Archive of Our Own

Mikey’s used to Frank coming home with marks and bruises. He’s used to dark red lines peeking out from beneath Frank’s towel when he walks from the bathroom to his bedroom, and those weird moments when Frank is lost somewhere in his own head, in the place where not even the guitars manage to go. So when Frank comes home still wearing a collar and sinks down on the floor at Mikey’s feet, Mikey’s not surprised so much as concerned.

“Frankie?”

Frank bows his head a little more, nudging his nose against Mikey’s knee. Mikey frowns, brow wrinkling above his glasses as he reaches out, stroking his fingers through Frank’s short hair. Frank whines low in his throat and moves closer to Mikey’s leg.

“Okay. So…wow. Um.” Mikey keeps petting Frank’s hair, unsure of what else to do, but aware that that, at least, seems to keep Frank steady and still. Frank’s breathing is ragged, as if he’s been running or on stage for hours, so Mikey tries to get him to relax. “It’s okay, dude. Everything’s cool. I’m here.”

He tries to think back to when they first moved in together, the first time he’d seen the raw red skin on the inside of Frank’s wrist and asked him what happened. He’d expected something, but it wasn’t for Frank to tell him about being tied down and flogged all over his ass and upper thighs. Mikey remembers Frank laughing at the look on his face and the late nights that followed, drunk on cheap vodka and whiskey and Frank whispering all the things he liked, the way he wanted to be treated. How he liked to be bad, to be punished, how he wanted to crawl and serve and lie at his Master or Mistress’s feet. Mikey hadn’t really gotten it, but Frank had said it quieted the noise in his head, and that Mikey understood.

“You want to come up on the couch?” Mikey asks softly, unsure about protocol or etiquette or what the fuck he’s actually doing. Frank whines again and presses closer to Mikey’s leg. “Or not. Not required. Down there’s cool. Can I come down there with you?” He doesn’t wait for Frank to answer, since he’s not sure Frank can like this. He slides down, sitting on the floor in front of the couch, making sure to keep his hand in contact with Frank. “Here we go.”

Frank moves in as soon as Mikey’s settled, lying down next to him, his head in Mikey’s lap. Mikey keeps petting, a steady rhythm that seems to relax Frank a little. He turns his head and licks at Mikey’s wrist, and Mikey makes a quiet noise, shocked at the contact. Frank pulls back, but Mikey keeps his hand at the base of Frank’s skull, refusing to let him move away.

“It’s cool. Just didn’t expect it. It’s cool, Frankie. Good boy.”

There’s a hitch in Frank’s breath, and Mikey can feel the tension coiled in him, as if he’s ready to flee. Mikey brings his other hand up, petting Frank’s hair, combing through it with his fingers until the pressure against Mikey’s hand eases and Frank settles back down on his lap.

He keeps it up, closing his eyes and just feeling the pure sensation of Frank’s soft hair threading between his fingers and the pressure as Frank butts up into his touch. When he opens his eyes again, Frank’s looking up at him, his lips parted and his tongue pressed against the corner of his mouth. Mikey knows it should be kind of silly, some comical rendition of a puppy, but instead there’s something innocent and trusting in Frank’s face, something that twists in Mikey’s stomach.

“I’ve got you.” He whispers it this time, because it all seems so loud otherwise, and the quiet feels right. It feels like it’s radiating from Frank the way that Mikey remembers from Elena’s cats that crawled around and slept in dusty sunbeams, the stray dog that flopped on his back on her porch, unafraid of everything. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. You’re home.”

Frank whines in his throat again and shifts, his head settled on Mikey’s thigh and his breath fanning warmly over the front of Mikey’s sweats. Mikey keeps petting, watching now, not looking away from Frank’s face. Wherever he is, he isn’t quite in the same world as Mikey, sunken down into the safe parts of his brain. Frank is usually so intense, so intent, that it’s strange to see his expression empty of anything but the most basic emotions.

