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The thing about the scene, Frank thinks as he picks at the label of his Bud Light, is that you might leave it but it never leaves you. He’s sitting in a booth in a dumpy bar, listening to Mikey Way talk about Wrestlemania, and Mikey’s wearing a Legend of Zelda tee shirt and sounding so Jersey it hurts, and Frank can’t stop staring at the collar around his neck, or the way Mikey keeps looking over to where Alicia is talking to someone a few feet away.
Frank wants to know how it feels around Mikey’s neck. Mikey catches him staring, and the little lift of the corners of his lips looks like he’s inviting Frank’s questions, but all Frank says is, “You didn’t have that the last time I saw you.”
Mikey reaches up to touch the leather, hand drifting like Mikey doesn't even realize he's doing it. "Yeah, it's new."
They both look over at Alicia this time. She’s still talking, but Mikey catches her eye this time and she smiles.
“She's great," Frank says.
Mikey nods. “I had some problems for a while. I’m glad I met her. She makes things make sense.” It’s more personal than Frank’s heard Mikey get before, but he just nods, and Mikey continues, “She gets me. And she gets along with my brother, and he’s pretty much my best friend. Did I tell you Gerard’s moving home? Only a couple more weeks now.”
Mikey gets all animated about LA and how it sucks for Gerard that he’s moving home in the dead of winter, and it's cute. Gerard sounds cool. He’s a photographer. Frank always sort of wanted to learn about photography. They get off on a tangent about Frank’s other dream career in monster effects, and another tangent about New Zealand, and then Alicia comes back and joins in and eventually they change the subject again. After a while Frank looks at his phone and swears, “Fuck, I’m opening tomorrow.” They all stand up, and he shifts to pull his wallet out of his back pocket and hisses as the movement jars the welted skin on his back.
They were at a club earlier, but Frank swears he hadn’t thought the scene had gotten that intense. He’d felt fine when he left. “You okay?” Alicia asks. “It’s probably the cold weather. You need to remember lotion before you go to bed, Frankie.” She pulls Frank close, pushes his hair away from his face and kisses his forehead when he nods. “You did good tonight,” she whispers.
Frank leans into her for a moment before he moves to let Mikey take his place. They pay and then split up outside to head to their separate subway stops, but Frank’s still thinking about them as he walks. All of his new friends have taken it on themselves to go out with him, make sure he's doing okay, make sure he's feeling positive and comfortable. He loves them a lot for it.
He feels a pang every time he remembers Grant is the only one who hasn't.
*
Frank stays in for a while after that night, mostly because it is soul-suckingly cold out and Frank gets sick if he so much as looks at a Kleenex box wrong. It's easier to just order Thai and watch terrible monster movies. He sees Hambone a couple times when he comes in from Jersey. Mikey and Alicia come over one night for an 80’s Henson marathon. The whole night is pretty great.
The next time he goes out, he goes alone. He knows there’s a pretty good chance that since he’s going to Mistress Kristan’s he’ll see someone from Strange Artefacts, but he’s more in the mood to play than to socialize.
Frank’s in the mood to push. He fiddles with the ring on one of his cuffs, remembering the day Grant had given them to him. Remembering why. Frank hasn’t been tied up like that since then.
Maybe it’s time to try again.
Frank drifts toward the area of Mistress Kristan’s dungeon with the ropework setups. When he runs into the domme from Jason’s party, she’s carrying a flogger this time and it feels like a sign. “Hi,” he says, looking from her face to the hooks holding coils of rope.
“You’re a familiar face, sugar. Now where... Ah, from Jason’s party a few months ago?”
“I’m impressed you remembered,” Frank says.
“It’s a memorable face,” she answers with a lift of her eyebrow. “I’m Dinah.”
“Frank. Hi.” He smiles.
“Good to see you out and about, Frank. I’d ask if there was anything you were interested in, but I seem to remember -”
“Yeah. But I think I’m interested anyway. It’s not really about sex.” He shrugs.
“Then you may call me Mistress Dinah, sugar, and tell me what you’re asking for.”
Frank explains.
"I can do that for you," Mistress Dinah says quietly, and then orders, "Shirt off, then kneel."
