Archive of Our Own

Frank’s adrenaline is pumping hard through his body, about as frantically as the soundwaves through his amps and the monitors on stage. Not that it isn’t always pumping when it comes to a show, but this tour has been rough, and it's literally only been two performances.  Both of them feel like they've taken so much more energy than usual, but it’s not like he’s been rolling over the stage any more than normal. Maybe it's the summer heat of late July in southern California.

At any rate, they’ve made it over half way through the set, and, in his humble opinion, Frank thinks it’s going pretty fucking well. The crowd is into it, the pyro is going off without a hitch (for once), albeit damn near intolerably hot, which just makes his point all the more valid, actually. He’s been doing his best to stay mostly at the front of the stage, though, in front of the monitors. The fans love it, and it gets him a little further away from the fire. (Which he may or may not be a little finicky about anyway ever since the Famous Last Words video shoot. He's not looking to be the next Bob.)

Granted, he’s already tossed a guitar and split one of his fingers open on a string, but hey, rock and roll or whatever. It’s fine, he wipes it off on Gerard’s face (twice) and then makes sure to wipe the excess blood from the body of the guitar on his friend’s pants for good measure. Just to be, y’know, clean and shit. He gives him a nice pretty smile for his troubles, too, and Gerard nearly loses composure. As the resident My Chemical Romance band menace, he’s counting it as a job well done.

Gerard starts off Prison by telling the crowd he’s feeling dirty, and Frank can’t help but laugh. The audience is in a frenzy over it, and if he were part of the masses, he would be a bit hysterical himself. Honestly, just… Look at him. Gerard is a specimen. He’s adorable off stage when he’s ranting about random nerd shit. He’s sexy in a suit. He’s got an attitude and aggression about him when he’s on stage, while being sweet and approachable off of it. The man is the full package. Not… That is, that Frank’s like, actually thought about it all that much or anything.

The moaning during the intro doesn’t exactly help anything either, but it’s Gerard, so it’s not exactly a novelty at this point.

They hit the breakdown, a nice break to get away from his mic for just a second between screams, to stretch his legs (as if he needs it). When he circles back from the drum riser, he’s headed for the front of the stage, but there’s an almost collision with his lead singer. Or, rather, it’s not a collision so much as it is Gerard leaning in for a kiss, which Frank denies him with a smirk and a wrinkle of his nose so that he can get where he wants to be.

Just as he’s finishing up, literally just the last few chords, that’s when the snowball starts downhill. Gerard has circled back around the stage, and he's in front of Frank again, which is fine. Or it would be, normally. He’s coming in for a second chance at a kiss. Frank is ready this time.

Wrong.

Gerard looks determined, something a bit more solid in his gaze than their usual peck on the cheek or head or even on the lips. It’s almost always more in passing than anything, but he reaches for Frank this time, twisting his hand immediately into his long hair and pulls him in. 

It’s obvious, the thought behind it. ‘You’re not getting away this time’. 

Frank gasps despite himself and within a split second, Gerard’s mouth is on his, and it is open, and Frank can feel his tongue.

He can’t help it. Frank lets out some sort of pathetic mewling sound. He opens his mouth back involuntarily and drops his fucking guitar (thank god it has a strap) which like, since when? It’s instinctual to try and wrap his arm around Gerard’s waist, and he tilts his head, just a little, going for a better angle, but it’s too late.

Life
Is
But
A
Dream

The moment is over and Gerard is forcefully pushing him away. He stands, shocked for half a second before he snatches his guitar back up properly and makes his way back to his place stage right. 

Frank reminds himself to focus. He has a part to play. They’re on stage. They’re in the middle of a song. They’re in the middle of a show. He doesn’t have the luxury of stopping to process right now. That said, fuck the mic. Fuck his backing vocals, fuck everything that is not the fucking instrument in his hands. 

What was that? What the fuck was that? That wasn’t like what they’ve done before. Fuck, Gerard’s stuck his tongue down Frank’s throat before, but it’s never been like that. What the ever living fuck was that?  

The force, the grip in Frank’s hair, the look of- Fuck, was it determination or was it revenge? Was this for the blood? For the denial of a kiss? Was he making a point? What point was he fucking making?

What the fuck just happened?

Gerard takes the moment after the song's ended to stop and address the crowd, and Frank pants in great, heaving breaths. There’s a request for more light in the center of the stage, and Gerard sets off on a spiel about being happy to be back in California. It gives Frank a moment to- well, not calm down, but to sort of calm down.

There’s this moment with Cortez near the drum riser. And by moment, that means that Mikey’s stand in looks at him, like really looks at him. Frank thinks maybe he sees him mouth something close to ‘you good?’, but whether or not it’s really there is up for debate, because Frank very intentionally does not see it.

He simply gives the barest shake of his head, willing himself to focus on the task at hand which is to check tuning and make sure things are ready for Teenagers. He lingers by the riser for a few moments, wiping at his face with the back of his gloved hand to get the sweat out of his eyes. He even takes a second to look at his finger. Still bloody, and throbbing, honestly, but he’s had worse.

The distractions work well enough. Too well, really. When Gerard appears suddenly to tell them all, “Home stretch, boys, let’s kill it!” into the dead mic, Frank nearly chokes on air. He hadn’t seen him coming, hadn’t registered his presence. His fingers were so much more interesting with the whole caked in blood thing going on.

“Frankie? You good?” Gerard asks him, away from the mic and with a look on his face that Frank really isn’t entirely sure how to interpret.

Of course, the only answer Frank can manage to give is a labored sort of, “Yeah, man,” before he moves back over to his pedal board. When Ray picks up the rhythm for the first verse of Teenagers, Frank is pretty sure he’s never loved the man more in his entire life. 

Four more songs. He can totally survive four more songs. Three, actually. Cancer really only counts as a song for James and Gerard. Frank will very happily take his cue to walk off stage and get water when that time comes.

Until then, though, the rest of the show goes off mostly without incident. Or, well, sort of. Only incidents of his own making. Fucking with Ray’s mic, getting chased in a circle around the stage while Gerard looks on at them like a fond exasperated mother watching her unruly children play tag. 

It’s not far off, honestly, it’s how he usually looks at them.

Except for the few times Gerard catches Frank’s eyes, but it’s all in hurried glances. Frank is doing his best to stay normal, he really is, but every time he enters center stage with his best friend, which he always fucking does, he can no longer tell if the racing of his heart is from performing or because he’s anticipating… What, exactly? Another kiss? No, that’s generally a once per show gimmick, and soon Dead! is over, and they’re not about to make out during Helena. 

