Pairing: Ben Cook/Frank Iero
Warnings: Uh. Sex in a bathroom.
Disclaimer: I don't own these people and make no aspersions toward their sexualities, nor do I believe that anything I write is fact.
Summary: If my velocity starts to make you sweat then just don’t let go.
Author's Note: I have no idea where I would post this at all so it's goin' in my journal! Yay! Happy reading if you're into that kinda thing. Also, I wrote roughly the last two thirds of this at six o'clock in the morning so if it makes no sense, that's why.
Ben's not really sure why he's been invited to this awards show thing, but hey, he's not complaining. He wears suits well.
He really wasn't expecting to run into Frank Iero in the bathroom, though. That one was definitely a surprise. He just zips back up and turns around and there's the fucking rhythm guitarist for fucking My Chemical Romance.
He makes a sort of aborted gasping sound, which makes Frank's mouth quirk to the side in amusement.
"You done?" he asks, gesturing to the urinal Ben's just finished using. Ben nods dumbly, stepping aside so that the other man can take his place. "Thanks."
Ben steps to the sink, beginning to wash his hands and then oh my god he can hear Frank Iero peeing. He's only freaking out a little, and he makes sure he doesn't accidentally say anything out loud.
The loud rasp of a zipper startles him a bit, and he jumps, turning off the water. The tap next to him is turned on and he doesn't dare look.
"Nice hair," Frank says suddenly, and Ben sort of winces. Christ, way to look like a fanboy, Cook. First you can only converse in squeaks, and now this.
"Thanks," he replies, jerking one bright red strand out of his face. It's been bothering him all night.
"Is it because... y'know...?" Frank asks, leaning back against the sink. Ben can't help but be a little excited that he's still here and hasn't left the bathroom to continue living his Frank Fucking Iero life.
"A little," he admits. "Mostly it was to match my ex-boyfriend, his was blue."
"Hmm," Frank hums. Ben panics momentarily that he's unbearably boring. "I like it. Not just 'cause it reminds me of Gerard, although I like him, too. It suits your face." He scans Ben's frame once, nonchalantly.
Frank Iero is checking him out. "Haha, thanks." He leans against the wall, hoping to pull off casual even though he's freaking the fuck out in his own head. "I'd imagine it suits him a bit better, though, he's the original."
Frank snorts. "He's not the first to ever use red hair dye. And I disagree, I think you look much sexier than he does."
Frank Iero just called him sexy. "Er, thanks. Really?" Ben can't help but ask.
"Mhmm. Yeah, it's a good color on you. Of course, you're very attractive in general, so it only makes sense that the hair makes you more so."
Ben very nearly squeaks again, but manages to suppress it. ". . . Oh?"
Frank gives him a slow smile and an even slower once-over. "Oh, yes."
That still doesn't really explain to Ben how they ended up here, tangled up in each other in a bathroom stall, but he'd have to be crazy to complain about it, because Frank Iero's hands are up his shirt, and there is absolutely nothing wrong in the world right now.
"I really want to fuck you," Frank purrs in his ear, nipping the lobe lightly. "Let me?"
"Nnnghkay," Ben groans. He pulls Frank in closer and connects their lips. He never in a million years could have anticipated this. He's making out with Frank Iero in a bathroom. His life is brilliant.
Frank keeps a travel size tube of lotion in his pocket at all times, because his hands get dry and it's really useful. It comes in handy for times like this as well.
"Face the wall," he grunts, and Ben obeys, though he's reluctant to part from those lips. "Shit, you're so hot," Frank purrs into his ear, his hands distracting Ben by smoothly moving to his waist and undoing the button on his suit trousers. The zipper goes just as quickly. Frank keeps rocking against him, hips undulating against his ass, driving Ben insane.
"Fuck," he hisses as Frank shoves his shirt up again, blunt nails scraping over his stomach. His nerve endings are on fire, and he just wants Frank inside of him already.
