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Nibble Clamps
Bandslash, PG-13, ~1000 words. Frank/Gerard. Coda to "The Cruelty-Free Sausagefests of Pleathermouth Vegan Cafe". Warning: may cause cavities.

zarathuse, I am naught but a monkey smashing wildly away at my typewriter on your command. Even when your command is disgustingly fluffy cupcake-decorating fic that will ruin my hardass bandom reputation forever. ♥


Gerard is usually supportive of Frank's culinary experiments. This, Frank surmises, is because he always gets to be the first one to try them. Frank's virtues are many, but he does not number modesty among them; he's a damn good cook. His boyfriend understands this. Usually.

"This is stupid," whines Gerard. "Can't we just have sex instead?"

He's sitting at the breakfast bar in Frank's kitchen, pouting because Frank is making delicious baked goods. Something is distinctly wrong with this man.

"Are you gonna pay me five hundred bucks for being the best lay of the weekend?" Frank asks. "Because that's what I'm giving up if I don't get my photo uploaded by five PM."

Gerard scowls. "I'm not gonna get laid this weekend at all if you spend all day making fucking stupid boob cupcakes."

"Cupkinks," corrects Frank. Gerard drops his chin onto his arms on the counter and stares at him dolefully.

The pastries in question are Frank's entry in the Cruel and Unusual Cupkink Contest, an internet photo competition dedicated to raising awareness of the kink community. Frank doesn't really consider himself part of the kink community, occasional bite marks notwithstanding, but the prize is a hefty chunk of (metaphorical) dough, and the publicity for Pleathermouth would be a plus.

He tunes out Gerard's bitching and finishes mixing up the batter. He's decided to go with a standard white cake base and ice with alternating chocolate-almond and vanilla-raspberry frostings. The nipple clamps, of course, will be marzipan.

The cupcakes come out of the oven puffy and beautiful, with an even golden crust on top. Frank deftly pops them out of the tin with a butter knife and lines them up on a wire cooling rack while he whips up the frostings. They turn out nice and flesh-colored, one pink and one dark. Frank starts mounding the vanilla-raspberry onto a cupcake.

"You should've filled them with red jelly," says Gerard petulantly. "Then biting into them would be just like biting into a real boob."

Frank pointedly ignores him.

The icing process passes without too much incident, but when Frank gets out the piping gun and forms the first nipple, Gerard snorts. "Have you ever actually seen a woman naked?"

Frank looks down at his carefully constructed sugar breast. It looks perfectly fine to him. "Have you?" he retorts, a little hurt.

"Dude, I went to art school," says Gerard. "They shove naked chicks at you every direction you turn, it's like a gay man's Hades. Give me that." He snatches the gun out of Frank's hand and rummages around in his pocket. Frank folds his arms, amused, and watches Gerard intently modify the piping tip with a rubber band and a paper clip.

After a few minutes of tweaking, he squirts out a blob of pink frosting onto the nearest cupcake and holds it up triumphantly. "There," he declares. "That is what a nipple looks like."

Frank has to admit that it's a lot more realistic than his. He's about to take back his newly pimped-out icing gun when Gerard hops up off his stool and comes around the counter to do it himself. Frank tries not to grin too obviously as he turns to the marzipan.

The food coloring doesn't work like it's supposed to. Frank wanted purple clamps, but the colors won't mix. "Dammit," he mutters. "My preschool teachers lied to me. Red plus blue does not equal purple. It equals rusty black."

"Oh yeah, food coloring is bitchy like that," says Gerard knowledgeably. "You have to buy the actual purple color."

"How do you know?" As far as Frank knows, Gerard had never cooked anything more complex than macaroni and cheese before he started at the restaurant, and they don't use artificial coloring there.

"Art student," Gerard says. He squeezes out another perfect nipple. "Real paint is fucking expensive. Dying flour paste was way more cost-efficient. We used anything, really. There was a few months there when I went through so much of my own blood and urine that all my paintbrushes--"

Frank drops the marzipan, sacrificing a nipple clamp to the floor in order to clap his hand over Gerard's mouth before he has to listen to the rest of that sentence. There are some things about the past that he does not need to know.

He's apparently better with marzipan than he is with frosting. At least, Gerard doesn't yank it away and resculpt the nipple clamps. They work together to gently ease the marzipan on without destroying Gerard's painstaking handiwork, and arrange the finished products into an attractive pattern for the photo.

Frank grabs his camera from under a dish towel, where he's learned to stow anything he doesn't want covered in flour and powdered sugar while he bakes. He snaps a few shots from different angles, then hooks the camera up to his laptop and chooses a picture to send in. Gerard beams down at the plate proudly. "They look great," says Frank as he uploads the photo to the contest website. "Thanks for all your help."

Gerard's expression turns guilty. "Whatever. It's still a fucking stupid idea."

"Mhm." Frank closes his laptop and strips off his shirt, reaching for the bowl of leftover chocolate-almond frosting. He dips his finger in it and traces a circle around his nipple. Gerard's eyes follow every movement. "Shall we stop talking about boobs now?" asks Frank cheerfully.

"Yes," says Gerard. "That's what I've been trying to... yes." He leans down and licks the frosting off Frank's skin, then glances up, startled. "Wow. That's really fucking good."

Frank nods smugly. "Yup."

Gerard eyes the plate of cupcakes sheepishly. "Um, so you're done with the contest, right? You don't need those for anything anymore?"

"What, you're just gonna eat fucking stupid boob cupcakes all day?" teases Frank. "Can't we just have sex instead?"

Gerard's gaze darts to the cupcakes again. "Embrace the power of 'and'?" he suggests hopefully.

Frank laughs and shuts him up with a sugary kiss.

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