She's wearing gloves, and her hands are soft and cool and not at all what Frank imagines when he thinks about this, but they feel nice brushing against his skin as she weaves a length of rope around his wrists. The rope slithers around and bites in just the tiniest bit when she hooks it to a fitting on the wall, and when she's ready she starts warming him up, running the thongs up and down his back, swinging gently so there's only the barest twinge.
He closes his eyes and breathes, concentrates on the sound of her movements, on the way the flogger sounds as it swishes through the air. He hears the first hard strike come before he feels it. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, listening for the next hit, waits for the rhythm to start.
It's easy for Frank to let himself go, gets easier every time. He ignores the part of him that likes to say this doesn't feel right - it feels right enough. He wonders, as she's untying him and examining the rope marks, if this is what meditation is like for other people. Because he feels like his hippie friends who kept recommending meditation to him always say meditation makes them feel.
“You by yourself tonight, Frank?” Mistress Dinah asks him, cupping his cheek in a gloved hand. He focuses on her face and nods. It's weird how he's gotten used to going out with one of his friends.
“Yeah, but it's okay.” He feels floaty and satisfied; it won't be at all hard to go home and put himself to bed.
“If you’re sure, sugar.”
She lets him go, but he gets caught up in a snarl of people and it seems to take forever to get across the room. He’s loath to let anyone else touch him, even just bumping into them. He sees Mistress Kristan looking out at everything from near the stairs and she spots him, motioning him toward her.
"Good evening, Frank," Mistress Kristan says. "I trust you had a good time tonight?'
"I always do," he tells her with a little smile.
"I am very glad to hear that," she replies, returning his smile. "Any plans for the rest of your evening?"
"Just going home, Mistress Kristan. Opening the shop tomorrow."
"Well, I hope you sleep well," she tells him. "Tell Grant I said hello, would you?"
"Of course," Frank says - quietly, this time. He smiles again and walks out the door, heading for his train.
There was a moment there where he felt like he was being tested, evaluated. Mistress Kristan always makes him feel like that. He's too tired and content to try to understand it, though.
*
Grant is going to be at the shop the next morning, doing an interview for one of the magazines he writes for, so Frank picks them both up coffee on his way in. Grant’s running late, but Frank manages to flag him down when he comes in the front door and give it to him. “I hope it's still warm enough,” he says.
Grant tosses his jacket over the top of the counter and takes a sip and smiles at Frank. "It's perfect. Thank you, Frank."
Frank's in a good mood, despite the fact that he has to move a little carefully today. Grant’s sipping his coffee, watching him do the opening tasks without comment, and Frank just breathes and enjoys the twinges of soreness as he moves.
Then he remembers he was supposed to tell Grant something. "Oh hey. Mistress Kristan asked me to tell you hi for her."
"Did she now." Grant exaggerates his accent, sounding even more Scottish than usual.
"Yup." Frank's feeling brave, so he asks, "How do you know each other anyway?"
"Years of involvement in a pretty small scene,” Grant says, then chuckles. “Preceded by an introduction by a mutual friend and an extremely brief period of dating. She’s a dear friend still."
"Huh," Frank says.
"Huh?" Grant asks.
"Huh," Frank repeats with a cheeky grin, then adds, "I don't think I'd have guessed that you dated, but I suppose it makes sense."
Grant laughs. "It was very brief. We were too much alike."
Frank is dying to know what he means, but he just teases, "Too much alike, huh? You mean ... too Scottish?" He thinks his imitation of the accent is pretty good. It must be, because Grant looks surprised for a split second before he laughs and laughs. Frank grins and spins on the stool.
When Grant is mostly finished laughing, he gets out, "Yes, Frank. That's exactly it. We're both entirely too Scottish for our own good."
"I knew it," Frank says smugly. "What a terrible affliction."
"It could be worse," Grant leans down and purrs into his ear. "We could be too Italian for our own good. Mr. Iero."
"No, you couldn't," Frank chants back, breathless but still smug. "No such thing as too Italian."
"Is that so?" Grant asks, breath puffing against Frank's ear. "And what makes being Italian so wonderful, hmm?"
"Well, just look at me," Frank says, spinning in the stool again and gesturing expressively.
Grant steps back. And looks just as Frank invited him to, eyes traveling from Frank's face, down his torso and thighs, then back up to his eyes. "Yes, I suppose I can see what you mean."
