Tastes Just Like Cherry Cola: gift for [livejournal.com profile] turps33

Dec. 27th, 2012 01:36 pm
[identity profile] stuffitmod.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] bandomstuffsit
Title: Tastes Just Like Cherry Cola
Author: [livejournal.com profile] art_brutal
Pairing(s): Frank Iero/Mikey Way
Rating: R (for expletives and consensual sex)
Warnings: Derogatory comments (by an OC), drunken decisions, faily boys being a bit clueless about gender identities and what it means when a person wears a skirt.
Word count: ~7000
Summary: Frank has liked Mikey from afar but, until now, hasn't found a way to get close to him. Of course, things don't run smoothly and Frank finds out more about Mikey (and himself) than he expects. AU (no MCR). Written in British English so by pants I mean underpants.

Tastes Just Like Cherry Cola

Frank snagged another bottle of domestic brew from the fridge and wended his way – slightly less steadily than usual – into the lounge. It was still early, especially for one of Pete's epic parties, but he'd had a fucker of a week at work and didn't want to think about anything beyond the end of his six-pack of beer.

He spotted a figure across the darkened room, leaning against the wall, one hip cocked suggestively to reveal a flash of skin between belt and shirt, and with a tall skinny guy looming over her. Something familiar about the figure made him do a double-take. For a split second he couldn't place where he knew her from and then the guy shifted and revealed that the girl was in fact Mikeyfuckingway. Huh, he thought.

Frank's mind was confused at his mistake but his dick had no such issues of alcohol clouding its judgement and it gave a stir acknowledging its long-term interest in Mikey. Having nursed a crush on Mikey from afar for the last few (or more) months, he figured that the party was the perfect chance to actually engage him in a conversation, if not something more physical. He tried to catch Mikey's eye and raise his bottle in greeting but Mr Tall, Long-haired and Irritating shifted back into Mikey's space. Mikey ducked his head submissively, obscuring his face from view, and the guy moved in closer, slinging his arm around Mikey's shoulder, and causing Mikey to move in even closer, obviously enjoying the attention.

Fuck, thought Frank there goes my chance.

Lurching in the opposite direction, Frank made his way to the front porch for a smoke, pretending that had been his destination all along. He didn't notice that Mikey's eyes flickered to his back and followed him out.

“Partying hard already, little man?” Bob greeted him, smirking.

“Fuck you,” Frank returned, half-heartedly, hopping up on the railings. He held his cigarette out for Bob to light it with the butt of his own.

“Come on. Out with it. I can be all Oprah and shit,” Bob offered, hands spread.

Frank gave him a doubtful look and then thought fuck it. Telling Bob his woes couldn't make him any more pathetic.

“I've had the worst week at work, my boss is constantly riding my ass, I haven't had sex with something that isn't my right hand in months, and I was gonna talk to him tonight but he's pretty obviously interested in someone else.”

Frank didn't have to explain to whom he was referring: his epic crush on Mikey was common knowledge amongst his friends.

“Dude, that sucks,” Bob commiserated. “Do you wanna get out of here? Go grab a veggie burger or something?”

“Nah,” Frank said. Bob was a good friend, but all he wanted to do was get wasted at the party and definitely not skulk in the corner sneaking glances at Mikey and feeling sorry for himself.

“Don't worry about it Iero. No offence, but I don't think you're his type anyway. I'm here if you need me, little man,” Bob said as he held out his fist.

“Hey, cut that “little” crap out!” Frank protested, but he returned the fist bump before heading back inside, wondering what Bob meant about Mikey's “type”.


Feeling more than a little buzzed, Frank graciously allowed the wall to hold him up while he scanned the room. Mikey was still enraptured by Giant McStringyHair, as Frank had now dubbed him. Frank watched as Mikey casually leaned against the opposite wall, one hand loosely clasping a glass of amber-coloured liquid and the other rubbing at the back of his neck as he looked up into his suitor's eyes. Frank had seen Mikey pull off that move before: masquerading as the prey and allowing some guy to chase him. He looked almost shy and it never failed to get him to his desired destination of a bed/sofa/cupboard/back seat of a car with his desired partner.

A laugh – almost a giggle, really – emanated from Mikey as he leaned into the guy who was invading – albeit with an invitation – his personal space and smiled.

Frank had watched from afar and seen how easily Mikey led boys and men into his bed. It seemed like the natural progression of a conversation with Mikey, something intimate and exciting, not sordid and slutty. Get a grip, Frank thought, trying to stop his Mikey-related thoughts from spiralling into the realm of bad song lyrics.