Besides, the key word here is gimmick. And that’s exactly what it was. Hell, it was probably just retribution for the blood on Gerard's face. It's not like they don't do this sort of shit all the time. It’s their MO or something. It’s just what they do.

Except it didn’t feel like a gimmick. Not this time. This time was different. So very, very different.

It leaves him half aware of what he’s doing as he watches Cancer from side stage. The same way he always does, every single performance. But that’s different too. Gerard sounds different. Frank feels different. It’s all fucking different, and it feels like maybe it shouldn’t be. It feels like Frank should, perhaps, take his fucking water bottle and go back to the green room. 

So that’s exactly what he does.

He makes his way back into the green room and unceremoniously flops onto the couch as dramatically as he possibly can. Matt looks over at him from where he’s changing out of his shirt. It’s that same eyebrow lift he’d given Frank at the riser. The same unspoken question.

Frank pretends again to not see it, and instead downs the rest of his water so he can scrub both of his hands through his sweat soaked hair. 

“We’ve got showers somewhere back here, right?” He asks, letting himself stare up at the ceiling for a moment. The tiles are those shitty styrofoam looking ones that Frank knows from experience taste like shit if someone breaks them and your mouth happens to be open anywhere in the general vicinity. You’d think a place like this would have better ceilings.

“Somewhere, yeah,” Gerard answers him as he walks into the room, stripping off his jacket. And the long sleeved shirt beneath that. He's left in a simple black t-shirt, soaked through with sweat. If it were white it would leave nothing to the imagination. Frank is not imagining.

He’s used to catching quick glances when Gerard isn’t necessarily paying attention. He can’t help it, he’s sort of been doing it for years. Not that he’s creepy about it, at least he tries his very best not to be. A glimpse here and there, but that was before. Those were all times where their onstage kisses were a gimmick. A fucking 'political statement' or whatever bullshit they keep spouting in interviews. Just something they do for shock value and a backstage laugh.

Tonight is not one of those nights. 

The second Gerard even turns his head in Frank’s direction, the younger man averts his eyes to the floor. He sits up and shrugs off his own drenched shirt after just barely resisting the urge to pop off the buttons at the collar. He swears he feels Gerard’s eyes on him. There's some sort of tension hanging in the air by the time Ray and Bob come into the room toting water bottles. One room temp for Gerard, the other ice fucking cold for Frank. 

He cracks the cap, stands, and promptly pours half of the bottle onto his head, sending a shock down his spine. It causes him to gasp, but it helps to have a reason for the way he’s holding himself right now with 6 years worth of tension clenching at his shoulders.

—

The bus, which Frank was very excited to get back to after at least rinsing himself off in the little stall that they called a shower at the venue, turns out to be a waking nightmare. 

Okay, so that’s a little dramatic. Not a nightmare, just a situation that ends up making Frank’s skin feel like it’s crawling.

It was a good show. They were fired up, the kids were great, the music was great, they had fun, Cortez meshed just fine with the band, the way they knew he would. For a show without Mikey, it’s the best they could possibly hope for. It was a good fucking show.

And it is not unheard of, for them to go back to the bus after a good fucking show and do a little watch back. Videos taken of the performance. Check out the pyro stuff, hear the way that the sounds were mixed, laugh about stupid antics on stage. All normal things that they do. They watch their shows, they find shit they don’t like, they fix it for next time.

Except this time what they’re watching is Frank being a little shit, wiping blood on his best friend in a cheeky little gesture that would ultimately lead to Frank’s downfall.

Okay, downfall might be a little dramatic too. But it leads up to that kiss, and Frank feels hot all over watching it back from third person. Gerard’s hand snatching his hair is a sensation Frank swears he can still feel in his scalp. Gerard’s open mouth, Frank knows, is warm, and wet. Gerard’s tongue licking its way past Frank’s lips and into his mouth is-

“Jesus, dude, you can’t just grab him like that, we’ll end up with a bald guitarist,” Ray says with a laugh, shoving Gerard playfully by the head. 

Frank pretends that he doesn’t feel the eyes on him. He also prays to anyone listening that he’s not blushing. The look on James’ face says that he is. Frank glares at him.

Gerard reaches out a hand and pats Frank on the top of the head, “His hair’s fine,” he says with a grin. “Nothing like a little payback,” he says, and his voice almost sounds fond, “I was just feeling it tonight.”

Is that what we’re calling it? Frank thinks, rolling his eyes and batting at Gerard’s hand to try and get the other man’s fingers out of his hair. He doesn’t need that reminder. He doesn’t need to be thinking about that fucking hand tangling up in long black strands. He doesn’t need to think about any of this.

He shifts slightly on the shitty little bus couch, and squeezes his way out from where he’s sitting between Bob and Ray, and excuses himself to the tiny, hardly person-sized bathroom.

Staring into his own eyes, Frank mutters quietly to himself, pointing at his reflection. “Stop,” he says lowly. “Don’t fucking start. Just stop.” Stop thinking about it. Stop fucking thinking about it. 

He manages to stay hidden away for as long as he possibly can, but even then he excuses himself to the back lounge, snatching a book from his bunk and claiming he needs space to unwind, which, thankfully, they grant him.

Eventually he hears the rest of the band exit the bus. Dinner, by the sounds of it, maybe drinks, but only time will tell on that front. The only thing that really matters is that it allows Frank to crawl out of his little hidey hole in the back so that he can dig through the fridge and pantry for something he can eat on his own.

The single problem with that? Gerard, apparently, did not go out for dinner.

No, no. Gerard is sitting at the table in the front, pouring over one of his 16 million sketchbooks, and he doesn’t even look up until one of the cabinets open so that Frank can root around inside for sustenance. 

Even then, though, there’s no words exchanged between Gerard and himself. Which suits Frank just fine. He’s not entirely sure what to say anyway. 

'Hey, so what the fuck was that about?'
'Your mouth somehow still tastes like cigarettes even after you’ve been singing for a full set.'
'My knees aren’t usually weak like that after we kiss.’
'Could you do that again?'

None of those options seem like a good idea, but with the two of them left alone… Sooner or later, the silence has to break. 

For a solid half hour after that, though, while Frank makes and eats cereal for dinner and Gerard sits quietly drawing, they certainly manage to maintain it. 

It’s Gerard who speaks first, after he’s gotten up to go into the kitchen himself.

“What did you think?” He’s faced away from Frank, poking around in the fridge for his own dinner. His tone is casual, but it doesn’t help the still lingering tether between the two of them. It feels like something physical. Or Frank is looking too far into it. Frank is probably looking too far into it.

