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Oct. 2nd, 2010 03:44 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gala_applesTitle: Truths That He Learned (6)
Pairing: Frank/Mikey, with periods of Mikey/Patrick/Pete(/Ashlee)
Rating: overall nc17
Wordcount: 37377
Disclaimer:This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
Warnings: This is a High School AU. Thus, everyone's ages are skewed, there is "underaged" sex (NOT BY CANADIAN RULES!) and since it's a modern HS AU, there are things that weren't around when they were actually teenagers. While it's primarily Frank/Mikey, there are cameos by the rest of MCR, FOB, Pencey Prep, PATD, CS, The Used, and Alkaline Trio. Drug use.
Summary: It's Frank's senior year, and it seems like he's constantly having new experiences, at least half of which come as a complete surprise to him. He falls in love, comes out, and has sex, not necessarily in that order.
Author's notes: written for high school bingo, it's a 25 chapter fic on my IJ, but I thought 25 posts in a row might make you all strangle me, so here, have it in six parts. I'm kind of blown away by the length of this, prior to this my longest fic was 22k, so this is over a third more. \o/ Also, for anyone wondering what Pete's deal is? Remember that post I made a day or two ago saying WTF PETE STOP HOGGING? Yeah, this is the fic I meant. In the near future I'll be writing a second senior year fic, from Pete's pov.
Frank’s almost down to the filter of his cigarette when the door opens behind him. He exhales and lets out a grunt in hello, they’re all a community of sorts.
“Didn’t you used to just smoke at lunch?”
Frank doesn’t need to turn his head to recognise Mikey. It’s been nine days of silence since the drama in the hallway, and it doesn’t make sense that Mikey’s breaking it now, just to ask him about his addictions, but fuck it. Might as well give an honest answer, and if it prickles him, all the better. “Yeah, but when the stress levels go up, so does the need for nicotine, so.”
“Wouldn’t know. Gee just smokes like a chimney regardless. Look, Frank-” Mikey trails off. Frank does not want to hear a ‘stay away from my boyfriend threat, and thinks it’s a bit late for it anyway. That conversation could have happened last Wednesday. “Frank, do you want to go to prom?”
What. The fuck. Of all the possible thing Mikey could have said, that’s as low on Frank’s list of expected inquiries as ‘want to be eaten by grizzlies?’ and ‘want to be astronauts?’ “Prom? I feel like there should be some kind of ballady happy Muzak in the background.”
“No, let’s save Sixpence None The Richer for the movie they’ll write about you after you get famous.”
“For what? I don’t even know what I’m taking in college, never mind being good enough at something to be famous enough to have an autobiography that’ll get produced into a movie.”
“Fine then, I’ll be famous.” Mikey’s hand gropes into his pocket and pulls out a cigarette of his own. Frank lights the end, Mikey’s hand curling around the opposite side to protect it from the breeze.
Frank watches him take a few drags before he asks the primary thought running through his head. “You’re not going with Pete and Patrick and Ashlee, and fuck, whoever else comes attached?” Frank’s rather impressed with how level his voice is.
“I broke up with them a while ago.” It’s only been nine days, Mikey’s clearly got a different measurement of time than he has. “I just didn’t know if I wanted you.”
“So what happened?”
“Pete told me I was a fucking moron, that of course I wanted you.” Mikey punctuates the statement with raising the cigarette to his lips and inhaling again. The underneath of his fingernails are blue, like he didn’t take more than a second to wash his hands after art class.
Frank supposes he should be happy for the push in his direction but instead “and you always listen to Pete?” comes out bitterly.
“I’m not telling you all his secrets. But the guy knows how to take what he wants in compensation for all the things he can’t have.” Frank snorts. From what he’s seen, there’s nothing Pete Wentz can’t have. He’s got a girlfriend, a few boyfriends, a car and a dozen pairs of Converse, the magical ability to convince teachers to bend the rules for him. But he’s not going to say any of it out loud, because now is not the time to get into an argument with Mikey over him.
Mikey takes a fifth drag, then presses the lit end into the brick wall. It sizzles and dies, and the stub goes back into his pocket. “So, prom?”
“I don’t know.” His response floors him. Frank’s wanted him back since March and the first chance he plays hard to get? What is his brain? But the seconds in which he has to edit himself and write it off as a joke are ticking down and he spends them without replying.
“Oh. Okay. Uh. I found this great band, want me to link you to them?”
“Yeah.” Talking to Mikey on MSN will only prolong the agony of everything, but at this point he’s really brought it upon himself. And along with everything else, he’s missed Mikey’s music recs. Even if he’s got no idea what’s going on, getting a list of twenty new discographies to download will be a good thing.
