Sing the Revolution 1/2 - Saving the Vorwuls since 3289 a cage!
Sing the Revolution 1/2
Title Sing the Revolution
Pairing Mikey/Frank, Mikey/Frank/Gerard
Rating Hard R
Word count 19k
Warnings Considering the challenge name and pairing this is probably redundant, but to be sure, incest.
Summary A high school AU about brothers, best friends, boyfriends, and a lot of cross-dressing.
Notes Written for desfinado in the waysplusone exchange. Thanks go to sperrywink and turlough who listened and reassured all the way through the writing process, and extra thanks to sperrywink for the beta. Any remaining mistakes are mine and mine alone.

Mikey pulls up his foot, his heel against the edge of the bed as he rolls on the stocking. He takes it slow, careful, covering his shin, his knee, half way up his thigh. When the stocking is pulled as high as it goes he runs his hand over the hose, breath quickening at the feel of the delicate material, so smooth against his skin.

Sure all creases are gone he props himself up on his side, taking hold of the clip that hangs from the back of the belt. The clip is tiny, warm from lying against his body, and Mikey attaches it to the edge of the stocking. Unable to resist, he trails his thumb over the lace-trimmed elastic and looks along his body, his teeth digging into his lower lip as he sees the contrast between the black lace and his thigh.

It’s a sight that he loves, and he indulges for almost a minute, then sits, needing to fasten the second strap. This one is easier but Mikey still takes his time, loving the ritual of attaching the clip, the snap as it bites down, the way the black of the strap is a match for his panties.

Those are lace-trimmed too, so tiny that each time Mikey marvels they fit him at all. Taking a moment he brushes his hand over his dick, enough for a rush of arousal but no more -- not yet.

Sure the clips are secure he stands in stockings, suspenders and panties, slips his feet into the waiting high heels. They tip his body forward, arching his back and he sways his hips as he walks for his dress.

He’s left it lying on Gerard’s bed, next to tubes of lipstick and eyeliner, Mikey’s brush and gel. Picking it up Mikey slips it over his head and eases it down until it ends at mid-thigh. When he’s pulled it into place, the buttons at the front central, the neckline even, the lacy tops of his stockings barely exposed, he takes a step forward.

This is the part Mikey loves, the end result when he can walk and feel free. He’s content in his own skin, and when he reaches the mirror he likes what he sees. Someone who looks secure, someone who looks good, someone who looks happy.


Frank knew Mikey was going to be his best friend as soon as they met.

He says that sometimes, when they’re drunk and giggly, the two of them crowded together in too small of a space. Each time Mikey smiles and pulls Frank into a hug that’s all sharp elbows and long fingers and alcohol tinged breath.


As always Frank waits outside of the school. His backpack is hanging off one shoulder and he’s rocking from foot to foot, energy surging as he’s forced to stay still. It’s getting close to bell but Frank doesn’t move, prepared to wait until the last possible second. Still, he’s glad when Mikey appears around the corner and Frank can’t help smiling, the day improving within seconds. He launches himself forward and announces. “Superman’s a pussy.”

“You’re a pussy.” Mikey looks half asleep and he’s limping as he takes out his earbuds and folds himself down onto the nearest empty bench. Bringing up his leg he tugs off his shoe and peels off his sock.

“Gross,” Frank says, crowding close and peering at the flap of dead white skin and the raw flesh beneath. “If that got infected your foot would drop off.”

“Yeah,” Mikey says with a shrug. Slipping his bag from his shoulder he looks inside and takes out a wad of tissue paper. It’s dirty and covered with crumbs he shakes off before flattening the tissue out and pressing it against his heel. Holding it in place he covers it with his blood-stained sock.

“If you had a metal foot you could kick people in the face.” Frank mimics a kick, barely missing a freshman who shrieks as she jumps to the side. Frank grins wildly and steps backwards when Mikey stands. “Superman should have had metal feet.”

“It’d make it harder to fly,” Mikey says. He takes a few steps, seemingly satisfied that the tissue is doing its job. “Superman’s a pussy.”

Frank twists around, falling into place at Mikey’s side as they join the crowd streaming into school. “That’s what I’m saying. Fucking pussy.”


Sharing a room is a pain at times, but mostly Gerard loves it.

He likes going to sleep to the sound of Mikey’s breathing, the way when he wakes and stumbles into a new day Mikey’s right there at his side.


Gerard sucks his finger into his mouth and runs his tongue over the droplet of blood.

His fingertips are a mess of tiny red pinpricks, which is cool but also fucking sucks, and he knows he should just give in and buy some kind of thimble. Except that feels a little too much like he’s doing real sewing, and right now he tries to kid himself that what he’s doing is only for Mikey.

Which it technically is, it’s not like Gerard’s making himself outfits from scratch, but he has to admit, he enjoys working with material and manipulating it until the clothes fit, matching lines and working with colors until Mikey look the best he can be.

Carefully, Gerard pushes the needle through the strap of the dress, his stitches tiny and even. When he’s finished he ties off the knot and sticks the needle in the bat plushie pin cushion and looks at the dress in his lap. This one is different to Mikey’s usual. It leaves his shoulders bare and dips low on his chest and Gerard had to talk Mikey into buying it at all, insisting he’d look good when it was finished.

And he will, Gerard knows that, because Mikey always looks good, no matter what he wears. Gerard remembers Mikey’s exposed shoulders, the way he walks when he’s wearing his heels, last night when he came out of the shower, droplets of water sliding down his bare back. They’re memories Gerard holds close, reexamining each one at length when he gets time alone. Which is the problem, and Gerard shoves the dress to one side. Head in his hands he rides the guilt that strikes hard. He’s tried to justify to himself that his feelings are due to the clothes, that he only wants Mikey because he looks different when he dresses up, he looks like a woman.

Except, that’s a lie because when Mikey’s cross-dressing Gerard only sees Mikey. Mikey looking settled in his own skin, confident and beautiful and so obviously male, but even then it’s not that simple. Gerard’s guilt is there because he doesn’t feel guilty about desiring his brother, which is stupid in a way that it isn’t at all. Because Gerard loves Mikey, and that love can never be wrong.


There’s a picture of a five year old Mikey wearing a dress. It was his mom’s and he’s holding up the front, fabric bunched in his hands and dragging behind him.

His feet are tiny in a pair of high heeled shoes and he’s got a strand of pearls wrapped around his neck, his hands on his hips as he grins at the camera.