Frank opens his mouth to answer. Closes it again. His heart is already pounding when the bell on the front door startles him. Frank scrambles off his stool to go help the customer who walks in, then glances back at Grant. Grant's turned his attention to some paperwork, but still has one eye on Frank. It feels...amazing, but it makes him nervous, too. He's glad when Zoe comes in a few minutes later, to have that buffer between them, at least for a while.
*
"Fuck," Zoe says when she hangs up the phone.
Frank raises an eyebrow at her. "What's up?"
"My model for the catalogue shoot I was going to do today backed out. Fuck fuck fuck." She rubs her forehead. "I've already pushed this one back twice for him. I can't do it again, the deadline for getting the goddamn thing to the printer is coming too soon. I fucking hate not using models. Like, I've run the numbers. Items sell better when we have them on actual people in the catalogue."
"What sort of stuff are we talking?" Frank asks. "I mean, I could maybe do some of it?"
"Frankie, I would love you forever. It's seriously just a harness and ball gag. And actually, your cuffs. Nothing below the waist." She's looking so hopeful that Frank couldn't say no even if he wanted to.
"Sure, I can do that," he says with a shrug.
She beams at him and throws her arms around his neck. "Thanks, Frank. You're a life saver."
He laughs and hugs her back. "You're welcome. We'll have to wait until Alicia gets here, though. I have to watch the front."
"I'll just set up in back. It's not an involved shoot. Just a backdrop. Maybe a stool. And the lighting stuff, obviously." She's basically talking to herself at this point and wanders into the back room, leaving Frank to fend for himself up front.
Alicia and Grant walk into the shop at virtually the same time, and Alicia comes around the counter to toss her bag underneath. Grant says hello and heads upstairs. When he walks into the back room, they hear him greet Zoe and then say, “When’s the photo shoot?”
“Whenever I can steal Frank from the shop floor,” Zoe tells him. “My model bailed.”
“I see,” Grant answers. Frank really wishes he could see the expression that goes with that tone of voice. “Well, we’ll have to keep that in mind next time we book from that agency.”
Frank looks over at Alicia and she’s listening too. “You’re modeling for the catalog?” she asks. “I need to go see what Zoe’s putting you in!” Frank follows her to the doorway and leans against the doorjamb so he can keep an eye on the front door. Zoe has the gear spread out on the table in the back. "Oooh," Alicia says. "He's gonna look so fucking good in that."
"Yes, he is," Zoe replies. "Grant," she calls up the stairs. "Come down here and watch the floor. I'm making Alicia be my assistant."
Grant enters the room with a put-upon sigh. "I was just about to start writing."
Zoe just rolls her eyes. "You faker. You're the one with the grand vision for the catalogue, go be useful so we can get this thing to print."
He laughs and pats her on the shoulder as he walks out to the front.
Frank looks down at the table. "I suppose this means I have to take off my shirt. I'm going to freeze. I expect at least a cup of coffee out of this."
“Frankie, we pay professional models. I’m pretty sure I owe you dinner or something.”
Frank pokes at the pile of straps on the table. “Isn’t that going about things a bit backwards?”
Zoe sticks her tongue out at him. “Ha, ha, you’re fucking hilarious. Now take off your million shirts, smartass.”
Frank makes a face right back at her, but he pulls his hoodie and tee shirt off and drops them on a shelf.
“Ooh,” Alicia says. “Fucking-A, look at all that ink. You never hold still long enough for me to get a good look.”
He sort of has to, today. “Yeah, whatever,” he mumbles. He’s not sure why he’s embarrassed. He’s never had a problem with people looking at him. “Zoe, what do you want to do first?”
"Let's start with the cuffs since you already have them on," she says. "You're gonna have to take them off with that harness, though."
Frank makes a face.
"Yeah, I know. But they seriously won't fit with the wrist restraints already incorporated into the harness. Go stand over there on that big blue X I taped on the floor," she instructs. "Alicia, I need you to hold the reflector for me."
Zoe gets behind her camera, looks through the viewfinder, and starts directing Alicia where to stand and at what angle to hold the reflector. "Okay, that's good for now. Frank, you're probably going to feel pretty silly, but just do as I say and try not to make too many faces."
"What, you don't want duck lips?" Frank asks, giggling. He's a little nervous, he can admit that.
Zoe just smiles. "Keep a neutral face and you should be fine. Or you could smile. I'll be taking mostly closeups. And some fun angles."