“I’m going in for photography now. And you?”
“Woods.” Why is Mikey asking? He must already know, just like Frank knows all of Mikey’s classes. Frank watches Mikey head back inside, and pulls out another smoke. If he dies of lung cancer in ten years, it’s better than dying from a complete mental and physical breakdown right now.
It doesn’t leave Frank’s mind for the entirety of woods, in which he wisely chooses to stay away from the band saw and the belt sander. There are things you can do with a warped mind, like putting another coat of lacquer on a table, or gluing together different types of wood for an eventual chessboard, and there are things you don’t do if you wish to keep your thumbs. Frank needs his for video games, so he sticks to using a light grit paper to work his breadboard into softness. The moment class is over he runs for John’s car. He needs some opinions, and Hambone and Zoe are the best for that.
John’s pulling in front of his house by the time he’s done rambling. Frank peters off with the same thing he’s said a half a dozen times already. “I don’t know. Should I go to prom? Do I have to go?”
“Did you not learn your lesson with homecoming?”
“What, that crepe paper is lame?” Frank can’t think of anything else life changing, and even that’s pushing the concept of a lesson pretty hard.
“No. That even if you don’t want to, we’ll make you. So do we need to make this some super secret operation, stealing your phone and inviting Mikey pretending to be you, only to handcuff you together when you both show up at prom, or will you just shut up and go?”
Frank has no hesitation in believing that Zoe would handcuff him to Mikey. But it’s not the brilliant advice he was hoping for. He unbuckles his seat belt and jumps out of the car. He agrees to text John if he wants to hang out later and goes straight to his bedroom. He needs to think.
Except he’s not in his room five minutes before he’s got his cell phone out. Frank presses the seventh number and immediately wants to hang up, but it’s already rung once, and the only thing he can imagine that’s worse than this imminently awkward conversation is waiting for Mikey to check his phone and call back. Fuck, what if Mikey doesn’t pick up and he has to wait anyway? He’s such a fucking “Hey?”
“Hi. Mikey? I don’t want to go to prom with you.”
Frank can’t see it, but he’s almost certain Mikey is crossing his arms or tugging his skullcap further down. “You didn’t have to call me just to tell me that. I took your reluctance as a answer outside. Have a good night.”
Frank rushes before Mikey can hang up on him. “Wait. Can we like, not go but still spend the night together? Because homecoming really sucked, and prom is just a more expensive version of homecoming. Prom is expensive homecoming, with a shitty meal attached and renting limos and suits. Mikey, proms have suits, and nobody really wants that, do they?”
“I guess Romero is better than some DJ that thinks Ricky Martin is making a comeback any day now.”
Frank goes out on a limb. He’s almost shaking, saying it, but tries to put everything into his tone. He’s only got one more shot at this, he fucked up the first time, this needs to be clear. “Or you could come over and we could watch Survival of the Dead tonight, instead of waiting a month?”
“Frankie, Frankie, Frankie. One does not have a zombie date and watch the newest in a series! You’re lucky it’s me, Gerard would resort to fisticuffs for such an offense.” Frank sort of tunes out for a minute, Mikey’s voice in his ear in the background. He said date! A fucking date, Mikey’s done with Pete’s orgy party and he’s coming over for a zombie date. For the first time in two months, the world is good.
*
Frank puts his arms up and traps his hands between the back of his head and the pillow. This time he’s not going to push Mikey away, no matter what happens. Hindsight is twenty twenty, and has pleasantly informed him he was an idiot for not following through. He’s not going to fall into the same trap, he’s not going to let their relationship fall apart in another month because he won’t do this. Mikey is worth any pain.
Mikey is straddling him, slowly grinding against his cock. His lips are cherry red from their kissing when he pulls back, sitting up on some combination of his shins and Frank’s thighs and the bed. He doesn’t look thrilled. “We don’t have to do this today.”
However kind he might be trying to be, it’s not. Giving him the option to pussy out is in no way helpful, it’s like waving a forty in front of an alcoholic’s face, and then telling them it’s their choice. “Shut up and do it.”
“You lying back and thinking of England isn’t exactly making me hard.”
Which blatantly isn’t true, Frank can clearly see Mikey’s cock, big, and reddened, and about be be shoved inside him. He snaps “What do you want from me? I’m telling you to fuck me!”
“Uh, maybe for it to not be a chore or a task?”