Mikey slips his new dress over his head. It slithers over his body, a silky sleek cascade that ends at his knees. Back bare and exposed, he puts his hand at the nape of his neck, pushing up his hair.

“I think it worked,” Gerard says through a mouth full of pins before spitting them out. His hands are cool and Mikey shivers, aware of every brief touch as Gerard takes hold of the zipper and fastens the dress. “What do you think?”

Gerard sounds hopeful and Mikey takes careful steps forward. Stepping over comic books and abandoned scissors until he gets to the mirror. It’s not full length; he can see his face and the expanse of his chest, the dress that nips in at the waist before flaring slightly over his hips. Gerard’s done a good job, and Mikey nods as he looks down at his feet, at his clunky black heels and pale shins, the scab on one knee.

Mikey looks at Gerard’s reflection in the mirror. “I like it.”

“You sure?” Gerard steps forward and takes hold of one of the straps. He’s already shortened them twice, working with Mikey’s lack of breasts and thin shoulders. He tugs, pulling up the dress so it ends at mid-thigh. “You’d show more leg like this.”

Mikey considers. He likes how the dress looks already, but shorter is good. He keeps looking in the mirror, how their heads are close together, Gerard’s body warm and his hands on Mikey’s shoulders. “I think. Yeah.”

“You look good,” Gerard says, he’s looking at Mikey in the mirror, his gaze intent, and Mikey runs his tongue over his bottom lip and takes shallow breaths, his skin prickling where it’s touching Gerard. Mikey keeps watching, aching for more.

It’s the usual reaction, one that’s always there. That dizzying feeling of desire and want, made darker with the constant whisper of wrong.

Mikey turns, pushing when against the line that Gerard struggles to resist. He presses a kiss against Gerard’s mouth, eyes to the side to watch in the mirror. How Gerard’s eyes close and his hands tighten on Mikey’s shoulders, how their bodies are pressed close together until Gerard abruptly pulls back.

Gerard lets go of the straps of Mikey’s dress. “Take it off and I’ll shorten them now.” He rubs his hand over his mouth and crouches, picking up the smaller scissors.

Mikey takes off the dress and hands it over. Then sits in heels and his underwear, a quilt held over his shoulders, watching Gerard pick out stitches.


Frank keeps his skin magazines under his mattress. Playboys and Playgirls in a small, sticky pile.

His mom’s never seen them, even when she’s changing his sheets.

Each day she kisses his forehead and says that she loves him. Each time Frank says it right back.


Frank doesn’t attend school. He survives school. He spends most of his time sleeping through lessons or avoiding the rest of the student population who’re either stupid or mean or a combination of both.

The only thing Frank likes about school is lunch period, free periods and hanging out with his friends. Mostly that means irritating Bob in the canteen or smoking behind the tree at the edge of the grounds or like right now, reading in the library stacks.

“Frank.” Frank looks up when somebody hisses his name. The only person in sight is Mrs. Jenkins at her desk, and Frank knows it isn’t her speaking. He scrambles to his feet when again someone says, “Frank.”

“Hello?” Frank turns in a circle, then jumps when a book near his head shoots off of the shelf.

“It’s me, idiot,” Mikey says, peering through a gap in the books. Despite the lack of expression Frank can tell he’s laughing inside, because Mikey Way is a book throwing bastard. Frank steps close to the stack, pleased despite his racing heart. He puts his face at the gap.

“You’re supposed to be in class.”

“I’m skipping,” Mikey says. He’s got his face against the other side of the shelf and the space between them is dim and musty. “Keep me company.”

There’s not a chance Frank will say no. He glances over at Mrs. Jenkins. “Meet you outside.”

It only takes a minute to gather his books. Stuffing them in his backpack Frank flashes a smile as he leaves, says, “Bathroom,” as he opens the door. Technically he’s okay to be out of class this period but outside isn’t the library. Cautious, Frank looks both ways before hurrying along the empty corridor and out of the side entrance.

Mikey’s waiting close by, standing in plain view, like he’s got every right to be there and isn’t skipping at all. He waves his fingers at Frank and together they walk in companionable silence, skirting the sports field and heading for the bleachers. It’s a nice day and Frank enjoys the sun against his face, the smell of fresh cut grass as they duck under the first rows of seats and head for the back. It’s disgusting under there, cigarette butts, gum and trash littering the ground. Kicking away a soda can, Frank sits, his back against one of the metal supports.

Mikey sits opposite Frank, their feet touching. “Fucking school.”

“School blows,” Frank agrees, hating despite being so happy right now, just him and Mikey in their own private world. Opening his backpack he finds his cigarettes and takes one out. Lighting it he takes a drag, letting the smoke seep from his mouth as he hands it to Mikey. “Fuck that shit.”

Mikey takes the cigarette, his fingers touching Frank’s, says, “Yeah.”


Gerard’s first friend is a girl called Sunny.

They play together at recess, creating games that always end up with them running circles around the yard, Gerard’s feet thumping against the ground and Sunny looking back and laughing.

Then one day Sunny refuses to play, goes to stand with the other girls and laughs, saying Gerard is weird.

He never plays like that again.


“I’m just saying,” Gerard says. “It’s like watching a gay Degrassi.”

Mikey rolls his eyes and pointedly turns his attention back to his phone. It keeps buzzing and each time Mikey reads and then types out a reply within seconds.

Gerard thumps down on Mikey’s bed and leans against his shoulder, reading what he’s texting. “I mean, you only saw him an hour ago.”

“He’s eating muffins,” Mikey says, as if that detail is enough for the flurry of text messages between him and Frank. “They’re vegan, his mom made them.”

“Well if they’re vegan.” Gerard jerks away when Mikey jabs a sharp elbow into his side. “Seriously, ask him fucking out already.”

Mikey types out his latest reply. “It’s not like that.”

“It’s exactly like that,” Gerard says, and he knows that it is. He’s watched as Mikey and Frank became closer, Gerard’s jealousy constant and rising as they circle each other, gathering the courage to take a first step that’s denied to Gerard. It’s all kinds of frustrating and sometimes Gerard wants to shake them both for being fucking idiots. “You could ask him to the movies.”

“We already go to the movies,” Mikey says, and reads a new message. “The muffins have chocolate and blueberries.”

Sure any elbow danger is past, Gerard leans back against Mikey. “If you asked Frank out he could buy you chocolate.”

