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Frank wasn’t getting old.
He liked to tell himself that at his age of forty four, kneeling on the floor was still a simple task.
It was one of his favorite commands, and one that he always strives to do his best in.
Gerard had told him. Ten minutes ago over text.
I want you stripped down to your underwear and kneeling when I get home. A good dog always waits patiently for their owner.
That was it. He stopped his task of mixing his newest song, stripped out of his clothes, and dropped to his knees by the front door immediately.
Ten minutes shouldn’t be this hard. But…it was.
His knees were becoming sore and his joints were pushing into the wood floor in all the wrong spots. He’d assumed the rest of the position; his back straight and his chin down. However, it was killing him with the way his muscles tensed and ached from the strain.
His neck needed a crack, but he knew that would probably just make things worse. His hair, which had grown out into longer curls, was in his face and making his nose itchy. Brushing it out of his face never actually worked at this point.
And don’t get him wrong, Frank is happy with his body. Yes, he has gained weight, but he also goes to the gym regularly just so his burly figure has some sort of semblance.
But, looking at his stomach for the last ten—fifteen minutes now was leading him down a path of overthinking he wasn’t particularly fond of.
Thankfully, he heard the garage door opening. And that was all he needed to snap out of his wandering thoughts and straighten up wherever he needed to.
The car door slammed. Honking as they locked it. Heels clicking against the cement floor. The knob turning.
Black heels and nylon tights came into Frank’s view, along with the scent that always adorned Gerard. It was a soft blend of wood and amber; They always said it reminded them of old books.
He could just make out the edge of Gerard’s skirt from under his hair. It was snug on their curved hips as they stepped inside.
They shut the door behind them with a kick of their foot, before walking to Frank’s left, seemingly not acknowledging him.
He was used to it. This is how most of their scenes started.
The thud of Gerard’s briefcase hitting the counter echoed across the house and Frank tightens his position even more. Just then he could sense their eyes tracing over his skin, his tattoos, probably deciding what they wanted to do to him.
It filled him with anticipation, a restlessness that only surfaced in these moments, where they were giving him their full undivided attention.
He perked his ears up at the soft rustling of their bag, then the repetitive click of a lighter. A pause, then a deep sigh followed.
Smoking in the house. They were actually the one who scolded him for it, even though they still had to keep ashtrays around just for Gerard.
Regardless, he stayed still. Even as they slowly walked over, each click of their heel on the floor sending a shiver down Frank’s spine.
They stopped in front of him, and up close he could see the leather of their shoe glint in the light.
He then gazed at their legs (one of his weaknesses) and the soft pale skin shaded by the sheer taupe of their tights. It made Gerard’s calves stand out, outlining the muscle and the curves.
They tapped their heel twice against the floor—a signal—and he listened, finally letting his head rise and look up.
Gerard was stunning. Always was, always would be, even after a day at the office.
Their brown hair—edged with silver—hung off to the side of their face as they looked down.
Their cigarette was propped between their fingers, which wore a pair of leather gloves—ones that he had become very familiar with—specifically their smooth touch against his skin and the taste in his mouth.
Their shirt was slightly rumpled and untucked, the tie loosened and collar unbuttoned as they cocked their hip and took another drag.
He widened his eyes ever so slightly, hoping his eagerness for whatever they had planned was conveyed.
His puppy dog eyes, as Gerard liked to say.
They didn’t react. Except to narrow their own stare, and purse their lips.
Then they clicked their tongue. “You need a haircut, mutt. We don’t need neighbors to get the wrong idea about how I take care of you.”
He didn’t move. He wasn’t supposed to. He did somewhat wonder if they were telling the truth, but considering how much they liked to yank on it while riding the hell out of him—
He didn’t really want to cut his hair. It had so many benefits.
They were clearly remembering that too, as their leather clad hand suddenly snatched along Frank’s hairline and tugged, forcing his head to jerk backwards.
He was trying to be good, always was, but he failed at choking down his sharp gasp that led into a strangled whimper.