“Well it is,” slips out before he can stop it. Fuck, he’s going to break them up again. Fuck shit fuck. In one smooth move Mikey is climbing off him, standing and grabbing his jeans from the floor. Fuck, “please don’t go!”
“I’m not going anywhere. I’m just not doing this. Frank, you should put your boxers on and we’ll talk.” On various movies and sitcoms over the years, Frank’s heard it insinuated that ‘we need to talk’ means the end of a relationship. And shit, maybe it’s true. But what they had already died one death because they didn’t talk, so what’s the alternative? Still, he doesn’t get off the bed to get partially dressed like Mikey, just sits up and reaches back to grab a pillow to put over his junk.
Mikey smirks and shrugs a bit, then sits on the other end of Frank’s bed. “Without getting pissed, can you just tell me why you didn’t like it? I mean, you fucked me all the time and I liked it. Tell me it’s not a masculinity thing.”
Fuck not getting mad. “Fuck you! You really think I let everything go to hell because I thought it made me a girl? Fuck you. It hurt. Not the fingering, that was just weird. But the actual fucking, that hurt. And not that I’m pulling a sexual assault card but when I asked you to stop you didn’t.”
Mikey shrugs. “Okay. I suck, and you’re tight. We can fix both these problems.”
“What do you suggest we do?” Maybe it’s a bit snotty, but Mikey can handle a bit of rudeness.
“Well, we’re twenty first century kids, right? So when in doubt, Google.”
Frank puts the pillow down and walks over to his desk. His thighs goosebump when he sits on the cold leather chair. He types in ‘how to make ass sex hurt less’ and frowns at the first twenty pages that come up. In every few sentence blurb it’s some dude asking a forum how to make his girlfriend want to try it.
“You really have no Google-fu at all, do you?” Mikey kisses his temple then digs his elbow into his shoulder so he can lean over Frank and type. Frank gets an odd flashback to their first meeting but doesn’t say anything.
“All you did was add the word gay!”
“Yeah, and there are no more fraternity jerkoffs whining about their girlfriends, are there?”
“Point.” Frank starts to read the article Mikey clicks, then his view is obscured by Mikey dropping onto his lap. Frank jabs him hard in the back. “If I can’t read it, tell me what it says, fucker.”
“You have two assholes, and the inner one is the one that doesn’t want me to fuck you. Basically I need to finger you every time I blow you, and after a while it’ll calm down. Also you should finger yourself when you jerk off.”
“Interesting. Scholarly, even. So, wanna get started on that?”
“Horny bastard,” Mikey says, but it sounds like he’s smiling. “Get back on the bed then.”
Frank waits for Mikey to climb off, then lies back down, one hand curled around his cock while the other flicks open the top of the lube. He could be poetic and say it smells of new beginnings, but it doesn’t, it’s just cherry lube. Still, he thinks things are going to get better now.
*
Frank isn’t much for school spirit, so it’s not Nate trying to sell it as one last act of rebellion and senior camaraderie that gets him. Honestly, it’s just because Nate is a little bit pathetic these days. Since Gabe, Ryland, and Elisa graduated mid year, leaving Alex, Nate and Victoria alone they’ve all been sort of pathetic. Not that he probably has much credibility in the bad ass arena, after all the moping over Mikey. But at least his personality didn’t turn a one eighty. The decimated Cobras only tried two more spontaneous actions before giving up, going completely against the nature of the improv group to do what they want and not need the approval of others.
For Nate to try something now, after months of nothing from the Cobras, is risky. It’s cool if it happens, but if he pleads and no one but Victoria and Alex are willing to back him, it’s pathetic. Frank doesn’t think it’s fair for anyone to be pathetic on graduation day. So he pitches in that it seems like a great idea, which gets his friends on board. The idea begins to ripple through the graduating class, each vote of ‘that’s stupid’ being drowned by five that like it. They go silent as a handful of teachers walk in, all clad in dress clothes. It’s weird to see all the female teachers in dresses, even cocktail party casual ones, all the men wearing ties.
The teachers carefully line them up, lines of twenty five, and file them into the twenty rows of folding chairs, and leave them to go sit on the reserved seats. Frank can hear the parents and grandparents and little brothers and sisters on the other side of the scarlet curtain. He imagines his parents somehow stumbling into Gerard and the elusive Mr and Mrs Way and wants to laugh for the scene that creates itself. Before the curtain opens everyone takes the brief unsupervised time to reseat themselves. Really, Frank doesn’t see much rebellion in it. They’re just not in order, it’s not like they’re walking out or setting fire to the auditorium. Still, he’s happy about the mass migration. Having John on one side, Mikey on the other seems more meaningful than being between Mike Idle and Amber Ignatio.