“I can buy my own chocolate,” Mikey says, and Gerard thinks he’s going to sidestep the topic like always, until Mikey sighs softly, looking down at his phone. “If he ever does ask I’d say yes.”

Gerard stares, because that makes no sense. “What if he’s waiting for you to ask first?”

“Then we’ll have fun while we wait,” Mikey says, and tilts his phone so Gerard can read the latest text. “He’s eating a second muffin. He’s hungry.”

“He’s always hungry,” Gerard says, and even though he knows Mikey’s mind is set he has to push the point. “He wants you, that’s obvious.”

“Maybe,” Mikey allows, and his phone buzzes again, vibrating in his hand. “But it’s not that simple, you know that.”

“It’s as difficult as you make it,” Gerard says, looking at who’s sent the new message. “Tell him to bring us some muffins.”

Mikey waits for a beat and then says, “Okay.”


Mikey often thinks about Frank. How his hair curls at his neck and how he smiles when he sees Mikey, the warmth of his body as they fall asleep watching movies. He imagines how Frank would look when he’s jerking off. How he’d sound, how his fingers would feel wrapped around Mikey’s cock.

It’s yet another thing Mikey shouldn’t be doing. He shouldn’t dress in women’s clothes. He shouldn’t fantasize about his best friend. He shouldn’t desire his brother. Mikey doesn’t care. He does them anyway.


“Sleep over tonight,” Frank announces, baffling happy for someone clutching a tray of vegetable mush. He sets down the tray and sits next to Bob. “Booze, babes and...” Frank trails off and then adds, “Bitching drugs.”

Mikey takes a bite of his own lunch and points his empty fork at Frank. “No babes, unless you’re counting mom.”

“No!” Frank’s eyes are wide, his mouth dropping open. “Your mom’s not a babe... I mean, she’s not a hag or anything but....” Frank turns, glaring at Bob when he mimics digging a hole. “She’s your mom.”

Mikey’s mouth twitches and he gives Frank a long look. “She’ll be out anyway.”

Frank grins. “So we’ll have the house to ourselves, sweet.”

Dubiously, Mikey pokes at what’s supposed to be meatloaf. There’s nothing special about having the house to themselves, they do most Fridays and even when his mom and dad are in they leave them alone.

“I’ve got some new stuff.” Furtively, Ray pulls a disc out of his bag, holding it between two fingers. “It’s supposed to be hard core.”

“It better be human hard core,” Bob says, scowling at the disc. “Because that shit you brought last week was fucking disgusting.”

“How was I supposed to know?” Ray asks, his voice climbing in pitch. “It’s not like it had contains tentacle fucking written on the side.”

“Wouldn’t that mean it was the tentacles being fucked?” Gerard asks and Mikey feels flushed, his thighs pressed together as he remembers tentacles sliding into bodies, the shudder one of the actors made as the badly made prop slid into his ass.

“They could be fucked through their suckers I guess, but it would have to be a minuscule dick.” Frank’s dropped his fork, his brow creased and mouth twitching as he turns to Bob. “There you go, a use for your pencil dick.”

Momentarily Bob’s still, then pounces, the table knocked as they fall to the ground. “I’ll show you my pencil dick.”

Mikey picks up his tray and keeps eating.


Wet dreams are nothing new. Even the ones about Mikey.

Frank wiggles out of his pajama pants and throws them to the floor. He’s still half hard and runs his hand over his cock, through the jizz that’s caught in his pubes and down to his balls.

He’s warm and comfortable and not freaked in the slightest.


Ray’s porn doesn’t contain tentacles.

It does contain fucking, cock sucking and a small cast of men groaning and gasping to a background of bad euro pop.

Ray’s sitting on Gerard’s bed, a pillow on his lap as he leans forward, the light from his laptop illuminating his horror-stricken expression. “Oh God, he’s putting his whole hand up there.”

Needing to see, Frank pushes Ray to one side, transfixed as onscreen, the guy’s hand slips fully inside. “If he keeps going he’ll be able to pull out his intestines.”

From the other bed there’s a squeak of marker against paper and Mikey’s a sudden heavy weight against Frank’s legs as he levers himself up to look at Gerard. Frank looks too, unsurprised when he sees that Gerard’s sketching, and, within a few deft pen-strokes, a figure appears holding a handful of guts.

“Nice,” Bob says, from where he’s sitting next to Gerard. “The blood’s a nice touch.”

Gerard smiles slightly and starts to add a second figure. “Blood makes everything better.”

It’s true, and normally Frank would chime in supporting that idea, but his attention’s been caught by the action on the screen, where the guy being fisted is grunting as the camera zooms in on his ass.

“That can’t be comfortable,” Ray says, his eyes widening even further at the extreme close up. “How does it even fit?”

Gerard looks up from his drawing, says, “Patience and lots of lube.”

“Hand size too.” Mikey flops onto his back and holds up his hands, wiggling his fingers. “I wouldn’t want fucking shovels up my ass, you know? But small hands.” He reaches out then, taking hold of Frank’s hand and holding it in the air. “That would be okay.”

It’s a mental image that goes straight to Frank’s dick. Thankful for tight pants he turns his head, looking at Mikey, who’s looking right back.


Mikey wants to die when Gerard finds out.

It’s mortifying finding him waiting, the panties Mikey stole and the dress at his side. The dress that’s too ugly, too big, too flowery, too stained from being found in a dumpster.

It’s the first time that Mikey’s ever felt ugly.


“You awake?” Frank says, then sinks his teeth in the lobe of Mikey’s ear.

Mikey squeezes shut his eyes and then blinks. Frank’s face is a pale fuzzy blur in the dark of the room. “I am now, asshole.”

Frank pushes himself up and leans over Mikey, reaching toward the floor. Frank’s heavy and warm, he smells of alcohol and sweat. “Here.”

Mikey takes his glasses that Frank’s holding, and the world comes back into focus. Frank drops back onto the bed, propped on one arm, so close Mikey can feel him breathe. He also looks wide awake, as opposed to the others, Ray and Gerard curled on the bed, Bob on a quilt on the floor.

Mikey yawns, he’s more asleep than awake, and there’s a headache lurking at the back of his skull, half buried by the lingering effects of cheap vodka and beer. “S’up?”

“I’m... Fuck,” Frank says, but to himself, like he’s having some kind of internal dialogue that’s allowing the occasional word to slip free. Mikey fights to stay awake. Frank’s his best friend and if he’s having some kind of issues Mikey’s going to help, but the facts are. It’s fucking late.

