Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Mercenary
THIS IS NOT YET FINISHED. It will be. But. Hey. I'll get there.
To mychemicalbitchbot. It was supposed to be a late birthday present, but it's also a leaving present now :'(
*
Frank had forgotten how beautiful the Strip was. The desert was glowing with neon, and the warm air was a chorus of delirious shrieks and disappointed groans, accompanied by the constant clinking of coins.
The night was balmy, with only a hint of a breeze to take away the humidity. Not that Frank really noticed. He’d been living out here for a good seven years now, and mundane details such as the weather made little or no difference to him anymore.
His feet lead him up the glamorous Strip by default, and without noticing, he’d ended up outside “Unlucky For Some”. He wondered for a moment whether his unconscious was telling him to talk to Gerard – Mr. Way, any kind of familiarity could put some suspicion on both of them, particularly as the green-eyed boss was notorious for treating his employees like they were his toys – and try to secure his job.
Part of him cringed at the thought of having to face the hauntingly beautiful man, and yet another – utterly insane – part of him was coiling in excitement at seeing his pretty boss.
How awkward a conversation would that be? Oh hey there, Gerard, Mr. Way, whatever, I’m sorry I haven’t been dancing and stripping like a whore for you in the last week, but you see, your incredible kiss gave me such a disgusting erection that it took a week for me to rub out. Also, the damn memory of it has me fleeing for a bathroom, so you know. That’s why I’ve been calling in sick.
Not fucking likely. He’d rather die than have to admit the disgusting hold that his boss had over him.
So Frank just looked at the club for another minute, taking it in from a tourist’s view. It was lit up, like all the other casinos on the Strip, but it’s painted red rather the usual white, and has been decorated with snake-eyed dice and crumbling stacks of poker chips, accompanied by paintings of shady looking dealers and suggestively posed dancers.
It seemed the club was promoting loss and lust, rather than the usual glory and prizes, but the whole scene drew Frank in, without him registering it. The building had a dangerous air about it, and it openly tempted anyone with the nerve to taste what it was like to be seduced by the very best.
It was a good reflection on Mr. Bloody Way actually – it was dark and captivating, and hinted slyly at being predatory. The memory of green eyes flashing with dark lust sent shivers down Frank’s spine and chills shuddering thorough his stomach, the competing feelings of desire and fear still spinning and twirling his head. He shook his head irritably, and dragged a hand through his disheveled hair, before he averted his eyes from the lewd gaze of the painted dancers and walked away.
“Frank!”
The mentioned man’s head snapped up at the sound of the familiar voice. Quick footsteps rush up behind him, and a hand is laid on his shoulder. Frank turned slowly and is faced with the green eyes that had poured through his mind like liquid lust only moments ago.
Then he recalled that those eyes are attached to and part of his boss. The one he’s trying to avoid. He steps away.
“You don’t look very sick.”
To be fair, he hadn’t been.
“Well, I am.”
He didn’t really mean physically. The unspoken “and you are too” hung uncomfortably in the air between the two men.
Mr. Way’s eyes raked over him, with the absence of lust and with a sense of shrewd examination. Every inch of Frank’s skin – tattooed or otherwise – prickled under the probing gaze, but he kept his head up and his eyes defiant. The uneasy feeling still lingered over his body after the intense look, and Frank wondered what the hugely unpredictable man in front of him was going to do.
After a moment, the green eyed boss chuckled, but once again gripped Frank’s shoulder and guided him forcibly back towards the club. The smaller man squirmed, but Mr. Way only tightened his grip and nodded at the black clad doorman to push open the gothic, grandiose doors that led inside.
It was dimly lit, plush and luxurious as always, but had more people floating around the space than Frank had expected for the middle of the day. The tables that were usually pushed up against the walls had been put together in the middle of the room, and a burly man was slumped in one of the seats, smoking a cigar and surrounded by other brawny men. A card game had apparently been in attendance, from what Frank could see; complete with similar stacks of money either side of the table and glasses with amber coloured liquor in them.
The scene was something to be expected from a casino in Las Vegas, for fuck’s sake, but Frank’s gut told him there was a dangerous hint to this seemingly innocent little meeting.
