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Frank shoves Gerard up against the wall and kisses him hard and it’s just like it always was, like no time has passed at all since the last time they did this.
Frank kisses like he plays guitar, frantic and high energy and a little bit messy, and Gerard opens his mouth automatically, letting Frank lick inside, suck at his tongue in a way that is somehow disgusting and hot as fuck at the same time. It’s exactly the kind of thing Gerard thinks of when he thinks of sex with Frank. Frank is holding onto him, pulling Gerard against him even as he pushes him back.
“Fuck,” Frank says, pulling away for a moment to tug at the front of Gerard’s jacket, at the buttons. “Come on, get this thing off, let’s get naked, I’ve waited long enough.”
They split apart to strip, and it seems like Frank’s naked in about five seconds flat. It’s been a while since Gerard’s seen Frank naked, so he gets to experience this moment where he’s halfway out of his jeans and looks up to find Frank with his dick all the way out and his mind kind of goes blank, leaving him to stumble and almost fall. Frank laughs when he does, but it’s not a mean laugh. It’s almost relieved, Gerard thinks. Like Frank’s been thinking about this as much as he has. Like he was worried things would be different now, close to the end of the decade, four years since the last time they did this and seven since the last time it was in these circumstances.
Because it was always like this. There was always Frank, keyed up after a show, vibrating with energy and right on that knife’s edge of fight or fuck, looking for something to get him down from that ledge; and there was always Gerard, still half-possessed with the person he lets himself be when he’s onstage, a little bit Iggy Pop and a little bit Liza Minelli and a lot more in control than that anxious, angst-fuelled mess he was offstage back then.
There was always Frank and there was always Gerard and there was always this energy backstage, this tension between them, this odd sort of desperation when they came offstage that had the whole crew parting like the red sea for them to find someplace private enough to rub off on each other. And there was Frank blowing Gerard in truck-stop bathrooms in the middle of 48-hour bus drives, and there was Gerard riding Frank early mornings in hotel rooms before check-out, and there were hour-long make-out sessions crammed in Frank’s bunk where they both ended up hard and gasping and unable to do anything about it.
But mostly there was backstage, and this magnetism between them, pulling them together.
There was also Jamia, of course, and there was a series of girls (and the occasional guy) that culminated in Lin. But Gerard knew that Jamia and Frank had an ‘on tour agreement’ that had come about almost entirely because of Gerard, and by the time he got with Lin, this… whatever with Frank was so established that it was basically part of the deal.
(There had been a small number of unsuccessful foursomes, and, after they were both married, a stretch of about a month where they both tried their best to not fall into bed together after every fucking show. But Lin had said, “I hope you’re not denying yourself on my account,” and Frank had said, “Jamia thinks I need to get laid,” and that was that.)
Frank pushes him onto the bed, climbs on top of him, his pupils blown like he’s mid-trip. There’s more of him, now, and Gerard lets himself touch: his chest, his biceps, the small of his back. “I’m loving the dad bod,” he says, digging his fingers into Frank’s ass deliberately, and Frank grins.
“Thanks,” he says. “I’m cultivating it. I’m going for the full party dad look.” He leans down to kiss Gerard again.
Gerard remembers bones, before. He remembers his fingers against the ridge of Frank’s spine, tracing his ribcage, playing over his hips. At first, in those earliest days, it had made him utterly self-conscious, the softness of his body compared to Frank’s. Back then, when it was still the old van and house shows, he only fucked with his clothes on.
He’s too old to care about that shit now.
He’s too happy to care about that shit now. Fuck. There’s something he never thought he’d say.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” Frank mutters, grabbing Gerard by his hips, clawing at the soft there. “Fuck. How are you still so fucking sexy?”
Gerard laughs, but it turns into a moan halfway through when Frank gropes him, cupping his half-hard cock. “Shit, Frank,” he says, and lets his head fall back against the pillows.
Frank follows him down, kissing the bared length of his throat and biting at his collarbone, his hand still on Gerard’s dick. “I wanna blow you,” he says, his voice low. “Shit, I wanna get my mouth on your dick so bad, Gerard, you don’t even know. I’ve been thinking about it. I’ve been wanting—”
Frank’s always had a filthy mouth, especially when there’s dick involved, and Gerard interrupts, “Then shut up and do it, motherfucker!”
There’s a long moment where Frank just looks at him, grinning stupidly, and then he’s moving, nudging Gerard’s legs apart to crawl between them. He presses his face against the crease of Gerard’s thigh and breathes in, moaning against his skin like he’s the best thing Frank’s ever smelled (which is not true, because Gerard has changed, but not that much.)
“Missed this,” Frank says, kissing the inside of Gerard’s thigh. “Oh man, I fucking missed this,” and he licks a wet stripe up Gerard’s cock.
Frank has always, in many areas of his life, made up for a lack of technical skill with enthusiasm. “I’m a little out of practice,” he apologises, before proceeding to choke himself on Gerard’s dick right out the gate. He gags and Gerard goes “oh shit, Frank, don’t,” but then Frank’s doing it again, his slit eyes wet at the corners as he sinks down. He groans, deep and heartfelt and enough that Gerard can feel it vibrate in his balls, and Gerard’s hands fly to Frank’s head, tangling in his hair.