The middle of the stage has a tiny platform and a speaker’s podium Frank knows perfectly well a few of the guys in his woods class had to make. It’s tradition for the jocks to steal it and put it in the middle of a bonfire at the after party Frank’s not invited to. He could probably still go, as he’s sure Mikey is invited, but he doesn’t really want to spend the night with several hundred teenagers crammed in a rich kid’s house. He just wants to smoke up and drink with his friends, and try to forget that by the end of the summer he has to leave them all.
The other side of the stage, stage right, has another five hundred rented folding chairs. Each chair has a name post it noted to the seat. After Hawthorne calls their name to come collect the diploma, they’re supposed to step off the platform and walk to their assigned seat. Th way Frank figures it, he’ll be crossing the stage in about an hour. The ceremony is supposed to be three hours long, at least according to the gilted and embossed invitation he had to give to his parents. I is the ninth letter in the alphabet, which is a third of the way through. He gets his quick moment to take his rolled up paper and pose for pictures and his few words, and then it’s back to sitting with Mike and Amber.
Basically, Frank’s expecting three hours of sheer boredom, only relieved by the occasional amusing quote. Everyone gets the chance to say the same inspirational quote they ascribed in their yearbook entry, Hawthorne’s hand on the microphone in case someone decides to be crude or offensive. Frank’s is a lyric, of course; but I still believe there are only a few things that really belong to me, who I am, who I was and who I want to be. He knows most of his friends choices, but Mikey refuses to tell him his. Frank’s sure it’ll be a lyric too, there’s no way Mikey can have so much music and not have a lyric be the most important statement of his life, he just not sure what it will be. Unfortunately, considering he’s Mikey Way, it’s going to be about three hours until he learns.
The curtain opens to the entire crowd of relatives clapping for them. It’s sort of ridiculous, but in a way that feels great. Judging by the glare the principal gives them, Hawthorne seems less than impressed by the ‘rebellion’. But he chooses to save face and let them stay in their messed up order rather than close the curtains and demand they all get back into their proper seats. The glare is the last spark of interest Frank has for the next fifteen minutes. Then Victoria Asher walks across the stage and Ryland and Gabe stand on their chairs in the audience and start screaming and whistling, making a far bigger deal than her family. Hawthorne is scowling, but honestly Frank thinks he’s lucky they didn’t start acting out a scene in the aisle. When Gabe hurtles a plastic snake across the length of the room onto the stage, Victoria bends and picks it up before she takes the diploma Hawthorne is waiting to give her. Her quote is ‘fangs up’, which makes Gabe and Ryland burst into another round of cheering.
It’s obvious he’s not the only one that’s bored. Scattered throughout the graduating class are teenagers surreptitiously texting, or playing with a DS. Anyone in the front two rows are screwed, but further back than that it’s proof that teens of his generation have no focus, no patience. Somehow he doesn’t feel guilty about it; maybe his generation doesn’t have shame either? Unfortunately Frank wasn’t one of the ones smart enough to bring his cellphone, meaning that unless Tina kindly decides to share, he’s shit out of luck.
The gods are clearly smiling on him. Frank becomes certain of this fact when Mikey puts his hand on his thigh. It only stays there for a minute before it drifts, up, in. It doesn’t stop moving until it’s on top of his junk. “Mikey?”
“Just look ahead. We’re fifteen rows back, nobody’s going to see. Unless you scream out in orgasm, nobody’s going to know.” As far as whispered plans go, it’s not the most elaborate. It’s basically relying on luck. But Frank’s down with gambling, he’s played poker at Christmas with his relatives since he was nine. Mikey’s hand on him, stroking him through the graduation gown, and Frank’s not going to say no.
Douglas Cameron is giving his valedictorian speech, and Frank should be listening. It’s probably inspirational, it probably talks about heroes in and outside of the school, it probably mentions the challenges of the future in a framework of the challenges they’ve already faced. He can’t hear a word of it, all he can hear is his own panting. Mikey’s hand is on him, and Frank is doing his best to not arch up into it, because even if the audience doesn’t notice, he doesn’t want the students around him to see either.
The truth is, Frank doesn’t need to hear what wise people think about the past of high school, and the future of colleges and careers. Frank’s got his past, his own future. He’s gay, and in love, and he’s got a family, and friends that he might not lose as they scatter over the country. Things will suck, and things will be great, and most things will just be okay. And that’s enough. His eyes close as he climaxes, coming into the shorts he’s wearing under his gown. He breathes for a second, and then extends his arm. They’re only on C, he’s got more than enough time to help Mikey.