“Gerard! Are you coming back here to let me take all your money, or do I have to have one of my boys here take it by force?”
Frank glanced at one of the men standing near the burly guy, his nasty hunch proved right when he saw a revolver strapped to the guy he was peering at. The man slumped in the seat had spoken, and Frank could begin to feel fear crawl over his senses and he wanted nothing more to leave this bloody building.
“Of course I am, Darryl. Let me just talk to my employee for a few moments.”
Mr. Way’s voice is smooth and controlled. The man in the seat – Darryl – turned in his chair and glanced at the casino owner a moment, before letting his gaze sink to Frank. The smaller man began to feel a little violated after only a moment, when the bulky man’s initially intrigued gaze became heated and lewd.
“He better be a special fucking employee.”
Darryl licked his lips slightly and Mr. Way’s voice matched the perverted gaze Frank had been subjected to seconds ago.
“Oh, he is.”
The sudden – and increasingly – predatory look he was getting from both of the men filled Frank’s stomach with apprehension, and the unwavering certainty he was going to be forced to perform some risqué act. Mr. Way’s hand clenched around Frank’s shoulder once more, and he spun Frank towards the door that led to the concrete tunnels.
Once there, he faced Frank, and looked at him seriously at him for a moment, although there were wisps of hunger tainting the professional mask.
“I want you to change into your work outfit and strip for Darryl and his company.”
Frank opened his mouth to protest, but he was shoved against the wall, green eyes boring into his, and soft lips hanging inches from Frank’s own. The hungry look in his boss’ eyes hadn’t decreased, and the unforeseen sharp nip at his throat had Frank gasping for breath.
Mr. Way glanced up from where he’d buried his face in the hollow of Frank’s throat and grinned manically, and bit down again. The action caused the smaller man to squirm helplessly, and the writhing was made worse when the boss began to suck the spot he’d bitten.
Then he abruptly stopped, and straightened up. He caressed the side of Frank’s face for a moment, taking in the sight of dilated pupils and the thin sheen of sweat on the boy in front of him. He grinned and kissed Frank’s forehead briefly, before looking him in the eye, once again conveying his position as the man in charge.
“Any problems?”
The tone was hard and guarded. Frank looked into Mr. Way – Gerard’s – eyes and found none of what he’d seen moments before. He shook his head mutely.
“Good. And cover that mark up.”
Frank knew what he meant; he could feel where he’d been bitten because the spot was throbbing pleasantly – not unlike his member, he realized belatedly. Mr. Way scanned over Frank, licking along his lower lip absent-mindedly when the saw the bulge in Frank’s trousers.
Frank was pressed up against the wall again before he knew what was happening, and all he could register was the warmth and solidity of his boss’ body, and the hand that was cupping his cock. Then that hand began to palm him through his trousers and Frank whines and scrabbles at the green-eyed man’s shoulders.
“Mr. Way…”
The filthy moan that is ripped from Frank’s mouth only causes the other man to press harder, and kiss Frank equally earnestly.
“No one’s here, Frankie, it’s Gerard, for fucks sake.”
Frank’s not entirely sure what happened to his usual easily seductive self, and suddenly, he realizes he’s back in control, that the fear from seeing the revolver is gone, and that he can charm his dangerous audience outside the way he can with every other audience he’s performed to.
He pushes Gerard off, and mutters, “I thought you wanted me out there and performing?”
Gerard seems surprised at the sudden rejection, but he smirks anyways and trails his hand along Frank’s cheekbone. Frank pointedly steps back and turns, walking away to the familiar dressing room. He swings his hips as he walks as usual, and lets confidence flow back through him, pausing outside the dressing room and throwing a wink at Gerard, who is still watching him.
*
He was suitably glittered, and his body bared accordingly. He could do this. He could hear Gerard and his company talking over their game – it sounded amicable, and Frank was only grateful he wasn’t going to be caught in angry verbal (or worse) cross fire – until he heard Gerard talking about the club in his promotion voice, and how he offered the best entertainment for those… “willing to dance down the line of danger and the best sins you can enjoy”.
