mrsronweasley | "Run" - Frank/Gerard, My Chemical Romance (bandom), NC-17, Part V

(Part IV.)

Third Moon

He wakes up in the middle of the night hard as a fucking rock. His hand flies to his dick immediately, and even through the earth-shattering orgasm he can barely believe he lasted all of fifteen seconds.

Jesus.

It's too soon, it's way, way, way too soon for it to hit this bad, and this hard. He keeps telling himself that all through the restless, painful night, and the whole time he's getting ready for school, and while he clenches his teeth trying not to come in pants every time the bus jostles him side to side. But no matter how much he repeats the mantra of "not yet, not yet, not yet," the blood-boiling, frantic need doesn't stop.

And it only gets worse once he gets to school. He runs into the first bathroom he sees, ignoring the dirty looks sent in his wake, and retches into the disgusting toilet.

"Ugh, gross," he hears someone groan while he spits more bile into the cistern.

"Stay away from the tiny freak today," adds another voice, and Frank tries to block them from his mind completely.

They don't fucking matter. What matters is their fucking smells are overwhelming – wretched, stifling emotions that keep hitting him from every angle. He flushes the toilet as fast as he can, because any second now, he'll throw up from smelling his own puke, and he wants to cry with how badly he just can't handle today. He isn't ready, it isn't time.

The day stretches ahead of him, so long, it doesn't seem to have an end. And then another, probably even worse. Harder, needier. Fuck. He's on his knees on the revolting boy's room floor almost in tears because he can't face it, can't actually make himself get up and open that stall door and catch his own reflection in the mirror on the way out.

He squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to breathe through his nose. Then he slowly heaves himself up off the floor and stands, rooted to the spot, hand on the flimsy lock. Now that there's nothing left to throw up, and the dry heaves have mostly subsided, he can feel it, the insistent itch starting to crawl slowly up his skin. His lips curl into a snarl without his permission and he rattles the locked door then hits it as hard as he can, his palm vibrating with the impact.

Fuck.

He has to do this. He can't. He has to.

*

He can't actually afford to skip any classes. Mom's already gotten so many warning notes from the Main Office, she might as well make a mosaic out of them on the side of the house. Sure, she doesn't yell at him as hard as if he was just a regular class-skipping dumbass, but the idea of seeing her get that disappointed, crest-fallen look on her face every time he comes home with a pink piece of paper is not something he relishes.

He calculates the number of breaks he can take during the day.

Bathroom break during every period. That's seven. Plus, all of lunch. He's got Study Hall, he can take a while in the bathroom. Gym class will suck balls, but at least they're running laps today. He can handle that.

He leans face-first against his locker and grips the cold handle until his fingers ache. He has to get through it. He has to.

*

Ivanov the Bio Teacher from Russian Hell gives him a super grumpy look when Frank's hand flies up for a bathroom pass, but he can't legally tell him "no," so he hands it over.

"You better not be meeting anybody in there, Iero," he warns in his accent that sounds nothing like Chekov on Trek, "I have my eyes on you!"

Frank runs to the boys' room as fast as his feet will carry him. It's the first time the entire day that he feels even remotely human. He checks under each stall as quickly as he can, then beats one out even faster, open-mouthed so he doesn't make any noise when he comes. He slumps against the wall afterwards with his spunked dick still in hand, breathing through his mouth. He doesn't have to go back yet, as far as Ivanov's concerned, he could be taking a huge dump or whatever. Dude can't actually bust Frank for taking too long in the bathroom.

He squeezes his eyes shut and runs his loose fist over his cock. It's hard again. Fuck. He shoves his free hand into his mouth and bites down on the fleshy part as he strokes himself off again, fast and tight, his hips jumping on every stroke, yeah, he thinks, that's it, like that.

Except that isn't it at all. He comes, but it doesn't feel like a relief; it barely feels like anything. He might as well be scratching around a massive itch – it doesn't touch the itch at all. Instead, it ratchets it up even higher, and his soft dick might as well be pounding nails; it's a breath away from being hard again.

Jerking off in the bathroom stall won't cut it now. He needs something else, and when he realizes what it is, he hits his head so hard against the wall, he gets an instant headache under his skull.

He can't. He shouldn't. But he can't help it. What he needs is someone else there, someone to crawl over, someone to grab, someone to bury himself in, someone to fuck. He needs Gerard.

