a lot.”
“Been spending time at mine. Ray kinda thinks you’d spy.”
Now is the perfect time, as far as Frank can see. They’re already talking sex, and they both have beer like civilized human beings. “Less spying, more I really want to see you come on his face.”
“Huh. And if I wanted to beat the shit out of you for saying that?”
Frank takes threats from no man. “Fuckin’ let’s go then!”
“Okay. And what if I only let you touch my boyfriend if I got to fuck you in the ass?”
Frank considers the question, but not for long. Ray is totally worth being the girl. Besides, it’s kinda the prime fag real estate, when you consider the prostate. “Deal. Where’s your lube at?”
“Hold on. I’m okay with this, I have to see if Ray is. We can’t just do this without talking about it.”
Christ. Talking. The longer he stays here, the more complicated it’s getting.
“Fine.” There’s only two reasons he says it. He still thinks Ray could be great, even if he does come with someone attached. And Mikey is going to be obnoxious if he goes home and hasn’t gotten laid after a full week of living with Ray.
The next day when he gets back to Ray’s after work they’re both actually there, cuddling or some shit in the living room. Frank figures twenty four hours is more than long enough for easy questions like do I want awesome sex to be decided upon. He tosses his jacket towards to closet, kicks his sneakers off and joins them. More specifically, he straddles James.
“Fuck me so I can come on his face,” he demands, grounding down for emphasis.
For a second he wonders if he’s going to get punched in the face. No one’s saying anything, Ray’s just staring. And then James smirks. “Get on your hands and knees then.”
Frank hits the carpet. Position doesn’t matter to him, and if it’s what James wants, fuck it. Might as well please the bastard. Kneeling, he undoes his awesome bottle opener belt buckle and shoves his jeans halfway down his thighs. It’s all the room James should need; his asshole, cock, and balls are all easily accessible.
James takes forever to prep him. It’s like he thinks they’re in love or something. Finally, after about the twentieth time Frank demands he stop being a pussy and just fuck him, James does. He goes soft when James pushes in. It’s like a kick right to the asshole. He doesn’t reach for his dick to help him out, but he doesn’t start pounding either. As far as manners go, it evens out.
The rips in Frank’s jeans are big enough that the carpet burns his knees when James drags him back and forth. Between that, his stretched ass, and trying to not squeal like a girl when James hits the right spot, he’s pretty focused on what’s happening to him. It takes a minute to raise his head from where it’s hanging as he pants. Ray is on the very edge of the couch leaning forward, cock in hand. It’s a good look for him.
“You can come on me.” Frank plans on doing it to Ray in a minute, but Ray looks like he’s ready to shoot. Frank can be the gentleman and let him go first.
Turns out the kink goes both ways. It’s pretty awesome, Ray coming on him while James comes in him. It’s hard to tell what feels hotter, the splash of heat on his cheek or the way his asshole tightens reflexively when James starts to go soft.
Frank doesn’t stay still long though. He pulls off and stands at the end of the couch, toes against Ray’s, so he can streak his hair. He shakes once for the last dribbles, then smirks. “Dibs on first shower.”
He stays in longer than is strictly necessary. Frank wants to see how bad Ray’s hair gets when he can’t shower because there’s no hot water left. He bets Ray will care more than Mikey would. He’ll probably try to comb the clumps of spunk out. Good fucking luck with that.
They’re snuggled together on the couch when he comes back, Ray’s massive robe wrapped around him about three times. Ray’s hair is oddly fuzzy and damp, like he went at it with a wetnap. Frank crashes on the floor between them and throws his still damp head on James’ knee. “So, that’ll be a regular thing, huh.”
“We’ll talk about it.”
Talking is for bitches, but it’s better than a straight up no. Then he’d probably have to brawl James for the right to Ray. Waiting involves fewer black eyes and more eating Ray’s food and paying no rent. Waiting works much better for his life goals of getting shit for free and having orgasms.