A/n: Original fic written for the Porn Battle, for the prompt ''wings''. I felt like it progressed too fast, so I wanted to extend it a little. And like, who am I kidding? I don't think I get the chance to write wingsmut every day, unless I want to come off as a total creep, so here I am, taking as much joy out of it as I can. /o\ Title taken from The National's ''Slow Show''. So very very untrue.
Frank always feels the clumsiest when he’s doing this, touching Gerard like this. He runs sweaty fingers down Gerard's spine, tracing slender muscles, scratching with blunt nails, lip sore between teeth and shallow breathing.
The sheets are twisted around their legs, rucked up between them. Frank's legs feel thick and heavy for sitting on them for too long. Gerard's sitting cross-legged like a motherfucking Buddha, black hair a stark contrast to the snowy feathers.
A shaky breath and Frank’s pushing his fingers into Gerard's right wing; warm feathers tickle his knuckles and get caught between his fingers. Gerard gasps and lets out a raspy chuckle, rolling his shoulders, back curling for Frank. It's kinda dark, light beaming in through the closed blinds and painting tiger stripes on the walls and the bed; a few beams land on Gerard’s wings, and the air feels incredibly heavy around them.
Frank touches soft fluff near the wing roots, traces tendons with the pads of his index and middle fingers. He realizes dazedly that he’s biting his lip too hard, and relaxes his face, shifting on the bed. His toes are starting to prickle.
"Fucking hell, Frank," Gerard says. Frank thinks he sounds kinda impatient, just like he always does. "Don't -- don't have to be so careful, you know you don't."
And yeah, of course Frank knows, has done this a thousand times before, but there are just some things Frank is convinced need to be done with care. He shushes Gerard, a murmur against his nape, before he continues sorting the feathers, gently removing broken ones, dropping them on the bed; some of them glide down over the edge and settle on the floor.
Frank sticks his left hand fingers into Gerard’s left wing and ruffles all the feathers, smirks at Gerard's reaction: a loud whine, wings trembling and beating gently against Frank's hands, the slopes of his arms.
They’re naked for the obvious reason, but for this, too: Frank can’t stop running his arms against the wings, watching how the feathers look against his tattoos. Sometimes he can’t help but feel so dirty in comparison to something this pure and gorgeous and white; so white that when they’re out in the sunlight, Frank’s eyes sting looking at the feathers. But then there’s Gerard who gets pretty equally turned on by Frank’s tattooed skin: a new tattoo and Gerard can take hours just tracing it, hips working against some part of Frank without even realizing.
Frank gets a plant mister from the nightstand, and starts spraying water on the wings while he plumps them up with short snaps of fingers on wet glistening pinions. A shiver goes down Gerard’s spine, and he rolls his head and says, “I love this part.”
“I know,” Frank snorts. “Makes you smell like a wet bird.”
Gerard cackles loudly and reaches behind to pinch at Frank’s thigh. Frank complains and chases Gerard’s hand back all the way to Gerard’s chest. He wraps his arms around Gerard scratching his chest while hugging him, nose buried against the feathers.
"Thanks," Gerard says.
Frank isn’t sure whether it’s a sarcastic thank you for the bird comment or a genuine one for grooming him, but he says, “no problem,” anyway, well aware that his dick is currently busy digging into Gerard’s back.
“Can always count on me to get those mussy feathers sorted,” Frank babbles, kind of ridiculously worked up already. He’s so fucking easy when it comes to Gerard, god, he knows this, but it’s alright because Gerard’s kind of fucking easy when it comes to Frank.
“What’s so funny?” Gerard asks. Frank hadn’t even noticed he’d been giggling against Gerard’s back.
“Just. Us.” Frank grins giddily. “We’re so fuckin’ easy.” He emphasizes by reaching down and squeezing Gerard’s dick, giving a rough buck of hips against the small of Gerard’s back.
Gerard lets out a small ‘ngl’ sound and shakes his head. “Isn’t that kinda the point though?” Frank can hear a smile in his voice. “If we didn’t like it, then what would be the point of all this?”
Frank says, "To get your wings clean and fluffy?” He pokes a finger into the mass of feathers and they flutter a little. Doing his best to sound disapproving, he says, “Do I have to remind you what shape they were in the first time I did this?” Frank had had to tear off sticky Cornflakes from flight feathers that looked like they had been stuck there for years, and scrub off paint blotches with various soaps and a sponge. The weirdest part is that Gerard hardly ever unfurls his wings from wherever they’re tucked when they’re not visible; Frank hasn’t really figured that part out yet.
