Bubblegum Bitch ♡ Smut Oneshots

blazing in scarlet fire

Hi! So this is a test- the reason I haven't been updating this book is because wattpad tried to flag it a few times and I had to unpublish a couple oneshots that were targeted in specific. This is a oneshot I posted to ao3 (where you'll find me posting my random pwp these days since it's safer) and I hope this works! Enjoy xo

P.S: Yes I used current eras of the guys. That pic up there ^ single-handedly ended me.
—

Frank feels his pulse thudding in his fingertips.

It's not different from the steady rhythm of a drum, a sound he's been familiar with his entire life, only it shares a characteristic with the bass guitar when he feels the vibrations rocking through his bloodstream, pulsing hot in sore limbs. He breaks out in a sweat that rests on the curve just above his upper lip, a prominent salt-sting peppering his tongue that drags out to wet his lips abused by the ceaseless hold of his clamping teeth.

He's been watching him for a decade. He's only truly known him, been with him, for one. It's a ridiculous rumor that infatuation can diminish once someone yearning for the touch of another obtains it at long last. They say the fuel burns out fast and ceases to exist as if it had never been there at all. If anything, infatuation blossoms into a simmering continuous desire that feels like liquid fire in quiet veins, a daring rush that's more powerful than any ounce of adrenaline. Frank's nestled in the grasp of desire and knows it burns, yet he welcomes any blisters that come, relishing the harshness of its friction brushing his delicate skin that aches with the need to hurt. To be hurt.

Frank waits for him in the back of the venue. The alley is damp and smells of nothing pleasant, which is to be expected for a place where shadows move and no one would dare wander into one of these gutter-deep places alone; but Frank's never been the type to not invite a risk. His company is the hum of electricity beyond the brick walls as the next band takes the stage and the roaring audience inside rocks along to the beat roughly enough to endanger the unsteady foundation of the ancient building. These people are animals that will tear music to shreds to feed their hunger for brutality in song. They scour, invade, and the bands submit their flesh with an insatiable desire to be devoured.

The brick Frank leans on is chilly, faded and rough to the touch. His fingertips fall into one of the grooves, chasing as he attempts to catch his breath, sweating bullets under his leather jacket. The jacket used to be looser, but his shoulders have broadened, his body filling out in places that had been lankier when he was younger. Frank knows he lives for the soft flesh at his hips and belly, holding the fingertip-shaped bruises dotting his skin as solid proof of it.

When he finally exits the venue, Frank's breath stops in his throat and wilts. As if on cue, he's filled with the need to moan softly at the mere charge in the air that comes with his presence. It isn't exclusive to the stage; Gerard has always been such an enigmatic darkness that carries an effortless allure. In all of these years filled with hundreds of performances, his appeal has never diminished— if anything, it's enhanced as Frank's learned the way his voice grows so soft when he speaks the most filthy words a single person can produce and how all of that pale skin grows rosy with a flush when Frank's mouth is wrapped around him.

There's something about Gerard covered in fake blood. The contrast of vivid red mixed with a sheen of sweat laid out over the perfect white of his neck, freckled across smooth hands and wide fingers reaching into the pocket of his fitting jeans to retrieve a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. Gerard's shirt, white and soaked through with red splatters, is like art beneath the black leather jacket draped carelessly over his shoulders, the blood traveling to the tops of his fitted jeans clinging to every curve he possesses. From the side, as he casually leans against the shut backdoor without acknowledging Frank's presence, Frank can make out the shape of his cock through his pants. Wanting fizzles deep in his belly and spills down into his groin. He swallows down a soft sound and notices his throat has gone dry.