He stares at Gerard’s back, holding his breath. 'Think of what?' Is what he wants to say, but he’s not sure that he can. “Pretty good. You?” He figures it’s ambiguous enough. It’s true of both the show and of the kiss. Gerard is more than welcome to take that as he likes, and save Frank at least some of the embarrassment.

“Yeah?” Gerard turns around, a soda in his hand. His eyes never leave Frank as he pops the top of it with a hiss that should be loud, but the sound is almost immediately swallowed by all the padding in the small space. He sips for a moment, letting himself lean back against the low counter. Frank wonders idly what it would be like for Gerard to set him up on top of it and those artist’s fingers carding through his hair.

Odd. Frank's never really thought about that before. Okay, that's a lie, he definitely has, it's just that before... Before he didn't have the very real, very fresh memory in place of how that feels. Gerard’s hand in his hair and against his scalp. A warm mouth pressed tightly to his own. A wet tongue-

“Yeah,” Gerard gives a noncommittal shrug in response. Frank is doing his best to play casual, but fuck he feels like it's an uphill battle. They’re tiptoeing, that much is obvious. But Gerard is showing intent behind his words, and Frank is doing his absolute best to play neutral and innocent. He doesn’t think the other man is buying it.

Gerard sets the can down on the counter and approaches Frank. It takes two steps to cover the tiny kitchenette area. 

Frank’s heart is hammering up against his ribs, and he’s not sure it’s ever beat quite this hard, even for a show. Maybe only ever when Gerard had showed up at his house and asked him to join his band. Frank’s head tilts up so that he can look into his friend’s eyes. 

There’s a quiet moment between them and then Gerard’s hand is fisted in his hair again. Frank can’t stop the noise that comes from his throat. A gasp, a moan, some sort of quiet, surprised sound, and it’s apparently exactly what Gerard is looking for. Initially, he’d closed his eyes, but eventually the lids flutter open and Frank looks up to see a small smirk across Gerard’s lips.

“I’m not talking about the show,” he says, his voice low and steady. 

It holds no hints of nervousness, no shakes. Not the wispy, “I figured as much,” that Frank comes up with. It’s pathetic, really, and he’s fully aware of that fact. He has absolutely none of the bravado that he usually does.

With fans, in interviews, he’s confident and outspoken. He knows what he wants to say and how to say it, and good god, he is fully aware that he is insanely long winded. Right now, though? Right now he is a puddle. Right now he is barely focused on anything other than Gerard’s hand in his hair, the bite of it pulling away from his scalp. 

It’s delicious.

“So,” Gerard says the word quick and sharp, giving an extra tug of his hand. “What did you think?” He reiterates his question.

Again, Frank moans, but this time it’s a lot less airy. It comes from his chest and his eyes fall closed for a second time. His neck cranes towards Gerard’s hand, subconsciously trying to alleviate the pull, though in all reality, he’s loving the pain, his body is just stupid and instinctive. And rude. 

“Very good,” he amends his previous statement. He curses himself for the way his voice is still breathy when he says it.

Gerard makes a soft “hm” sort of noise and loosens his grip. It takes every fiber of willpower Frank has to not let himself pout about it. He can hear the smile in his friend’s voice when he speaks again.

“So I didn’t take it too far?” It’s a question, and the intonation is so much more gentle than it had been a moment ago.

“I mean… No. But don’t you think maybe you should have led with that?” Frank counters as he opens his eyes with a smile of his own. 

Gerard laughs and it feels like something warm spreading over Frank's body. “I guess that would have been a better idea, huh?” Gerard has the decency to blush, high up in his cheeks. It gives him a beautiful color to his normal pale pallor. Frank loves the contrast.

Feeling a bit bolder now, Frank adjusts his stance. He is, of course, still not eye level with his bandmate, but he feels a bit less helpless than being slumped down against the low set table jutting out of the wall. Gerard watches him, his expression calculating, like he’s trying to figure out some sort of intensely difficult puzzle. Frank doesn’t even have to ask, they communicate without words, as they often do. 

Gerard answers him with a, “Do you want me?”

Frank feels his breath catch in his throat and he damn near chokes on it. Of all the things he’d expected, that wasn’t even on the fucking list. The words roll around inside his head like those little marbles in a pinball machine, bouncing off of themselves and his thoughts in absolute chaos. 

Gerard’s face shifts, minutely, but Frank can see the regret seeping in through the almost imperceptible crease between his eyebrows. Frank, however, notices it immediately. He takes a breath, as if it’s going to ground him, and croaks out a quiet and embarrassingly squeaky, “Yeah. I do.”

And then Gerard’s mouth is on his, already open and tracing Frank’s lips with his tongue. His mouth is hot and it is wet and it tastes like soda and cigarettes. Frank presses into him, kissing back fiercely. It’s a chance he hadn’t been able to take earlier on stage in front of thousands, but here, it’s just the two of them.

There's something about this that feels almost desperate. But that’s probably just him. He feels like if he doesn’t get closer to the man in front of him that he might just explode. Or implode. Or maybe he’ll just scream. 

Gerard has always been so casual about what they do on stage looking back at it. Every kiss, every grab, every lean, every grope. All of it has always been spur of the moment. It’s never been a thing they talk about. Before or afterwards. It’s just a thing that they do , and it started out as a statement in the first place. If the world wanted to curse them and ridicule them, then so be it. If they wanted 'fags', then that’s what they’d get, but it had always been just that. Spiteful, hot sometimes, sure, and almost a joke. 

This, though...

This is very much not a joke. Gerard’s hand readjusting in his hair and gripping harder is not a joke. The way he’s mumbling something against Frank’s mouth (something along the lines of “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this, Frankie” but he’s not 100% sure he’s hearing that correctly) is not a joke. And the way that Frank has, pathetically, begun to clutch at Gerard’s t-shirt -like it is literally the last stable thing that is holding him onto this planet- is not a fucking joke.

Gerard’s tongue is tracing the line of Frank’s own, and the smaller man shivers, a motion that starts at the back of his skull and travels all the way down to his very last vertebrae. There’s an involuntary cross between a moan and a whimper, and Gerard lets out this sadistic sort of chuckle into Frank’s mouth.

Frank hisses a quiet “Fuck you,” in response, but all that does is cause Gerard to pull back from him and give an even fuller sounding laugh. 

