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The thing about Spencer Smith is that he's sort of...soft-looking, and Frank's not generally into that, Frank's mostly the guy who likes his men to look like men, but there are obviously exceptions to that rule, because all Spencer has to do is pick up a drumstick and Frank's ready to roll up Spencer's sleeve and lick him wrist-to-shoulder.

For starters.

He tries not to stare--his mom taught him staring was rude pretty early on, and Frank listens to his mom, always has--but it's difficult and he's not entirely surprised when Spencer finds him one night and asks, "Do I have some kind of birth deformity that nobody else has felt the need to tell me about?"

Frank considers saying, you look like a girl, only Spencer doesn't, not entirely, certainly not when his back muscles are moving, flowing to his own beat. Also, it seems unlikely to help in his quest to get laid.

"No, just looking." Frank figures it would sound pretty stupid to deny his staring at this point.

"Okay, well, I think you might be throwing off my rhythm."

"Easily distracted, Smith?"

"No, not particularly," Spencer says.

Frank smiles. "Stop, you'll make me feel special."

"Where will flattery get me?"

"I'd say on my bus, but there are probably at least two other guys there." Frank has trouble going a week without at least talking to the other guys, but there are times he wishes the bus were bigger.

"There's a spot behind the third stage."

"Yeah?" Frank asks.

Spencer says, "You've been watching me for a while."

"Industrious of you."

"Observant of me."

That too. "Lead the way."

Spencer does, so it's easy when they get to where they're going for Frank to push at him just a bit, cause him to stumble up against the base of the stage. Spencer laughs a little breathlessly. "Gentlemanly, Iero."

"You brought me back here for sweet, sweet sex, Smith?" Frank slips his hands beneath the hem of Spencer's shirt, runs them up over the muscles that keep him so entranced, hidden under the sweat-damp cling of Spencer's tops.

"Hardly," Spencer says, and pushes himself back a bit, rubbing against Frank.

"Jesus wept." Frank retracts his hands, whips Spencer around to where he's facing him. His hands are on Spencer's jeans, then, at the buttons, and Spencer nods, "Yeah, yeah," reaching to help Frank out.

As soon as Spencer has gotten Frank free, as soon as he's managed the same for Spencer, Frank leans in, crushes his cock to Spencer's and the pressure hurts for a bare moment, hurts in that way that leaves him wanting more and then it's just, "Fuck, fuck, Smith."

Spencer's pretty into it, too, breathing heavy and wet in Frank's ear, and Frank slides his hands around so that he can hold to Spencer's back some more, feel the way the muscles shift and tense and relax under his palms.

Spencer's breathing breaks a bit when he comes, and it's maybe a whine, but Frank's not going to say a damned word, because he might, might be whimpering.

They lean into the stage afterward, Spencer's hand between their chests, both of Frank's still hard up against Spencer's shoulder blades.

Spencer asks, slightly breathless, "So, uh, not a deformity, huh?"

Frank laughs. "Not so much, no."

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Skin by egelantier, photo by microbophile