It’s messy as hell, spit running down Gerard’s cock and over his balls, Frank turning pink in the face as he sucks and chokes and drools on Gerard’s dick. He loves it, clearly, his eyelashes fluttering when he swallows around the head of Gerard’s cock; he’s literally humping the bed, one hand on Gerard’s hip, pinning him, the other between Gerard’s legs, loose around the base of his dick or cupping his balls or stroking at the soft skin behind them, making his legs twitch wider.
It’s good. It’s hot. It’s fucking surreal, is what it is, looking down at Frank’s face, his eyelashes all stuck together with tears and what Gerard can see of his cheeks red with arousal. Gerard has a moment of intense déjà vu. He’s been here before so many times, on his back on a hotel mattress with Frank between his legs, adrenaline still lighting him up from the inside.
They’ve never had good sex. Or, no, that’s a lie, they’ve had a lot of good sex, the kind that’s left Gerard with shaking legs and a headache from coming too hard; they’ve just never had, you know, Good Sex. It’s always been messy and out of control and uncoordinated and not particularly skilful, fast and desperate.
One of Frank’s fingers finds Gerard’s hole and rubs at it, dry, and Gerard almost comes down Frank’s throat just like that. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he gasps, “okay, give me a second, Frank, just—just hold up,” and Frank pulls off his cock, looking up at him with those fucking puppy-dog eyes that always made him look like a schoolboy that just burned down his classroom.
“Everything alright?” Frank says, and it’s obvious he’s trying to act innocent, like he doesn’t know all of Gerard’s tells, only he’s just had a dick in his throat, and he sounds like sandpaper when he speaks.
“Fuck you,” Gerard says.
“I was thinking more the other way around.” Frank smiles angelically up at Gerard and rubs at his hole again, breaching him with just the very tip of his finger, and Gerard jerks like he’s been hit with 100 volts.
It’s not that he hasn’t done this in a while, because he has; it’s 2019, Men Get Pegged (and Gerard’s not exactly a man anyway). It’s just—it’s Frank. He hasn’t had Frank in a while.
Frank dives for his jeans on the floor, and Gerard takes the opportunity to roll over and fumble for his own jeans down the side of the bed, digging through the pockets for the individual packets of lube he stashed there before the show.
Something hits him on the ass while he’s hanging over the side of the bed and he turns back to find that Frank has just thrown a whole miniature tube of lube at him.
“Where the fuck were you hiding that?”
Frank winks at him, smirking like the asshole he is, and Gerard, who has finally located his own lube, flings a fistful of little plastic packets in Frank’s direction. Frank takes one look at the packets scattered on the bed and the floor and cracks up laughing. “Wow, presumptuous, much?”
“Shut up,” Gerard says. “Get over here and stick your dick in me before I change my mind.”
That startles another delighted cackle out of Frank. “Oh? You’re gonna change your mind, huh?”
“I mean,” Gerard says, crossing his arms over his chest with a huff, “if you take too long dicking around not, like, actively putting stuff in my butt… yeah, I’m gonna change my mind.”
“Bullshit,” Frank says, and then he’s on top of Gerard again, shoving him down so he’s flat on the mattress and leaning on him with his whole weight, his face barely an inch from Gerard’s. “You’ll beg for it long before that.”
Gerard opens his mouth to bitch right back, only, for one thing, Frank’s entirely right and can prove it with several specific examples spanning the decade the band were originally together, and, for another, he hears Frank say “beg for it” and all the air rushes out of his chest in a traitorous attempt at getting him to say please.
“Uh,” he says instead. Only it’s significantly breathier and more drawn out. The noise he makes may, in fact, be better described as a moan, only he’s in a playfully bratty mood and doesn’t want to admit that Frank is doing things to him he thought he’d left behind a long time ago.
Frank hears it, though, and a mean grin splits his face before he leans in and kisses Gerard deep and dirty. “If you want to beg, feel free,” he says low against Gerard’s mouth.
“I’m not going to beg, Frank,” Gerard says as Frank’s hands ghost over the round of his stomach, his hips, the insides of his thighs, urging him to spread his legs wider. He doesn’t need to beg, because he knows Frank wants this just as much as he does. He knows Frank well enough to know what that expression means, and every time he’s looked at Frank tonight, Frank’s been looking back.
Frank shrugs. “Pity. I like it when you’re desperate.” He presses a slick finger against Gerard’s hole and pauses, looking up at Gerard like there’s any chance at all he’s going to back out now.
“Come on,” Gerard says, “don’t be a dick about it,” and Frank laughs and pushes inside.
A shiver runs through Gerard’s body. “Oh,” he sighs, and lets his legs fall wider, “Frankie, yeah.” It’s good. It’s better than good. Frank’s finger is steady and certain inside him, the friction of it sliding into him already driving him wild, and when he adds another the stretch is enough to have Gerard whimpering with how good it feels.