Darryl seemed amused at Gerard’s words, but from backstage, Frank could hear the challenge in Gerard’s words when he offered to show Darryl what exactly his entertainment consisted of. There was a pause, and then he heard a guffaw of laughter and Darryl consenting to sample what “Unlucky For Some” had on offer.
There’s a snap of fingers and Frank recognizes the music that swells from the speakers, as well as his cue to enter the stage.
He was in his element almost instantly – he walked over to the pole, making sure his hips swayed in the most alluring manner possible. He latched a leg around the pole, before flashing his audience a coy look from under his eyelashes, smiling slightly as if he was a shy girl being complemented. He twirled around the pole, grinding against the cold metal, and letting a moan slide past his lips.
Frank had decided not to fix the erection Gerard had left him with, and now he playing it to the hilt, palming himself and tipping his hips forward, and groaning quietly. He could feel the sweat sliding down over his chest, streaking the glitter and making his tattoos more visible.
The coat slid off his shoulders, and he rolled his shoulders, and quickly spun, so his back and ass was on display to his little audience. He continued to sway his hips in time with the music, twisting just-so, so that the muscles in his back flexed and the glitter shimmered in the lights over the stage.
Inked hands slid down over the rapidly warming metal of the pole, and Frank’s body followed them down, until he was on his haunches, ass being showcased in the tight trousers that were part of his uniform. His rocked his hips back and forth, turning his head to wink at the captivated audience, and slid his fingers under the waistband teasingly.
The music cut suddenly, and Frank smirked slyly into the darkened club in front of him, before sloping off the stage, blowing a kiss as he approached the wings. Once off the stage, he paused and caught his breath slightly. He used to hate performing like a whore. Now he couldn’t get enough.
He did have a feeling as to why the music stopped before he could shed his trousers however. Gerard had stopped him becoming a slut, and whether it was out of some sort of misplaced jealousy or because he only wanted to give Darryl a taste, he didn’t know.
All Frank knew was that he could go home now. Like he’d wanted to.
*
Frank was glad and, at the same time, oddly disappointed to be out of his “uniform” and back in his usual clothes. In a fit of unusual laziness however, he had neglected to remove all the glitter, so his arms and face still shimmered slightly under the blinding lights of the mirror he was facing.
He looked tired. Tired and worn out. He tried flashing a bright smile, the kind he used on stage to encourage everyone to tip his little show, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He shook his head, and quickly flipped the mirror lights off, and went to leave the dressing room, but the sound of slightly raised voices just outside of the room stopped him.
“C’mon Gerard. I’ll offer you a nice little amount for one night with the boy. One night.”
Frank felt dread slither through him at the thought of having to be… with the burly man. Even for a night. He couldn’t hear Gerard’s response, and suddenly, he felt pure terror. Frank knew he wouldn’t be able to fight off Gerard, let alone the burly man, and if Gerard gave his consent…
He couldn’t hear Gerard’s reply, the tone too low for Frank to catch the words. He didn’t seem to be explicitly agreeing, but Darryl’s answer was booming, full of laughter and that alone made Frank think his boss hadn’t exactly prohibited the suggestion either. He glanced around the now dark room, hoping to find an escape, but the damn tunnels were underground, and the only way out was the door.
The door which Gerard and Darryl were having a discussion about whoring Frank out to grease Gerard’s palm behind. Frank felt sick. Like he could honestly empty his guts all over the cold floor.
Suddenly, there was a crash.
It sounded like someone was being thrown against the door, and both Darryl and Gerard’s voices could be heard through the door without Frank even straining his ears.
“This is a club and casino! Not a brothel for personal needs! I’m going to have to decline your offer Darryl, and I’d like you to leave the premises. Now.”
“I think you’re fucking forgetting who the hell supplies this place, Gerard! I want that boy on his fucking knees for me, and if I don’t get him for the night, let’s just say some nasty shit might happen to your precious little club and casino.”
*
This will be finished soon. I just wanted to make sure that no-one thought I had vanished forever :D
Hero is also being written.