“I’m sorry,” he tries, but he sure as fuck doesn’t sound sorry. Frank gives him what he thinks is a glare, but Gerard chuckles more and releases the hand in the younger man’s hair to reach down and smooth it across his cheek. “Don’t pout.”

Frank huffs, “I’m not pouting," he attempts in defense, but he realizes quickly that Gerard is right. He is, in fact, pouting. At this epiphany, he schools his face into something at least partially neutral. “I’m not pouting,” he asserts again, attempting to inject confidence into his voice. It is, apparently, still very unconvincing.

“Of course you’re not,” Gerard smiles at him. His tone is teasing, damn near patronizing. Frank hates it. Except Gerard is looking at him with an expression so soft, so fond that it makes Frank’s heart ram up against his ribs in a way that's almost painful.

He’s so caught up in the way Gerard is looking at him -like he can see into his fucking soul- that Frank doesn’t notice his best friend is leading him back into the bus by the hand. It doesn’t even register until Gerard is pushing aside the little sliding divider that separates the bunks from the kitchen and little living area, the one Frank had just shut himself about a half hour ago. It’s at this point that Frank thinks he might just drop dead on the spot. 

What in the ever loving fuck are we doing?

Gerard has a frown on his face as he turns back around, his hand dropping Frank’s. “I thought… Did I read that wrong?” He asks in a voice that is so sad and small it makes Frank want to slam his own face into the wall. He never ever wants to hear him sound like that again. Especially not if Frank is the catalyst for it. 

And then it dawns on him. “Shit, did I say that out loud?”

The silence between them is deafening for a solid 20 seconds or so. “Yeah,” Gerard says, “You did.” He’s still looking at Frank with that frown, and now he’s picking at the edge of his thumb.

Not knowing what else to do, Frank rushes forward (the entire two steps between them) and places a desperate apology kiss to Gerard’s lips. The other man sucks in air sharply, and mumbles against his mouth, “Is that a no?”

Pulling away for a moment, Frank nods fervently. “Yeah, no,” He stops, shaking his head instead. “I mean–” He huffs, “Yeah, it’s a no.” He shakes his head again and takes a grounding breath to stop himself from continuing on in circles. “No. No, you didn’t read it wrong,” he manages, reaching up to push the hair out of his eyes. “I didn’t mean it as a bad thing, I’m just… Surprised, is all.”

Gerard looks at him another beat and his face relaxes. “But… Not like, bad surprised, right?”

“No, not bad surprised.” Frank confirms. He swallows, hoping his pulse isn’t as obvious in his throat as he feels it is. Thus far Gerard hasn’t exactly been staring at his neck, so he’s feeling fairly confident that his body isn’t fully betraying him. Yet.

“Okay.” Gerard says, moving now to put his hands on Frank’s hips.

“Okay.” Frank repeats, fully aware -and very irritated by- his breathing coming out a bit shallow. Gerard’s eyes have hardened a little, like he’s set himself to be a bit more resolute again. Like he’s made a very firm decision.

Instead of grabbing Frank's hand to lead him to the last section of bunks, Gerard hooks a finger through one of Frank’s belt loops and tugs, his other hand still in its spot on Frank’s hip. His fingers, however, are digging lightly into the fabric separating his hand from Frank's stomach.

Gerard steers them, now walking backwards, and towing Frank along in front of him, to the very back. Only when they’ve reached Gerard’s own bunk, does he release the belt loop, and reach down to pull the curtain back. 

Frank looks and sees that Gerard’s bunk is much tidier than his own. While Frank sleeps curled up in a nest of blankets and pillows, with all of his bags and his suitcase tucked into the far corner of his bunk, Gerard only has a few items. A pillow, two blankets, a book to read and yet another sketchbook, his water bottle, and a little stuffed bat. A bat, Frank realizes, that he’d given to Gerard himself when they’d gone on their first post-Revenge release tour. 

Gerard must have followed his gaze, because he sets himself down on the edge of the bunk and reaches in, stuffing the bat behind his pillow. “Shut up,” is all he says on the matter, and then holds out both of his hands at Frank who can’t help but chuckle.

“Can I help you?” He asks, the smile evident in his voice, and he knows it. He ducks a bit so he can see Gerard’s face and revel in it.

The older man is rolling his eyes and one of his hands manages to snatch at Frank’s shirt, the next thing he knows, Gerard is essentially hauling him down into the bunk. “I think I liked you better when I had you speechless in the kitchen,” he says grumpily.

Frank grins again, pulling his cold feet up into the bunk. “When have you ever known me to stay speechless over something?” He asks, watching Gerard follow his lead and close the curtain to the space, plunging them into darkness until he flips on one of the lights on the side paneling. 

Gerard leans in and kisses the smaller man hard on the mouth, which leaves Frank shocked, for a moment, that his lip doesn’t split open. Again he’s taken by surprise and the air is seemingly sucked out of his lungs. Or maybe it’s that he’s sucked all of the bunk's air into his lungs. Either way, Gerard makes his point loud and clear.

He can make Frank speechless whenever the fuck he wants to. 

Frank wants to come up with some snarky remark in response to this wordless affirmation, but he can’t, which is just making Gerard's point for him. He's doing that thing where he licks the inside of Frank’s mouth like he’s trying to taste him, and it just leaves Frank doing that stupid whimpering thing again.

He can’t think of any other time he’s made a noise like that in his entire life. Not for anyone else. But this is the third time Gerard has managed to pull it from him in probably under ten minutes. Then again it could have been 2. Or 20. It's up in the air.  Probably, Frank thinks, because time has gone all fucky, and he truly isn’t sure if it’s passing at lightning speed, or at a snail’s pace. 

He’s caught with a slight shock when he feels Gerard’s hand slipping up under his shirt, and Frank is taken aback by how cold his fingers are. How had he not noticed that before? It certainly feels like they’re cold enough he’d have felt them through the thin cloth of his shirt.

Gerard pushes Frank’s chest with his free hand until the smaller man is on his back. Gerard pulls himself up until he's on top, his hips settled between Frank’s legs, and now supporting himself on one of his elbows. The other hand, still freezing and touching Frank’s stomach beneath his shirt, is tracing delicate circles as they kiss again, and he’s not sure if it’s because of the temperature difference between his skin and Gerard’s fingertips, but it feels like a jolt to every single one of his nerves. Frank is simultaneously on fire, and shivering at the same time.

“Your hand is freezing,” He manages out, but the words are swallowed by Gerard’s laugh as he maliciously presses his palm flat against Frank’s stomach. The smaller man attempts to squirm away, but Gerard moves his leg and pins Frank right where he is. 