After that, she tells him where she wants him to put his wrists and how and starts snapping pictures, sometimes directing Alicia to move, sometimes stepping back to get a wider angle. Then she clips his cuffs together behind his back and takes some more photos. That feels weirder than having her in front of him since he can't watch what she's doing, but not bad.
"Okay, done with those. Time for them to come off," Zoe says as she unhooks the clip.
“I don’t want to,” he says. He’s not even sure where that came from. He’s only had them off to shower or sleep since Grant gave them to him. Grant couldn’t have known, but they’ve become like a counterweight when the rest of him feels out of control.
Zoe sighs as she walks around him. “Frank. Just - work with me. They can’t be in the shot from now on.” She looks sympathetic. Frank glances over at Alicia, waiting with the reflector still in her hands, then bites his lip and starts working on the fastenings. He feels even more naked when they’re gone. Then Zoe picks up a ball gag and hands it to him. Frank snorts - he can’t even count how many times in his lifetime someone’s told him he needs to be gagged - and Zoe glares at him.
“I don’t know if I can fasten this by myself,” he says, smiling innocently at her.
“I’ll help you,” Alicia chimes in. She looks way too happy about the prospect. “I think we should make one of these part of your uniform.”
“We don’t wear uniforms. Also, fuck you,” Frank says. He grimaces, then blows out a breath. “Fine, just do this one quick, okay?” Alicia helps him fasten the gag in place and all of a sudden it’s not so funny anymore. He feels weird without his cuffs, especially with something gagging him - vulnerable, and not in a good way.
He hears the phone ring while he’s posing, and the murmur of Grant’s voice, and remembers that Grant is in the next room, realizes that he can probably hear them. He closes his eyes.
“Yeah, like that,” Zoe says softly, clicking the camera. “Almost done, Frankie.”
He keeps his eyes closed and concentrates on Grant's voice. Zoe asks him to move his head a little bit, but doesn't ask him to open them again. He's thankful.
"Okay, done," she says. He hears Alicia put down the reflector and feels her step behind him and unbuckles the gag. Frank lets it drop out of his mouth and into his hands.
"I hope you're planning on disinfecting that." Frank tries to joke, wrinkling his nose.
"Obviously," she says with an eyeroll. "Okay, harness. I want shots with the wrist restraints done up and some with your arms free."
Alicia grabs the harness off the table and unbuckles everything and holds it up to Frank. He puts his arms out and lets her buckle him in. He still doesn't like having the cuffs off, but this feels a little bit better.
"Seriously, Frankie," Alicia says when she steps back. "You look really good in that."
He feels his cheeks flush, but he looks her in the face, eyebrow raised.
Zoe laughs and snaps a picture, "Yes, exactly like that, Frank."
"I hate you both," he says. Zoe comes closer and takes a few close-ups, circles behind him to get a few shots from behind.
"Okay, now with your wrists restrained," she says when she's done.
He puts his arms behind his back and lets Alicia at the buckles. Zoe gets started with the wider shots and Frank stands as she tells him to, not that he can really change position much with his arms restricted. And then there's a throat clearing at the door.
"I hate to interrupt," Grant says, "But there's a young lady out here who looks rather nervous and I think Alicia would probably be able to serve her better than I."
"You get to be my assistant, then," Zoe says. "We're nearly done. I just need you to hold the reflector like Alicia is."
"I am at your service," Grant says. Alicia hands off the reflector and Grant steps into the place where she was standing. Apparently Grant has done this before because Zoe just tells him to tilt it up a bit more and then starts snapping photos.
Frank can feel Grant's eyes on him. He can't quite meet Grant's gaze, so he looks down, closes his eyes, just moves how Zoe wants him. Somehow, when she asks him to kneel, he finally manages to look up into Grant's face. Grant meets Frank's gaze, eyes intense. Frank shivers.
"Good, Frank," Zoe says quietly as she takes photos. Frank wants to laugh. He's not actually even sure what sort of face he's making except that it's completely, one hundred percent honest. He is so fucked.
"Okay," Zoe says after a few minutes. "I think we're done. Frankie, you're an amazing model. So much better than a lot of the people we get in here who are supposed to be pros."
She's already sitting down at the table and hooking her camera up to her laptop and Frank frowns. He's going to need help getting out of this thing.