Everyone knew who Mikey was: younger brother of that scarily talented (and just a little bit scary) guy Gerard Way, not that Frank knew Gerard personally. They were both scene fixtures, Gerard by reputation and Mikey by visibility. Mikey was like a cross between scene queen and the scene's communal little brother. His list of sexual partners was legendary but he somehow managed to stay friends with them afterwards, from Gabe, who just then passed by Mikey and offered a quick squeeze of his shoulder along with his most lascivious grin, to Pete who'd become a regular partner to Mikey, despite claiming hetero status. Frank would do anything to be on that list. He wasn't drunk enough to expect anything more.


“Argghh!” Frank not so suavely exclaimed as Pete crashed into him with something resembling a hug and a full-body tackle.

“What's up, little dude?” Pete asked.

“Cut the “little” crap, Pete. You're as ineligible for the NBA as I am.” Frank's tolerance for Pete's friendly jibes was extra low.

“Calm down, man. This is meant to be a party,” Pete tried to placate him. “It's Friday night, there's beer in the fridge and a house full of my favourite people. What's not to like?”

Pete swung his arm around Frank's shoulders, sloshing some of said beer onto the floor and not even noticing. Now facing the same direction as Frank, his eyebrows shot up when he realised what Frank was looking at so moodily.

“Have you met Mikey Way? You must have met Mikeyfuckingway. Everyone has. You'll like him. Lemme take you over-”

“NO!” Frank cut him off. He had no desire to awkwardly insert himself between Mikey and the guy who was pawing at him. He cursed inwardly at his pathetic moping over a guy he'd never even spoken to. “I'm fine here.”

Pete had a pretty good bullshit detector and Frank knew he hadn't fooled him. Especially when Pete said:

“The thing you have to know about Mikey is that, well, he's different. Everyone thinks they know him, see him at parties and clubs, but there's other stuff going on. Figure it out and you'll have a shot. But I don't know if it's your scene.”

And with that Pete disappeared in the direction of the kitchen, from which Frank heard the semi-appalled grunts of his next hugging victim. If there was anything Frank had less tolerance for than Pete's height jokes, it was Pete when he thought he was being all enigmatically cryptic like Mr Miyagi or some shit.


The beer pong had been a good distraction and it was genuinely good to catch up with some of the guys he hadn't seen in a while – he was pretty sure that the new band Brendon, Ryan, Jon and Spencer had just formed was going to be great, if not really his taste – but he'd accepted that the evening was going to end with him returning to an empty home for re-runs of The Twilight Zone and a date with his faithful right hand.

He hollered a goodbye in Bob's direction and decided that interrupting Pete's doomed attempts to chat up Lyn-Z would not be welcomed. He was almost out the front door and starting on the short walk home when he heard raised voices, even above the booming music – was that Abba? – coming from around the corner, under the stairs, where he'd last seen Mikey.

“-there's nothing “sick” about it. So what if a guy wants to wear a skirt? I don't get why you have a problem with it.”

That was definitely Mikey's voice, tinged with steel, and at the mention of a skirt, Frank stalled.

“It's fuckin' gross. If I wanted to lay a girl, I'd lay a girl, not some guy dressed up to pretend.”

Frank peered around the corner and saw the same guy looming over Mikey, but all indications of reciprocation had gone. Mikey had crossed his arms and angled his body away, looking hunched down and defensive, yet his words were defiant.

“Think what you fucking like,” he almost spat at the tall guy. “There's nothing wrong with it.”

“Freak,” the tall guy mumbled and turned to walk away. Frank watched him leave by the front door and, grabbing Ray's arm as he passed by, asked who he was. Ray shrugged to indicate he didn't know and Frank, rather than follow the guy out to give him a lecture on tolerance (with his fists), turned back to Mikey, who was still standing in the same spot, looking pissed off and miserable.

“That guy's a dick,” Frank offered.

Mikey looked at him, surprised. “You heard that?”

“Yeah. If someone's not into something, why can't they just live and let live, ya know? Instead of trying to make the other person feel shitty about it.”

“It just pisses me off. What's the problem with a guy wearing a skirt, or a ballgown, or women's jeans and a freakin' tiara? It's just clothes.”

Frank looked Mikey up and down, taking in the pink t shirt that looked like it had come from Forever 21. In his alcohol-addled brain things were clicking into place. He tried to remember what other clothes he'd seen Mikey wear. There was nothing that overtly screamed crossdresser but, now that he thought about it, his t shirts were a little girly, his belts tended towards the sparkly, and was that a smudge of kohl around his eyes? Pete's comment from earlier suddenly started to make a lot of sense. Frank had no desire to wear a dress – he wasn't keen to be treated like a girl – but the idea of Mikey not feeling comfortable enough to wear what he wanted in public, or getting shit from overgrown idiots made his heart clench. He determined to fix it.