“They’re actually usually a lot colder than this,” Gerard tells him thoughtfully, moving his hand up Frank’s body, from his stomach to his chest. Frank holds his breath. His eyes are locked onto his friend’s, and he is silently threatening him. Gerard tweaks Frank’s nipple anyway, with a wicked grin. Frank bites down on his own lip, and his eyes slam shut now.

“Fuck,” he says, and it's garbled in a moan.

He can hear the smug ass smile in Gerard’s voice as he gives Frank a fake-ass, “Oh?” His fingers flick against Frank’s nipple again, eliciting a hiss and causing Frank to arch up into his touch. “I’ll keep that one in mind.”

Frank clenches his jaw and groans, and he can’t tell if it’s because he’s exasperated, or because Gerard has now taken to tracing circles around the delicate, annoyingly sensitive, and raised little nub of flesh. 

“Fuck you,” he tries to say, but it comes out in a pathetic moan. Frank hates his body for betraying him. He knows he’s already half hard, and he also knows that Gerard has to be able to feel it. Their legs are intertwined so to speak, and it leaves their hips pressed together tightly.

“I mean…” Gerard starts, dragging his hand back down Frank’s torso so that he can grab at the hem of his shirt, “That’s sort of what I was thinking,” he finishes and tugs at the top. 

Frank opens his eyes to stare up at him. There’s that same rosy sort of color plastered onto Gerard’s cheeks, but if he’s embarrassed or nervous, his face doesn’t give him away other than the blush. Frank swallows the lump in his throat. He is absolutely melting at the look in his friend’s eyes. 

“Thinking?” Frank mutters out, “Or wanting?”

Gerard is managing to sit up slightly, and pulls Frank’s shirt over his head. “Yes,” he says plainly, intentionally treating it like it’s a fucking yes or no question. Frank hates him. Or he tries to for a second, but with the way Gerard is looking at him, Frank feels every sense of assertiveness leave his body in a rush.

With his shirt off, Gerard is tracing his eyes over Frank’s tattoos, and he swears he can feel the gaze like a caress over his inked skin. “You…” Gerard begins, reaching out to actually touch Frank’s chest now. “You are- Fuck, I’m sorry.” He blurts out, frowning down at Frank’s torso. Frank blinks, his eyebrows knitting into a frown of their own.

“What?” He asks, his head spinning with the whiplash and a vague sense of irritation. Frank shifts until he can push himself up onto his elbows. “What the fuck are you sorry for?”

“I never noticed,” Gerard says, and that doesn’t answer Frank’s question, not even a little. But Gerard looks back up at Frank’s face, and he’s taken completely aback by the look of near sorrow in those expressive hazel eyes. 

“Never noticed what?” Frank presses. He doesn’t even think as he moves to push the dark hair from obscuring Gerard’s eyes. 

He’s still holding that intense contact, and Gerard’s voice is so much lower than normal when he responds. And the words are so far from anything Frank is expecting to hear (though he isn’t sure exactly what that is in the first place).

“How fucking stunning you are. Jesus, Frankie, you’re fucking gorgeous. You’re– You’re–” Gerard flounders for words, but it doesn’t matter. He’s already gotten his point across pretty well. Frank can feel his cheeks, can feel his whole face, and he knows he has to be red all the way down to his neck. 

He’s been told before that he’s hot. He’s been told he’s pretty, and handsome, and sexy. He’s even been told he’s beautiful. He’s heard all of those words before, but it's the weight of the way Gerard says the word 'stunning' that has him in a chokehold. Frank may just fucking wither away right there in the bunk of their tour bus. 

“I’m what?” he dares to whisper.

“Delicious,” Gerard slams their mouths together and that is definitely not what he fucking said, but Frank lets out a real moan this time. His hands come up to run through his friend’s messy hair, tangling in those dark stands. The sensation as Gerard lowers his body against Frank’s is maddening. It’s unbelievable. 

They’re pressed very firmly all the way down from their chests to their fucking ankles. Frank can feel every single inch of Gerard’s body. Well, almost. He’s vaguely aware of the fact that Gerard’s legs definitely stick out a bit further than where Frank’s toes end. That doesn’t matter though, not at all. Gerard is kissing him like he needs it to survive. Only he clearly doesn’t, because the second Frank thinks it, Gerard is pulling away from his lips and kissing across his cheek to his jaw, all the way back to his ear lobe, which he nips. Frank gives an embarrassing little “ah-”, but Gerard is already moving again.

He licks a hot, wet stripe up Frank’s neck and the smaller man moans rather loudly. “God, that’s–” Gerard doesn't wait to see what it is. He’s taken to sucking at a point just at the base of Frank’s throat, so he makes the same noise, only a bit lower in pitch. “You’re gonna leave a mark.”

When Gerard speaks it is a growl, animalistic, and it goes straight to Frank’s dick. “Good.” 

He continues to attack Frank’s jugular, and the pressure against the artery makes Frank lightheaded. His breath is coming in shallow pants by the time Gerard finally decides he likes the shade of bruise he’s left behind. Frank thinks that he absolutely cannot fucking wait to look at it in the mirror when they’re done. Frank also hopes that moment won’t come for a long while. There are far too many things he wants to do between now and then.

“You’re still wearing too many clothes,” Frank tells him, but Gerard is at Frank’s belt, working through the buckle like it may as well not exist in that way that Gerard always works belt buckles. Frank holds his breath as those adept hands also make quick work of the button and fly of his jeans. He's an artist, after all. Skilled fingers, and whatnot. Frank has to swallow his heart back down into his chest.

Gerard is pulling at his pants now and says, distractedly, “In a minute.” 

Despite his jeans being almost impossibly tight, the next thing Frank knows, he’s just in his boxer briefs and Gerard is staring at his cock through the thin fabric. He looks absolutely ravenous, and Frank feels by this expression on his face, that the older man had very much meant it when he’d said Frank looked 'delicious'. He looks like he's ready to devour him. Frank is ready to let him.

Fingers trace the very top line where the waistband meets Frank’s skin and he shivers, despite himself. “How many times can you cum in a row?” Gerard asks suddenly, his voice is low, somewhere between a whisper and that same growling noise he’d given earlier. 

Frank’s dick pulses and, fuck he hates himself, he moans, just at the question, only able to answer with a frantic sort of “What?”

“Do you know how many times you can cum in a row? Like, can you have multiple orgasms, or are you a one and done kinda guy?” Gerard asks again, elaborating on his question. He has yet to take his eyes off of Frank’s fucking crotch.