“Good boy.” He clears his throat and lets his fingers graze along Frank’s jaw. They’ve messed around a few times, mostly drunken hook-ups or after gigs when everything is adrenaline and endorphins. Never on purpose and never deliberate and never like this. His fingers keep running over Frank’s skin, sliding down his throat to the black leather collar just above the neck of his t-shirt. “Good boy.”

Frank tilts his head, baring his throat to Mikey. Mikey has to bite his lower lip to keep from making a sound, settling instead for letting his hand curve along the side of Frank’s neck, his thumb stroking over his Adam’s apple slowly, going from his jaw to the collar. Frank shivers all over and moves closer, ducking his head and trapping Mikey’s hand as Frank nuzzles at Mikey’s dick through the soft cotton of his sweat pants.

“Fuck,” Mikey breathes, hips rising slightly. His cock swells in response and Frank looses a soft little bark, sliding his tongue over the fabric. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, Frankie.” His hand tightens in Frank’s hair and he closes his eyes, trying to keep from thrusting up. Frank doesn’t relent, working his way up until the material is damp and his teeth can catch the waistband. Frank growls low and tugs as Mikey raises his hips to help, holding his breath until Frank loosens his jaw, letting the sweats settle tight on Mikey’s thighs.

Frank nuzzles at the base of Mikey’s cock, his nose slightly chilled against Mikey’s balls. Mikey sucks in a hot breath, holding it in his lungs as Frank’s tongue slides out, moving up the length of Mikey’s cock in a series of light, tentative licks. Mikey’s head falls back and he can’t help the jerk of his hips as Frank keeps licking him, a constant contact up and down and around, all over Mikey’s dick.

Every muscle feels strung tight, coiling with tension as Frank doesn’t stop. His tongue moves relentlessly until Mikey’s skin is wet with spit and pre-come. He fists one hand at his side and the other around Frank’s collar, which wrenches a desperate sound from Frank. Mikey’s hips jerk again in response and he pulls Frank closer. “Fuck, Frankie. More. God. Fucking…more. Please. Fuck. Fuck.”

Frank’s tongue works faster, more pressure and saliva against Mikey’s skin. Mikey slams his fist into his thigh and then works his fingers into Frank’s hair, holding him closer. Frank focuses on the head, flicking his tongue over the ridge over and over before he concentrates on the slit, the tip of his tongue parting Mikey’s skin and lapping up the milky thin rivulet of pre-come leaking from it. Frank’s breath is short and rough, panting wetly on Mikey’s cock. He whines low in his throat and Mikey tugs harder at the collar, jerking Frank closer.

He comes against Frank’s tongue, splattering on Frank’s face and all over himself. Frank doesn’t stop, licking the mess from Mikey’s shirt and hips and thighs, rubbing his face against Mikey’s skin so he can chase the remnants from his own face with his tongue. Mikey finally gasps, jerking Frank back, unable to take anymore, every nerve ending on fire. “Fuck. Okay. Stop. Down. Fuck. Heel. Heel.”

Frank pulls away reluctantly, licking his lips. There’s come smeared on his face, and his hair is slicked back with it, even his eyelashes spiked with wet. Mikey exhales roughly, rubbing a hand over his face. Frank blinks at him, tilting his head slightly.

“Yeah. C’mere. C’mere, boy.” Mikey tugs on the collar again and Frank surges up onto his lap, already arching into Mikey’s hand. Mikey gets Frank’s belt and jeans undone, working his hand in as quickly as he can, wrapping it around Frank and jerking roughly. Frank moans low, the faint mark of a red line where his collar sits showing as his head falls back. “So fucking hot.” Mikey keeps stroking him, keeping his hand tight as Frank lets out a series of whimpering moans mixed in with soft, high-pitched yips.