“Oh puppy, you need a bath too. Such a dirty dog, we can’t have that either,” They cooed, tangling their fingers even tighter around Frank’s hair. He kept his eyes on them, still unwavering in his desperation. He even bit his lip, hoping to incite Gerard to move a little faster.
He was now grateful for putting off his shower, even if his hair was greasy and its clean scent had faded. He liked—loved being called dirty.
And hey, maybe they would join him there afterwards too.
They let go, and Frank exhaled shakily. But then, a slap was suddenly smacked across Frank’s face, his whole head thrown to the left, the sharp bite of the leather leaving his skin burning.
He bit down on his lip again, now sore, and blinked rapidly, tears already welled up in his eyes. Amidst that though, his cock twitched in his boxers, already beginning to stiffen.
“Don’t use those pitiful eyes on me, puppy. Selfish mutts don't get treats or attention when they beg,” they whispered from above him.
Despite their cruel words (they weren’t to Frank, quite the opposite actually) they leaned down and reached out again to cup his flushed cheek gently, slowly returning his attention to them.
Through his tears, he met Gerard’s eyes. There, he saw their sincerity, and a question peek through.
Okay?
He nodded without hesitation, and after one last soft caress with the back of their glove, Gerard straightened. Their cigarette was practically nothing at this point, the cherry almost completely burned into ash. They gazed at it for a moment, and then—dropped it.
Frank watched it land on the floor, inhaling sharply as they decided to crush it with their heel, grinding it into the floorboards.
He almost forgot where they were, what they were doing, and snapped his head up ready to ask them uh, hey, what the fuck but the dark glare he was met with shut him right up.
“You wanna be a dirty hound? Then get used to living in filth,” They spat.
Frank didn’t get a second to think as that same heel rose in the air and was then against his chest, right above his racing heart.
Gerard pushed against him, but he resisted, only allowing himself to lean back, even though he aches at the awkward stretch.
For the first time since they got home, they smile.
Well, more so their lips twitch, and they raise their brows, as if they’re pleased with Frank and his physical and mental bend in obedience.
But it’s gone in a second, replaced with a much darker, cunning determination, and with a rough shove they say, “Go to the couch, but sit on the floor. I don’t want your stench on the nice furniture.”
He swallows down his responding whine, and moves to stand, but instantly their heel returns, this time pressed in between his shoulder blades.
He turns from on his knees, his hair in his eyes but still able to make eye contact with them.
Their lip curls. “Dogs don’t walk Frankie. You know that.”
He does. It’s not one of their rules, it’s a fact for whenever they play like this. They’ve been doing this for years, since they both had variances of bleached hair and high libidos.
He replies with a curt nod, hoping it conveys what he wants it too.
My bad. I can’t pay attention, I’m so horny from you stepping on me I might fucking faint.
Or something like that.
His cock is heavy between his legs, even in the confines of his briefs, but he still crawls on his hands and knees to the edge of the couch, relishing once the hard wood floors transition into their soft woolen carpet.
Once he’s there, he resumes his position, ignoring the urge to look when he hears a gentle clatter behind him, assuming Gerard has kicked off the heels.
He focuses on his breathing, on slowing his heart, and also the difficult task of ignoring how he’s hard as a rock.
It’s quiet behind him, and he almost wonders if they went to the bedroom, maybe to their stash—their trunk, that sits at the foot of their bed, with enough gear inside to knock out a porn director.
But he’s wrong, as their presence creeps up on them in complete silence, the carpet deafening their steps.
Frank startles as their hand suddenly comes into view from behind and hooks around his throat—just firm enough for Frank’s thoughts to muffle and his ears to fill with white noise.
He’s at their complete mercy, as they tilt his head with a gentle but firm push until he’s looking up at them upside down, his mouth agape as he pants.
With his hair falling out of his eyes he can see them clearly, and their soft smile as they gaze down.
“There’s my sweet boy. You’re being so good Frankie, would you like a treat?”
He croaks out, “Ye—” only to be cut off with another slap, though it’s light compared to before. Frank doesn't need his neck to break from all of this.
“That’s not how dogs speak, Frankie,” they state, quirking their brow.
They’re pulling out all the stops tonight.