*

Because Frank would rather die than be in the crowded, bustling hallways more than he has to, he texts Gerard to just meet him in the closet for lunch and not at Frank's locker, then elbows his way through until he can more or less surreptitiously get in there and close the fucking door.

God, finally. He can squeeze out a good forty minutes of peace and fucking quiet from this day.

He drops his bag to the floor and sags against the wall, letting his knees buckle and take him down. He's hard again, but he doesn't know if he should wait for Gerard or take care of it before he gets there, because Frank doesn't actually want to freak him out by jumping his bones on the spot. On the other hand, he's got no idea what he'd do with the mess, he forgot to pack tissues, ‘cause he's a moron –

He's unzipping his pants and shoving them out of the way before he's even made a decision. It isn't until he's gasping and cursing that he becomes fully conscious of the fact that he's actually jerking off. Fuck, he hadn't meant to do that, but it isn't like he can stop now. There's no way he could, maybe if a herd of elephants ran through the school or something, but even then he's pretty certain he'd take care of business, then run.

Underneath all the hallway hubbub he almost misses the two quiet knocks on the door, but Gerard's scent hits him right in the gut. He's here. He's here.

Frank bites his lip and takes his hand off his dick, even though it's the most painful thing he's ever had to do. He can barely see through how much he needs to get off, but he needs Gerard even more, so he forces himself to slide back up the wall and lean over to unlatch the inner hook. He's weighed down by his dick, junk hanging out, and he should probably care that he looks like a tool, but instead all he cares about is getting Gerard to his side of the door.

"Hey, Frankie," Gerard whispers after he's shut the door behind him, but Frank doesn't give him a chance to say anything else. He yanks on his shoulders and almost topples them both over with the force of it. Gerard emits a shocked noise, but he's right there with him, and he meets Frank more than halfway for the kiss.

Frank comes as soon as his hand's back on his dick, and only breaks off the kiss to slide down to his knees. He doesn’t bother to pull up his pants - instead, he jerks open Gerard's fly, and gets him hard with his mouth. He licks him up and down, sliding his tongue all around the head, tonguing at the slit to get at his taste, sucks in the head, then licks him all over again. Gerard is gasping over him, grabbing Frank's head and shoulders, but he doesn't say anything, thank God, he just takes it, lets Frank have him.

Frank breaks off only because Gerard is teetering on his feet, he can feel him shaking.

"Back up," he commands quietly, "back up against the wall, Gee."

It takes Gerard a moment to comply, probably because he'd been expecting lunch, not a blowjob, but then he shuffles backwards until he hits the wall, and Frank is done focusing on logistics.

None of his solo handjobs hit the spot like this is doing. Now that Frank's got him, he's going to keep Gerard exactly where he wants him. He strokes his fist over Gerard's dick slow at first, needing him to last. Then he closes his eyes, leans in, and concentrates on keeping his lips wide and over his teeth because when Gerard is hard, Gerard is fucking big.

Frank moans around him and feels completely overwhelmed. All he fucking wants is to go so deep, he'll choke on it, take Gerard to the edge, make him come so hard, he'll be begging Frank to let him go, and Frank won't. He can barely remember to breathe through his nose and it doesn't really help. Gerard's grabbed his head and there's no finesse in his hips stuttering back and forth, or the strangled noises he's making.

They're both shaking, and Frank's knees are fucking killing him, his neck aching from moving at an awkward angle, but he can't stop now, he's in cock-sucking nirvana. He's overwhelmed and shorted out, and he's so fucking hard again, he's dizzy.

Gerard squeezes his hair and pulls and Frank's dick jumps in his pants, fuck, yes. He knees his way closer to Gerard and manages to open his eyes long enough to look up at Gerard's face. He's open-mouthed beneath the hair hanging over his face, and his eyes are dark shadows.

When Gerard catches Frank's gaze, his dick swells harder, and Frank nearly chokes. Gerard's going to come. Frank keeps sucking him, same methodical strokes of his tongue, and when Gerard trembles and stills, Frank swallows everything that he can possibly take, but there's so much, he's forced to pull off before he actually gags. He lets the rest spill across his tongue and on his lips and down his chin, though, he doesn't pull away completely.