“Fuck. Fucking…” Mikey’s knuckles dig in against Frank’s throat as he pulls him closer, kissing him as roughly and mesily as his stroke. Frank whimpers again and comes, coating the palm of Mikey’s hand and spattering their clothes.

It takes a moment for Mikey to recover enough to release the collar, working his hand loose from Frank’s cock before pulling him in against his chest. He wraps an arm around Frank, bending his knees and angling Frank closer. Frank tilts his head up and licks Mikey’s jaw then buries his head against Mikey’s neck. Mikey swipes most of the come off on Frank’s shirt then, pets his hair.

“Got you. Got you, Frankie. I’ve got you. So good. Did so good. So…was so good.” He’s not sure what words he’s supposed to say, but Frank relaxes against him, his breathing evening out and the tension easing out of his muscles. Mikey keeps it up, stroking and petting his hair until Frank’s weight changes, the heaviness of sleep overtaking him. Mikey eases him down on the floor and then stretches out next to him, closing his eyes and just breathing until he can relax enough to fall asleep as well.

**

He wakes up a short while later and blinks, pushing up his glasses as Frank stares at him with wide eyes. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Frank sits up, crossing his legs and looking smaller than normal. “So. This is awkward.”

“Why is it awkward?”

“Well, you’re sort of not into this.” He gestures at his throat and his collar. “And I sort of spewed my kink all over you.”

Mikey shrugs. “Looked like come to me.”

Frank rolls his eyes and grabs the stuffed dog that passes for a throw pillow off the couch, smacking Mikey in the head with it. “I’m trying to be serious and apologize and shit here.”

“Why would you do that?” Mikey snags the dog and tosses it back on the couch. “I mean, it’s not like you did it on purpose.” Mikey knows about consent issues, given that Frank talked about them at length when he first told Mikey about his kinks, and Mikey’s done enough drugs to know where the lines are. He also knows that he and Frank are best friends. “You came in and you were fucked up. It’s not different than that time you had that LSD hit that made you all paranoid that your pants were trying to strangle you and you took them off in the middle of Grand Central.”

“I didn’t molest you in Grand Central Station.”

“Seeing your dick swinging around in the middle of a huge crowd of people was traumatizing enough, trust me.”

“That’s because it’s a big dick.”

“Compared to the rest of you.” Mikey reaches out and traces Frank’s collar, light and reassuring. “You want to tell me what happened?”

Frank wrinkles his forehead and shrugs. “I was at a club. Mid-scene and there was a fire in the next building, so they evacuated us. The dom I was with got me out and asked me if I was okay. I said yes, but I thought he meant physically okay, and he meant out of the subspace. He took off, and I came home. I was half-in and half-out, and then I got here and I was safe. It was just easier to sink down, you know?” He closes his eyes and rubs his neck, catching the buckle of the collar.

“I’m glad you feel safe with me.” Mikey says it matter-of-factly. That’s what this all boils down to in his head. That’s what their band is. That’s what they are. Safety.

“You probably don’t now, since I sort of dive-bombed you with my shit.” He slumps back against the couch. “I guess I’m lucky that you like dogs.”

Mikey stares at him for a minute and then cracks up. “Yeah. You’re lucky I do.” He gets to his feet and tugs his sweats back up over his hips. “Go change. You’re a mess.”

“I’m a mess? I’m a mess? I’m sorry. Did a Way just tell me I am a mess?”

“You are a mess.” Mikey shrugs. “Go change. I’ll order pizza and pick out a movie.”

“I’ll order pizza. You go change. You’re all messy and gross.”

“I’m always gross.”

“Well, you’re grosser than normal.”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t seem to mind earlier.”

“That’s because earlier was pre-grosser than normal.”

Mikey grins, half-amused and half-relieved that Frank’s being bitchy. “Make sure you get beer with the pizza.”

Frank glares at him and throws the remote, growling when Mikey manages to catch it. “I hate you.”

“See? Nothing to worry about.” Mikey laughs and heads to his room. “Everything’s back to normal.”