But he can follow instructions, once they’re set before him.
He nods, his soft but heaving breaths escaping his chest.
He clears his throat, reveling in the feeling of their hand against it as he coughs.
He meets their dark gaze, and barks. Nothing too loud considering how he is, but enough for Gerard’s smile to return, certainly pleased. Frank holds himself together, despite how he wants to just give in and let them have their way with him.
“Good boy. Now, stay.” They remove their hand from his neck, and hold it out as if it’s a stop sign, palm facing him. He yips, keeping his eyes on them, ignoring how his neck is already sore from the strain.
He will gladly let his body wither away into brittle if it means he gets to have Gerard. When he’s eighty five, and can’t move from arthritis, at least he knows they will most likely be right there next to him.
And then they can laugh about all the kinky sex they had like a couple of old freaks.
The idea of them still together takes up a massive space in the front of his thoughts, so much so that his eyes glaze over.
But Gerard snaps them into focus—literally, by snapping his fingers. The leather gloves are off, resting on the coffee table—and they’re now seated comfortably on the couch. Their legs are crossed, and their suit jacket is gone.
Their white dress shirt is just tight enough to show their broad shoulders and solid chest, unbuttoned enough too, for him to see a sliver of their pale skin.
“Focus, puppy. If you behave, I promise I’ll reward you,” They say softly. Then they pat their lap (He zeros in on their thigh jiggling from it) before saying, “C’mere pup, rest your head.”
Frank turns and crawls over without hesitating, until he’s kneeling before Gerard, both their feet now flat on the ground. He’s at the perfect height to see up their skirt (what a pervert) but Gerard’s thighs push together to not reveal anything.
Frank’s hard. So hard, that he’s got an embarrassing wet patch at the front of his briefs, and every move he makes only worsens the friction on his over sensitive cock.
And he doesn’t even know if Gerard is at all in the same state. He assumes so, based on their long sexual history together, but they’ve always been good at hiding their emotions, especially their sinful desires.
Frank’s no stranger to Gerard’s turn ons, even the weirdest ones like—
He focuses. Now is not the time, considering he doesn’t need to turn himself off right now.
He lets his mind go quiet once his chin is propped between Gerard’s soft thighs. He can tell the scene breaks for just a few minutes, as they lay their hand in his curls and scratch his head gently. Frank’s eyes flutter closed at the soothing sensation, a quiet hum rumbling from his chest.
He smiles as they caress behind his ears, goosebumps cascading across his skin. He’s almost tempted to thump his leg like a dog, just to show some of his admiration.
He reopens his eyes and looks up at them instead though, pulling his best lovesick face.
They smile, so wide that all their tiny teeth are showing, and Frank mirrors their grin.
As much as he loves the sex, loves the intimacy and tenderness of it all—he cherishes these moments the most. The ones where he feels his heart explode with love, with adoration, with his devotion, and Gerard does the same.
These are the moments he will always remember even when they are old and gray, and he can’t remember anything else but that smile. Their smile. It gives him life. He could live forever if that’s all he saw everyday.
His eyes well up at the thought, and Gerard’s smile quivers.
“Oh my sweet boy, you’re so good to me. You’re the best puppy anyone could ask for,” they murmur softly, and he knows his cheeks are bright red.
Eventually, the spell breaks, and they pull their hand away, leaving Frank with one last gentle pat on his cheek.
“Are you with me baby?” they ask.
He answers with a small woof.
“Good. I want you to do something for me. Can you take my tights off? I'm exhausted from my busy day.” They sigh.
He nuzzles their thigh one last time, a resounding yes, and reaches for the edge of Gerard’s skirt.
Once again, this comes with consequence, a light slap to his hand this time.
“Ah ah, use your paws, mutt.”
He doesn't question it, instead he follows the command like he’s on autopilot.
He tucks his thumbs in and clenches his fists, and resumes the task.
However, after about two seconds, he realizes this is never going to work.
He can tell Gerard had anticipated this, considering their sly smile when he looks up in suspicion.
“You have teeth for a reason, pup.”