Frank startles when Grant speaks at his shoulder, "Let me get this off you."
Frank can only nod.
Grant helps him to his feet and frees his wrists. Frank swallows hard, shakes out and stretches his arms. Grant grabs his wrist without prompting and buckles Frank's own cuff back around it, then does the same with the other. Frank's breathing has gone shallow. He's getting harder by the second and he knows he's blushing, probably all the way down his chest.
Grant's fingers go for the buckles on the harness itself, fingers brushing Frank's back in one spot, his chest in another, all up and down his torso until he’s free.
"There," Grant says quietly when he lifts the harness off. Frank's afraid to look at his face.
Frank grabs his shirt and hoodie. "I'll, um. Be right back."
He practically sprints to the bathroom and tries not to slam the door shut behind him. He splashes cold water on his face and just breathes. Thinks about the most boner-killing things he can. He's only partially successful.
"Fuck," he whispers to his reflection in the mirror.
He zips his hoodie up to his chin and goes back out. Grant is leaning over Zoe's shoulder, presumably looking at the pictures she took. Frank goes to stick his hands in his hoodie pockets and as the material tightens across his shoulders he feels the phantom pressure of the straps and shivers.
Grant looks up at him, still intense, still almost more than Frank can bear. Frank tries to smile, but he's not sure how successful he is. Grant looks back down at the screen and Frank follows his gaze. It's ostensibly a picture of Frank's torso strapped into the harness, but mostly it's his lips, slightly parted and shiny with spit.
"That one, Zoe," Grant says. "Use it for the cover."
*
Frank escapes to the front. Alicia lets him hide in the racks and tidy for a while; by the time she goes on lunch, he's ready to work the register. Grant doesn’t reappear on the floor until almost closing time, smirking at Frank sitting on the stool behind the counter where he's staring hard at a dawdler wandering around the store. Tyler bursts in the door with a gust of wind about five minutes before closing.
“Frank. Get your stuff, come on.” He’s grinning and vaguely out of breath.
“Why? Did we have plans?” Frank asks, checking the time.
“We do now. Free tickets to The Bronx tonight. Club owner just handed them to me when I went in to check on a booking.”
“You don’t listen to The Bronx,” Frank points out.
“You do. And I don’t not listen to them. And free,” Tyler responds. He smiles again, then steps out of the way so Frank can ring up the dawdling customer, who Grant has apparently hurried along by strength of personality or some shit. It's closing time but the store isn't actually closed and Frank looks over at Grant, who’s standing at the end of the counter.
“Go on,” Grant says. “Someone gave me keys to this place once upon a time.” His voice is dry but he’s smiling a bit, and Frank beams back.
“Thank you, Grant.”
Tyler grabs hold of his sleeve when Frank rounds the counter. “Do you need to go home to change?”
Frank sticks his tongue out. “No.” Tyler still hasn’t given up trying to turn Frank fashion-conscious. He hums ZZ Top to himself until Tyler smacks him, then tunes out the rest of Tyler’s many, many opinions about fashion as they make their way to the closest subway stop.
Frank drags Tyler into the pit with him, and they spend an hour or two yelling along with the music and getting pushed around and it’s sweaty and loud and Frank gets lost in the music. Afterwards, he’s drinking a bottle of water and listening to the rushing in his ears when Tyler gets a text and says, “Oh.”
“Oh?”
“Oh, there’s a party near here tonight. Jordan just texted me.” Tyler raises his eyebrows in a question.
Frank’s not sure yet if he does want to play tonight, but Jordan’s legit an asshole and he sort of feels like he wants to go along with Tyler.
As soon as they walk into the party, though, Frank can tell it’s heavy play, and the twitchy, breathless feeling from earlier in the day comes back full force.
Tyler looks him over. “You gonna -”
“We can split up,” Frank tells him. “Meet me later, or text me if you’re leaving.”
Tyler nods, already scanning the room, and Frank squeezes his wrist and winds off through the crowd. It doesn’t take him long to find what he wants, and he feels like he’s barely blinked before he’s cuffed to the wall with a hotass dude working him over with a flogger.
It’s hot in here, and he was already sweaty from the pit. He’s dripping now, and panting, and the top’s got a heavier hand than Frank’s used to. He can’t help pulling at the cuffs, wanting to feel the leather bite in, and every time he squirms he gets a harder hit, until he finally gasps out desperately, "Please, please can I touch myself?"