**

Mikey wakes up on the floor the next morning, feeling like a small animal died in his mouth. Frank only buys the cheapest booze, a step below even what Mikey will buy, and given that the room smells like warm piss and salsa, he’s thinking they broke into the bad tequila sometime before they passed out.

Frank has his head in the corner of the couch, shoved between the back cushion and the seat cushion so that all Mikey can see are his nostrils and his open mouth, the blue couch dark with drool. Frank’s foot is right in Mikey’s face when he sits up, so he grabs Frank by the ankle and pushes it away. Frank’s head pops out as he imbalances, sliding off the couch and onto the floor with a loud thump.

“I fucking hate you,” he manages before he even opens his eyes, glaring at Mikey like some pissed-off Chihuahua. “You’re an asshole.”

“You knew that before we moved in together. You’ve known that since you met me.”

“If you bring up the whole not asking you to be in Pency again, I will gut you with…well, with this tortilla chip.”

“You are the least threatening person ever.”

“I could kill you.”

“You could, but then you’d have to explain it to Gerard, and he would Hulk the fuck out, and then where would you be?” Mikey digs under the couch until his fingers wrap around a promising feeling lump, pulling out a bottle of aspirin that’s, logically, only as old as they’ve had the apartment. He swallows six down with a swig of the tequila and nearly gags.

“Fucking Way brothers.” Frank grabs the aspirin and the tequila and then just swallows the pills dry. He tosses the empty bottle in the vague direction of the kitchen and what passes as the trash bin, then sighs. “Fuck. You’d think for a buck-fifty, that tequila would have obliterated last night.”

Mikey smirks a little. “I’ll try not to take offense at that.”

“Not…” Frank rolls his eyes and sighs, slumping back against the couch. “Yeah, okay, no offense meant, dude. You want me to move out?”

“If you moved out, I’d have to live with someone else, and I’ve just about got you housebroken.”

“Okay, after last night, that’s kind of a…”

“Really apropos way of saying it?” Mikey grins for real and reaches out, shoving at Frank’s shoulder. “Dude, how about next time I feel like doing something kinky I’ll just wander into your room and then we’ll call it even.”

“Do you not remember any stuff I told you about consent and shit?”

“Frank.” Mikey sighs and turns, looking at Frank seriously. He pushes his glasses up on his nose so that everything has the hazy smeared look to it before scrunching his nose so they slide back down. “Look. You were freaked out last night and your…person didn’t take good care of you. It was a misunderstanding and no one planned on it. You didn’t do anything wrong. You reacted and I let you react. I could have said no. I could have…I don’t know, dumped water on you and told you to go lick your balls. I didn’t.”

“I…”

“Frank.” Mikey grabs Frank’s shirt and pulls him in until they’re face to face. Frank’s breath is as rank as Mikey imagines his own must be, and the apartment’s going to need a thorough airing out before the police come looking for dead bodies. “Shut up.”

“I just…”

“Frank.” He whispers it this time, remembering vaguely that his Aunt Loretta once told him that kids and animals will listen better if you talk softly, because they have to try harder to hear. “I want you to listen very closely, okay?”

Frank bites his lower lip, sucking at his lip ring, and nods.

“And I want you to do what I say, understood?” Mikey doesn’t mean to drop his gaze, but the way Frank shifts makes it clear that regardless of whether or not this is what they’re supposed to do as friends and roommates, it’s turning Frank on. A lot.

“Y-yes.”

“Good.” He releases Frank’s shirt and reaches up with one hand to pet his dark hair back. Frank leans into his touch and Mikey grins, turning to sit down and lean back against the couch again. He finds the remote and turns on cartoons.

Frank’s kneeling beside him, muscles quivering, his eyes wide with anticipation. Mikey pats his thigh and then gives Frank a sideways glance as he seems to relax before lying down, head resting on Mikey’s leg, curled up against him. “Good boy.”