UNTIL NEXT TIME. And please rate and review? :3
To mychemicalbitchbot. It was supposed to be a late birthday present, but it's also a leaving present now :'(
*
Frank had forgotten how beautiful the Strip was. The desert was glowing with neon, and the warm air was a chorus of delirious shrieks and disappointed groans, accompanied by the constant clinking of coins.
The night was balmy, with only a hint of a breeze to take away the humidity. Not that Frank really noticed. He’d been living out here for a good seven years now, and mundane details such as the weather made little or no difference to him anymore.
His feet lead him up the glamorous Strip by default, and without noticing, he’d ended up outside “Unlucky For Some”. He wondered for a moment whether his unconscious was telling him to talk to Gerard – Mr. Way, any kind of familiarity could put some suspicion on both of them, particularly as the green-eyed boss was notorious for treating his employees like they were his toys – and try to secure his job.
Part of him cringed at the thought of having to face the hauntingly beautiful man, and yet another – utterly insane – part of him was coiling in excitement at seeing his pretty boss.
How awkward a conversation would that be? Oh hey there, Gerard, Mr. Way, whatever, I’m sorry I haven’t been dancing and stripping like a whore for you in the last week, but you see, your incredible kiss gave me such a disgusting erection that it took a week for me to rub out. Also, the damn memory of it has me fleeing for a bathroom, so you know. That’s why I’ve been calling in sick.
Not fucking likely. He’d rather die than have to admit the disgusting hold that his boss had over him.
So Frank just looked at the club for another minute, taking it in from a tourist’s view. It was lit up, like all the other casinos on the Strip, but it’s painted red rather the usual white, and has been decorated with snake-eyed dice and crumbling stacks of poker chips, accompanied by paintings of shady looking dealers and suggestively posed dancers.
It seemed the club was promoting loss and lust, rather than the usual glory and prizes, but the whole scene drew Frank in, without him registering it. The building had a dangerous air about it, and it openly tempted anyone with the nerve to taste what it was like to be seduced by the very best.
It was a good reflection on Mr. Bloody Way actually – it was dark and captivating, and hinted slyly at being predatory. The memory of green eyes flashing with dark lust sent shivers down Frank’s spine and chills shuddering thorough his stomach, the competing feelings of desire and fear still spinning and twirling his head. He shook his head irritably, and dragged a hand through his disheveled hair, before he averted his eyes from the lewd gaze of the painted dancers and walked away.
“Frank!”
The mentioned man’s head snapped up at the sound of the familiar voice. Quick footsteps rush up behind him, and a hand is laid on his shoulder. Frank turned slowly and is faced with the green eyes that had poured through his mind like liquid lust only moments ago.
Then he recalled that those eyes are attached to and part of his boss. The one he’s trying to avoid. He steps away.
“You don’t look very sick.”
To be fair, he hadn’t been.
“Well, I am.”
He didn’t really mean physically. The unspoken “and you are too” hung uncomfortably in the air between the two men.
Mr. Way’s eyes raked over him, with the absence of lust and with a sense of shrewd examination. Every inch of Frank’s skin – tattooed or otherwise – prickled under the probing gaze, but he kept his head up and his eyes defiant. The uneasy feeling still lingered over his body after the intense look, and Frank wondered what the hugely unpredictable man in front of him was going to do.
After a moment, the green eyed boss chuckled, but once again gripped Frank’s shoulder and guided him forcibly back towards the club. The smaller man squirmed, but Mr. Way only tightened his grip and nodded at the black clad doorman to push open the gothic, grandiose doors that led inside.
It was dimly lit, plush and luxurious as always, but had more people floating around the space than Frank had expected for the middle of the day. The tables that were usually pushed up against the walls had been put together in the middle of the room, and a burly man was slumped in one of the seats, smoking a cigar and surrounded by other brawny men. A card game had apparently been in attendance, from what Frank could see; complete with similar stacks of money either side of the table and glasses with amber coloured liquor in them.
The scene was something to be expected from a casino in Las Vegas, for fuck’s sake, but Frank’s gut told him there was a dangerous hint to this seemingly innocent little meeting.