“Frank?” Mikey says, and then suddenly, Frank’s leaning in close and pressing a kiss against Mikey’s mouth. It’s not a spectacular kiss, more something that’s over in seconds and Mikey’s left staring at Frank, trying to get his brain to catch up with his body, which right now is all want.

Frank flops onto his back and stares up at the ceiling, almost inaudible as he says dejectedly, “Sorry.”

Mikey feels clumsy as he struggles to move. He rolls on his side, cursing as he miss-judges the distance and ends up lying against Frank. Not that that’s bad and Mikey’s throwing caution to the wind, the complications still there but buried by the sheer feeling of need. Mikey shifts his hand, and ends up wrapping his fingers around Frank’s upper arm, thankful that, finally, Frank’s made a move. “I’m not.”

Mikey’s imagined make out sessions under the bleachers, kisses in a bathroom, Frank on his knees in a thousand other places. But nothing like this. In Mikey’s messy bed, light beginning to bleed though the sheet at the window, Ray snoring as Mikey makes his own move.

It feels weird, this is Frank, Mikey’s best friend, someone that’s been there forever. It also feels good, better than good when Frank responds eagerly to the kiss, opening his mouth, his tongue brushing against Mikey’s.

Almost instantly Mikey’s hard. Trying for control he tries not to grind against Frank’s leg, then gives up when Frank reaches up and takes a handful of Mikey’s hair, holding on as the kiss deepens.


Frank believes in soul-mates, it’s just a case of finding the right one.

Finding that person who knows you, someone who loves you, someone who’s your lover and your best friend.


Most days Mikey arrives at school with Gerard. Waiting at his usual spot Frank watches as they round the corner, their steps slow and perfectly in sync. They both look hung over, skin pale and eyes downcast, swaddled in hoodies and coats like if they expose themselves to the sun they’ll burst into flames.

Frank shifts in place and picks at his nail. The kiss with Mikey was huge, it’s just, apart from banal text messages they haven’t talked since. Frank doesn’t know what he’s doing. If what they’re doing is a secret, hell, if they’re doing anything at all. For all Frank knows he’s destroyed their friendship for good.

“Hi,” Gerard says, and stands next to Frank. This close he’s got dark shadows under his eyes and his hand trembles a little as he takes out a cigarette and lights up. Frank stares, it’s minutes to bell and Gerard never smokes before class, especially not here, with half the student population pushing past.

“You left yesterday.” Mikey’s taking out his earbuds as he shoves himself between Frank and Gerard. “I woke up and you’d gone.”

“I told you, mom called,” Frank says. “My cousins came over.” Which Frank doesn’t mind, he likes his cousins and they always make him laugh, it’s just, the timing was awful and now he feels awkward, like there’s something between him and Mikey that neither will mention. He repositions his bag on his back. “We’d better get in.”

“Wait.” Hidden by Gerard’s body, Mikey takes hold of Frank’s wrist. “Meet me for lunch.”

Which is just weird, because they always meet for lunch, it’s just what they do. Confused, Frank’s heart skips when he feels Mikey run his thumb over the soft skin of Frank’s inner wrist. It’s a strange sensation, intimate somehow, and Frank begins to think that maybe he hasn’t messed up.


Sometimes Gerard thinks Mikey’s the bravest person he knows.

He lives his life despite fear, ignoring the doubts that have to press close. Gerard wishes he could do the same, but he can’t. He hasn’t the courage, has imagined too many painful endings, and he can’t lose Mikey too, no matter how Mikey promises that he won’t.


As usual the canteen is its own version of hell. Clutching his fork Gerard pokes at the mess on his tray, making it wobble. Today they’re sitting at a table at the back, close to the trash cans and already they’re starting to smell. Not that Gerard cares. It’s time away from class and better than that, he gets to watch Mikey, who despite his usual deadpan expression, is so happy that Gerard can’t help grinning in return.

It’s watching Mikey that tells him Frank’s entered the canteen. Gerard turns in his seat and sees that Frank’s sneering at a group of cheerleaders who giggle behind their hands as he walks past, approaching their table.

“We’ve kept you a seat,” Gerard says, his grin widening and ignoring the way Mikey’s rolling his eyes. At first Frank stands still, his brows pulled together, then sees the only free spot is next to Mikey, any other empty seats covered with coats or bags.

Frank looks at Mikey, says, “You told them?”

“I told Gerard,” Mikey says, and Gerard’s regretting his impulse to tell the others as Mikey sits frozen, tension there in the way he’s staring at Frank, as if gauging if he’s done wrong.

Frank turns to Gerard. “I suppose you told everyone else?”

He doesn’t sound angry, more resigned and Gerard thinks that maybe he won’t have to cut out his own tongue. He sets down his fork. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Fucking blabber mouth,” Frank says, but so fondly Gerard relaxes.

“I saved you a tater tot,” Mikey says then, picking the tot off his tray. “If you don’t sit I’m going to eat it.”

“Fuck that.” Frank springs forward and sets down his own tray. Fingers brushing over Mikey’s shoulder Frank sits and goes to take the tater tot, but Mikey shakes his head and holds the tot close to Frank’s mouth.

It’s a risky move for school, but they’re mostly blocked by Ray and Bob, and the nearest table is full of Gabe and his friends, none of whom would raise an eyebrow at a little hand feeding. Frank bites, Mikey’s fingers brushing against his lips before he pulls back his hand.

Bob clears his throat. “New rule, no porn while we’re eating.”

“Seconded,” Ray says, watching as Mikey sucks his own fingers. “It’s not that I’m not supportive of you dating, but no.”

Mikey rolls his eyes and pulls his fingers from his mouth. “It was one tater tot.”

Which is true, but Gerard has to side with Ray and Bob, not only because it’s risky, but more importantly, it means he doesn’t have to watch and then struggle to class with a boner.

“It was erotic feeding,” Ray says primly, his cheeks flushed. “You’re asking to be shoved in a locker.”

Frank scowls. “Low blow, Toro. But fine, it’ll keep.” He turns to Mikey. “Tonight, yeah?”

Mikey’s mouth curls into a smile and he glances at Gerard. “Tonight, then only Gerard will be watching.”

“Lucky Gerard,” Bob says dryly, and Gerard busies himself eating his lunch, trying not to dwell on tonight, and how he is lucky, and also hates his life at the same time.