The top pauses, running the edge of the flogger down Frank's spine. He takes a while to answer before he reaches over and unhooks one of Frank's cuffs from the wall. Frank waits until he gets permission to actually touch himself and then sticks his hand into his jeans, jacking himself hard and fast as the blows keep coming.
He imagines Grant's face when he walked in the room and saw Frank in that harness. Grant hadn't tried to hide the direction of his gaze, hadn't tried to hide anything, and he'd looked at Frank like there was nothing in the world that he wanted more. Frank wants that so much he can hardly breathe.
The flogger curls around the side of his ribcage. Frank moans, fist jerking on his dick, and the top hits him again, layering his blows. Frank's entire body feels tense.
He pretends it's Grant. Imagines Grant's voice telling him how gorgeous he is jerking himself off, that Grant is the force behind the flogger.
He knows they're alone in a private room. There’s no excuse for his distraction except himself, but it doesn't matter; he's slipping out of the scene, badly enough he has to bite his tongue to hold back the wrong name.
He squeezes his eyes shut and tastes blood when he comes.
The top is saying something to him, but Frank doesn't really know what. He helps Frank into his clothes and pets his hair, but Frank gets away as fast as he can. Tyler stops him halfway across the room, coming out of nowhere and surprising him.
"He shouldn't have let you go," Tyler says. He frowns, looking from Frank to the guy moving off in another direction. He pulls Frank against his side and nuzzles his hair.
"I wanted... I need," Frank shakes his head and hides his face in Tyler's neck.
"You - I thought you were fine earlier, but... did something happen, Frankie?" Tyler asks quietly. Frank shakes his head.
Tyler leads him upstairs and grabs them water. Frank’s not paying attention, and it startles him when Jordan comes up to them and says, “Tyler, I thought we had plans.” He’s glaring at Frank and Frank starts to tense and straighten automatically, but Tyler doesn’t let go.
“We had plans. Now Frank and I have plans.”
Tyler turns and leads Frank outside. They both ignore the bullshit Jordan is directing at their backs. It’s fucking cold, but it feels good at this point. Tyler very carefully keeps his arm around Frank and they walk a little way down the street. It’s late, but there’s an all-night diner a couple blocks away. Tyler doesn't let him go when they slide into a big horseshoe booth, and the waitress barely gives them a second glance.
Frank is absurdly grateful. For Tyler, for the coffee that ends up in front of him, for the relative quiet of the diner at such a late hour. There's only a low murmur of voices and the clink of sliver. He finds it soothing after the loud music and noisy party. Frank wraps his hands around his cup of coffee and leans into Tyler's side.
Finally, after they order food, Tyler says, “Tell me, Frank?"
"It was... exactly what I asked for. And I... It felt good," he sighs, takes a slightly unsteady breath and adds quietly, "and I wanted it to be Grant. I wanted..." He sighs again, running both hands through his hair. "I want him so damn much. I can't keep doing this without -"
Tyler reaches out and grabs his hand. "You're pretty far gone on him, aren't you, Frankie?"
Frank nods miserably. "It's not...it's not the scene stuff, really," Frank insists. "I just..."
"I get it," Tyler says.
"Like. This stuff is... I love it. I never really expected it to be like this. But I'm not... I suck at casual, in the end."
"Why him?" Tyler asks, like he actually thinks Frank can answer. Frank would laugh if he could.
"I have no fucking idea. He just. He's so unlike anyone I've ever been with, but he's... he's somehow everything I want. Need."
Tyler nods. "I've heard better reasons, but I’ve heard worse." He pauses. "You know he's into you."
"Then why hasn't he done anything about it?" Frank asks with a scowl. Tyler lifts an eyebrow.
"Why haven't you? You don't strike me as the patient type," Tyler says.
"I... he's so... I don't know." Frank angrily shoves a French fry in his mouth.
"Is it because you kind of want to be pursued?"
"Fuck you, Tyler," Frank grumbles.
"Hey, I don't blame you. Having a guy like that making it known that he wants me and taking steps to make it happen? Hell fucking yes. But I think you gotta meet him halfway here," Tyler steals one of Frank's French fries and waves it around. "I don't know details, but his last relationship ended really badly."
"And how do I live with it if he turns me down?"