“Gerard! Are you coming back here to let me take all your money, or do I have to have one of my boys here take it by force?”
Frank glanced at one of the men standing near the burly guy, his nasty hunch proved right when he saw a revolver strapped to the guy he was peering at. The man slumped in the seat had spoken, and Frank could begin to feel fear crawl over his senses and he wanted nothing more to leave this bloody building.
“Of course I am, Darryl. Let me just talk to my employee for a few moments.”
Mr. Way’s voice is smooth and controlled. The man in the seat – Darryl – turned in his chair and glanced at the casino owner a moment, before letting his gaze sink to Frank. The smaller man began to feel a little violated after only a moment, when the bulky man’s initially intrigued gaze became heated and lewd.
“He better be a special fucking employee.”
Darryl licked his lips slightly and Mr. Way’s voice matched the perverted gaze Frank had been subjected to seconds ago.
“Oh, he is.”
The sudden – and increasingly – predatory look he was getting from both of the men filled Frank’s stomach with apprehension, and the unwavering certainty he was going to be forced to perform some risqué act. Mr. Way’s hand clenched around Frank’s shoulder once more, and he spun Frank towards the door that led to the concrete tunnels.
Once there, he faced Frank, and looked at him seriously at him for a moment, although there were wisps of hunger tainting the professional mask.
“I want you to change into your work outfit and strip for Darryl and his company.”
Frank opened his mouth to protest, but he was shoved against the wall, green eyes boring into his, and soft lips hanging inches from Frank’s own. The hungry look in his boss’ eyes hadn’t decreased, and the unforeseen sharp nip at his throat had Frank gasping for breath.
Mr. Way glanced up from where he’d buried his face in the hollow of Frank’s throat and grinned manically, and bit down again. The action caused the smaller man to squirm helplessly, and the writhing was made worse when the boss began to suck the spot he’d bitten.
Then he abruptly stopped, and straightened up. He caressed the side of Frank’s face for a moment, taking in the sight of dilated pupils and the thin sheen of sweat on the boy in front of him. He grinned and kissed Frank’s forehead briefly, before looking him in the eye, once again conveying his position as the man in charge.
“Any problems?”
The tone was hard and guarded. Frank looked into Mr. Way – Gerard’s – eyes and found none of what he’d seen moments before. He shook his head mutely.
“Good. And cover that mark up.”
Frank knew what he meant; he could feel where he’d been bitten because the spot was throbbing pleasantly – not unlike his member, he realized belatedly. Mr. Way scanned over Frank, licking along his lower lip absent-mindedly when the saw the bulge in Frank’s trousers.
Frank was pressed up against the wall again before he knew what was happening, and all he could register was the warmth and solidity of his boss’ body, and the hand that was cupping his cock. Then that hand began to palm him through his trousers and Frank whines and scrabbles at the green-eyed man’s shoulders.
“Mr. Way…”
The filthy moan that is ripped from Frank’s mouth only causes the other man to press harder, and kiss Frank equally earnestly.
“No one’s here, Frankie, it’s Gerard, for fucks sake.”
Frank’s not entirely sure what happened to his usual easily seductive self, and suddenly, he realizes he’s back in control, that the fear from seeing the revolver is gone, and that he can charm his dangerous audience outside the way he can with every other audience he’s performed to.
He pushes Gerard off, and mutters, “I thought you wanted me out there and performing?”
Gerard seems surprised at the sudden rejection, but he smirks anyways and trails his hand along Frank’s cheekbone. Frank pointedly steps back and turns, walking away to the familiar dressing room. He swings his hips as he walks as usual, and lets confidence flow back through him, pausing outside the dressing room and throwing a wink at Gerard, who is still watching him.
*
He was suitably glittered, and his body bared accordingly. He could do this. He could hear Gerard and his company talking over their game – it sounded amicable, and Frank was only grateful he wasn’t going to be caught in angry verbal (or worse) cross fire – until he heard Gerard talking about the club in his promotion voice, and how he offered the best entertainment for those… “willing to dance down the line of danger and the best sins you can enjoy”.