Pairing: Frank/Mikey, with periods of Mikey/Patrick/Pete(/Ashlee)
Rating: overall nc17
Wordcount: 37377
Disclaimer:This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
Warnings: This is a High School AU. Thus, everyone's ages are skewed, there is "underaged" sex (NOT BY CANADIAN RULES!) and since it's a modern HS AU, there are things that weren't around when they were actually teenagers. While it's primarily Frank/Mikey, there are cameos by the rest of MCR, FOB, Pencey Prep, PATD, CS, The Used, and Alkaline Trio. Drug use.
Summary: It's Frank's senior year, and it seems like he's constantly having new experiences, at least half of which come as a complete surprise to him. He falls in love, comes out, and has sex, not necessarily in that order.
Author's notes: written for high school bingo, it's a 25 chapter fic on my IJ, but I thought 25 posts in a row might make you all strangle me, so here, have it in six parts. I'm kind of blown away by the length of this, prior to this my longest fic was 22k, so this is over a third more. \o/ Also, for anyone wondering what Pete's deal is? Remember that post I made a day or two ago saying WTF PETE STOP HOGGING? Yeah, this is the fic I meant. In the near future I'll be writing a second senior year fic, from Pete's pov.
Frank’s almost down to the filter of his cigarette when the door opens behind him. He exhales and lets out a grunt in hello, they’re all a community of sorts.
“Didn’t you used to just smoke at lunch?”
Frank doesn’t need to turn his head to recognise Mikey. It’s been nine days of silence since the drama in the hallway, and it doesn’t make sense that Mikey’s breaking it now, just to ask him about his addictions, but fuck it. Might as well give an honest answer, and if it prickles him, all the better. “Yeah, but when the stress levels go up, so does the need for nicotine, so.”
“Wouldn’t know. Gee just smokes like a chimney regardless. Look, Frank-” Mikey trails off. Frank does not want to hear a ‘stay away from my boyfriend threat, and thinks it’s a bit late for it anyway. That conversation could have happened last Wednesday. “Frank, do you want to go to prom?”
What. The fuck. Of all the possible thing Mikey could have said, that’s as low on Frank’s list of expected inquiries as ‘want to be eaten by grizzlies?’ and ‘want to be astronauts?’ “Prom? I feel like there should be some kind of ballady happy Muzak in the background.”
“No, let’s save Sixpence None The Richer for the movie they’ll write about you after you get famous.”
“For what? I don’t even know what I’m taking in college, never mind being good enough at something to be famous enough to have an autobiography that’ll get produced into a movie.”
“Fine then, I’ll be famous.” Mikey’s hand gropes into his pocket and pulls out a cigarette of his own. Frank lights the end, Mikey’s hand curling around the opposite side to protect it from the breeze.
Frank watches him take a few drags before he asks the primary thought running through his head. “You’re not going with Pete and Patrick and Ashlee, and fuck, whoever else comes attached?” Frank’s rather impressed with how level his voice is.
“I broke up with them a while ago.” It’s only been nine days, Mikey’s clearly got a different measurement of time than he has. “I just didn’t know if I wanted you.”
“So what happened?”
“Pete told me I was a fucking moron, that of course I wanted you.” Mikey punctuates the statement with raising the cigarette to his lips and inhaling again. The underneath of his fingernails are blue, like he didn’t take more than a second to wash his hands after art class.
Frank supposes he should be happy for the push in his direction but instead “and you always listen to Pete?” comes out bitterly.
“I’m not telling you all his secrets. But the guy knows how to take what he wants in compensation for all the things he can’t have.” Frank snorts. From what he’s seen, there’s nothing Pete Wentz can’t have. He’s got a girlfriend, a few boyfriends, a car and a dozen pairs of Converse, the magical ability to convince teachers to bend the rules for him. But he’s not going to say any of it out loud, because now is not the time to get into an argument with Mikey over him.
Mikey takes a fifth drag, then presses the lit end into the brick wall. It sizzles and dies, and the stub goes back into his pocket. “So, prom?”
“I don’t know.” His response floors him. Frank’s wanted him back since March and the first chance he plays hard to get? What is his brain? But the seconds in which he has to edit himself and write it off as a joke are ticking down and he spends them without replying.
“Oh. Okay. Uh. I found this great band, want me to link you to them?”
“Yeah.” Talking to Mikey on MSN will only prolong the agony of everything, but at this point he’s really brought it upon himself. And along with everything else, he’s missed Mikey’s music recs. Even if he’s got no idea what’s going on, getting a list of twenty new discographies to download will be a good thing.