Despite Gerard’s rambling monologues about acceptance and owning who you are, Mikey never goes out when he’s wearing dresses or skirts. He doesn’t want to be seen, or make a statement, or give some kind of fuck you to the world.

He doesn’t want to change who he is, or be a girl, or be labeled by any kind of psychological bullshit babble. He just likes girls clothes. Is that so wrong?


“Are you going to tell him,” Gerard asks. He’s working on Mikey’s dress again, frowning as he ensures that the fit is perfect.

Mikey winces when Gerard’s knuckles dig into his side as he folds in the waistband. “Tell who what?”

“Frank, about this.” Deftly, Gerard adds pins and then steps back. “It’s part of you, he should know.”

“It’s always been part of me and I didn’t tell him before,” Mikey says and he looks down, enjoying the way the dress nips in at the waist and then follows the line of his hips.

“If he laughs I’ll punch him in the face,” Gerard says, quickly, like even the idea freaks him out.

“What? No.” Mikey hasn’t even thought about telling Frank, but even so, he knows he won’t laugh. Truthfully, he doesn’t even know why he’s not telling, just, that he hasn’t ever had to before. Gerard found out by accident and no one else knows. “It’s not about that.”

Gerard seems relieved as he rummages in the box where he keeps his sewing supplies. Back to Mikey and looking at the contents he says casually, “It’s hot. He might like it.”

“I guess.” Carefully Mikey moves to look in the mirror. He doesn’t look particularly hot right now in the unfinished dress, acne clustered around his nose and his complexion washed out from too many late nights. But that’s now, Mikey knows when he makes the effort he looks better, but most importantly, he feels good. That’s what matters. “I’ll think about telling him.”

“Good,” Gerard turns back to Mikey, says, “Tomorrow, yeah, when he’s back from his uncle’s.”

Mikey’s stomach knots as he imagines saying the words, having to explain something that to him is nothing but normal, but finally says, “Tomorrow.”

Gerard smiles and holds up his vampire bat plushie. “Come here, I need to finish the hem.”

Getting the hem straight takes time. Gerard’s learned to sew on a steep curve and part of that is being demanding in the details, needing to get the perfect line. Mikey stands still and thinks of Frank, those thoughts tangling with his reaction to Gerard, how Mikey’s hyper aware of every tiny touch, sparks of sensation that tingle as Gerard works, kneeling at Mikey’s feet.

It’s a state abruptly smashed when there’s a sound of a door opening from upstairs and then Frank yelling, “I’m back motherfuckers!”

There’s no time to move, to do anything and Frank bursts in when Gerard’s lifting up Mikey’s dress, his shoulder against Mikey’s inner thigh.

“The fuck?” Frank’s smile is fading, going from genuine to confusion before he laughs, says, “You’re supposed to let me in on jokes, what’s the plan, you’re going out to fuck with people’s heads?”

Gerard scrambles to his feet, spitting pins into his hand as he looks at Mikey. “No, we’re....”

“It’s not a joke,” Mikey cuts in. He’s not ready but he’s not about to cheapen something he loves, plus, he knows Frank, knows that he’ll react okay. “It’s what I do.”

Frank’s smile is gone now, and he takes a further step into the room. “You dress in woman’s clothes? Like, underwear and everything?”

“Sometimes,” Mikey says, and Gerard’s linked his hand around Mikey’s wrist as Mikey scrutinizes Frank’s reaction. How he’s looking at Mikey like he’s never seen him before.

“You’re a cross-dresser,” Frank says, as if he can barely believe what he’s saying. “You’re wearing a dress.”

“Frank.” Gerard moves so he’s standing before Mikey, sheltering him as Frank keeps staring.

“I have to go.” Frank’s backing up, heading to the stairs. “I forgot something at home.”

He turns and runs, never looking back and Mikey stands frozen, then tears off the dress and runs for the bathroom. Safely inside he slams the door and fastens the lock before folding down to the floor, curled up and ignoring Gerard who’s knocking and asking to come in.

For the first time in years Mikey feels like a freak.


When Frank moves he loses his friends.

His mom says they’ll keep in touch, that there’s email and phones and buses. That never happens. Instead Frank’s left alone. With his comics and TV and his mom, needing to start over.

When he gets more friends they mean everything. The people who get him, the people he knows.


Frank’s hands ache, his toes throbbing from where he’s kicked at and pummeled his bed. Head in his hands he sits on the bare mattress, the sheets and pillows at his feet and feels guilty about running, so horribly, painfully fucking guilty that he’s having to pull each breath through a band around his chest.

He eyes his phone, needing to call Mikey, is reaching out when there’s a knock at the door.

His mom’s at work and he thinks about hiding, pretending he’s heard nothing at all. Instead Frank crawls off of his bed, pushes himself upright and looks out of the window. He’s expecting to see Mikey -- hopes, fears, hopes to see Mikey -- but instead it’s Gerard. He’s standing back from the front door, looking up at Frank’s window. When he sees Frank he says, “Open the fucking door.”

He doesn’t sound angry, but Frank knows that’s a cover. He braces himself as he slowly goes downstairs and lets Gerard in.

“Is your mom here?” Gerard asks, and at Frank’s shake of his head Gerard drops the act and says, “I should punch you in the fucking head.”

Each word is like ice and Frank wants to turn from the contempt in Gerard’s expression. Except, he needs to see that contempt, that rage, because Frank deserves it all. All he can think about is the way Mikey looked before Frank ran. Small and defeated and utterly ashamed. Frank hates that he did that, and if Gerard wants he’ll stand still for every punch. He takes a step back and says, “Go on.”

Gerard makes a fist and pulls back his hand, and Frank braces himself, disappointed when Gerard drops his arm. “I expected better from you.”

It hurts more than a punch. Head down and shoulders slumping Frank wants this day to start over. That he didn’t come home early and go to the Ways, or else, reacted differently when he did. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not me you should be saying that too,” Gerard says. He takes a deep breath and runs his hands through his hair, barely able to look at Frank. “You made him think he’s doing something wrong, and no one gets to do that, not even you.” Gerard’s fingers twitch and he presses his hands against his thighs. “Cross-dressing isn’t wrong, Mikey isn’t wrong, I can’t even believe that you thought....”

“I didn’t leave because of that.” Frank feels sick, even worse than before, because it wasn’t that at all. He starts to push past Gerard. “I need to go see him and explain.”