Darryl seemed amused at Gerard’s words, but from backstage, Frank could hear the challenge in Gerard’s words when he offered to show Darryl what exactly his entertainment consisted of. There was a pause, and then he heard a guffaw of laughter and Darryl consenting to sample what “Unlucky For Some” had on offer.
There’s a snap of fingers and Frank recognizes the music that swells from the speakers, as well as his cue to enter the stage.
He was in his element almost instantly – he walked over to the pole, making sure his hips swayed in the most alluring manner possible. He latched a leg around the pole, before flashing his audience a coy look from under his eyelashes, smiling slightly as if he was a shy girl being complemented. He twirled around the pole, grinding against the cold metal, and letting a moan slide past his lips.
Frank had decided not to fix the erection Gerard had left him with, and now he playing it to the hilt, palming himself and tipping his hips forward, and groaning quietly. He could feel the sweat sliding down over his chest, streaking the glitter and making his tattoos more visible.
The coat slid off his shoulders, and he rolled his shoulders, and quickly spun, so his back and ass was on display to his little audience. He continued to sway his hips in time with the music, twisting just-so, so that the muscles in his back flexed and the glitter shimmered in the lights over the stage.
Inked hands slid down over the rapidly warming metal of the pole, and Frank’s body followed them down, until he was on his haunches, ass being showcased in the tight trousers that were part of his uniform. His rocked his hips back and forth, turning his head to wink at the captivated audience, and slid his fingers under the waistband teasingly.
The music cut suddenly, and Frank smirked slyly into the darkened club in front of him, before sloping off the stage, blowing a kiss as he approached the wings. Once off the stage, he paused and caught his breath slightly. He used to hate performing like a whore. Now he couldn’t get enough.
He did have a feeling as to why the music stopped before he could shed his trousers however. Gerard had stopped him becoming a slut, and whether it was out of some sort of misplaced jealousy or because he only wanted to give Darryl a taste, he didn’t know.
All Frank knew was that he could go home now. Like he’d wanted to.
*
Frank was glad and, at the same time, oddly disappointed to be out of his “uniform” and back in his usual clothes. In a fit of unusual laziness however, he had neglected to remove all the glitter, so his arms and face still shimmered slightly under the blinding lights of the mirror he was facing.
He looked tired. Tired and worn out. He tried flashing a bright smile, the kind he used on stage to encourage everyone to tip his little show, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He shook his head, and quickly flipped the mirror lights off, and went to leave the dressing room, but the sound of slightly raised voices just outside of the room stopped him.
“C’mon Gerard. I’ll offer you a nice little amount for one night with the boy. One night.”
Frank felt dread slither through him at the thought of having to be… with the burly man. Even for a night. He couldn’t hear Gerard’s response, and suddenly, he felt pure terror. Frank knew he wouldn’t be able to fight off Gerard, let alone the burly man, and if Gerard gave his consent…
He couldn’t hear Gerard’s reply, the tone too low for Frank to catch the words. He didn’t seem to be explicitly agreeing, but Darryl’s answer was booming, full of laughter and that alone made Frank think his boss hadn’t exactly prohibited the suggestion either. He glanced around the now dark room, hoping to find an escape, but the damn tunnels were underground, and the only way out was the door.
The door which Gerard and Darryl were having a discussion about whoring Frank out to grease Gerard’s palm behind. Frank felt sick. Like he could honestly empty his guts all over the cold floor.
Suddenly, there was a crash.
It sounded like someone was being thrown against the door, and both Darryl and Gerard’s voices could be heard through the door without Frank even straining his ears.
“This is a club and casino! Not a brothel for personal needs! I’m going to have to decline your offer Darryl, and I’d like you to leave the premises. Now.”
“I think you’re fucking forgetting who the hell supplies this place, Gerard! I want that boy on his fucking knees for me, and if I don’t get him for the night, let’s just say some nasty shit might happen to your precious little club and casino.”
*
This will be finished soon. I just wanted to make sure that no-one thought I had vanished forever :D
Hero is also being written.
UNTIL NEXT TIME. And please rate and review? :3
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