"Fuck, Frank, Jesus!" Gerard's voice sounds unused and raw, but it's Frank who can't talk now. He latches onto the exposed skin of Gerard's hip with his teeth and grabs his own dick. He comes to their combined scent clinging to Gerard's skin, trembling like he's running a fever. The sound he makes sounds like a sob to his own ears, but it couldn't be, he tells himself, it was probably the dark that changed it.

*

"My parents are out all night at some work thing of my mom's," Gerard informs him kind of casually, scratching a fingernail against the peeling paint of the closet wall. "And I think Mikey's got a date, too."

Frank rolls his head until he's facing Gerard. He clears his throat and tucks his feet closer underneath him. "Yeah?"

Gerard shrugs, still watching the paint under his fingers. "Yeah. If you wanted to, like, come over." Then he looks up from under his messy hair and Frank's gut kick-starts.

"Sure," he answers, trying to figure out if there is any way he can casually palm his dick right now without giving away that he's hard again. "If you wanna hang out."

"I do," Gerard confirms in a quiet voice. "Come over."

*

Frank's hands are on Gerard's fly as soon as they stumble through the basement door, while Gerard struggles with the buttons of Frank's shirt. When they finally meet for a kiss, it's almost violent, and Frank relishes every fucking second. He's been vibrating for this since they met up after school, trying to control himself and not pounce on Gerard as they walked.

Now, he wants Gerard horizontal, so he walks him quickly backwards through the obstacle course that is his floor. They stumble on clothes and pens and CDs, but luckily Gerard's bed's pretty close.

Gerard goes down beneath him, then starts to squirm. "Wait, Frank – wait, I've got –"

Frank blinks and rolls them both sideways, until he can fish out whatever the fuck Gerard had landed on – a rubber duckie, apparently – and toss it to the floor.

Frank's feet are hanging off the end of the bed, and they're on it weirdly sideways. He's so hard, he's nearly blind from it, but he wants this to be better than a fucking quickie in the closet.

"Gerard, sit – sit up for a second, okay," he asks, his voice coming out strained, and rolls off enough to pull off his pants and underwear, then struggle out of his shirt. When he tosses that to the floor, as well, he looks over at Gerard. Who's naked from the waist down, staring at him with wide eyes, one hand running over his naked thigh like he's not even conscious of it. He's still got his shirt on.

Frank licks his lips and leans over to tug it upwards, his hands catching and sliding on Gerard's bare skin. He's so fucking smooth, and soft, too, around his belly and hips. Frank really means to help him slide the shirt over his head, but his hands wander down without his permission and he follows their trajectory with his mouth, tasting Gerard's skin at his belly, licking around the hip. Gerard's squirming somewhere above him, but Frank no longer cares.

His body's thrumming with Gerard – his smell where Frank is sliding down his torso, the texture of his skin where Frank's hands are dropping down to touch him. His fingers run through the almost non-existent hairs on Gerard's thighs and he shuffles down until he can spread them open and run his thumbs over the line where Gerard's ass ends and his legs begin. When Frank's eyes flicker upwards, he catches sight of Gerard's dick standing out over his belly, dark and hard, with Gerard's panting face out of focus behind it.

"Frank – what do you want, can I –"

Frank shakes his head, sweat already beading on his forehead and on the back of his neck and doesn't answer. Instead, before his brain processes what his body's doing, he's urging Gerard over onto his stomach, hands slipping on Gerard's skin. Gerard sends a quick confused look before getting with the program. It takes them both a while to work out limbs and positions, but when Gerard is finally on his stomach with Frank between his legs, Frank knows exactly what he wants.

He grabs Gerard's hips, pulls his ass in, and buries his tongue between the cheeks, his mouth already watering from the remembered sensations. Fuck yes. This.

"Ah!" Gerard cries out and thrusts back against Frank's face. "Yeah, fucking - yeah."

He's rutting, moaning into the sheets, and Frank pushes forward even more, until he can barely breathe. He licks him over and over and over, quick and messy swipes across his asshole, relishing the way Gerard is shaking against him. His smooth ass feels incredible under Frank's fingers and Frank squeezes, letting himself go, inhaling his scent.

Then – Frank doesn't make any particular decision; just, one second he's rimming Gerard, and the next he's pushing in a single finger where his tongue had been. He's one knuckle deep when his brain catches up with him, and he's missed something crucial, he knows, but he can't stop now.