“People should wear whatever they want. I bet you'd look great in anything.” Frank reached out and fingered the hem of Mikey's pink t shirt.

Mikey's gaze latched onto his and he looked as if we was appraising Frank in a new light.

“I couldn't agree more.” Mikey replied, earnestly.

A plan was beginning to form in Frank's mind.

“Have you got a pen?” he asked.

Mikey made an eyeliner pencil appear out of an impossibly tight pocket.

Frank took the proffered writing implement and coloured in Mikey's forearm with his phone number.

“Tomorrow night. You free?” He looked at Mikey for confirmation and received a nod and a pleased smile. Frank's alcohol-induced bravado willed him onwards. “OK, tomorrow night we're going out. I'll pick you up at eight. Text me your address.”

“OK,” Mikey agreed, and Frank resumed his exit, turning back at the last minute to add.

“And, oh yeah, wear your prettiest dress.”

Without waiting for a reply he strode out the door, trying not to hyperventilate about the massive chance he'd just taken.


The cold fresh air hit Frank's airways and he realised what he'd done. At the top of the freak-out list was the fact that he'd just asked – no demanded – that Mikey go on a date with him. This was quickly followed by the worry that, although he had nothing against crossdressing, it wasn't one of his kinks. He could appreciate that, from an aesthetic point of view, Mikey might look great in swirls of soft fabric, ribbons and high heels but the thought didn't turn him on. It didn't exactly turn him off either, though, which he counted as lucky. But what would Mikey expect from him? Before that douchebag had revealed his narrow-mindedness, Mikey had seemed to be really into him, seemed to enjoy being chatted up, loomed over and, for lack of a better description, treated like a girl. Would he expect the same from Frank?


After fumbling with his front door key for longer than Frank felt was acceptable, he entered his flat and flopped onto the nearest chair. He figured he had better find out what he'd let himself in for and retrieved his phone to call Pete. After all, he knew Mikey better than most.

Pete answered after an agonising wait and Frank remembered that – duh – there was still a party going on.

“Pete! I may have done the best thing ever. Or the worst,” Frank started. “You have to help me.”

“You're being more melodramatic than I am – this must be serious,” Pete replied.

“I'm going on a date with Mikey, like tomorrow. But I found some stuff out and I need to know a bit more about it. I thought you might know?”

“What stuff?” There was a not-so muffled crash from Pete's end and he shouted something that Frank couldn't decipher.

“You still there?”

“Uh...yeah Frank, go ahead.”

“Well, I overheard Mikey talking about crossdressing. There was this douchebag guy I've never seen before – tall, stringy hair, you know him? – anyway, this guy was getting all in his face about how it was wrong and Mikey was pretty pissed off. I just. I never realised.”

There was another crash from Pete's end and someone who wasn't Pete cackling near the phone.

“You listening Pete?”

“Yeah, yeah, crossdressing, asshole, got it. What do you want to know?”

“Did you know about the crossdressing?”

“Yeah, of course. Everyone does, don't they? He doesn't exactly hide it. And there was that one time, at college, in that dress...” Pete trailed off.

Frank was surprised. Apparently he was the last to know.

“But, like, what does it mean, in terms of, like, sex? Is he into kinky shit?”

“How the fuck should I know?” Pete said. Frank supposed that, yeah, he and Mikey had been close but probably hadn't had the most physical relationship, what with Pete only being “gay-above-the-waist,” as he kept reminding them all.

“Look,” Pete continued. “I think it's a lifestyle thing for him. He wears whatever makes him feel comfortable and sometimes that's a Hawaiian shirt, sometimes it's a poncho and sometimes it's a floral-patterned summer dress with strappy sandals. When he's dressed as a girl he pretty much acts like a girl, likes his date to open doors and shit. Not that I spend a lot of time thinking about it, but I'm pretty sure that extends to sex as well. Last guy I saw him with makes Ray look like a 90lb weakling, and the last girl I saw him with looked like she could cut my balls off with one glance. That what you wanna know? Because as much as I love to discuss the Ways at late o'clock, I've got a party to get back to.”

“Yeah thanks. Have fun, man.”

Frank dropped the phone and sprawled in his chair. He couldn't remember Mikey wearing any of the outfits Pete had described but he reasoned that he hadn't seen him that many times before. Something about what Pete said was niggling at him but before he could work out what it was he was fast asleep, drooling into a cushion, with images of red lace panties cropping up all throughout his dreams.