“I, uh- I dunno? 2, maybe 3?” He doesn’t mean for it to be a question, but Frank is so absolutely floored by how direct Gerard is being. “W-why?” And god fucking dammit, he’s fucking stuttering like an idiot.

Gerard is pulling at the elastic now, and Frank absolutely cannot stop the way he lets out the tiniest, most pathetic moan when his dick is set free and touches the open air. “Because I wanted to know if I could suck you off first without ruining anything.” 

Frank is moaning again just because Gerard is fucking speaking, and he answers with, “Yeah, that’s totally good, go for it.” He covers his face with his arm when Gerard lets out a laugh that is damn near evil, but he doesn’t have time to fret about it. 

That mouth is velvety, and it is devastating, and it is around Frank’s cock before he can even process that the other man has moved.

As Gerard licks a heavily pressured circle around the leaking head, Frank is absolutely wrecked by the realization that this blowjob has barely started and he already knows, as a certifiable fucking fact, that he will never be able to enjoy head from another human being on the face of the planet. It is too good. And Gerard hasn’t even done anything yet.

Maybe it’s just the fact that it’s Gerard. Because if this weren’t Gerard, it would feel good , but Frank probably wouldn’t be giving up on all future prospects of oral sex. It is Gerard, though, and Gerard is- Well-

Fuck.

When Gerard decides to dip in -to actually get things started- it's impossible to resist the urge to buck upwards for more, but there are hands planted firmly on Frank’s hips to stop him from doing so. As if Gerard knew this would be an issue before they'd even gotten to that point. 

He’s taking his own sweet time, too. He starts by tonguing the head and then licks a stripe up the underside and Frank damn near cums just from that. But it is nothing compared to the quick sloppy pace that he starts up.

The noise is obscene. It’s wet, and Frank is fairly certain that Gerard is slurping on purpose. It’s filthy, and loud, and he’s not wasting any fucking time in the way that he works. Frank feels like he can barely fucking breathe.

He knows Gerard is grinning, and he knows that he's doing it on purpose. He knows that Gerard is looking up at him, with Frank’s dick in his mouth. And he knows without a shadow of a fucking doubt that he will cum if he looks at him. 

And it’s like the fucker can read Frank’s mind because not a second later Gerard says “Look at me,” and dammit, he does, because the tone in the other man’s voice says that this is not a request, it is a command.

Their eyes meet, and the sight of this man, his best friend with Frank’s dick in his mouth is too much. He barely has time to whimper out, “Gerard, I’m gonna–”, but he doesn't have to say it out loud. Gerard already knows. Like the sudden jerk of his hips has already tipped the older man off. He wraps his lips firmly back around the head of Frank’s cock, and he cums. He cums hard, and he cries out in almost a yell because Gerard’s mouth feel like absolute fucking heaven. He sees white and he blows a load violently into Gerard's mouth and he feels the fucking bastard swallow it. Every last fucking drop. And Frank knows even without opening his eyes, that Gerard is smiling at him when he pulls off.

“Do not–” Frank gasps for breath, “Fucking look at me like that.”

Gerard has the absolute fucking audacity to laugh. “You can’t even see me.”

“I don’t have to,” Frank snaps. He's dizzy and probably hyperventilating and goddammit this is so painfully embarrassing. They didn't even do anything. The most foreplay he got was grinding and Gerard kissing the life out of him, and sucking on his neck, but that doesn't count, and then he came so fucking fast, and there is absolutely no way Gerard is ever letting him live this down, he just knows it.

He can feel that Gerard still has a grip at the base of his dick, and he can feel himself still pulsing and part of him is wondering if his body is still fucking pumping jizz out with every beat of his heart. “Don’t say it.”

Gerard's voice is devilish in the way he feigns innocence. “Say what?” 

That’s when Frank finally opens his eyes and lifts his head up to look at him. “Don’t.” 

Gerard is smiling. He is also climbing his way up Frank’s body and he looks like a fucking predator. “Don’t. What?” He ends the t sharply, finally letting go of Frank’s cock before slamming another kiss to his lips. 

Frank tastes himself in Gerard’s mouth and it sends him into a frenzy. His hands reach down to nearly rip the shirt off of Gerard’s torso and then he’s raking his nails down the other man’s back. Finally he gets to hear Gerard moan and it is everything he has ever hoped it would be. “Just fucking don’t,” He says, but he’s not sure if his voice is even in it, or if it’s literally just air coming out of this throat.

“Don’t what, Frank?” Gerard fucking coos at him, “Don’t comment on how fast I made you cum? About how I barely even to do anything? About how fucking weak you are?” 

Frank slams their mouths together again, hard enough their teeth clash against one another and he tastes the sharp, coppery tang of blood on his tongue. He has no idea who’s lip just busted open, but he’s also not entirely sure he cares. He’s moaning and he sounds like a whore and, come to think of it, he’s not even sure he has the ability to care anymore.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up,” Frank takes up as a chant as he picks up a trail of sloppy kisses down Gerard's jaw and to his neck. “Fucking shut the fuck up.” His voice is frantic. He's panting and he feels like every single fiber of his being is screaming.

“And what are you gonna do about it if I don’t, hm?” Gerard asks. His voice is entirely too calm for the fact that Frank is biting hysterically at his neck.

“Fuck you,” Frank growls into his skin and the bastard fucking laughs at him again.

“Oh, absolutely not.” Gerard grabs a fistful of hair and yanks Frank off of his neck. Frank notices absently that there is blood on Gerard’s skin, that it’s his own mouth that’s bleeding. Gerard is looking at him, his lips swollen and smeared with blood - My blood, Frank thinks- “That’s my job.”

Frank’s stomach bottoms out in the same way it does right before he walks on stage. He's about to get fucked six ways from Sunday, there is absolutely no doubt about that, and he can feel the way his cock twitches over it. “Okay,” is the only thing he can bring himself to say, swallowing down any pride he may have left. Pride, he feels, isn’t going to do him any favors tonight. 

“Good,” Gerard says, and then he reaches a hand out to rub his thumb against Frank’s lips, wiping at the blood. The delicacy of the movement is such a 180 from the fierce make out that was happening not even a full minute ago. In a trance, Frank watches him pull his thumb back and look at it before licking the blood off of his finger. Frank swears he’s going to cum again, right the fuck now, even though he'd not even hard yet.

The older man has a smirk on his face and he’s watching Frank's eyes and oh fucking god he’s fucking doing it on purpose, Frank realizes with a jolt of adrenaline that feels like it rocks his whole body. Gerard noticed. He noticed the way Frank moaned when he tasted blood. He noticed the way he’d stared at Gerard’s mouth covered in it.