"Fuck!" Gerard shouts, shaking. Frank should ask him if it's okay, but he's too far gone. Gerard is fucking hot inside, the hard ridges squeezing his finger but giving way, too, when he pushes hard enough.

"Oh, fuck, Frankie – I – it's too – too much, wait, wait -" Gerard grits out, and from some hidden reserve, Frank finds the strength to pull out and move back. Gerard glances over his shoulder, and Frank watches his red face guiltily, apology on the tip of his tongue.

"Gerard –"

"No, no, it's – lube, I've got lube, it's – here." He slaps a hand over his bedside drawer and slides the whole thing out so hard, Frank thinks the drawer might go flying. It stops with a bang, though, and Gerard's rummaging around without looking, his eyes still kind of glued to Frank's, crazy and huge. Finally, he retrieves the bottle and tosses it backwards at Frank. Frank's gut churns.

Fuck. Fuck. He's doing this.

"Please," Gerard says, voice pleading. "Just – okay?" He ducks his head, then makes a decisive move and rolls over onto his back, covering his face with one arm. "Do it, please," he adds, voice almost pleading, and spreads his legs.

Frank gulps and leans in enough to bite at Gerard's thigh, damp and smooth under his tongue. He's just – Gerard's just fucking letting him. Fuck.

It takes Frank a frustrating minute to uncap the bottle. He's got no idea how much is too much, how much is enough, and he's got no fucking patience for science right now. He overturns the whole thing and squirts out a bunch onto his fingers, letting it dribble down onto the blankets, but whatever.

He slides back in between Gerard's legs, pushing Gerard's thigh up and out of the way with his clean hand. He's just about to push in with his lubed-up finger when he catches sight of Gerard's mouth, open and wet and panting. "Is – I can, right? Is this okay? Tell me –" he begs, because another second, and he won't be able to hold back.

Gerard takes a deep breath, then, and nods, his face still hidden by his arm. Frank swipes his arm over his stinging eyes and takes a deep breath himself. He's hanging by a thread.

When he slides the finger in this time, it's a lot easier, and a hell of a lot smoother. It's so tight, still, that Frank has no idea how Gerard's not kicking him off, but he isn't. Instead, he makes a needy ‘ah' sound, and slides down just enough that Frank's finger gets buried in his tight heat. Jesus.

Frank bites his lip and slides it out, just a little bit, then pushes it back in. He can barely hear Gerard's erratic breathing over the rushing in his own ears, but it sets his teeth on edge with how not enough it is, how he wants so much more. He blinks away the sweat in his eyes and slowly pushes in another finger, stretching him out. Gerard bucks against him immediately, and Frank goes faster, starting to fuck him with his fingers, unable to stop now that Gerard's really letting him.

And he is letting him, gasping up above him, with these tiny hiccuping sounds escaping every once in a while and driving Frank higher and higher up. He's got three fingers inside Gerard now, his face smushed into Gerard's hip, Gerard's dick tantalizingly close and fucking hard. Frank wants it in his mouth, but he can't focus on anything but the hot slide of Gerard's ass around his knuckles. He's barely breathing – there might not even be air in the room, as far as he's concerned.

Then he twists his fingers inside and Gerard shouts, shocked raw, hands grabbing Frank's head and shoulders.

"God - do that again – what –"

Frank is more than eager to do it again, because the sound Gerard made nearly undid him. He wants Gerard to make it for him again, wants Gerard falling apart. He twists his fingers and strokes the same spot, harder this time, and Gerard arches up off the bed against Frank and moans like a cat in heat. It's so fucking hot, Frank almost stops moving. Fuck, fuck, that's amazing. He does it again and again, does it until Gerard is past all human sound, strung tight like a bow string, his every muscle straining under Frank's.

Frank doesn't remember making the decision to pull out his fingers, but the next thing he knows, he's up and across the room, ripping open his bag and rummaging at the bottom for the strip of condoms he invested in a couple of months ago, on the fly.

"Frank? Frankie, what –" Gerard's voice is shot all to hell. When Frank looks up at him, he's pink-cheeked, hair damp around his face, legs still spread, hand wrapped around the base of his cock, watching Frank back with wild eyes. Frank wants to fuck him so much, it hurts.

He sweeps away the hair stuck to his forehead and stumbles back to the bed, landing on it haphazardly between Gerard's legs. He uncurls his damp fingers from the condoms and extends his hand towards Gerard.