Frank was pretty sure that he was having stroke as the strains of Rihanna startled him awake into a dehydrated and potentially homicidal state. Was imagining hearing pop music one of the symptoms of a stroke? A few mental cogs slipped into gear and he realised it was more likely to be a hangover combined with Pete messing with his phone, and cursed himself for thinking that alcohol was a good solution to his problems.

Rolling his shoulders to crack his spine and cursing the “decision” to sleep in a chair he made his way to the kitchen for enough coffee to make him feel human again.

Something nagged at him from the night before. An image came into his mind of Mikey in stockings and a short skirt on the arm of a greaser-looking guy. The imaginary greaser slapped Mikey on the ass, which made Mikey giggle demurely and look at him adoringly. Fucking weird, thought Frank, as he shook his head to dispel the image.

His phone chimed again to alert him to the unread text message and as he thumbed his phone, fragments of the night came back to him. As he read the address, and noted that it was only a 15-minute drive, he remembered Mikey's defence of crossdressing and Pete's corroboration. He remembered that, somehow, he'd gotten up the nerve to ask Mikey out, all hopped up on adrenaline from his outrage at that narrow-minded asshole who was arguing with Mikey. And, best of all, that Mikey had said yes. So what if Mikey was looking for a stereotypical manly man to complement his crossdressing feminine identity? For Mikey, Frank would be that guy.


At 8.20 Frank headed to the front door of the house Mikey had directed him to. He figured that being 20 minutes late showed just the right amount of “I don't care” attitude. He'd always thought he made a pretty decent boyfriend. Hyperactive and sometimes annoying, sure, but also caring and willing to compromise. One of his favourite things about dating guys was the assumed equality. Yeah, they'd take turns making decisions out of the bedroom, and topping and bottoming in the bedroom, but they shifted between roles and it was a reciprocal thing. There was none of the bullshit of gender stereotypes: woman had to like cushions and babies and making cakes; men had to like football and car engines and missing the toilet seat. Frank liked football as much as the next (stereotypically masculine) guy, but he could also rock a mean vegan cupcake and definitely wanted kids someday. For him, a relationship was all about communication and give-and-take.

He gave himself a mental shake. This wasn't a relationship. It was one date (and hopefully some great sex) with a guy he'd been lusting after from afar. For one night he could be someone else – someone that Mikey wanted.

A mid-afternoon panicked call to his cousin Vince for covert dating advice had given him some pointers, despite the fact that men – of the type his cousin and, apparently Mikey, valued – don't ask for fucking dating advice. Vince's side of the family were a little less comfortable than Frank's with him being gay and Frank was pretty sure Vince only humoured his request for a suitable date restaurant because he thought it was with a girl. Frank bit his tongue on that one. In this scenario Mikey kind of was a girl. He reminded himself to have a proper talk with Vince and his aunt and uncle at a later date, to go through the whole “it's ok to be gay” speech again. Maybe it would sink in this time. Vince had impressed upon him the importance of “treating a girl right”, which meant opening doors, always paying the bill, defending her honour, pretending to listen to her “boring” stories, and, for some reason, always showing up late. Frank wasn't sure how exactly that was being respectful to his date, but he figured Vince knew more than he did about what Mikey would expect in this situation.


Frank pressed the doorbell and heard scuffling and stamping followed by muffled voices coming from inside.

He stepped back as the door opened and Mikey practically fell down the steps, his brother Gerard pushing him out and hissing “It's fine. You look great.”

“Sorry I'm late,” Frank stuttered out, then mentally kicked himself for automatically apologising for something he had done deliberately.

Mikey didn't appear to hear him; he stood self-consciously on the path twisting his hands on the strap of his messenger bag and looking like he was two seconds away from bolting back inside the door.

Frank took the opportunity to look him over. Mikey wasn't dressed at all like he was expecting. There was nothing of the Off-Broadway drag act about Mikey's outfit. Frank wasn't exactly expecting Mikey to somehow metamorphose into Ru Paul or a linebacker in a prom dress, but he couldn't get over how much the clothes suited him.

Mikey was wearing a short grey skirt over leggings paired with a fitted t shirt under a grey cardigan. The outfit – from the barrettes in his hair (which was swept forward and across his forehead) to the delicate buttons of his cardigan to the blue ballet pumps – clearly came from the women's section but on Mikey it just looked natural. There was a smudge of dark liner around his eyes, not much more than he had seen Mikey wear at parties, but enough to make a difference.