Gerard loves this. Gerard is a fucking slut for this, for getting stretched open and filled up. Everything about it turns him on, from the initial uncomfortable drag of it to the sweet ache deep inside when he’s filled to the brim and about to come. He likes the weight of someone on top of him and the feeling of bare skin against his own, and he likes, fuck, the vulnerability of it, of how raw and open he always feels during. Like he’s giving away some part of himself he wasn’t sure he wanted anyone to see, only it feels so right that he has to.
“Yeah,” Frank echoes quietly, and two fingers becomes three, Gerard gasping at the change in pressure. “Yeah, that’s good, huh? Shit, you love this.” He crooks his fingers and Gerard almost shouts as Frank rubs deliberately against his prostate, pleasure bursting bright and sharp inside him.
Frank kisses his throat, his chest, sucks indelicately at one nipple as he lazily fucks Gerard with his fingers. Gerard holds onto him, one hand curled against the back of his head as he mouths at Gerard’s chest, fingers moving inside him and cock hard against Gerard’s hip.
“More,” Gerard manages, rolling his hips down to meet Frank’s hand. “Come on, dude, don’t be a tease.”
Frank snorts. “You’re the only person I know who would call three fingers knuckle-deep in your ass a tease.” He twists his fingers, curls them, pulls them out entirely.
“Frank!”
“Chill,” Frank says, “I’m just—condom,” and sure enough there’s the crinkle of foil, and then, a few moments later, Frank’s cock pressed against his hole.
“Yes,” Gerard breathes, pulling his legs up to give Frank better access. It’s been so long, too fucking long, and he’d thought he was fine with that, but shit, his entire body is burning with desperation to have Frank inside him, on top of him, babbling filth under his breath, and maybe he needed this more than he thought.
Frank’s dick sinks into him and they moan simultaneously. Gerard grabs at him immediately, at his thighs, trying to drag him closer, deeper, already. “C’mon,” he mutters, “c’mon, Frankie, fuck me, fuck me,” and Frank laughs breathlessly, dips his head to bite at Gerard’s shoulder and thrusts.
Gerard cries out as Frank begins to fuck him properly. His dick is solid and hot, opening him up, the slick drag of it inside him burning him up from the inside out. And it’s been so long, but Frank hasn’t forgotten what Gerard likes when he bottoms, pins him to the bed and digs his nails into his thighs and fucks him hard from the very first. It knocks the breath out of him, leaves him clinging to Frank and gasping “yeah, yeah, yes,” and writhing mindlessly against the sheets.
“Fuck,” Frank says. “Fuck, Gee, you’re so good, you’re so tight, you have no idea—missed you, missed this, oh fuck, you have no idea what you do to me, do you?” He shifts on his knees, hauling Gerard closer, his cock skidding against Gerard’s prostate in the process, and Gerard lets out a noise somewhere close to a sob. “Shit yeah,” Frank mutters, “let me hear you, I want to hear you.”
“Frank,” Gerard gasps, “oh my god,” and Frank groans like it’s the hottest thing he’s heard, speeds up, short, hard thrusts like he can’t control himself. They’ve gone from zero to one hundred in the space of a few minutes, and that’s the way it always was. There’s never been any space in this, no room to breathe.
Frank is hammering into him and pleasure is sparking hot and sharp through Gerard, little bolts of lightning lighting up his insides, shooting through his veins. He’s moaning, high-pitched and shameless, and he clings to Frank, dragging his blunt nails over his back, damp with sweat and burning up.
“Christ, you’re so fucking hot, look at you, fuck.” Frank’s slurring, out of breath, but he’s never been able to shut the fuck up. Gerard loves it. So Frank’s mumbling obscenities and Gerard’s moaning breathlessly and they’re both sweat-slick and frantic and hot, and Gerard can feel all the other times they’ve done this layered over this one like marker on tracing paper.
“Touch yourself,” Frank orders, and Gerard does, worming his hand between their bodies to stroke himself off. “Yeah, perfect,” Frank says, “so good, Gerard, you feel so fucking good,” and he leans down to crush his lips against Gerard’s, hard and talentless, their teeth clicking. Gerard thinks he can taste blood.
He doesn’t have to touch himself for long before he can feel his orgasm blooming hot in his gut, not with Frank fucking him like that, not with Frank kissing him like that. “Frank,” he moans into Frank’s mouth, “Frankie, don’t stop, I’m gonna,” and he comes before he can finish his sentence, clinging to Frank as he shakes and spills between them.
Frank makes a noise like he’s been kicked in the chest and follows Gerard over the edge. Gerard watches him as his eyelashes flutter and his mouth drops open, his hair damp with sweat and messy from Gerard’s hands, and Gerard thinks, I could write a hell of a song about this. Then Frank collapses directly on top of him.
Gerard wheezes and shoves at Frank’s shoulders until Frank rolls off. “Jesus. When did you get so fucking heavy?”
“That’s not very nice,” Frank says, but that smirk is right back on his face, so Gerard doesn’t feel too bad, and then Frank reaches out and takes his hand, so Gerard doesn’t feel bad at all.