Frerard one-shot. Mafia. Smut. Don de la Via. Sexy kidneys. Vibrators. Buckle in for the ride, folks.
So. This is just something I did really quickly because I’m still in the whole mafia-is-awesome-as-fuck stage. I’ve been wanting to do a smut one-shot for a while now, a nice little original one, and this type of one came to mind. It’s kinda weird and whatever, but I like it.
This is based off of my story First of the Gang to Die, where Gerard is the Don of the Italian-American Mafia in the 1930’s in LA and Frank is his husband. Gerard is also referred to as Don de la Via (‘Via’ is Italian for ‘Way’; Don, in case you don’t know, is the title given to a male Mafia boss. A Donna is the one given to a female boss.) and I call Frank his bunny rabbit because…I don’t know, I just do. Bear in mind that in my story Gerard is normally stronger and manlier than Frank, who I make quite effeminate and stuff. (Not one of those stereotypical gays, but just short and skinny and soft and stuff like that.) But in this one I decided to just do a little play on roles, and also a play on a well-known phrase for the title. In this, Gerard has just turned thirty and Frank is twenty four, and, duh, it’s set on Gerard’s birthday. It’s a little different from FOTG in that, in this one, I’m making them have a son called Michael (yep, after Mikey) who is five. Gerard and Frank, in this version, have been married for eight years.
Also, today was my eighteenth birthday (yay!) and I got so many fucking presents, I swear to God, I am actually such a child. My dad got me tickets to see Radiohead for the sixth time in New York; my friends grouped together and got me a stellar collection of band shirts (even a rare old MCR one from Bullets era FUCK YEAH I HAVE THE BEST FRIENDS EVER) my sister got me a new phone because I dropped my old one down the shitter, and my boyfriend got me a new fucking bass because he is the best motherfucker alive and it’s Mike Dirnt’s sig Fender and oh Lord it’s so pretty and ahh I fucking attacked him when he gave it to me and I was like fucking marry me and he laughed and I was like I’m serious
Aaaaaanyway, yes, I have the best family/friends ever and I fucking love them so much (my bass is so pretty I’m just admiring it here, stroking the neck lovingly and murmuring ‘my precious’) and so yeah. I gotta write this fairly quickly because tonight I’m going out and schtuff. I’m meant to be at my friend’s house at the moment getting dressed and whatever but I text her and was literally like ‘uh sorry I have to write my MCR fan fiction pretty much yeah bye’.
Hope you guys enjoy! I also hope you guys are as perverted as I am XD
Being a weird ass motherfucker since 1993-
Xo lorna (who is now eighteen fuck yeah I can fucking do anything now lads)
Like a Boss
April 9th, 1935
Don de la Via didn’t know how long he had been blindfolded for.
Hours, most definitely. A question of how many was the real challenge.
He tried to shuffle and found he couldn’t; his legs, arms and abdomen were strapped to this (presumably) chair. He could feel the tight restraints across his chest, digging into his ribs, nearly cutting his thick wrists. Gerard prided himself on his strength (he could easily pick up his other half with one arm) but he had been thrashing around and clenching his muscles for the last few (minutes? Hours? Christ, it felt like days) measures of time and it had come to no avail. He was beginning to feel a little light headed and faint from the severing of his circulatory system. He was taking laborious, deep breaths. Sparkling beads of sweat were accumulating on his russet skin.
He was in pain. Gerard Way would have never admitted that, ever, but he was in complete agony. His back was strained and there was a crick in his neck; he couldn’t move his arms to wedge them from their uncomfortable position. He tried to arch his spine and groaned loudly when it cracked; he tilted his head back and felt that warm, chaffing feel of perspiration on the nape of his neck. He let his eyes slide shut. They felt like they were being used as teabags. Fuck. He didn’t think turning thirty would be this fucking painful.