Gerard makes a noncommittal sound and detaches from Frank with a swish of white, easily getting Frank pinned against the mattress. Whatever, Frank was totally unprepared.
“But we both know that’s only part of the fun.”
Frank wants to say something witty but his throat’s really dry and besides, he’s really fucking ready for Gerard to just cover him with his wings and fuck him into the mattress, for Gerard to take him however Gerard fucking feels like taking him. “Please,” he says and a short whine escapes his throat.
Gerard smiles down at him, shifts a little so he’s straddling Frank’s thigh, one knee between Frank’s legs, his elbow close to Frank’s shoulder and fingers starting to push Frank’s hair out of his eyes and mouth. Gerard’s dick feels heavy on Frank’s hip, and his wings are undulating slightly. Frank whines, kind of really past the point of caring what kind of sounds he emits. Gerard shushes him with wet sloppy kisses, the heel of his palm pressing against Frank’s dick.
Frank pushes Gerard away because, christ, he just really wants to fuck now, and where the fuck’s the lube anyway? Frank starts frantically digging through the drawers for that motherfucking –
“Frank,” Gerard says. He sounds smug and looks smug, wings beating the close air and that damn dimple Frank wants to hook his finger in. “Calm down, you look like you’ve been doing sports or something, all flustered and panting and shit.”
Gerard’s already slicking his fingers, lube on the bed beside his knee.
“Huh,” Frank says and lets Gerard push him back on the bed, head settling on the pillow. “Fucker. Sports. I can do sports better than you, son of a bitch.”
Gerard’s laughing while he parts Frank’s legs. He hooks a knee over his shoulder and plants a tender kiss to the side of that knee. Frank grumbles, but it turns into a helpless moan when Gerard eases fingers in.
Frank arches up and the sole of his foot comes to contact with the feathers: it tickles but in a really nice way. Inside Gerard’s spreading his fingers, pressing and probing, getting Frank ready for him.
Frank’s practically vibrating when Gerard lowers Frank’s leg back on the bed and slips his fingers out. Frank thinks he should probably try and calm down a little since his breathing’s pretty fucked up and he can kind of hear the aftermath of his bronchitis wheezing his lungs.
"Easy now," Gerard rasps as he wiggles his fingers and leans over to grab a condom from the drawer. He fiddles with the wrapping and rolls it on, fumbles with the lube again. He smirks when Frank bucks up expectantly and touches Gerard’s belly. When Gerard finally pushes in, Frank swears loudly and presses his face into the crook of Gerard's neck, mouthing damp skin there.
Gerard fucks him with similar tenderness Frank hopes he put into the grooming, hand holding Frank's thigh against his hip as he falls into a steady rhythm.
Frank’s scrabbling for Gerard's strong sinewy wing roots for some leverage, holding onto them all earlier carefulness forgotten.
Frank can feel Gerard's wings trembling. He can't get enough of the heady scent of the feathers, wants to bury his face into Gerard's wings and feel them wrap around him.
"Fuck," Frank croaks on a particularly nice thrust. He arches up and his dick pushes into the soft of Gerard's belly. "Fuck, fuck, Gerard, Geegeegee."
Gerard starts kissing him devoutly, letting go of his thigh as he digs his hand between them and wraps fingers around Frank's dick, jacking him off with a sweaty palm. A swipe of tongue on Frank’s earlobe, teeth scratching tender skin, and Frank’s coming, fucking into Gerard’s palm and tugging at Gerard’s wing roots, trying to get Gerard pressed even closer to him. Gerard rocks roughly into Frank, and comes with a snap of hips and wings when Frank brings his hand up to the heavy mass of feathers.
Gerard kisses Frank's cheek and temple, heavy breaths and lashes brushing against Frank’s cheekbone. Frank feels like his brain is melting, and shaky all over.
“I feel like my brain’s melting,” he says while Gerard slips off the condom.
“You kinda look it,” Gerard says and drops the condom down on the floor: it lands on a heap of feathers like a sacrilege. He turns back to Frank and grins, pink cheeks and sweaty skin. "Got some fluff on your cheek," he says and his wings beat nicely like he’s trying to cool them both down. "Here, lemme just get it off for you."