Tyler laughs. "I don't have a crystal ball, but I'm pretty sure that's not how this is gonna go."
"Thanks so much." Frank sticks out his tongue. “It would be pretty fucking different than my last relationship," he adds seriously.
"Because he’s going to expect you to sub for him from the start?”
Frank wants to say "No!" Which means, if he is honest, that the answer is probably yes. He sighs and morosely takes a bite of his veggie burger instead. Tyler steals another fry.
"Seriously, Frankie. You need to get over the labels. He wants you, not just someone who’ll let him top them."
"Yeah, I get that. I just."
Tyler says, “Look, Frankie, it’s fucking late and you sort of messed yourself up tonight. Come home with me, okay?”
It’s exactly what he needs - to not be alone. Tyler sits and toys idly with the salt and pepper shakers while Frank finishes his burger. They pay, and when they get up to go outside, Frank's whole back twinges and he holds in a grimace.
They don’t talk much on the ride to Tyler’s apartment either; Frank’s said about all he has to say already. He’s never been to Tyler’s place before. The main room is practically carpeted with vinyls and cables, and there's what looks like half a bass pedal setup in a corner. “Branden’s crashing with me for a while, so you’ve gotta come in with me,” Tyler tells him, tugging him straight back to his bedroom and handing him a pair of sweatpants.
Frank changes silently, but Tyler whistles under his breath when he sees Frank’s back. “Fuck, Frank. Hey, wait here, I’m gonna clean those for you, okay?”
Frank nods. Tyler disappears, and comes back from the bathroom in a pair of yoga pants with a washcloth in hand. He’s gentle, and though he hums a few times, but he doesn’t say anything. Frank takes the cloth back to the bathroom when he’s done, and Tyler’s already got the lights out when he returns.
“I think you open tomorrow,” Tyler whispers when Frank climbs under the covers. “We’re gonna be such zombies. I set my alarm for you, okay?”
“Okay,” Frank whispers back. Tyler reaches over and tucks a chunk of hair behind Frank’s ear, then leans in to kiss his forehead.
Frank stretches so their lips touch instead.
Tyler kisses back, hand cupping Frank's cheek. Frank sinks into it, puts a hand on Tyler's waist and lets his tongue chase Tyler's. It just... it feels so nice to kiss someone. For the first time in months he's kissing someone, and that someone cares about him.
And then Tyler pulls back.
"Frankie, you know I totally would, but I'm not who you want and I'm definitely not what you need right now." Tyler pats his cheek and leans forward again. This time Frank lets him kiss his forehead.
"You're right," he whispers.
"I am," Tyler says and pulls Frank closer so his head is resting on Tyler's chest. "Sleep, dude."
*
Frank gets to the store first and has everything open by the time Alicia arrives. He's huddling over his morning coffee when she joins him at the counter.
"Heard you went out last night," she says.
"Jesus. I swear to god the scene is smaller than my Catholic high school. Yes, I went out," Frank answers.
Alicia laughs. "Honey, you have no idea. So how was it?"
Frank shrugs. "Fine."
Alicia lifts an eyebrow, but doesn't press.
"You going to the big fancy party at Jason's next weekend?" she asks as Frank goes off to dust the displays.
"Yeah," he calls back over his shoulder. "I like Jason's parties. They're like, lifestyles of the rich and kinky. Keeps me grounded or some shit."
She laughs. "They definitely do that."
Frank finishes dusting and comes back to the counter. There are chores to do, but he hauls himself up into the second stool and hunches into his hoodie.
After a few moments, she asks, "Are you getting sick? Do you need some Advil or something?"
"Alicia. I'm fine. Maybe a little stiff from last night, but nothing bad. I'm fine," he insists.
"It's just, even when you're really fucking tired, you're usually feeling fucking good the next day after you go out. Did something happen?" she says. She's being her own special Alicia brand of sweet and pushy. He sighs.
"I didn't get quite what I was looking for," he finally answers.
She squeezes his arm. "Are you okay? Really? Not hurt?"
"I'm fine, really. I... maybe it's more accurate to say I didn't get who I was looking for." Frank shrugs again.
"Oh," she says quietly and squeezes again. "Yeah, that would be a problem." She pauses. "He would, Frankie. In an instant."
"Everyone keeps saying that, Alicia. It's been a lot of fucking instants."