Then his canine - like hearing sprang into action as he heard something creak down the stairs of the Way manor. He had been wondering where Frank had been for the last few hours; the gangster’s husband had been strangely MIA for the entirety of Gerard’s predicament. Way longed for the ropes captivating his wrists and ankles to be unleashed so he could finally be with his baby again. Not to mention he was terrified for his son, whom he hadn’t heard cry since he demanded Gerard sling him around his shoulders and run around the house in what the boy liked to call ‘porcellino – indeitro’. (The Italian word for ‘piggy-back’; basically Michael would clamber onto his father’s broad shoulders and demand the Don to run for him, his own personal show – horse.) He wanted his husband and his son back badly, to be let free from the chair.
“Frank?” He called weakly, his voice cracking, whipped and broken. His throat was dry and parched, and felt like his oesophagus was closing up. “Frank, baby? Is that you?” The thought of the rival family, the Romano’s, kidnapping his son and his husband, his most treasured possessions, was swirling in his thoughts. He shook it away angrily, desperately, hopefully. He couldn’t bear to think about that. Instead, he tortured his vocal chords more by calling out for his son. “Michael?” He mewled, and heard some quiet thuds down the hall. Oh shit, what if it was a raid? “Honey, is that you?”
He heard something click. Things clicking was a sound Gerard knew much too well. He shoved the thoughts of someone aiming a pistol at his head to the back of his subconscious. Then, his mind wiped the board with something. Frustrated, fanatic anxiety coarsed through his veins.
“Michael!” He called suddenly, and his voice was so hoarse it felt like tiny needles were lining his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut to try and force tears back into his skull. “Michael, I told you not to play with Daddy’s guns, baby, that isn’t safe. Ugh…” he groaned, arching his back again, and tried to twist his head. He longed for his son, and pictured the boy inside his mind’s eye. It seemed to suffice as a very good distraction from his present situation.
He looked like Gerard but acted like Frank. He had bright, ultraviolet green eyes that shone in the dark and glittered and gleamed like emeralds. That was always the first thing people would comment on when seeing the kid in someone’s arms; he had the Don’s eyes. He had soft black tufts of hair that tickled when he would plunge his head into one of his father’s shoulders. He, according to the line of his family, wore black and white, even as a child. His personality was lively but not loud; he was a very quiet and respectful child, and would sit with his father during meetings and coalitions, sitting with his legs crossed, his hands knitted neatly in his lap. He bit his lip often and wore Frank’s little smile whenever he was pleased. Gerard always felt himself swell with pride when he laid eyes upon his son, who would become Don in twenty year’s time.
And then there was Frank. Absolute perfection in his husband’s eyes. He was small and slight and five foot two and one thirty, and was probably the opposite of Gerard in every way- he never killed, he was uneducated compared to his genius of a lover, he hardly ever cursed. He stayed at home to take care of their son, and often assisted Gerard in his Mafia dealings, helping pay his associates. Gerard adored Frank with all of his soul, and hardly ever let the boy from his sight. They had been married for eight years now, and the love in their lives and the passion in their romance had never flickered. Gerard and Frank, at the ages of nineteen and twenty four, respectively, had welcomed their son into the world of organized crime. Frank was Gerard’s world. They had began dating as teenagers back in the twenties, when the Don had met the boy in high school. One year following, they were married.
The sound was nearer now. He had worried he had been hallucinating when he had previously heard the noises, but now he was distinctly hearing something outside his bedroom door. He was pretty certain that’s where he was, in his massive bedroom he shared with Frank. He inhaled quickly when the creak of the door hinges sounded.
“Gee?” The quiet, breathy lisp of his husband asked. Way sighed in happy relief and ceased writhing.
“Frankie,” he rasped, sighing again. “Oh sugar, I’ve been up here for hours. I dunno what the fuck happened but baby-“ he winced when his swollen wrists bumped against the wooden arm rests of the chair. “Ugh, bunny rabbit, I’m in so much pain, please help me get out of this thing.”
“You’re in pain?” The rabbit questioned ever so innocently. “Are you really, really sore, Gee?”
Way groaned loudly. It was so noisy Frank actually felt himself flush a little pink. His trousers felt a little tight in an irritating, pleasant way. Seeing the gangster clad in his black and red tuxedo, sweat running down his temples, groaning and moaning, veined hands clutching the chair made the twenty four year old want to thrust his hand down his pants and start pumping. Not yet, though.