Frank’s head swims. He has to close his eyes for a moment to collect himself because like the dirty dog he is, of course his cock is pulsing from Gerard’s words alone. He knows if he reached down right now he’d be cumming in his shorts within seconds, and truly ruin whatever else they have planned.
Not an option.
He bites his lip, the quietest whimper escaping him, begging his dick to calm the fuck down, dude and he takes a deep breath.
Once he finally knows he’s not going to be cumming unannounced and unplanned, he opens his eyes again.
Gerard is now flushed, their cheeks bright red, and their eyes wide as ever, their dark pupils swallowing up the hazel.
“Get on with it puppy, these are getting too tight,” They growl, and he realizes then that they’re in the same predicament.
The front of their skirt is doing its best, but still can't conceal the bulge from Gerard’s cock pressing up against it.
He moves hastily, pushing himself up onto his knees and leaning all the way over their lap, so that he’s inches away from their stomach.
He utilizes his body to the best of his ability. He nuzzles his head, uses his paws, and eventually his teeth until the skirt is bunched up just enough where he can see the edge of their tights.
Thankfully, they’re not all the way up to their waist but instead both end separately on their thighs, the simple black lace graters cutting into their pale skin wonderfully.
But, he doesn’t take time to stop and admire, knowing they’re both impatient as hell by now.
His thoughts rattle a bit though when he’s faced with Gerard’s cock and their underwear, a basic pair of black panties.
Frank loves the panties. It’s always completed Gerard in some way, with the way it compliments and fits their body wonderfully. They don’t wear them all the time, but when they do, he adores it. Especially the way they get all flustered and twitchy from Frank’s attention.
And Frank gives it all. He doesn’t think twice before he’s pushing into their crotch, who audibly chokes, making him smile. Here, their scent is stronger, a tangible musk that can only be described as Gerard.
He darts his tongue out, to the light salty taste of their precum seeping through the fabric, and he groans as he sucks it into his mouth.
He hears them keen softly above him, and their hand return to his head, scratching along the back of his neck, only serving as encouragement. In a matter of time he’s mouthing at their cock, until their underwear is much wetter than before.
Gerard tugs. “F-Frankie, get on with it.”
Though it’s a command, their voice is wavering and soft, and honestly, Frank could probably flip the metaphorical tables of this scene and they wouldn’t resist.
He behaves. He pinches one of the tights’ edge between his teeth and yanks, Gerard lifting their leg just barely to make it easier.
He watches in awe while dragging the fabric down, revealing more and more of their milky white pale skin, soft and supple in the right areas of his leg. Once it’s off he drags himself up, leaving open mouthed kisses in his wake.
Worship. He’ll gladly kneel at their feet just like this until he dies.
He tugs the other tight off and mirrors his kisses on that leg too, before returning to his knees. He gazes up at them, who’s face is still dusted wonderfully red even to their chest, rising and falling as they breathe deeply.
He takes advantage of their lust drunk state, and tilts his head down, and then to the side, like a dog cocking its head.
Frank stares as Gerard bites their swollen lip.
“C’mere baby,” They whisper. He moves onto his knees swiftly until their faces are inches away.
“You’ve earned yourself a kiss for being such a good boy, Frankie.”
If he had a tail he’d be wagging it. He plants his lips to Gerard’s, both of them groaning softly.
Their lips are warm, soft and tender against Frank’s and he darts his tongue out asking for permission. But then suddenly, they’re pulling away, and then gripping Frank’s chin in between their fingers.
“I said a kiss, Frankie. Not a tongue down my throat, you hound.”
He frowns, at this point so overcome with his sexual needs, he’s becoming frustrated. They could be moving this along at a much faster pace, especially since he swears his dick might fall off soon.
“Don’t pout, puppy. I want you to use that sloppy tongue of yours in other ways.” Gerard says, and Frank swears his ears perk up.
He doesn’t need clarification for what they mean, instead watching as they shift, until their back is flat on the couch.
Their skirt rides up even more, now fully exposing their cock trapped in their panties, the tip peeking out just under the waistband.