"Can I – Gee, can I fuck you?" His other hand's busy gripping Gerard's thigh, which he doesn't notice until Gerard makes a move and the muscles under Frank's fingers shift.

"Have you ever, you know - done that?" Gerard croaks, watching him with desperate eyes.

Frank bites his lip and shakes his head. "No, not - not this." He holds his breath, not daring to think further than this, right here.

Gerard squeezes his eyes shut, and then nods. "Yeah. Okay. Fuck, yeah, anything, please, please -" His voice sounds just about as desperate as Frank feels, and Frank's breath whooshes out of his throat. He's done waiting.

He's seen enough porn that he knows they can do it both ways, missionary or doggy-style, and he realizes doggy-style's probably easier, like the rimming had been, but he couldn't see Gerard's face, and he wants to; needs to.

He rips open one of the foil packets and fumbles with the condom, which is just as slippery and hard to slide on as when he'd tried it by himself. But it's finally on, a weird claustrophobic sensation Frank's bent on ignoring, and then he just upends the entire fucking tube of lube over his dick, working it all around, to the point where he needs to stop or he will fucking come. He grabs his balls and tugs, down boy. The he pinches the base of his dick over the rubber and drags himself forward.

Gerard's eyes are boring into his as he spreads his legs around Frank, and Frank has just enough presence of mind to lean forward, prop himself on both arms around Gerard's shoulders, and ask him. "Are you sure?"

Gerard surges up and grabs Frank's head, kissing him fiercely, thighs squeezing his waist. "Yeah," he nods when he breaks off, "I'm goddamn sure."

Frank stifles a whine and drops his head down to Gerard's chest, shuffling forward on his knees. He has seen enough porn to know how it's done, but he still can't quite figure out the best way to fit himself up against Gerard.

"Here, let me –" Gerard breaks off and roots around behind him until he's grabbed a pillow. "I think –"

"Yeah, just –"

Frank forces himself to move back and let Gerard stuff the pillow under his ass, so he's higher up on the bed. Frank would have maybe come up with that trick, if he wasn't hard enough to pound nails and teetering on the edge of sanity. He shuffles back until he can grab Gerard's thighs, because this part, at least, he knows.

He slowly bends them until Gerard's squished up into himself, his face scrunched up and vivid, but he doesn't protest. Then Frank grabs his dick and pushes against Gerard's ass.

At first, nothing happens, so he swipes a finger through the lube on his dick and slides it carefully into Gerard. Gerard makes an abortive moaning sound, which Frank takes for an encouragement, and slides his finger further in. Gerard's clamped tight around him, and he's taking huge breaths, Frank can feel it where their bellies brush.

When he slides his finger out, Gerard looks him in the eye and moves until his hand is over Frank's on Frank's cock. Frank gasps, brain swimming.

"Here," Gerard breathes, and aims Frank's dick until the head is sliding in, right into his ass. They both groan at the same time and Gerard's hand disappears while Frank's entire body gives a long, hot shiver. He's never felt anything even close to this tight heat of Gerard around him.

"Fuck, fuck," he curses, then panics and surges forward until he's fucking buried to the hilt, his balls up against Gerard's ass, his dick throbbing, his mind in pieces.

Gerard's mouth opens on a deep gasp, the sound and vibrations going right through Frank. Frank rolls his hips and pulls away again, trying desperately to recover his ability to think, to speak. "Gee – Gerard, you – you okay?" he manages to grit out, and Gerard is nodding immediately, saying, "Yeah, yeah, just – move, move again –"

Frank shuts his eyes and shoves back in. Then he does it again, the drag of it sweeter and hotter each time, and again. Gerard's voice breaks over little ‘ah, ah' sounds that escape every time Frank fucks into him, getting more and more desperate.

God. God, this is – fucking, they're fucking, and he has no idea if it's good for Gerard at all, he can't even open his eyes, he's so far gone. He can feel Gerard's dick hard against his belly, and that's as good a sign as he'll get, he thinks, so he pulls out and shoves forward again, and again, and again. He's never – nothing has ever felt like this. He's barely holding himself up, all of his energy going into following where his hips and dick want to lead him, which is harder and harder into Gerard, fucking him faster with each thrust.

