Trapped

Frank always felt kind of insecure behind the bus barn. It’s dark, isolated, and there’s really no people around, unless you take the effort to walk a ways and then cross the street to the high school. He still stands there, back turned to the football field just in case anyone is to walk over, although he doubts that would ever happen.
He zips up, turning around just to walk straight into the chest of none other than Cody Matthews.
“C-C-Cody,” Frank stammers, stumbling backwards.
“F-f-faggot,” Cody mimics, pushing Frank, who nearly falls over.
Cody’s friends laugh, and Frank takes it as an opportunity to run, only to be grabbed by the back of the shirt and yanked back. Two of his goons restrain him, and Cody stands in front of him, grinning evilly. He squints in the darkness, remarking, “You’re wearing makeup, aren’t you?”
Frank shakes his head, just to have Cody lick his thumb and rub it under Frank’s eye. Frank squirms with disgust, and Cody laughs. “You are, you fucking twink!” He pauses, realizing, “You also hate germs. Well…” He spits into Frank’s face, the saliva sliding down the side of Frank’s nose and off his chin. “How do you like that, freak?”
“Please, let me go,” Frank begs.
Cody smiles, smirking, “Pleading already? You’re pathetic, Iero.” He’s quiet for a moment, and then orders, “Hey, turn Iero around. Get his arms.”
Frank struggles, but it’s no use as the two bigger teens flip him around. Cody pulls Frank’s shirt over his head, then grabbing onto the waistband of his Marvel boxer briefs. He lifts Frank off the ground by his underwear, making Frank squeal. Cody and his friends laugh as he drops Frank to the ground, kicking his huddled body.
Frank then has an arm pinned behind his back, and he feels Cody’s breath on his neck as he orders, “Say uncle.”
“Uncle!” Frank cries, squirming uselessly. His shirt is ridden halfway up his back, spit is still on his face, and his underwear remains bunched and hanging out over the top of his jeans.
Cody only tightens the hold, making Frank squeak louder, “Uncle! Uncle!”
It’s when Frank’s arm feels as though it could snap that he breaks down sobbing, burying his head into the dirt.
Cody presses a knee into Frank’s back as he stands, making Frank yelp. He again grabs Frank’s underpants and pulls, only making Frank cry harder.
“Have a good night, faggot,” Cody spits. “I really hope you don’t show your worthless face in school Monday.”
The other boys step over Frank, leaving the boy on the ground, curled in a fetal position, crying. That is exactly how Gerard and Patrick find him about five minutes later, with his underwear showing, face in the dirt, and spit dried to his cheek.
They rush to his side, kneeling in the grass to try and reach his eye level. Frank turns away from them, so upset that he’s almost to the point of dry heaving.
Gerard helps him to his feet, brushing him off and wiping the saliva from his face. “You okay?”
Frank shakes his head, bowing it forward. Gerard hugs him, holding the smaller boy close, and Patrick joins in, locking the three into a death grip group hug, which is held for a solid minute or two before Frank breaks out of it, going off in the other direction.
“Hey!” Patrick calls. “What’s wrong?”
Frank faces them and grins crookedly, undoing his pants before pulling them down to his ankles. He blushes, admitting, “I’m fixing my wedgie.” Once his underwear is properly adjusted, Frank wiggles his trousers back up to his hips, following Gerard and Patrick back to the bleachers.
They keep an eye out for Cody and his friends, but the idiots are nowhere to be seen. Gerard scowls his way throughout the rest of the game, incapable of calming himself down.
After the game’s finished, they all head over to Frank’s house. On the car ride there, Gerard fumes about how he’s going to kill Cody. Mikey got a ride home with a friend, so the three boys are the only ones in the car as Gerard vents. Patrick is so scared of Gerard at that moment that he says nothing, but Frank assures, “Gerard, it’s fine.”
“No, it’s not!” Gerard retorts. “He can’t keep getting away with shit like this! He could’ve really hurt you, Frank!”
“Yeah, he could’ve! But instead, he just stretched out my underwear a bit!” Frank snaps in reply.
“What about earlier? You have a black eye!” Gerard points out.
Frank pouts, stammering, “It-it doesn’t matter!”
Gerard glares at his friend, who keeps his eyes on the road. Gerard growls, “Frank if you weren’t driving right now I’d smack some fucking sense into you.”
Frank pulls over abruptly, turning to Gerard and snarling, “Then fucking do it.”
Gerard reaches over at Frank, taking aimless swipes. He’s restrained by his seatbelt, which is lucky for Frank. Patrick rushes to the front of the car, breaking the two up. “Stop! Come on, you guys are best friends.”
Frank starts the car again without warning, barreling towards home. All of the boys’ blood run hot, and they reach Frank’s driveway after a few minutes of unbroken silence.
Once they get inside, things cool down. Frank changes into some pajamas, tossing a pair of pajama bottoms to Patrick. Gerard insists he’s fine, that he’ll sleep in his underwear.
“Well, then I won’t share beds with you,” Frank replies.
Patrick blushes slightly, mumbling, “I’ll share with Gerard.”
Frank’s eyebrows raise, and then he breaks out in a grin, telling, “You two take the bed; I’ll sleep on the couch.”
They don’t get around to sleeping until the early morning, but when they do finally lay to rest, Patrick tentatively crawls in next to Gerard, naked spare a pair of blue briefs. To Patrick’s misfortune, Gerard rolls up against Patrick in his sleep, his skin hot. Patrick immediately gets hard, and he lays on his stomach so Frank won’t see.
Frank considers himself the matchmaker of the situation as he falls asleep.

Notes

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