Frank was trying to shake himself out of his staring and actually say something when Mikey turned back around and scowled at his brother. Gerard just gave him an insistent look closed the door before Mikey could retreat.

“Hey Mikey,” Frank beamed up at him. “You really do look great. I'll have the hottest date there.”

“Hey,” said Mikey, sounding more resigned than anything. He took a deep breath and seemed to resolve himself to something before clutching at his messenger bag and hunching his shoulders in a way that had Frank instantly worried about how their evening was going to go. But he followed Frank down the path to his car and Frank figured that he'd have to work as hard as he could to be what Mikey wanted. He started by opening the passenger door for Mikey ushering him into the seat and mumbling “ladies first”. He was aiming for suave but the look of consternation that flickered across Mikey's face told him that he'd been wide of the mark.


Frank was a chatty guy. He had no problem starting conversations with friends or strangers, but now that he was trying to fit into a prescribed role – and one that he didn't really know the parameters of – he didn't know what to say. Hey, how about those Mets seemed wrong on so many levels, not least of which was Frank's utter lack of knowledge about baseball, but as Frank's brain failed to come up with something better, it was rapidly becoming the only option.

“How do you know Pete?” Mikey asked, mercifully breaking Frank's inability to find a topic of conversation.

“Oh, you know, from the music scene back in the day.” Frank smiled as he fondly remembered sweaty mosh pits and more screaming than singing.

“Thank fuck he stopped trying to be a singer. He makes a much better bass player,” Mikey said, returning the smile.

“Did you meet him at college?” Frank guessed.

“Nah. Never went.”

Something about that revelation tugged at Frank's memory but he couldn't place why it was important.

“Where are we going?” Mikey asked.

“This great little Italian place I know.” Mikey didn't have to know he'd never been there before. Vince had sworn that girls loved the authentic Venetian decor and the reminder of mafia films got them excited.

“I don't really feel like...” Mikey started, but Frank cut him off.

“Relax, babe. You'll love it.” Frank glanced over and saw Mikey tense at the endearment and turn to look out the window.


The silence was becoming unbearable. Frank wracked his brain to come up with a way to salvage a car ride that was rapidly going downhill. He cast his mind back to the night before and tried to remember what Giant McStringyHair did to make Mikey like him, before he turned out to be an intolerant ass. Frank didn't have the stature to loom – even if they weren't in a car – and couldn't risk slinging his right arm around Mikey's shoulders while driving, but he could rest his hand on Mikey's thigh.

Mikey jumped at the contact and Frank firmly squeezed his upper thigh through the leggings, sparing Mikey a grin before looking back at the road. Oblivious to Mikey's scowl he decided to follow up the grope with a compliment:

“That's a great skirt. It's nice of you to wear one so short, with so much...access.”

He felt Mikey tense and saw him move his hand as if he was about to shove Frank's away, but at the last minute he placed his hand on top of Frank's, pushed it a few inches towards his knee and left their hands there together.

Alright, Frank thought, it's about boundaries, push a bit but not too much. Let him think he's negotiating the pace. Frank played that back in his head and was shocked. He snatched his hand back from Mikey's knee as if he'd been burned. What the hell was he doing? He knew this was what Mikey wanted, but it felt so wrong. Last night, Mikey had been in full control of the situation with that guy, from reeling him in to standing up for himself when the guy turned out to be an asshole. Could a change of clothes change his attitude so much?

Silence descended again as Frank tried desperately to think of a way to get out of this situation – of pretending to be something he wasn't because it's what he thought Mikey wanted – and not have Mikey hate him forever.


Frank pulled into a parking space outside the restaurant and killed the engine. He'd decided to come clean, to confess that he was out of his depth and offer to drive Mikey back home or call him a taxi, whatever he wanted. It was the least he could do after acting like such a jerk as part of his misguided plan.

He turned to Mikey, who had made no move to get out of the car, and opened his mouth to speak but was immediately cut off.

“Can we not go in there?” Mikey asked, quietly.

“What's wrong?” Frank braced himself for Mikey to call him out on his weird behaviour.

“It's just, I'm not that comfortable. Wearing this. In there.” He jerked his head in the direction of the mom-and-pop trattoria that Vince had recommended to Frank. Rather than looking annoyed, as Frank had expected, he looked defeated.

“We can go somewhere else?” Frank tried.

“Look, there's something I have to tell you. And I feel like the worst brother ever because he does this all the time, and has to put up with shit from idiots all the time, which is why that guy at the party pissed me off so much.”

Frank was entirely confused at this point.