When Frank opens his eyes, Gerard's flung out one arm, hand clutching his blankets and sheets in a tight grip. His face, so close to Frank's, is a blur of ecstasy, like Frank's a camera without a flash – catching Gerard's open mouth or screwed-up eyebrows with each move, but unable to get the whole picture. His breath and broken voice travel directly to Frank's gut, slowly unraveling him from the inside. He's close. He's so fucking close.

"Gee – Gerard," he croaks, "Make yourself come, I – I can't – do it, jerk yourself off," he begs, and Gerard does it immediately, crying out as soon as his hand is on his dick.

"Oh, fuck, oh - God," he moans.

Frank drops his gaze to watch the space where Gerard's hand flies over his cock and right behind it is Frank's cock, disappearing into his ass, their bodies moving and shifting in a way that should be embarrassing, but is the hottest, filthiest fucking image in the world. It's too much. It's too fucking much.

Frank looks up at Gerard's face, the imprint of the confusing agony-pleasure divide traveling across his features. He's beautiful. He's fucking beautiful and he's letting Frank fuck him like he's dying for it. Frank is still watching his face when Gerard opens his eyes and pins Frank with a stare so naked, so fucking obvious that Frank drops his gaze and buries his face in Gerard's chest. He can't – he won't –

Gerard moves his legs until he's enveloping Frank's body completely, his hand still moving between them on his dick, and then he arches against Frank and tightens all around, crying out as he comes. Frank's entire body spasms from the shock of feeling it from the inside, squeezing all around his cock, and his hands lose all feeling as he comes the next moment, shaking and losing his shit, his throat tight from moaning.

He doesn't white out, but he also doesn't know how long he floats in post-orgasm land, either, still buried balls-deep in Gerard, the aftershocks twitching through his cock. He rides it out, then lifts up his head. Gerard's watching him back with huge blown eyes. His mouth looks dry and a little brittle, and Frank doesn't think before he's leaning over and kissing him carefully, slicking his lips.

"Hi," Gerard whispers when Frank breaks away.

"Hi," Frank whispers back, and finally manages to push himself up and pull out, trying to be gentle, but failing. His body isn't moving properly at all, like he's been put back all wrong.

After he's slipped off the gross condom, tied it off and tossed it, they lie there quietly on Gerard's messed up bed, not quite touching, but somehow still in contact – Gerard's arm brushing Frank's stomach, Frank's knees poking Gerard's thighs. It seems like it got dark when they weren't looking, and now the light filtering in through the small window is only light compared to dark corners of the room. It's past twilight.

Frank watches Gerard's belly rising and falling with each breath, then raises his gaze to Gerard's face. It's as if Gerard was waiting for it, because his face breaks into a wide smile, cheeks lifting. "You okay?" he asks and reaches for Frank's hand.

It's impossible not to answer Gerard's smile, so Frank does and answers without checking in with the rest of himself, "Yeah." He squeezes Gerard's fingers and asks in a careful voice, "How are - like. How do you feel?"

Gerard bites his lip and rolls his eyes a little. "You know. Sore, I guess. Good, though," he answers, gaze boring into Frank's. "Really fucking good." Then a tiny giggle escapes him, like he hadn't been expecting it. Frank sniggers back, unable to stop himself. Jesus, they had full-on sex and all they can do is giggle like a pair of idiots.

He can smell Gerard's satisfaction, and taste his own at the back of his throat, like he's floating on the surface of feeling. He stretches and allows his hands to settle on Gerard after he's done, bringing him closer, feeling the shift of muscle and softness under his fingers. Gerard moves until they're a breath away and grins at Frank, biting his lip. He looks kind of impish like that, and Frank gives into impulse and pecks him on the nose. Gerard's eyes wrinkle at the corners with his smile.

"That was awesome," he whispers and Frank has to agree.

"It really fucking was."

He thinks, as he trudges home later, bracing himself against the cold, that maybe even his moon fever's been satisfied, now that it's been given what it wants, but he's so fucking wrong. He's barely back home before his blood starts boiling at the memories, and all he wants to do is run back to Gerard's and give his body what it wants, now that it knows. Give himself what he wants. And he has no idea when the two became one and the same.

*

He doesn't sleep again that night, his brain too awake and too fucking needy to let him rest. He jerks off about a thousand times, the record in his head stuck on fucking, we fucked, we fucked. He can't get Gerard's smell out of his skin. Every time he turns his head, he catches a quick whiff of Gerard and it enflames his every pore, he can't fucking sleep.