Gerard has seemed to recover from their previous flustered state, given how they suddenly reach out and tug much more harshly on Frank’s hair.
“Get to it, mutt. I don’t have all day.”
Frank hops up on the couch, kneeling between their legs. He’s just about to reach down and pull their underwear off (again, with his teeth) but then they shove his head away with their foot.
The shock of it almost makes him laugh.
“Wait. I don’t want your sharp teeth ripping these apart.” Then they reach down and pull their underwear off, and Frank’s mouth immediately waters.
Their cock now lays against their white dress shirt, sure to leave a stain from their precum. He groans at the sight of their round ass, most likely his biggest weakness when it comes to fucking Gerard.
He shouldn’t, but he decides to break character and grab them tightly by the hips and flip them, their stomach now against the couch. He watches in awe as their ass bounces from the landing, as they let out a soft oof!
He doesn’t hesitate, and dives in, his palms grasping their cheeks. He spits onto their tight hole before him, and then drops his head, licking all the way up from their perineum.
Gerard groans wantonly, and wraps their hand tightly around the couch cushion below them. If Frank’s good at one thing, it’s eating them out. It’s one of his favorite spots to be, a guilty pleasure of his.
He uses his mouth in every way, until he’s able to point his tongue and manage it inside, only making Gerard even louder.
“Ah—puppy, yes, good boy, so good for me, nngh—”
He revels in their praise, only pushing his tongue in harder and moving one of his hands to also trace their hole with his finger.
Thankfully, it’s slick enough and his finger slides in, all the way to his knuckle.
Gerard whimpers, and tightens their legs together, which in reality just makes their ass tighter so he gives their cheek a light slap.
“S-sorry baby, hah—” They gasp, and Frank caresses their cheek in response.
He manages to slide another finger in, wiggling and scissoring them apart, pushing in until he finds what he’s looking for.
Once he does, he gives Gerard’s prostate a gentle but firm stroke.
“Fuck—right there, again, please Frankie, again—”
He complies, pushing and prodding, licking around their hole as well until he’s sure the neighbors can hear their high pitched moans.
Eventually though, they grab his hair for the millionth time and pull him away. “Okay baby, that’s enough. You’re being so good, Frankie, how ‘bout you fuck me now, hm?” They ask and he has to stop himself from practically leaping in the air off the couch.
Gerard turns and spots his eager grin though as he squeezes their cheeks absentmindedly. They shake their hips underneath them, and Frank lets go, just for them to shift so that they’re now on their hands and knees.
“C’mon Frankie, baby. Give it to me good, you dirty dog,” They snap, a just as excited smile on their face too. Their eyes are dark, calling to him in the most sinful of ways.
He answers with a resounding yes by finally tugging his briefs off, his angry red cock slapping up against his stomach. He refrains from stroking but instead gives it a squeeze, just to relieve some of the discomfort.
Then he turns and reaches next to him to a side table, opening the drawer and grabbing a small bottle of lube there.
The couch has been christened way too many times for lube to not be on hand at this point.
He meets Gerard’s eyes as he opens the bottle, who is still smiling devilishly, their ass still proudly up in the air, ready for whatever Frank will give.
He whines once his slick hand comes around his cock, just enough to wet it before he's pulling off. He then uses his fingers to circle their hole and push in one last time, stroking carefully. Gerard sighs softly.
Frank’s been patient. Hell, he’s been so patient, following every rule, every command, that maybe he deserves just one thing in return.
Once he’s up on his knees as well and his hands are in their rightful place on Gerard’s hips, he bends over them, his mouth next to their ear.
“I know you want to hear me just as much as I do for you. Can I be loud, madam?” he whispers. They give a lazy nod, kissing his nose as well before he rights himself.
He says the fastest prayer that he doesn’t blow his brains out in the first five seconds, which would literally be the worst considering he can’t get it up as fast as he used to, and then he lining himself up.
“Fuck me hard, you filthy mutt.” They spit, and then Frank’s pushing himself in.
“Nnngh, fuck, fuck, fuck yes—” Gerard babbles, but Frank has to clench his jaw so hard to focus on not cumming.