He’s toying with him.

Frank’s voice is a breath, “Stop.” But he doesn’t mean it, and Gerard knows he doesn’t mean it. Frank is fully aware that it is written all over his face, in every line of his body, the tension in his muscles, the throbbing of his dick slowly trying to fill with the blood that's thrumming through his veins.

“No,” Gerard whispers, leaning in to lick Frank’s mouth, and it tears a moan out of his throat. He sits there with his jaw hung open while Gerard kisses at the edges of it, licking his lips, the inside of his fucking cheeks, his teeth, even. They’re not even kissing, really. Gerard is just exploring everything about his mouth. He’s mumbling words against the smaller man’s lips, and around his tongue, and Frank is only half listening. “You’re perfect, you’re delicious, you’re everything, I don’t know how I ever fucking resisted you.” The last one makes his ears perk up. How long has Gerard been feeling like this? How long has he wanted this?

Frank gives a half hearted, “Wha–” 

Gerard cuts him off with a full kiss this time, and Frank melts into the hands that are holding him. It’s gone from something rough into something messy, but with feeling, and Frank feels like his head is spinning on an axis. What is happening right now? He thinks to himself, but he doesn’t dare to voice it. He doesn’t want to do anything to stop the press of lips, their tongues sliding in and out of each other's mouths like a fucking porno flick. They haven’t even had sex yet, but he feels so fucking good that he would do literally anything to ensure that this never ends. 

When Gerard pulls away, it’s because he’s pulling at the waistband of the pajama pants he’s wearing. Frank’s hands are all fucking over him. He can’t stop himself. He doesn’t know how long Gerard has been having these thoughts, exactly, but he does know how long he's been having them himself. 

He thinks back to all the years the band has been together, and how he’s spent all of those years pining in silence. He has forced himself to be calm, to be cool, to be not creepy and to just be a good fucking friend. But now he doesn’t have to, and he is taking full advantage of that fact. 

He swallows hard, breaths coming in heavy gasps that he’s trying to control, and Frank lets himself look at the man in front of him. His bandmate, his coworker, his best fucking friend. He allows himself to fully appreciate the body of the one person he has wanted more than anything for more than half a fucking decade.

And he’s beautiful. Gerard is hands down the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. A work of art. Every single thing about him. Frank’s eyes scan him now that he’s fully undressed, the pale, unmarked skin, the muscles in his arms. He is absolutely perfect. Unlike any human on the face of the planet in so many ways.

“I– Gerard, I need you,” He whispers now, finally making eye contact with the other man, and he almost wishes he didn’t because the smile on Gerard’s face is fucking demonic. 

“Say it again.”

Frank’s heart is absolutely about to beat out of his chest, he is 100% sure of it. No doubts. “I–” He swallows hard, and makes an involuntary whimpering noise. 

It takes too long, apparently, because Gerard is shuffling forward on his knees, between Frank’s slightly spread legs. Their thighs touch and Frank feels the other man’s cock rub gently against the inside of his hip. Gerard’s face is floating inches over his now and he has a hunger in his eyes. “Say it,” He puts a hand in Frank’s long hair and tightens it until Frank can feel the sting where it's pulling away from his scalp. “Again.” His voice is low and almost dangerous, and Frank moans in spite of himself. He would give anything to hear him talk like that forever.

Frank tests a theory and shakes his head minutely. Gerard blinks at him like he is utterly shocked by this reaction. But he can apparently see the glint of mischief in Frank’s eyes because instead of backing down, he pulls harder at his hair and then puts his fucking hand around Frank’s neck. “I said.” He squeezes gently, and fuck, he clearly knows what he’s doing. He’s not blocking air, he’s pinching gently at the veins on either side of Frank’s neck, cutting off the blood flow. It makes Frank feel lightheaded and high. “Fucking say it again.” His hand releases and he gives Frank a moment to breathe and gather himself. When Frank, again, doesn’t speak soon enough, he squeezes once more and the smaller man lets out a pathetic moan, his hands coming up to wrap around Gerard’s body. 

“Now.” Gerard draws the word out and Frank is absolutely going to come undone. 

“Please!” Frank yells out now, something inside of him having snapped. Gerard lets go of his neck again and meets his eyes, a small smile playing on his face.

He looks at Frank expectantly. “Go on.” The hand at Frank’s neck moving to glide down over his torso now. His fingers brush one nipple and then the other, and Frank is moaning again, shoving his chest upwards, desperate for more of Gerard’s touch.

“Please,” the younger man says again, but it’s quiet now, his voice small. “Please, Gee…” He lets out a laugh that’s almost a hiccup, “I need you. Now.” Gerard gives him a sharp look that is clearly meant as a warning, and Frank gulps hard, rushing his words, “Please. Now, please.” He amends his demand.

This, apparently, is what Gerard is looking for and he moves to wrap his hand around Frank’s cock and fuck. Gerard swipes his thumb over the head of it and Frank groans, loudly, because he hadn’t even realized it before, but he’s very nearly fully hard again. The older man notices it too, clearly, with the shaft of it in his hand. He chuckles and Frank bites back a snappish ‘fuck you’, and instead, he gifts Gerard with a breathy “Fuck, thank you…”

And this, this sets Gerard into a pace of stroking, “Oh it is my absolute fucking pleasure, baby,” he offers in response. If it means Gerard will keep calling him sweet little names like that, Frank is now absolutely determined to use every single manner Catholic school ever taught him.

They’re kissing again, now, and Frank is humming, so very content with the feeling of Gerard’s mouth and his hand, pumping slowly. But he only has a minute or so to relish in this before Gerard’s gone again and dammit all, Frank pouts. “Wait–”

“I’m just getting lube, Frankie, calm down.” Gerard chuckles and he turns to reach behind him and under his pillow for a bottle of lube. Frank makes a note to tease him about that particular placement later, but for now he’s trying to calm his breathing. If Gerard is getting lube, that means… Well, it could be a lot of things, but he’s hoping -no, he’s praying - that it means he’s about to get fucking stuffed. 

“I’m calm,” Frank tries and Gerard lets out an actual full bodied laugh about that statement. 

He gestures at Frank’s cock, which is fully erect and laying heavy against his stomach. “No. No you are most certainly not calm, sweetheart.” Gerard tells him and Frank has to close his eyes because he is so fucking embarrassed about the way his best friend has him wrapped around his goddamn finger. He’s absolutely right, Frank isn’t feeling even remotely calm, but fuck Gerard for noticing and fuck him for saying so. 