“Yes,” the Don panted, his lips cracked from lack of moisture. Gerard passed his tongue, which felt swollen and fuzzy, along his bottom lip to refurbish it. He was dehydrated; he could tell that by the stubborn dryness of his mouth. “Oh God, it fucking hurts. It hurts to-“ he suckered in a tight breath-“breathe. Help me out, sugar, please.”
Gerard expected help. Assistance, aid, support, succour. For Frank to start tugging and pulling at the ropes, for him to fetch some water for the boss, to caress his hardened, rough skin with sweet kisses. He would have even expected Frank to call for a stronger associate to help Gerard. What he didn’t expect was Frank’s following answer.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Gee.”
Gerard’s blood stopped rushing in his ears. He let his dry mouth fall open.
“W-why, baby?” He asked, dazed and confused. He was panting now, like a dog, his tongue too blistering and enflamed to be comfortable in his mouth. He felt drained, fatigued. He could feel Frank around in his aura; the boy must be near. In all eight years of marriage, Frank had never declined to do something for Gerard; he was the ever faithful server of the gangster. “Why c-can’t y-you huh-help me-“ oh fuck, Don de la Via, what the fucking fuck are you fucking doing? You can’t fucking cry, you don’t ever fucking cry, fucking stop it now. Gerard couldn’t stop the flow of exasperated tears streaking his cheeks. “Puh-please, baby, I’m in s-so m-much p-pain-“
“Shhh, Gee, don’t be upset,” Frank soothed, voice quiet and kind. He clambered behind the boss and draped his arms around Gerard’s shoulders, little fingers tracing his neck and collar bone, gathering beads of sweat onto his nail tip. The Don was calmed slightly by his partner’s soft, cool flesh being pressed up against his hot, chaffed body. “Don’t cry, Gee, I hate seeing you in pain. I promise it’ll be over so soon.” He let his hands trail up Gerard’s neck and they found his lips, broken and arid. Don de la Via’s mouth was pried open and Frank let his fingers run over the curve of his lips, providing some source of beneficial comfort to the mobster. “Just relax. Everything’s okay, Gee.”
Gerard didn’t know why he didn’t question this. He supposed he just trusted Frank too damn much.
“Oh…okay,” he replied shakily, feeling a little more flustered as his younger lover slipped his hand under Gerard’s shirt and let his fingertips dance along his skin. His trousers felt tighter and tighter, constricting his legs into place. “I…uh…I…how’s Mich…ael?”
“He’s good, Gee,” Frank replied breathily. “He was excited about your birthday earlier, babe, he was so happy for his daddy.” The boy leaned in and bit the Don’s ear, who stirred again, eyes darting nervously to the growing bulge in his trousers. Frank’s wandering hand, meanwhile, found Gerard’s nipple and began to tease it, tugging and flicking it, rubbing it just between his fingers. The mobster bit his lip so violently it began to bleed. “He wanted to be with you but I said I wanted to give you my present first. He’s at Ray and Christa’s for the night, Gee, they said they’d look after him. I gave him his bottle and the stuffed cat he likes. What’s his name again?”
“Ar-Arthur,” Gerard barely croaked. Even in his bubble of unbelievable lust he would always remember the name of the black toy Michael never left out of his sight, not to mention it was his cringe-worthy middle name. Michael had seen it on his holster and had christened his favourite stuffed toy Arthur. “The…cat’s name…Arthur.”
“Arthur, that’s right,” the boy said happily. “He always calls out in the middle of the night for it if he doesn’t have it. It’s so adorable. So cute. I hate it when he’s upset but he looks so adorable when he cries,” he breathed right into Gerard’s eardrum. “Like you. I heard you crying out for me, Gee, and I couldn’t stand it. I love you so much, Gerard.” The gangster came to the conclusion that Frank wasn’t wearing a shirt as he could feel flesh pressed against his neck and back. His lips felt meshed together as he tried to avoid the thought of his bulging erection in his trousers. He couldn’t speak. “And now I want you to do something for me, Gee. I’ll untie right now so you can.”