“You need to stay here and tell me what the fuck you’re going to say first.” Gerard’s grabbed hold of Frank’s arm, and as placid as he usually is, Frank knows there’s no way he’s going to get free.

Gerard’s love for Mikey is one of the things that Frank loves most, but right now all he wants to do is get away. Briefly he considers physically struggling free, but Gerard’s holding so tight his fingers are white against Frank’s arm. Resigned, Frank starts to explain. “It’s not that he was cross-dressing, I don’t care about that. Why the hell should I? It’s because he never told me.”

Gerard’s loosens his grip a little, but he’s still holding on. “You’re telling me you hurt Mikey because he hurt your feelings?”

Said like that it sounds petty, but Mikey is Frank’s best friend, his boyfriend, they tell each other everything. At least Frank thought they did, until he found out there was a huge part of Mikey’s life he didn’t know at all. Frank feels cast aside and rejection presses heavy. “He should have told me.”

“He was going to,” Gerard says, and he fully loosens his grip, gently rubbing the finger marks on Frank’s arm. “You two need to talk.”

“I know” Frank says, relieved when he’s pulled into a sudden hug. Frank leans heavily against Gerard, enjoying the feel of Gerard’s arms around his body, the softness of his belly and chest that’s so different to Mikey. “I’m going there now.”

“Good,” Gerard says, his head close to Frank’s. “But if you hurt him again, I will punch you.”

Frank believes him.


It’s Gerard that suggests they go shopping.

They tour the thrift shops and Mikey stands off on his own, awkward and sure everyone’s talking behind his back. All Gerard does is keep looking. That day they come home with a black dress and a pack of new underwear. They’re blue with lace at the hip.

Mikey loves them, but not as much as he loves his brother.


Mikey lies on his bed, earbuds in and music turned up loud.

Usually that’s enough to keep him from thinking, the sheer volume driving away any thoughts. Right now it’s not working. Mikey keeps remembering Frank’s face, the way he looked as he stared at Mikey, how he turned and ran away.

Mikey’s stomach cramps and he squeezes shut his eyes, forcing away the tears that continue to prickle. He’s not going to cry over Frank, Frank’s an asshole and Mikey hates him.

Except, he doesn’t at all.

A lone tear squeezes free and Mikey turns on his side, burying his face in his pillow. He’s there for five songs, breathing against the damp fabric, his glasses digging into his face. Locking in his own misery he doesn’t hear anyone enter the room, and jumps when someone touches his shoulder. Expecting Gerard, Mikey freezes when he turns and sees that it’s Frank. He looks miserable and is saying Mikey’s name, his mouth forming the word, inaudible against the thumping music.

Frank tugs the earbud from Mikey’s ear, says, “I’m sorry.”

Mikey doesn’t reply, his world some kind of surreal split where Morrissey is singing in one ear and the other is listening to Frank, who’s keeping a careful distance between himself and Mikey as he settles himself on the edge of the bed.

“I’m an asshole,” Frank says, and tentatively touches Mikey’s leg. “But I didn’t go because of what you were doing, the uh, clothes things. I’m an asshole but not that big of a one.”

Mikey tugs his other earbud out of his ear, surprised when Frank suddenly socks him one on the thigh, not enough to hurt but a definite thump.

“You didn’t tell me,” Frank says, and despite the punch he doesn’t sound angry, more confused. “I thought we told each other everything.”

It’s true. Frank tends to call Mikey when he’s taking a shit just to say what he’s doing and together they’ve talked about everything from boners to TV to which president’s wife had the best tits. Mikey sits and draws up his legs, wrapping his arms around his knees.

“I was going to tell you,” Mikey says, and the misery that’s lodged in his belly lessens a little when Frank moves up the bed and sits next to Mikey, mimicking his pose.

“Good,” Frank says, and he’s looking at the dress that’s still crumpled in a corner. “How often do you do it? I mean, uh, be a woman.”

“It’s not like that,” Mikey says. He wants to explain but can’t seem to find the correct words to what to him is something perfectly normal, eventually he settles for, “I don’t want to be a woman. I want to be me, just I like to wear women’s clothes.”

“Okay,” Frank says, seemingly accepting the explanation. “So what do you do, wait until I go and then dress up?”

Despite the casual question hurt bleeds from Frank’s tone. Mikey turns to him and says, “I didn’t deliberately shut you out.” Except that’s not true and Mikey amends, “Okay, I did, but not like you think. I didn’t know how to tell you, I haven’t had to before.”

“You told Gerard.”

“No, he found out,” Mikey says, and sighs as he remembers that heart-to-heart with Gerard and how before that Mikey had felt ugly and ashamed. “Story of my life.”

Frank lists to the side and rests his head against Mikey’s shoulder. “I’m still pissed you didn’t tell me but I’m sorry I ran.”

Mikey relaxes even more, relieved that Frank’s come back, that he’s settling in to stay. Mikey rests his head against Frank’s, says, “What do you want to know?”


Within days of getting his own computer Frank’s signed up for X Tube and has a folder of porn hidden deep in his files.

He likes to watch it late at night, lotion and tissues close by, becoming an expert at surfing one handed.


Normally Frank has no issues about talking at all. He’ll talk about anything, even things he knows nothing about. Today he knows stuff -- sort of -- but each time he opens his mouth nothing comes out. Eventually Mikey snaps and pushes Frank into the nearest bathroom.

“Jesus, what?”

It’s gross in the bathroom. There’s toilet paper in wet clumps on the floor and one of the urinals is blocked, the same as every day really, and Frank ducks down, checking for feet in the stalls. When he’s sure they’re alone he straightens, says, “I did some research, about, you know.”

Mikey goes an interesting shade of red as he looks toward the door. “Are you trying to get me killed? Don’t say that shit here.”

“Everyone’s going to class,” Frank says, the sound of the bell backing him up. They should be in class too but now that they’re here Frank knows he has to talk before he loses his nerve. “I Googled, looked at some pictures and read some shit.

“Good for you,” Mikey says, and he’s as tense as Frank’s ever seen him. “What do you want, an ‘I can Google’ award?”

Frank feels like the worst kind of boyfriend as Mikey completely shuts down in a way he never is around friends. His arms crossed and looking through Frank as if he isn’t there at all. Frank takes a step forward. “Dress up for me.”

“What?” That gets Mikey’s attention and he stares directly at Frank. “No.”