Mikey continued: “Gerard. These are his clothes.” Mikey paused and gestured at the outfit he was clearly uncomfortable in. “I've seen you around, at parties and stuff, and I really liked you, but you brushed me off. Then when you asked me out last night I was so happy. And then you said about the dress and I realised that you'd got it wrong. But I didn't correct you. I really thought I could do this, since it's what you wanted.”

Frank sat in stunned silence. He couldn't remember ever brushing Mikey off and didn't know how to respond.

“And I know that's weird and stupid,” Mikey continued, sounding dismayed, “and you probably hate me so I'm just gonna go. I'll call a cab or something.”

He opened the door and was half-way across the car park when Frank came to his senses.

“WAIT!” he yelled, and sprinted to catch up with Mikey.

Mikey looked completely miserable as he huddled in his thin cardigan and fished around in his bag for what Frank assumed was his phone.

“Wait,” Frank said again, resting his hand on Mikey's forearm.

“Why? So you can tell me I'm a freak for NOT wanting to wear women's clothes.”

Frank could only laugh.

“Oh fuck you,” Mikey said and tried to turn away, caught between trying to get away from Frank and trying not to be seen by the early evening foot traffic outside the restaurant.

“Just lemme explain,” Frank pleaded. “I'm not laughing at you, I promise.”

He made a dorky little cross-my-heart gesture and Mikey relented.

“But you are laughing,” Mikey challenged.

“Yeah,” Frank admitted, “at this fucked up situation. I liked you, too. And then I heard you talking to that guy last night, and Pete said some stuff and I was pretty drunk and, well, I guess I got the wrong end of the stick. I don't care what you want to wear. I'm not even really into guys in dresses, I just thought that's what you wanted.”

At this last statement Mikey gave him the side-eye and Frank got the uncomfortable feeling that Mikey knew something he didn't.

“So...you're ok with me being a guy wearing guy clothes?” Mikey asked.

“Hell yes,” Frank affirmed. “And you're ok with me treating you like a human being and not, you know, going all alpha-male possessive jerk on you?”

“Absolutely,” Mikey said, smiling again. “I have a plan. Why don't we go back to my house and get me out of these clothes?”

“That sounds like an excellent idea.”


The silence in the car on the way back to Mikey and Gerard's house was the complete opposite of the stony apprehension that had accompanied their journey to the restaurant: Mikey looked relaxed for the fist time that evening. Frank couldn't help but stealing glances at where his short skirt draped over his thigh, at the cant of his hips as Mikey attempted to sit in a way that wouldn't reval too much, at the contrast of delicate beads trailing around the strong cords of muscle in his neck as he leaned against the window.

As he thought back on what he'd said, about not being into guys in dresses, Frank realised that it wasn't quite true. There was something that was nagging him about the whole situation. When Frank had first seen Mikey in what he knew now were Gerard's clothes, he had been excited by how good he looked, how soft and pretty the fabrics were, how delicate the beads that hung at his neck and wrist. Frank was already interested in Mikey and the clothes didn't make him like him any more, but the clothes themselves seemed like something he might want. Did he want them for himself? The whole thing was messing with his mind to the point where he didn't even know for sure.

He looked over at Mikey, who turned and caught his eye. Mikey reached out and took Frank's hand, placing it on his own knee and winding their fingers together. Frank looked across and they shared a smile of anticipation at what would happen in the privacy of Mikey's bedroom that evening.


Back at Mikey's house a confused Gerard greeted them from the living room:

“What happened, Mikey? Why are you back so early? Did Frank...” he trailed off as he saw Frank enter the doorway behind Mikey.

Mikey walked across the room and gathered Gerard up in a hug, whispering something Frank couldn't make out, before giving him a peck on the cheek and turning back to Frank.

Gerard's eyes widened as he took in what Mikey had said to him and his look of confusion was replaced by a grin as he shouted at Mikey's retreating back: “Be careful with the skirt. Don't, you know, stretch it or anything.”

“I won't,” Mikey quickly called out behind him before grabbing Frank's hand and leading him upstairs.


Inside his bedroom, Mikey strode straight to the bed and started to shrug off the cardigan.

“Wait!” Frank said before he even realised he was going to.

“Wait for what?” Mikey replied, looking puzzled.

Frank stood with his mouth open trying to figure out what he was asking for.

“Let me?” he tried, stepping towards Mikey, holding his hands to still them then placing his own on the cardigan's lapels.

Mikey nodded an assent and smirked at Frank as he began the process of divesting Mikey of his garments.

The fine knit felt delicate and silky in his fingers and Frank caressed it before sliding it off Mikey's shoulders and down his arms, sliding both the material and his fingers against Mikey's skin, until the cardigan fell to the floor.