"How many fingers can you take?" Frank mouths against his neck. Ben stutters on that answer. He can't actually remember; it's been a long time since he's been on this side of the equation so he imagines not many is the answer, at least all at once. But Frank's answered his own question, working two lotioned fingers inside of Ben slowly, still mouthing kisses to the side of his throat.
"T-Two, apparently," he groans, mouth falling open as Franks fingers delve deep and fast into him, stretching and probing at equal lengths. "Fuck..."
"Give me a second," the words are wry and amused next to his ear. Frank rocks his fingers into Ben one more time before pulling them out and positioning himself. Ben has no idea when he had the time to get his own trousers down, but he definitely did at some point, as his cock is sliding teasingly over Ben's entrance once, twice, shit shit shit and then he's inside and jesus it really has been forever since Ben's been properly fucked.
Frank eases out, then slams back in, easy gyrations of his hips. He's good, Ben thinks, very good. He rocks back into the thrusts when he gets used to the pressure, head tilting back as Frank sucks hard, toothy kisses from the junction of his neck and shoulder. He belatedly hopes that'll be covered by his jacket; by the feel of them he's definitely going to have marks.
"Fuck me fuck me fuck me," he murmurs, mouth falling open as Frank's pace quickens. Jesus so deep and hot and Frank Iero fucking him.
"Mm, you're fun," Frank mumbles against his neck. His hands are settled at Ben's hips, gripping too tightly for it to be really comfortable, but Ben doesn't mind. He likes the firmness. Frank's hand snakes down, gripping Ben in his hand and stroking in quick, sharp jerks. Three strokes and Ben's about ready to explode.
"Come," Frank whispers in his head, nosing along the ridge of it. "Come on, I can tell you want to, come."
Ben does, hard and fast and panting, his release coating a section of the wall he's pressed against. His forehead thunks against the aforementioned wall, and he can hear Frank laughing behind him.
"Ooh, so tight," he moans, biting down on Ben's neck, not very hard, but it makes pain jangle up Ben's nerves a little. "Yes..." He moans, choked and cut off as he comes, and from the feel of it, Ben can tell he's wearing a condom. Funny how that sensation isn't one you forget. Funnier still that he never noticed Frank put it on, or maybe that's just completely understandable.
There's a moment of silence other than unsteady heaves of breath, and then Frank is gripping his hip again to pull out without any fanfare.
"Very nice," he compliments. "Eight stars."
"Out of ten?" Ben replies, slightly indignant but mostly amused. "What'd I lose points on?"
"Eight out of five," is Frank's response. He winks, and Ben laughs.
"It was a pleasure," he assures. Frank gives him a pointed look.
"You never did quite lose the shellshocked look. I'm a human, you know? Sometimes I like to fuck hot guys in bathrooms at awards shows." He shrugs. "We all get the urge."
"Do we?" Ben is definitely just amused at this point, drawing his trousers back up and fastening them. His shirt is all sorts of askew, and he grumbles, adjusting it. "I think you ripped off a button," he murmurs distractedly, holding his shirt where the top button is now missing."
"You look better with a little more skin showing." Frank smooths out his jacket, fixing the collar to look even. "There, gorgeous."
Ben suppresses the girlish giggle. "Thanks, Frank."
"You're welcome... Oh, this is a bit awkward..." Frank cringes a bit. Ben just laughs again.
"Ben," he introduces. "Benjamin Cook." He holds out his hand, and Frank shakes it.
"Frank Iero, though you already knew that, I guess." Frank smiles. "It was very nice to meet you, Benjamin Cook. Maybe if we're ever at the same awards show again, we can... Have another nice meeting."
"I'll count on it." Ben runs his fingers through his hair to fix it back into its original purposeful mess.
Frank has managed somehow to return to looking like perfection, not a hair out of place, except... "Your zipper's down," Ben informs him, nudging the stall door open.
"Thanks," Frank mumbles, and then there's a loud rasp of the zipper being zipped.
"Definitely not a problem." Ben tosses a glance over his shoulder, earning a smirk in return.
Fucking hell, he's definitely got to call Teoh later. He's not going to believe this.