They’re so tight around him—fascinating considering how long they’ve been doing this, and yet they still take him like it’s the first time.
He breathes deeply once he’s fully inside, as they clench down wonderfully. He’s gasping for air at this point, like a dog, watching as Gerard decides to arch, so that their ass is up and they can lay their head down.
Their face is covered by their hair, but he makes out their soft pink lips, parted and slick with spit.
He watches them utter, “Move, puppy.”
He listens and pulls out, the slick drag on his cock making his eyes flutter, and before he can catch his breath he’s ramming in again. Gerard shouts a curse brokenly, their hands desperately looking for something to hold on to.
They don’t get a chance, due to Frank already starting up a brutal pace, one that makes their skin slap together loudly and their ass jiggle with every thrust.
He grunts as they moan in ecstasy, “Oh fuck, oh my god Frank, ungh—”
Sweat is building along his brow, and his back and hips are already getting sore, but he can’t stop. He won’t. This feeling is unbeatable, something he can’t ever find in anything else, and he’ll devour this with selfish greed while he can.
Finally, he breaks his silence. “Yout think I’m the dirty one? I’m the one who’s filthy? You’re such a shit liar, Gee, especially considering your ass is sucking on my cock like the dirty whore you are.” He grits as he slams into them over and over.
Gerard sobs, “Oh Frankie, oh baby, I want you—hah—need you so bad, my dirty little mutt that fucks me so good, harder puppy,please—”
He doubles down, but then he has the better idea to wrap his arms over their stomach and pull them up, so that they’re now back to chest.
They wail, Frank’s cock now pressing even deeper, in the most wonderful of ways. He pounds into them, using his last bit of strength in every thrust, now groaning almost as loud as Gerard.
“Oh god, oh fuck, baby I’m close, please puppy, be a good boy, and make me cum, ah—”
Frank’s right there with them. So close, especially with how they’ve begun to tighten around him every time he presses in.
He reaches around, finding Gerard’s cock, now slick, dribbling precum like a faucet. They sob in heaves as he starts stroking them hard and fast, their head collapsing onto his shoulder, their whines and cries echoing into ear. It’s a symphony, one of Frank’s favorite songs that they perform. One he would have on repeat if he could.
He turns his head just enough to make out their face, their hot sticky skin, their open mouth, their eyes shut tightly. Their hair is curling from the sweat, but Frank knows that they’ve never looked so beautiful like they do here now.
And that’s when he realizes he's got about two seconds before he’s cumming, and he just manages to grunt “C’mon Gee, cum all over me babe, make me dirty—ungh—make me yours.”
They come apart together, Gerard gasping and sobbing as he shakes in Frank’s arms, their hand grabbing onto his hair (Who’s surprised?)—not pulling but instead threading their fist to simply hold on.
Frank doesn’t even care, barely notices as his own orgasm rocks through him, his ears muffled with white noise. He bites down on their neck as he spills into Gerard, sure to leave a mark, if not a dark purple bruise.
He loves leaving those behind, mainly cause he always catches them pressing their fingers to them, a giddy smile usually on their face.
Eventually, he returns to the present, where their cock is now almost completely soft in his hand and somehow they’ve fallen together backwards onto the armrest.
They both lie there, Frank watching their heart slow under his dress shirt, and their breaths to eventually even out.
He doesn’t move, despite his hand being covered in cum and his back is hurting from the couch edge, all because Gerard has basically crashed.
He can’t say he's surprised and at all disappointed. Working all day in an office managing a cartooning company and the fact that they come home and then manage him…he’d pass the fuck out too.
Soon, they’re snoring, their cheek against his shoulder and their puffs of air brushing against his neck. He basks in how soft they look. Their perfect nose, with their pink lips parted, and their lashes against their skin. He feels his own eyes starting to droop so he leans his own head against theirs, closing his eyes and holding them even tighter.
He knows their death is inevitable, and that they’re only going to get older and have more struggles. More pain, more wrinkles, and more memories forgotten.
But he doesn’t care.
If he was dying right here, right now, together with Gerard in complete bliss—
Frank Iero would die in peace.