He fucks Gerard again the next day, their knees digging into the dusty floor of their closet, Gerard's arms braced on the wall against the onslaught. Their pants are just barely pulled down to give access, their shirts tucked just enough out of the way. Frank buries his face in Gerard's sweaty hair and bites down on the skin of his neck, his growl barely caught in his throat.

Gerard thrashes against him, silent to the rest of the world, but for Frank, his breath is a fucking symphony of sex. They get lost, the two of them, in Frank's heat, and Gerard's breath, and the feeling that nothing can get them here, not even the constant shifting bodies just outside that flimsy door.

*

Frank feels like his head is going to split open as he runs home. He can still smell Gerard all over himself – on his clothes, on his hands. He can taste him in his mouth, a texture that refuses to go away and lurks somewhere deep in his throat, so that every time he inhales, he gets a shot of pure lust that tastes like Gerard.

Jesus Christ.

Running feels good. The pain of the asphalt coming up to meet him on every step feels good. He probably needs new shoes, but right now, the hard reverberation is just what he needs. He has no idea how even stayed in school today. If it hadn't been for Gerard, he probably would have ripped himself to pieces.

He can almost hear the way Gerard called out his name when Frank fucked him, a strangled, guttural sound. Frank shakes his head and tries not to remember at all, but with the cold wind whipping him about and the pull of the moon, it's out of his control now. And not long, not long, now.

*

The door's already open when he rounds the cemetery bend and takes the cul-de-sac at a speed previously unknown to man. Mom is standing in the doorway with her arms around herself, looking small against the light of the hallway, and Frank brings himself up short just in time so he doesn't bowl her over.

"Hi," he pants and leans in to give her a quick kiss, trying to ignore the worried way she's watching him. She pets him on the back and helps him out of his coat after she's shut the door.

"How was school?" she asks while he's shucking his shoes, and he struggles not to laugh while stumbling around like a tool.

"You know. Fine and dandy, mental torture, as usual," he answers, not looking at her. He doesn't need to, to know she's giving him that frown right now. In any case, it isn't like he's ever going to tell her that nowadays he seems to be spending the days leading up to the full moon fucking a dude in a closet.

"Well, okay, then," she answers.

He turns around and gives her a quick look. "Seriously, it was fine. Lead me down?"

"Are you sure you can't… I mean, I know, but – you have to eat something, honey," she pleads. They haven't had this particular argument in a while, and he's not about to spend ten precious minutes where he could be throwing himself mindlessly against walls debating the eating habits of the wolf.

"Ma, I'll just throw it back up, you know that," he says and takes off down the hall before she can answer. She's right behind him, but no longer arguing. He's going to have to make this up to her at some point. This shit really sucks. It's not like he wouldn't kill for a bloody fucking steak right now, but that's not him. That's not what he wants.

Mom gives him a quick hug after he's handed off his clothes to her, then she shuts the door and the locks and the latches behind him.

He takes a few deep breaths and shivers in the cold, forcing himself to take the last few steps into the basement. Every time he has to go down here, a huge part of him panics. It's too dark, and smells too raw – both familiar and completely not like home. They never go in here unless it's absolutely necessary. She gets him fresh hay every month right before the moon, but she does it so stealthily, he never even knows when or how. He just knows that she does.

The sun sets quickly after he's settled himself onto the pile of hay in the corner, still shivering, and all he can hear is the pulsing of his own heart in his ears. He closes his eyes and waits for the sun to disappear entirely and for the moon to do her thing.

Right before the change comes and the pain begins to set in (overwhelming, heart-breaking, jaw-tearing and ear-popping pain), he thinks he smells something new – familiar, though, in a way he could pinpoint if only he wasn't fading, if only he could hold onto – if only –

The wolf lashes out against the bars of the windows through the fading human scream, because it knows that smell, as well. It knows what it wants, it knows that the bars are in its way.

The wolf claws at the unyielding metal, claws at the dirty scratched-up walls that stand between it and what it wants. The smell, it knows, it knows that smell.

The bars don't give, and the walls don't move, and soon, the smell is gone, replaced by a shock of cold fear, and then nothing, nothing at all as the wolf howls and tears at itself in frustration.

*

Frank wakes up again in his own bed. Fucking shit, the blackouts of the change in the morning have got to be a bad sign. If he thinks hard enough, he can remember whimpering in pain, tasting his own blood. If he thinks even harder, he remembers stumbling down their endless short hallway, bundled in a blanket.