“I’m going in for photography now. And you?”
“Woods.” Why is Mikey asking? He must already know, just like Frank knows all of Mikey’s classes. Frank watches Mikey head back inside, and pulls out another smoke. If he dies of lung cancer in ten years, it’s better than dying from a complete mental and physical breakdown right now.
It doesn’t leave Frank’s mind for the entirety of woods, in which he wisely chooses to stay away from the band saw and the belt sander. There are things you can do with a warped mind, like putting another coat of lacquer on a table, or gluing together different types of wood for an eventual chessboard, and there are things you don’t do if you wish to keep your thumbs. Frank needs his for video games, so he sticks to using a light grit paper to work his breadboard into softness. The moment class is over he runs for John’s car. He needs some opinions, and Hambone and Zoe are the best for that.
John’s pulling in front of his house by the time he’s done rambling. Frank peters off with the same thing he’s said a half a dozen times already. “I don’t know. Should I go to prom? Do I have to go?”
“Did you not learn your lesson with homecoming?”
“What, that crepe paper is lame?” Frank can’t think of anything else life changing, and even that’s pushing the concept of a lesson pretty hard.
“No. That even if you don’t want to, we’ll make you. So do we need to make this some super secret operation, stealing your phone and inviting Mikey pretending to be you, only to handcuff you together when you both show up at prom, or will you just shut up and go?”
Frank has no hesitation in believing that Zoe would handcuff him to Mikey. But it’s not the brilliant advice he was hoping for. He unbuckles his seat belt and jumps out of the car. He agrees to text John if he wants to hang out later and goes straight to his bedroom. He needs to think.
Except he’s not in his room five minutes before he’s got his cell phone out. Frank presses the seventh number and immediately wants to hang up, but it’s already rung once, and the only thing he can imagine that’s worse than this imminently awkward conversation is waiting for Mikey to check his phone and call back. Fuck, what if Mikey doesn’t pick up and he has to wait anyway? He’s such a fucking “Hey?”
“Hi. Mikey? I don’t want to go to prom with you.”
Frank can’t see it, but he’s almost certain Mikey is crossing his arms or tugging his skullcap further down. “You didn’t have to call me just to tell me that. I took your reluctance as a answer outside. Have a good night.”
Frank rushes before Mikey can hang up on him. “Wait. Can we like, not go but still spend the night together? Because homecoming really sucked, and prom is just a more expensive version of homecoming. Prom is expensive homecoming, with a shitty meal attached and renting limos and suits. Mikey, proms have suits, and nobody really wants that, do they?”
“I guess Romero is better than some DJ that thinks Ricky Martin is making a comeback any day now.”
Frank goes out on a limb. He’s almost shaking, saying it, but tries to put everything into his tone. He’s only got one more shot at this, he fucked up the first time, this needs to be clear. “Or you could come over and we could watch Survival of the Dead tonight, instead of waiting a month?”
“Frankie, Frankie, Frankie. One does not have a zombie date and watch the newest in a series! You’re lucky it’s me, Gerard would resort to fisticuffs for such an offense.” Frank sort of tunes out for a minute, Mikey’s voice in his ear in the background. He said date! A fucking date, Mikey’s done with Pete’s orgy party and he’s coming over for a zombie date. For the first time in two months, the world is good.
*
Frank puts his arms up and traps his hands between the back of his head and the pillow. This time he’s not going to push Mikey away, no matter what happens. Hindsight is twenty twenty, and has pleasantly informed him he was an idiot for not following through. He’s not going to fall into the same trap, he’s not going to let their relationship fall apart in another month because he won’t do this. Mikey is worth any pain.
Mikey is straddling him, slowly grinding against his cock. His lips are cherry red from their kissing when he pulls back, sitting up on some combination of his shins and Frank’s thighs and the bed. He doesn’t look thrilled. “We don’t have to do this today.”
However kind he might be trying to be, it’s not. Giving him the option to pussy out is in no way helpful, it’s like waving a forty in front of an alcoholic’s face, and then telling them it’s their choice. “Shut up and do it.”
“You lying back and thinking of England isn’t exactly making me hard.”
Which blatantly isn’t true, Frank can clearly see Mikey’s cock, big, and reddened, and about be be shoved inside him. He snaps “What do you want from me? I’m telling you to fuck me!”
“Uh, maybe for it to not be a chore or a task?”
“Well it is,” slips out before he can stop it. Fuck, he’s going to break them up again. Fuck shit fuck. In one smooth move Mikey is climbing off him, standing and grabbing his jeans from the floor. Fuck, “please don’t go!”