She sighs. "Okay, so you're both idiots. Have you actually asked?" Frank frowns, and her hand tightens on his arm again. "You're afraid to."
Frank shrugs helplessly.
"You seem like the type who just goes for what he wants," Alicia says.
"This is… it's different." He doesn't know how to explain it.
Alicia eyes him for a second. "Boo fucking hoo," she says. It's startling, because he can see the compassion in her eyes, but her voice has gone stern. "Sack up and do something about it, or I swear to god I'm tying you up and leaving you in the basement with the spiders. I don't think you'll find that much of a turn-on."
Lecture apparently over, Alicia sits back down and picks up her phone. Frank watches her out of the corner of his eye for a minute, then pulls a book out of his bag. They don’t get their first customer for at least twenty minutes, and after he leaves they roll their eyes at each other and alternate smoke breaks. Alicia comes back with a big soy latte for him.
The shop’s quiet all morning, and Frank’s sitting on the counter directing Alicia as she adjusts one of the mannequins when Grant comes in. Storms in, Frank would almost say, except that Grant’s not the type to storm. He’s stony-faced, and he barely takes time to greet them before he goes straight up to his office. Frank and Alicia exchange looks, but shrug and go back to their work. Grant reappears after a while with a clipboard.
“Can one of you read this order? Whose handwriting is this? All I need is to get the number wrong for an international order,” Grant grumbles.
Alicia frowns and reaches for the clipboard, and the door chime dings as Tyler comes in. He squeezes past them both and kisses Frank on the cheek as he tosses his bag behind the counter. “You set the timer on my coffeemaker this morning!” he crows. “I didn’t even know that thing worked! That coffee was a lifesaver, seriously.”
Frank grins. “You’re welcome.” He notices as he says it that Grant is wearing the stony expression again, and his smile wobbles a bit.
Tyler goes to punch in, and Frank’s helping bag purchases for a customer and can only watch as Grant follows. He can hear them talking but not what they’re saying. Their voices are getting progressively louder. Frank slips out from behind the counter and hurries across the shop, hovering in the doorway to the back room.
"Jordan told me you two left together last night," Grant is saying. Frank can't tell what his tone is, precisely, but he doesn't like it.
Tyler answers, "Yeah, we did. What were you doing talking to Jordan anyway?"
"He came up to me. Said to tell you to lose his number, if you'd rather fuck around with your little tattooed friend."
Tyler’s lip curls. “I’d much rather. What an asshole. Thinks he owns me, but he can’t even break up with me on his own.”
"So you’re free to fuck around with Frank?" Grant's voice is glacial. Tyler just throws his hands in the air.
"Grant, we -"
Frank jumps in, pushing himself between them, back to Tyler's front. "Lay off him," he snaps in Grant's face. "It's none of your fucking business."
Frank spins on his heel and walks away, breathing hard. He goes out front and grabs his cigarettes, walks outside for a smoke and tries to calm down. When he goes back in, he helps a customer, cleans the fucking bathroom, and then just stays as far from the office as he can get away with. Alicia makes big eyes at him when it's time for her to leave, but he just waves and turns back to whatever he's doing.
Finally Grant tracks him down. "Frank, please come with me for a moment. Tyler can watch the floor by himself for a few minutes.”
He considers refusing, but he can’t make himself do it. Grant leads him into the back room then turns to face him. “You left before I could apologize to you both. I spoke to Tyler, but Frank... I overstepped, I'm sorry."
Frank laughs and turns away, folding his arms across his chest. "No, you're not."
"Frank," Grant repeats, and now he sounds hurt. Frank turns and looks him full in the face.
"You don't have the right to question my personal life like that."
Grant takes a deep breath. "You're right. I am sorry. I've hurt you and I've hurt Tyler and I am very sorry for that."
Frank doesn't know what Tyler's told Grant, but he doesn't care. "Fine," he says slowly, shoving his hands in his pockets instead and studying his sneakers. "You're sorry."
"Frankie," Grant says, then stops. He stands there for another moment before Frank hears him walk away. He knows that was his chance to forgive Grant, but he’s not ready.
It takes a lot not to just lean forward and lay his head against the wall. He wishes he could go home, fall asleep in a hot bath and pretend he's not the dumbest motherfucker alive, but the way things are going for him right now, he’d probably drown.
Even now, what Frank wants most is to run after Grant.