He stroked at the join of Mikey's neck and shoulder, where the thin strap of his top met skin. Frank leant in and inhaled the lingering scent of aftershave mingling with a floral fabric softener that reminded him that Mikey had only gotten dressed an hour ago, tops. He couldn't resist pressing his lips to the skin and fabric, giving the lightest of kisses.

Mikey keened and urged him on: “Harder!”

Frank responded by nipping at the skin and Mikey surged up against him, grabbing Frank's face to smash their mouths together in a heated kiss.

Mikey pulled back and threw himself backwards onto the bed, a lascivious grin easing itself across his face: “Well, I found something I like about these clothes: taking them off.”

Frank acknowledged the challenge and set to work removing each piece, one by one, until Mikey's natural visage was revealed.

“Jesus, Frank. I'm not gonna break. You don't need to be so gentle.”

Mindful of Gerard's warning, he alternated between being careful with the items of clothing and less careful with Mikey's flesh. Encouraged by Mikey he mixed kisses and caresses with nips and pinches. There would definitely be marks left on his body tomorrow.

Frank had removed most of the garments and began to kiss, lick, bite and scratch the exposed flesh to make Mikey writhe and pant beneath him. He marvelled at the difference between the flimsy fabrics and the robust musculature underneath. Mikey wasn't exactly built, but he was solid and unyielding.

Frank paused his assault to frame Mikey's face between his hands. He allowed his thumbs to swipe over Mikey's eyes which closed, reflexively, and smear the dark make-up.

“You look beautiful, Mikey,” he breathed, appreciating the disjunction between the make-up and Mikey's angular face.

At his words, Mikey tensed and opened his eyes, his expression wary.

“I told you. I don't normally dress like this.”

“Not this,” Frank said, sweeping a hand to encompass the bits of clothing that lay on the bed and the floor. He reached behind Mikey's neck to unclasp the length of beads that still hung there. “You.”

Mikey relaxed and Frank knew that he'd gotten it right, that he'd found the balancing point between taking charge with Mikey and respecting his autonomy. Feeling a fool for jumping to all sorts of conclusions about how Mikey wanted to be treated, regardless of whether he was a crossdresser, he could feel unnamed things fall into place in his mind.

Returning his attention to denuding Mikey he stripped the leggings from Mikey's long legs to reveal a pair of red lacy pants underneath and froze, barely breathing.

The scrap of silk and lace was at odds with the careful casualness of the rest of Mikey's outfit. Frank wondered if they belonged to Gerard too, and whether Mikey or his brother had picked them out.

Mikey sat up on his elbows when he noticed that Frank had stopped moving.

“What's wrong?” he asked. “Just take them off”

Frank made noise of protest and reached out to finger the soft scratchy lace. Then he bent over to nose at the join of Mikey's hip, where lace met flesh. The mixture of sensations was overwhelming as he felt the sensitive skin of Mikey's inner thigh next to fabric, warmed by Mikey's body and scented by what was underneath.

He felt Mikey's hand come up to play with his hair as he explored, rubbing his face over the outline of Mikey's cock. His own erection forcefully made known its interest in this development. He desperately wanted to tear off the pants and get closer to Mikey's cock, but a part of him was reluctant to lose the complex new sensations.

He looked up at Mikey, who looked less pissed off at Frank's immobility than he might of imagined. Instead, Mikey had that frustrating glint of superior knowledge in his eyes as he wriggled out from under Frank and shucked off the pants himself, only to offer them to Frank.

“Put them on,” he said. It wasn't a suggestion.

Frank tried to quiet the questioning voices in his head protesting that he didn't do things like this and grabbed at the red object.

Twisting them to find the right alignment he dragged them up his legs and, as best as he could, settled them over his straining cock. At the moment of contact he let out an involuntary noise and almost came instantly.

Mikey looked smug as he pulled him back onto the bed and snaked a hand down between their bodies to cup Frank through the material.

Frank's mind flashed to the image of Mikey's pre-cum on the inside of the pants, now mixing with his own and bit back a groan as he tried to stave off the imminent orgasm.

He grasped at Mikey and initiated another bruising kiss, hoping to wrestle back some control but the movement of Mikey's hand on his dick, though the slippery, rapidly soaked fabric was too much and he could only cling to Mikey as his dick decided that it was too much and he tensed as waves of pleasure rocked his body.

Frank came around from his blissed out state to find Mikey leaning over him smugly.

“I guess we've both learned a few things tonight,” he said.