After that, he only remembers a moment ago.

"Hi, honey," Mom's voice calls out softly. When he startles and turns his head, he sees her sitting at his desk, watching him with her cheek propped up on one hand. The dull light is making her look suddenly younger. She's really pretty like this.

"Hey." His voice is a croak, so he clears his throat. She pushes away from the desk and leans over to hand him water. He watches her while he drinks from the glass, sees how her wrinkles grow clearer. She never does this, usually waiting until he calls her to come in. "What's up?" he asks after downing all the water and falling back against the pillows.

She puts a warm hand on his forehead and shrugs. "Nothing, I was just puttering about, but – how do you feel, honey?"

He assesses every point of pain in his body. He's probably fine. "All right." Something niggles at the edges of his brain, but he can't place it, it's all mixed up with the horror of the change somehow. She nods at him seriously.

"Okay, good. I have to get to work, but here's more water and cereal, okay? There's soup in the fridge, just heat it up, and some of that nice bread you like. I'll see you tonight, okay?"

Frank nods, trying to crack his face into smiling. He's just so fucking tired. Right before Mom leaves, he remembers. "Mom! Do you know where my phone is?"

She laughs and shakes her head at him, then takes it out of her pants pocket. "You have no messages. Here, I'll leave it –" She sets it down next to the lamp, gives him a quick peck on the forehead, and finally leaves after a pause at the door.

After he's checked the inbox twice, he tries to shake a weird sense of disappointment, as he hears Mom's car pull out of the driveway.

*

He's completely disoriented when he wakes up again, starving and muddle-headed. A quick glance at the clock tells him it's two already, which means Gerard has probably texted him a million times about his loathing of gym class or whatever. Frank didn't warn him he'd be out, and he feels kind of dickish about it, but. What could he possibly say that wouldn't make him sound like an idiot with stupid excuses?

When he picks up the phone, he's got a missed call, which turns out to be from Mom on her lunch break and nothing else. Frank feels that tug of disappointment again, and decides to fuck it. He texts Gerard asking how much school sucked today. Sry I wasn't there, c u tomorrow, he adds.

He makes himself get up, even though every move hurts like he's moving through fire, and after he shakes down his morning wood, he pees for a million years. He catches sight of himself in the mirror while washing his hands. Pale and bruised eyes, and he needs a shave. He flicks the light off and goes into the kitchen to rummage for that soup Mom had mentioned.

While it's heating up, he goes to find pajamas and sets up camp in the living room with some of his oldest friends, daytime soaps and a bottle of Advil. When he goes to pick up his phone, his heart does a tiny flip at the one new message in his inbox. It's from Gerard and Frank grins at himself while opening it, but all it says is, okay.

He frowns and keeps looking at the text, trying not to read it as the brush-off that it pretty obviously is. Maybe Gerard's just in a bad mood. Frank's fingers debate each other about which buttons to press before he forces himself to drop the phone altogether.

He goes through the motions of eating his soup, and downing Advil when the pain returns, and he tries to focus on the fabulous lives of the utterly useless that live in his TV, but he can't. Something about Gerard's text is weird, dude is usually a lot wordier than that.

Maybe he was busted in class using his phone, in which case Frank can probably text him after school gets out. Maybe.

He doesn't wait, though, texting Gerard as soon as he's decided not to. do u have art 2day?

Then he flips the TV off, and lays down on the couch, the silence filling the room and his spiraling out thoughts. Somehow, he manages to doze off for a while, and wakes up at five, drooling on the decorative pillows Mom picked up at Target last month. When he goes for his phone, there's nothing, no text or call.

Fuck. Frank fucked it up. He fucked it all up, he must have. The last time he saw Gerard was lunchtime yesterday when they – they fucked. Gerard had sent him off with a kiss, though, like he's done a few times before, and he didn't act weird then, but.

Frank studies his phone for a long time, then throws it aside and turns the TV back on. It's almost time for some decent re-runs. He and Mom can catch up on "Seinfeld" when she gets home, maybe.

When he wakes up the next morning, an irritating tangle of hope in his belly, there's still not another peep from Gerard.

Part VI.

"Run" - Frank/Gerard, My Chemical Romance (bandom), NC-17, Part V

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