“I’m not going anywhere. I’m just not doing this. Frank, you should put your boxers on and we’ll talk.” On various movies and sitcoms over the years, Frank’s heard it insinuated that ‘we need to talk’ means the end of a relationship. And shit, maybe it’s true. But what they had already died one death because they didn’t talk, so what’s the alternative? Still, he doesn’t get off the bed to get partially dressed like Mikey, just sits up and reaches back to grab a pillow to put over his junk.
Mikey smirks and shrugs a bit, then sits on the other end of Frank’s bed. “Without getting pissed, can you just tell me why you didn’t like it? I mean, you fucked me all the time and I liked it. Tell me it’s not a masculinity thing.”
Fuck not getting mad. “Fuck you! You really think I let everything go to hell because I thought it made me a girl? Fuck you. It hurt. Not the fingering, that was just weird. But the actual fucking, that hurt. And not that I’m pulling a sexual assault card but when I asked you to stop you didn’t.”
Mikey shrugs. “Okay. I suck, and you’re tight. We can fix both these problems.”
“What do you suggest we do?” Maybe it’s a bit snotty, but Mikey can handle a bit of rudeness.
“Well, we’re twenty first century kids, right? So when in doubt, Google.”
Frank puts the pillow down and walks over to his desk. His thighs goosebump when he sits on the cold leather chair. He types in ‘how to make ass sex hurt less’ and frowns at the first twenty pages that come up. In every few sentence blurb it’s some dude asking a forum how to make his girlfriend want to try it.
“You really have no Google-fu at all, do you?” Mikey kisses his temple then digs his elbow into his shoulder so he can lean over Frank and type. Frank gets an odd flashback to their first meeting but doesn’t say anything.
“All you did was add the word gay!”
“Yeah, and there are no more fraternity jerkoffs whining about their girlfriends, are there?”
“Point.” Frank starts to read the article Mikey clicks, then his view is obscured by Mikey dropping onto his lap. Frank jabs him hard in the back. “If I can’t read it, tell me what it says, fucker.”
“You have two assholes, and the inner one is the one that doesn’t want me to fuck you. Basically I need to finger you every time I blow you, and after a while it’ll calm down. Also you should finger yourself when you jerk off.”
“Interesting. Scholarly, even. So, wanna get started on that?”
“Horny bastard,” Mikey says, but it sounds like he’s smiling. “Get back on the bed then.”
Frank waits for Mikey to climb off, then lies back down, one hand curled around his cock while the other flicks open the top of the lube. He could be poetic and say it smells of new beginnings, but it doesn’t, it’s just cherry lube. Still, he thinks things are going to get better now.
*
Frank isn’t much for school spirit, so it’s not Nate trying to sell it as one last act of rebellion and senior camaraderie that gets him. Honestly, it’s just because Nate is a little bit pathetic these days. Since Gabe, Ryland, and Elisa graduated mid year, leaving Alex, Nate and Victoria alone they’ve all been sort of pathetic. Not that he probably has much credibility in the bad ass arena, after all the moping over Mikey. But at least his personality didn’t turn a one eighty. The decimated Cobras only tried two more spontaneous actions before giving up, going completely against the nature of the improv group to do what they want and not need the approval of others.
For Nate to try something now, after months of nothing from the Cobras, is risky. It’s cool if it happens, but if he pleads and no one but Victoria and Alex are willing to back him, it’s pathetic. Frank doesn’t think it’s fair for anyone to be pathetic on graduation day. So he pitches in that it seems like a great idea, which gets his friends on board. The idea begins to ripple through the graduating class, each vote of ‘that’s stupid’ being drowned by five that like it. They go silent as a handful of teachers walk in, all clad in dress clothes. It’s weird to see all the female teachers in dresses, even cocktail party casual ones, all the men wearing ties.
The teachers carefully line them up, lines of twenty five, and file them into the twenty rows of folding chairs, and leave them to go sit on the reserved seats. Frank can hear the parents and grandparents and little brothers and sisters on the other side of the scarlet curtain. He imagines his parents somehow stumbling into Gerard and the elusive Mr and Mrs Way and wants to laugh for the scene that creates itself. Before the curtain opens everyone takes the brief unsupervised time to reseat themselves. Really, Frank doesn’t see much rebellion in it. They’re just not in order, it’s not like they’re walking out or setting fire to the auditorium. Still, he’s happy about the mass migration. Having John on one side, Mikey on the other seems more meaningful than being between Mike Idle and Amber Ignatio.