Frank's mind was reeling from the revelation of his previously unrealised kink when he felt Mikey's hard-on press against his hip and remembered that they hadn't finished.

Reluctant to leave Mikey's embrace but eager to reciprocate the pleasure Mikey had given him, he shifted down the bed to take Mikey's length into his mouth.

Frank loved giving blowjobs and liked to think he was pretty good at it. He started with a steady rhythm, throwing in little tricks that he knew usually got the desired effect.

Mikey was clearly enjoying it but wasn't making the same inarticulate sounds of abandon that Frank had elicited from him before. He took a chance and pressed heavily on Mikey's hips, forcing him to stay still on the bed. Looking up at Mikey's face, he waited for conformation that this was ok. Mikey's glazed-over eyes made brief contact and he nodded, at which assent Frank allowed his teeth to scrape very lightly along the underside of Mikey's cock and was rewarded with a long moan as he tried to buck his hips upward. But Frank held him firmly and continued to alternate swirls and licks with pressure and scrapes as Mikey quickly began thrashing around erratically.

Mikey reared off the bed and long hot pulses of seed flooded Frank's throat. He swallowed what he could and pulled off to let the rest collect in his hand. Mikey collapsed and Frank crawled up his body to present his sticky hand in front of Mikey's face.

“Lick,” he commanded.

Mikey's eyes rolled back in his head and he moaned with pleasure as he laved all the fluid from Frank's hand, before shivering with satiety.

Frank rolled over and slung his arm and leg over Mikey to pull him close into his chest, but Mikey shoved at Frank's arm until his was on top. Frank allowed his head to be pulled down to Mikey's shoulder and couldn't suppress a small giggle.

“What?” Mikey asked, curious, before yawning.

“This is definitely not the way I expected the night to end,” Frank replied. “With me in lace pants being cuddled in your bed.”

“Who said anything about the night being at an end?”

Frank's stomach growled as he realised that they never did make it to the restaurant.

“OK. Let me nap a while and then we'll order pizza or something,” Frank offered.

“Chinese,” Mikey countered.

“Whatever you want, babe,” Frank demurred, giving Mikey a pat on the arm.

“Hey, watch it. You're the one wearing the pants.” Mikey's tone was light but Frank wasn't sure so he looked up at Mikey's face.

“I'm...” Frank faltered. “I don't want to wear a skirt or anything, not that there's anything wrong with that.”

At this, Mikey gave him a look as if to say stop being an idiot, I know you have no problem with crossdressing.

“I just, maybe, sometimes, wanttowearpantsliketheseundermyregularclothes,” he stumbled through in one breath.

“Well, I really can't give these ones back to Gee now,” Mikey said, referring to the cum-stained red mess.


Mikey cut him off. “We'll just have to take a trip to Victoria's Secret.”

As soon as he saw the lopsided smile that accompanied Mikey's words, he knew they would figure everything out.


Date: 2012-12-27 10:32 pm (UTC)
ext_1650: (Mikey/frank-roxy ( sly_fuck))
From: [identity profile] turps33.livejournal.com
When I first saw this story appear on my flist I had to stop a moment to express my delight on twitter. One of the responses I got was, 'it's like they know what you like' and yeah, that's so right because Frank/Mikey and crossdressing, oh hell yes.

I enjoyed this story a lot, the Way bros moment was so lovely, despite being brief, and I loved how Mikey stood up to that idiot guy who thought crossdressing was wrong. I can so easily imagine him, pissed off and facing that guy down, not willing to let him get away with saying something like that.

I enjoyed your Frank, how he was attracted to Mikey from the start and then asked him out on an impulse, one that left him out of his depth and unsure how to treat Mikey when they did actually go out. That was such an interesting twist on things, and you wrote the awkwardness of that date really well, when they were both at cross purposes and uncomfortable.

I am glad that things got sorted out, especially as it led to such gorgeous mental images as I imagined that sex scene, and Frank discovering this new thing that he liked so much. And this Frank paused his assault to frame Mikey's face between his hands. He allowed his thumbs to swipe over Mikey's eyes which closed, reflexively, and smear the dark make-up.
so very beautiful, and of course, this “This is definitely not the way I expected the night to end,” Frank replied. “With me in lace pants being cuddled in your bed.” Because I didn't expect that at the beginning of the story either, but am very glad that it happened.

Thank you so much for this, for writing something so beautifully tailored to my tastes, and for gifting me a story I'll surely re-read. ♥

Date: 2013-01-10 07:49 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] art-brutal.livejournal.com
Thank you so much for your lovely comment. I'm so glad you liked it :)


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