“Oh thank you,” Gerard rasped, relief wavering in his thin voice. He felt Frank shift his minimum weight and the padding of feet on the floor. “Thank you, baby, thank you so much.” Suddenly, Frank was on top of him, sitting on his knees, and he could feel fleeting fingers working at his binds. He flushed scarlet when he realized he was still so hard Frank would nearly get fucked just by sitting on top of him. Gerard could hear the boy’s even breathing, the humming between his teeth.
“You’ve been thinking dirty things, Gee,” the boy said, giggling, and the Don continued gasping for breath. “Reeeeeal dirty things. I left you up here for too long, babe, I’m sorry. You must be so thirsty for something. I’ll get you a drink in just a second, honey. Poor Gee.” He was all done with the captive ropes now, and let them fall to the ground. Gerard’s injured hands went to his head to untie the blindfold. “Oh, Gee, no, you’ll ruin your surprise.” Frank’s voice was laden with heavy sadness. It was so soft and meek when he spoke next. “And I worked so hard on it, Gee. Please?”
Gerard nodded and received a swift kiss on his head for his compliance. He pursed his lips and fell to his knees, head dipping. If Frank refusing to untie him before was a shocker, what happened next nearly gave Gerard Way a heart attack.
“On your knees, bitch!” Frank suddenly ordered, yanking Gerard by the collar toward him, so that the gangster was thrust forward, falling to his face in his new found state of freedom. He still had the goddamn blindfold on. He couldn’t see a fucking thing. “On your motherfucking knees right now!”
Gerard fell forward again, falling against something quite fragile and soft; Frank’s legs. If he knew his husband at all (which he did) he was under the impression he was wearing sheer suspenders. Gerard shook his hair rapidly and got to his knees, puffing breaths.
“Don’t call me that, Gee,” he said in a silky voice. Something long and thin- Frank’s stocking-clad leg-stretched over the Don’s shoulder. Gerard was feeling faint again. “Call me Master. “
“Sugar, what are you-“
Gerard received a sharp slap across the cheek. It hadn’t been with a hand; it had been with a riding prod, straight across his face. He gasped out of surprise as opposed to pain and tried desperately to scrabble for the blindfold. Frank didn’t like this.
“First off, it’s Master de la Via to you, bitch boy. I'm the boss now. Secondly, don’t be a naughty boy or you get slapped again.” His voice was soft, gentle; in conflict with the fighting words he was spitting at his husband. Gerard heard something rustle; after several moments he heard heavy thuds on the floor. “Thirdly, I want you to do every single thing I say or bad things are gonna happen.” When Gerard didn’t answer (the shock had begun to wear off; Gerard was finding himself getting hot, flustered and awkward again, an unusual placebo for the boss) Frank stamped his foot; he must have been wearing boots. “You understand that, Mafia-boy?”
Way was about to reply with baby this is the best goddamn birthday present ever but soon caught himself. He bowed his head.
“Yes, Master.” Something light and fluttering tugged at Gerard’s hair, streaming fingers through thick raven hair. “I understand, Master de la Via.”
“Good,” Frankie breathed, and swivelled on his heels. Despite the terrifying cognita he was applying to please Gerard, he still retained a feminine air when he moved. “You only move when I tell you to. Got that, bitch?”
“Yes.” Oh God, his rasps were becoming faint with desperate lust. “Yes, God yes, Fr-Master.”
Suddenly, like ripping a plaster from some healed wound, the covering around Gerard’s eyes was stripped from him. It was raw and sudden, and Frank was obviously light on his feet; Gerard hadn’t heard him approach. The jade orbs blinked and fluttered momentarily and then settled on the boy in front of them. Frank was dressed in suspenders, as Gerard had envisioned, that flattered his legs so well every curve and dip was accentuated by the thin black material, translucent to the eye. Frank had obviously dressed recently in a white shirt and red tie, complete with a black military jacket that hung to his mid-thighs. He turned on his heel again, like a fashion model on a luxury runway, facing away from Gerard. Flouncy, filmy black panties were dressed on his bottom half, in accordance with the braces, and worn, scuffed combat boots were positioned on his feet. Frank was picking at his nails, unimpressed.
“Well?” He purred, running his hand up his leg. “Do you like it or don’t you?” Frank’s hand danced sinfully around his waistline, turning up the hem of his shirt. They swerved around the cup of his hips, Gerard’s eyes following in an involuntary trance-like stare. “Fucking speak your mind.”