It feels like a rejection, and Frank reminds himself that his timing is awful, that asking here’s the worst place he can imagine. If he was any kind of good person he’d drop it and head off for class, but he can’t. He’s spent hours reading about cross dressing and looking at pictures but it isn’t the same. Those people were words on a page, pictures on a website. They weren’t Mikey.

“I just. It’s part of you,” Frank says, and he’s starting to hate this thing that’s so awkward between them. “I don’t want you to hide.”

Mikey drops his arms but his hands remain clenched. “I’ll think about it.”

“Okay,” Frank says, and knows that’s the best that he’ll get.

Gerard believes in tolerance and respect. He lives his life by those codes. It’s why he was so shocked at his reaction when he found the dress and panties.

Even now he feels guilty, but the facts are, what’s obvious in theory is different when it’s happening to your own little brother.


“What about this?” Gerard stops leafing through the clothes on the rack and pushes a section aside. He exposes a skirt, it’s long, pin-striped and nipped in at the waist. It’ll be perfect for Mikey and Gerard unhooks the skirt and holds it up in the air, his brow creased as it he looks at the size. “It’ll be a little big but I can fix that.”

Mikey steps close and runs his fingers over the fabric. As always his reactions are guarded but his mouth curls slightly into a smile and he says, “I’m gonna buy it.”

Gerard’s glad, both that Mikey likes his choice and also that for the first time today he’s actually smiling. Happy that he suggested they go shopping Gerard drapes the skirt over his shoulder and imagines Mikey in the skirt and what’s already hidden away in his closet. “You’ll need a shirt to match, something plain.”

Gerard goes back to searching the racks, discarding the too-old or too-worn or the plain too-ugly. All the time he’s watching Mikey out of the corner of his eye. He’s leafing through a rail of t-shirts, gaze unfocused and Gerard suspects he’s seeing nothing that’s actually physically there.

Gerard tugs at a hideous pink dress and it clatters along the rail. It’s seeing Mikey like this that makes Gerard want to grab hold of Frank and shake him, which is unfair because after thinking it through Gerard can understand his reaction. It’s just, that understanding doesn’t help when Mikey’s so conflicted, unsure about sharing a part of his life that he’s previously held close.

Plus, Gerard has to admit, there’s a part of him that’s jealous, that Mikey’s even thinking about allowing Frank into that part of his life. It’s a part of himself Gerard hates because he’s got no hold over Mikey. This is his life, his secret to share and Frank should see. He’s important to Mikey, his boyfriend, and Gerard’s going to encourage Mikey to give him a chance.

If that means Gerard has to share something that made him feel special. Well it’ll fucking suck but he’ll cope.

Reaching the end of the rail Gerard moves over to Mikey’s who’s staring at the wall of books. “There’s nothing else here. Come on.”

They go to the register and Gerard hands over the skirt. The woman behind the counter is old, her hair a pale violet and she’s wearing red plastic glasses. She rings up the price and smiles at Gerard. “Shopping for your mom, boys?”

It’s nothing they haven’t heard before and Gerard grins back as he says, “No, for me. Think it’ll fit?”

It’s an old joke, something Gerard does to provoke a reaction. Today though, the woman looks over her glasses, her lips pursed as she looks at Gerard while dropping the skirt in a bag. “I don’t know, honey. You could maybe do with a bigger size. Something a bit wider to accommodate your rump. There’s some a-lines in the back, I can get them if you like.”

Gerard’s smile fades and he hands over the money before grabbing the bag. “Er, thanks, but it’s okay.”

Plastic clenched in his hand he hurries for the door, Mikey close behind him.

“Did she say I had a fat ass?” Gerard demands of Mikey as soon as they’re outside. He looks at his ass in the reflection of the window and then stares at Mikey who’s making no attempt to hide his laughter.

“She burned you,” Mikey says, smiling wide as he slaps Gerard on the ass. “Come on fat ass, you can buy me a coffee.”

“You should be buying me a coffee,” Gerard grumbles, but he’s already moving in the direction of the nearest Starbucks. As they walk Gerard keeps thinking about Frank, how he’s trying and how already he’s an important part of Mikey’s life. A part that’s going nowhere, and Gerard knows Mikey needs to see Frank while he’s dressed up, even if it means letting him into something that was Mikey and Gerard’s alone.

Acting on the thought, Gerard grabs hold of Mikey and tugs him to a bench and sits down. “You should show Frank.”

Mikey makes no pretense of misunderstanding, just says, “He ran.”

“And he explained why.” Mikey keeps staring blankly at an advertisement about apples and Gerard breaks out the big guns.

“I ran at first.”

Mikey shakes his head. “No you didn’t.”

Gerard wishes that was true, but the truth is, he did run, even if it wasn’t the same way as Frank. “I ran mentally.” It’s not the proudest time in Gerard’s life, when he spent almost a whole night awake telling himself that Mikey was barely a teen and that cross-dressing was only a phase. It was easier that way, instead of thinking there was an important part of his life he hadn’t shared with Gerard.

“That makes no sense,” Mikey says and scratches at a zit on his chin. “And even if you did, you woke up and Googled sewing.”

“Because the dress you had was fucking hideous.” Which it was, and even if Gerard didn’t fully understand at first, he wasn’t about to let Mikey look bad. He looks fully at Mikey, says, “Give him the chance.”

Finally, Mikey nods and says, “Okay.”


Mikey likes make-up. His eyes outlined and mouth made glossy.

He never wears much, just enough that he can see a difference, that subtle change that alters his face and makes him more. Makes him look pretty.


Mikey stands in one place. Nerves make him feel sick and he’s regretting ever saying yes. It’s all right Frank catching a glimpse or knowing in theory, actually being here, seeing Mikey get dressed. It’s like taking a leap in the dark, and Mikey imagines crashing, Frank being unable to cope.

“If you really don’t want him to see I’ll phone.” Gerard watching from his bed and he picks up his phone, showing it to Mikey. “Just say the word.”

It’s an out Mikey wants to take. But he won’t, despite his nerves he still trusts Frank and he shakes his head, says, “No.”

“You’re doing the right thing.” Gerard stands and walks over to Mikey. Despite being that little bit shorter he stands behind him, pulling Mikey close and holding on. Mikey lets his head tip back and closes his eyes, breaths deep until his only awareness is Gerard’s body. The warmth of his breath, the strength in his arms, the way his hair tickles as Gerard presses a kiss against Mikey’s ear. “You’re showing him how beautiful you are, that’s all.”