The middle of the stage has a tiny platform and a speaker’s podium Frank knows perfectly well a few of the guys in his woods class had to make. It’s tradition for the jocks to steal it and put it in the middle of a bonfire at the after party Frank’s not invited to. He could probably still go, as he’s sure Mikey is invited, but he doesn’t really want to spend the night with several hundred teenagers crammed in a rich kid’s house. He just wants to smoke up and drink with his friends, and try to forget that by the end of the summer he has to leave them all.
The other side of the stage, stage right, has another five hundred rented folding chairs. Each chair has a name post it noted to the seat. After Hawthorne calls their name to come collect the diploma, they’re supposed to step off the platform and walk to their assigned seat. Th way Frank figures it, he’ll be crossing the stage in about an hour. The ceremony is supposed to be three hours long, at least according to the gilted and embossed invitation he had to give to his parents. I is the ninth letter in the alphabet, which is a third of the way through. He gets his quick moment to take his rolled up paper and pose for pictures and his few words, and then it’s back to sitting with Mike and Amber.
Basically, Frank’s expecting three hours of sheer boredom, only relieved by the occasional amusing quote. Everyone gets the chance to say the same inspirational quote they ascribed in their yearbook entry, Hawthorne’s hand on the microphone in case someone decides to be crude or offensive. Frank’s is a lyric, of course; but I still believe there are only a few things that really belong to me, who I am, who I was and who I want to be. He knows most of his friends choices, but Mikey refuses to tell him his. Frank’s sure it’ll be a lyric too, there’s no way Mikey can have so much music and not have a lyric be the most important statement of his life, he just not sure what it will be. Unfortunately, considering he’s Mikey Way, it’s going to be about three hours until he learns.
The curtain opens to the entire crowd of relatives clapping for them. It’s sort of ridiculous, but in a way that feels great. Judging by the glare the principal gives them, Hawthorne seems less than impressed by the ‘rebellion’. But he chooses to save face and let them stay in their messed up order rather than close the curtains and demand they all get back into their proper seats. The glare is the last spark of interest Frank has for the next fifteen minutes. Then Victoria Asher walks across the stage and Ryland and Gabe stand on their chairs in the audience and start screaming and whistling, making a far bigger deal than her family. Hawthorne is scowling, but honestly Frank thinks he’s lucky they didn’t start acting out a scene in the aisle. When Gabe hurtles a plastic snake across the length of the room onto the stage, Victoria bends and picks it up before she takes the diploma Hawthorne is waiting to give her. Her quote is ‘fangs up’, which makes Gabe and Ryland burst into another round of cheering.
It’s obvious he’s not the only one that’s bored. Scattered throughout the graduating class are teenagers surreptitiously texting, or playing with a DS. Anyone in the front two rows are screwed, but further back than that it’s proof that teens of his generation have no focus, no patience. Somehow he doesn’t feel guilty about it; maybe his generation doesn’t have shame either? Unfortunately Frank wasn’t one of the ones smart enough to bring his cellphone, meaning that unless Tina kindly decides to share, he’s shit out of luck.
The gods are clearly smiling on him. Frank becomes certain of this fact when Mikey puts his hand on his thigh. It only stays there for a minute before it drifts, up, in. It doesn’t stop moving until it’s on top of his junk. “Mikey?”
“Just look ahead. We’re fifteen rows back, nobody’s going to see. Unless you scream out in orgasm, nobody’s going to know.” As far as whispered plans go, it’s not the most elaborate. It’s basically relying on luck. But Frank’s down with gambling, he’s played poker at Christmas with his relatives since he was nine. Mikey’s hand on him, stroking him through the graduation gown, and Frank’s not going to say no.
Douglas Cameron is giving his valedictorian speech, and Frank should be listening. It’s probably inspirational, it probably talks about heroes in and outside of the school, it probably mentions the challenges of the future in a framework of the challenges they’ve already faced. He can’t hear a word of it, all he can hear is his own panting. Mikey’s hand is on him, and Frank is doing his best to not arch up into it, because even if the audience doesn’t notice, he doesn’t want the students around him to see either.
The truth is, Frank doesn’t need to hear what wise people think about the past of high school, and the future of colleges and careers. Frank’s got his past, his own future. He’s gay, and in love, and he’s got a family, and friends that he might not lose as they scatter over the country. Things will suck, and things will be great, and most things will just be okay. And that’s enough. His eyes close as he climaxes, coming into the shorts he’s wearing under his gown. He breathes for a second, and then extends his arm. They’re only on C, he’s got more than enough time to help Mikey.