“Uh…I…you’re so…” he was pretty sure that, by now, he was flushed red from head to foot. He had never been this aroused before; the tone in which Frank spoke to him was turning him onto such a point he was losing track of his eloquent thoughts, wanting to be inside the heavenly creature so bad. “You look gorgeous, Master. So…unbelievably…perfect.” He gasped again. “I want you, Master.”
“Want me?” Frank repeated, walking so slowly to the other man, boots slapping the floor. “What would you do with me, Gee?” He slipped one finger down the hem of the effeminate undergarments and bent it down with his thumb. Gerard gasped with need, voice breaking. He wanted Iero so desperately, and the parch in his throat had nothing to do with the fact that he was seriously lacking in liquids. “Tell me what you’d do.”
“I’d…I’d…so many things,” he managed to push past his lips. “I can’t…ugh…can’t d-describe.”
“Yes you can, Gerard,” Frank said in a stern don’t-be-ridiculous tone. “You speak like a poet all the time. You write me love letters that are so beautiful I can’t even fucking understand them. When I gave you my virginity on our wedding night you were so nervous you babbled on your own words. You have the best vocabulary ever.” He pouted and kneeled before Gerard, shaking and trembling with desire, with want, with need. “I think you can describe what you’d do to me, Gee.” He narrowed his eyes. “Describe now or you won’t get any of this tonight.” On this, he passed a hand down his chest and then, killing his husband, he plunged it down his panties. “And you want it, don’t you, Gee? Don de la Via wants to fuck his precious bunny rabbit.”
It sounded unnatural to hear a curse word pass from Frank’s mouth. Gerard raised his head and the twenty four year old swept his fringe away lovingly. Tears were running his face.
“First I’d…I’d kiss you so hard your teeth’d fall out,” he panted, vocabulary failing, but his ultimate sentiment getting across. “And I’d…suck you off and deep throat you and rip off the fucking suspenders with my teeth.” Frank was nodding, smiling, and caressing the boss’s cheek. “And then I’d strip you down to your boxers and make you suck me off, and I’d make you swallow all my come and then I’d make love to you and hear you scream my name when I’m inside you.” Gerard’s voice had hit a deep baritone now, and he could see lust swirling in those innocent hazel eyes, the faint rose blossoming in Frank’s ample cheeks. “I’d bring you to orgasm every time and bring you back down ‘cause I want you to come the most you’ve ever fucking streamed outta your cock.” Gerard pulled Frank toward him and purred: “Nice try, princess. Now it’s my turn. Turn around for me.”
“Not a freaking chance, Way,” Frank shot back. “I planned this whole night down to a T and goddammit you are gonna be my bitch and I get to treat you like shit and give you the best birthday ever-“
“Mmm, baby, between us, who’s taller and stronger?” Frank pouted, but the bulge in his underwear spoke for his intentions. “Who’s got the muscles and the guns and the suits and all that shit?” He reached over Frank’s body and licked his jawline. Frank tried to squirm but eventually settled beneath the gangster. “Who’s motherfucking Don de la Via, babe?”
“You are,” Frank panted. “You’re stronger and taller and you’ve got muscles and guns and suits and all that shit and you’re motherfucking Don de la Via.” He looked Gerard straight in the eye. His hand shot down suddenly and caught a hold of the criminal’s ass. “I just grabbed your ass, so ha, motherfucker!”
“Yeah, you grabbed my ass, big freaking deal, baby doll,” he shrugged, shooting up to his stance and pulling Frank up by ankles. Being over a foot taller than his husband came with advantages in Gerard’s situation. The boy squirmed and squeaked as he was suspended, Gerard’s fingers wrapped around his ankle. “God, you’re really pretty, baby. I fucking love you so much, Frankie, you make my heart sing-“
“Now he fucking describes shit!” Frank yelled, and Way laughed. “Stop being nice to me and fuck me right now, Way! Or else I’ll-“
“Hmm,” he hummed, “what would you do, precious?”