Mikey snorts out a laugh. He’s not beautiful, no matter what Gerard keeps saying.

“Fine,” Gerard says, as if Mikey voiced some reply. “Not beautiful, hot.”

Mikey can live with that. He turns his head, his mouth almost brushing Gerard’s. “Why’s this so hard?”

Gerard doesn’t reply straight away, just looks directly at Mikey, then says, “Because life fucking sucks.”

Mikey has to agree.


Frank keeps his values held close.

He presents a fuck you attitude to the world, and that’s not a lie. Just, he believes in other stuff too. Being polite to your elders, trying your best at all times. He doesn’t see how those things can’t be mutually exclusive.


Mikey’s crouching, a canvas bag at his feet. His t-shirt has ridden up at the back and there’s a small bruise just off centre to his spine. He looks over his shoulder at Frank. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Frank says. The basement feels too hot and he rubs at his face, expecting to feel sweat. There’s none there and he drops his hands to his lap, entwining his fingers.

“Right,” Mikey says, soft, as if he’s talking to himself more than Frank. He opens the bag and then stands.

"Wear the short one,” Gerard suggests. He’s standing between Mikey and Frank, a human barrier off to one side and Frank knows if he makes one wrong move, one wrong reaction Gerard will act. It’s enough to make Frank feel even more nervous and he swallows and tightens his hands.

At first, there’s nothing unusual. Mikey peels off his jeans and t-shirt, dropping them to one side. He’s moving quickly and within seconds is standing in underwear and dirty white socks. Frank relaxes a little, this is Mikey, Mikey with his knock-knees and skinny arms and five hairs on his chest.

It isn’t even weird that Mikey’s half-naked and Gerard’s here too. It’s just how it is, and Frank’s used to seeing them together, side by side, a united force against the world.

Except, things are changing, the setting the same, the people the same, but the rest not at all. Gerard takes a dress out of the bag and unfolds it, handing it to Mikey, who glances at Frank before pulling it on. At first it looks like some kind of shirt, but he keeps going and then it’s obviously a dress, tight fitting from bodice to skirt. It’s got a long zip at the back, and Mikey’s back is exposed, his shoulder blades sharp and his skin smooth and pale. He pushes his hand under his hair at the neck, lifting it up as Gerard takes hold of the zip.

It’s a surprising intimate gesture. It shouldn’t be, Frank’s fastened his mom’s dresses before and he knows it’s nothing but a zip and fabric, a few seconds in time if that, but Gerard’s standing close, his mouth the slightest bit open, his attention wholly on Mikey.

It’s like he’s looking at something precious, and he fastens the zip slowly, the knuckles of his hand following the line of Mikey’s spine. It’s one of the hottest things Frank’s ever seen.

Immediately he feels guilty. This is Mikey and Gerard, brothers, but Frank watches as Gerard finishes fastening the zip and runs his fingers across the base of Mikey’s neck, how Mikey’s eyes flutter closed before he moves his hand.

Frank pushes his own hands hard into his lap. When Gerard crouches and rummages in the bag, then looks up. “You want everything?”

“Not today,” Mikey says, and he hitches up the skirt of his dress. His thighs and the bottom of his ass exposed, he wiggles out of his underwear and takes the pair of panties that Gerard holds out. They’re blue and impossibly tiny; Frank can’t imagine how Mikey can even get them on over his junk.

“Fuck,” Frank says softly, unable to help speaking out loud. Any thoughts about size issues driven from his mind when Mikey puts one hand on Gerard’s head, balancing himself as he lifts up his foot. Gerard feeds the panties over Mikey’s ankle, then again with the other side when Mikey swaps feet.

Frank’s heart is thundering in his chest and he can’t look away from Gerard’s hands where he’s holding the panties, his paint-splashed fingers and dirty nails against blue lace and Mikey’s calf. If he goes any higher Frank thinks he’ll come in his pants, and everything’s a mix of hot, pervert, hot .

Gerard doesn’t go further, and Frank’s glad and yet not. He palms his dick through his jeans and tries not to groan when Mikey hitches his dress right up and adjusts the panties, tucking in his junk until there’s only the most slightest of bulge.

“Told you you look hot,” Gerard says, and looks over at Frank before turning back to Mikey. “Shoes?”

“I think, yeah.” Mikey’s tugging at his dress, pulling it straight, and Frank doesn’t know where to look. At Mikey’s hips that seem more rounded under the tight fabric of his dress, the shadow between his thighs or the dip of his collar bone. Frank wants to look at them all, touch them all and he’s forcing himself to sit still when Gerard returns with the shoes.

Frank takes in a sharp breath. The shoes are high-heeled but in a way that’s all Mikey. They’re black, clunky with straps and Mikey eases his feet into each one, stands still as Gerard kneels at his feet and fastens each buckle.

Mikey’s resting his hand on Gerard’s head, fingers pushed in his hair. He looks at Frank, and beneath the cool gaze uncertainty is still there. “I use make-up sometimes, other shit too, but...”

“You look amazing,” Frank says, so fucking turned on he feels like he’s about to explode. “Jesus, Mikey. Look at you.”

Gerard finishes fastening the buckles and steps to the side, leaving Mikey standing alone. His legs look endless, his shoulders straight, but more than anything, Frank’s looking at his face, loving how confident Mikey seems, his happiness as he realizes Frank likes what he sees.

“You look fucking amazing.” Frank stands, making no attempt to hide that he’s hard. “You’re. Fuck.”

Frank wants to run, but approaches slow, stepping over discarded clothes until he’s standing next to Mikey. In his heels he’s even taller than usual, and Frank pushes himself on his tiptoes and hooks his hand around Mikey’s head. Fingers tangled in his hair he urges him down, and Mikey goes, meeting Frank half way.

The kiss is long and Frank needs to touch. He slides his hand down Mikey’s body and under his dress, loving the way Mikey shudders as Frank hooks his fingers under his panties, touching his dick.

“Frank,” Mikey says, his voice rough and Frank wants to push Mikey onto the bed and fuck up his panties, take them off with his teeth.

“I want, bed.” Frank keeps holding on, taking stumbling steps while wrapped together, then looks around, remembering Gerard.

“He’s gone,” Mikey says, and that’s all Frank needed to know. He twists around and pushes so Mikey’s sprawled on the bed. Heels digging into the mattress and knees parted. Wanton and so fucking hot that Frank’s hardly breathing as finally he pounces.



blast me