“This,” Iero replied, and aimed his fist at Gerard’s crotch. Due to the friction between a clenched hand and the erection, not to mention that generally being a ‘no go’ area with members of the male sex, Gerard groaned in agony, bending his knees together. Frank let out a laugh as he was thrown onto the bed.
“Fuck you, babe,” Gerard said in his agony, stalking over to the bed, shedding his waistcoat and tie, clasping for his belt. “That was so unfair, Frankie-“
“You ruined my tough guy thingy!” Frank whined, and sounded like he had returned to normal. “I was gonna seriously be a hard ass and everything! I was gonna make you lick my feet, goddammit!” He regarded his husband. “No, no! Leave the tie on.” His mouth curved into a devilish grin. “I want you to fuck me in your tux.”
“Technically tuxedoes and suits are different, tuxedoes are usually worn with cummerbunds and bow ties, I wear suits and waistcoats-“
“GERARD ARTHUR WAY,” Frank screeched. “WILL YOU PLEASE STOP TELLING ME ABOUT MEN’S FORMAL CLOTHING AND FUCKING HAVE SEX WITH ME ALREADY.”
Way dove onto the bed and began nipping, biting, sucking and touching his bunny rabbit in every possible place he could. He put a finger to his lips to signify Frank to be quiet, and ripped open the shirt with his bare hands, the material surging open with a satisfying split. Frank arched his back and mewled, offering his bare chest to Gerard, who licked the gap in between his collarbone, travelling down to graze against his nipple, lazing his tongue over the nub. The boy screeched with pleasure and pulled at Gerard’s black hair, thrusting his hips to the mobster.
“Who’s boss now, baby,” he growled over the rabbit’s breathy little gasps and moans. “I own this shit.”
“Please…” Iero begged, tilting his hips up and tugging Gerard’s head down. “Please…you promised…”
“I lied,” Gerard said flatly, unzipping his fly. Once his erection hit cold air he nearly wretched from the tingling experience. He sat up on the boy’s chest and let his tip nudge Frank’s mouth open. “Suck me off, sugar. Suck me like a molfucking popsicle.”
Gerard expected the younger one to protest, but Iero seemed all too happy to take his engorged member in his little fist and began to suckle, closing his eyes and pulling Gerard forward. The gangster felt himself getting bigger and bigger, Frank’s timid licking up and down his shaft making his head spin. He tilited his hips again, his cock pushing down the boy’s throat. His soft, plush lips pouted and parted around Gerard.
“Fuck,” the Don snarled, digging his fingertips into the sheets. “Fuck fuck fuck, I’m gonna fucking come. Fuck, it’s gonna fucking-ugh, suck faster, baby, suck harder-“
Way came with an almighty roar. Frank swallowed every last drop, parting ways with the tip in a little pop. White streamed down his lips and chin and neck; Gerard had been waiting quite a while for such a release. The rabbit suckled his lips and drank every last drop. Don de la Via’s chest heaved. He reached out to lick some of his own- he was dazed with utter lust-but his wrist was slapped away by the other.
“No,” he said in a childlike, possessive voice. “It’s mine.”
“It’s not a toy, Frank, it’s fucking semen. Hand some over.”
“No. It’s mine. You came for me and I get to have it. Anyway, only weirdoes drink their own spunk, you weirdo.”
“You fucking tied me up for eight hours and now I’m dehydrated. If anyone’s the weirdo here, it’s you.”
“You’re having sex in a suit.”
“You fucking asked me to!”
“Why would anyone ask for that? That’s so weird.” Frankie giggled and smiled indulgently. “There. It’s all gone now.”
“You little bastard. You motherfucking cute, adorable little bastard…”
“Gee, can you move? You’re hurting my kidneys.”
“Kidneys can be sexy now?”
“Um…thank…you?” Frank said, giggling. He beckoned Gerard down and twirled a strand of hair around his little finger. “Happy thirtieth, Gee.”
“Thanks baby.” He smiled contentedly and relaxed back. “I think we found out who’s boss here.”
“Yup, I think we did.” Frank replied, pulling out a bright pink, long, thick vibrator and switching the button on. Gerard’s eyes widened. His mouth fell open. “And his name is Frank de la Via.”
Sweet Jesus what is wrong with me