He doesn’t have too much time to dwell on being bitter about it, though. He can hear the cap of the bottle snap open and he debates on opening his eyes. Frank opts to not peek. Something about waiting to feel Gerard seems so much more… Exciting. So Frank pulls one tattooed arm up over his eyes, and he waits. And waits. And waits. And now he’s squirming. 

“What are you do–” He is left absolutely fucking speechless when he moves his arm to check and see what’s going on, because Gerard is sitting there, rested back on his feet. He is looking at Frank’s hard dick and he is jacking himself off, and Frank can’t breathe. 

Gerard’s mouth makes an adorable little o shape and a noise to match, and he has the decency to blush when he realizes Frank is looking. “Sorry,” he manages, clearing his throat, “I got… A little carried away for a second.” He provides an explanation and Frank is still just staring at him. “What?”

Frank swallows in an attempt to wet his throat and just sort of nods in his direction, looking at his cock which is… Jesus, he hasn’t ever really looked at it, but it’s fucking massive, and Frank wonders for a brief moment if he’ll even be able to take it. “I did that,” he mutters stupidly.

There is a set to Gerard’s jaw, and he moves forward again, leaning in to kiss Frank. Their cocks slide together and Gerard is wet with lube, which forces Frank to gasp into his mouth. “Yeah,” Gerard says and grinds down onto Frank’s dick, “You did.” He lets out his own groan as he rocks into Frank’s body, “You made me… So fucking hard, Frankie. I’m so hard it fucking hurts, and you did that.” He kisses him roughly and Frank’s toes curl in delight, “You made me like this, and now I’m gonna fuck you for it.”

He reaches down and takes both of their cocks into his hand, stroking them in his fist as he and Frank rock their hips in time. And then his hand disappears and Frank is groaning again, but this time in frustration. Except he’s only got half a second to be mad about it before Gerard is pushing a lubed up finger into his ass and little pink fireworks are exploding behind his eyes. 

“Oh, shit…” he breathes out. He’s got a few toys hidden away in his suitcase, so Frank isn’t exactly ‘tight’ at the moment. Gerard is able to quickly get his second finger in with no problem, and he works the two digits around for an embarrassingly short time before inserting a third. This is where the stretch comes in. Gerard is tender, and he’s slow, and he’s kissing at Frank’s thigh, which he’s pulled up nearly over his shoulder. But Frank doesn’t need it. The ache of the stretching is a thing that never fails to get him even harder, and he pushes down onto Gerard’s hand with a sigh. 

“That’s okay, then?” Gerard checks in, expertly working his fingers in and out, back and forth. He grabs the lube bottle and squirts a bit more out onto his hand as he continues, and Frank can’t do much more but nod in response. “Good… You’re doing so good, angel.” Another pet name, this one even better, and Frank gives a satisfied hum.

“Keep going,” Frank whispers, his eyes popping open to catch Gerard’s gaze. “Please.”

Gerard seems more than happy with Frank for using his manners and pushes in a fourth finger and that does cause Frank to let out a hiss of breath. He tries to school his face, though, and breathe through the last stretch. 

“I’m okay, I promise, I’m okay.” He tells Gerard, almost frantically because he does not want this to put a wrench in their plans. “Please don’t stop,” He begs, looking up, “Please. I-I’m alright. I can take it.”

Gerard gives Frank’s thigh a light bite and then kisses the spot, nodding, “I know you can take it, baby. You can take it. For me.” He switches the angle of his arm and his fingers brush that magical little bundle of nerves and Frank yelps out a moan. He can feel himself relax and push down onto Gerard’s hand. “Told you…” Gerard whispers and there is some sense of pride leaking into his words. Frank isn’t sure if he’s proud of himself for finding the right spot, or if he’s proud of Frank for relaxing, but really, who cares?. Frank is high on the praise anyway, no matter who it’s actually directed at.

' For me '.

Frank can take anything Gerard wants to give him, gladly.

“God, look at you…” Gerard tells him, now nudging the tips of his fingers against Frank’s prostate repeatedly. “Look how fucking gorgeous you are.” And Frank is a writhing mess, sweat pooling in the hollow where his throat meets his sternum. 

Suddenly Frank is painfully empty and he absolutely has no shame in letting out a whine. “The fuck?” He breathes the words and Gerard laughs. Frank opens his eyes to look up, and Gerard is grinning down at him. 

“Temper,” he warns, grabbing the bottle of lube and spreading even more of it over his dick. “Watch what you’re saying and how you’re saying it.” Gerard pauses and lets out a long moan as he strokes his dick and Frank knows that he’s doing it for show now. “I can just do this and not lay another finger on you.”

Frank gawks at him and lets out some little disgruntled noise. “Why in the ever loving fuck would you do that?” He asks. He’s still staring at Gerard’s hand, jacking himself off and he licks his lips like he’s dying to taste the other man’s cock. Which, to be fair, he absolutely is.

Gerard makes a tutting noise, “Because I love the way you sound when you’re polite,” He tells Frank passively, once again giving an exaggerated moan, watching as Frank’s lips part a bit. “And I would very much appreciate it if you would continue to be polite instead of impatient and rude.” 

The rebellious part of Frank’s mind has his jaw clenching against some snarky remark. As much as he would love to fight back, the pitiful fact remains: he is desperate to be filled. There is not a single other thing that he can think of that he wants more, right now, in this moment, than to have Gerard fuck him until he can’t remember his own goddamn name. 

Gerard seems to notice the shift in his thought process as he slows the strokes before stopping altogether and placing his hand on the inside of Frank’s thigh, opening the space between his legs even further. “So?” He inquires expectantly, his hand inching up Frank’s leg, teasing him with the potential of what he’ll get if he gives the right answer.

Frank takes a deep breath and steels himself, closing his eyes and muttering up to the ceiling. “I’ll behave.”

If his eyes were open, he’d see Gerard’s mouth twist into a smile, his fingers doing a tiptoe crawl against Frank’s skin. “And?” He presses.

Frank lets out something between a whine and a growl. “ And ,” he forces out, “I’ll be polite.” Gerard’s hand retreats on his leg and Frank gasps, opening his eyes and glaring at him. “I said I’ll be polite!”

“Mhmm," Gerard concedes, “But you don’t sound very polite, now do you?” he looks at Frank with his eyebrows raised and Frank knows that if he doesn’t follow the rules, he absolutely will not get what he wants. 

Frank fights desperately at the urge to roll his eyes, biting at his lips before letting out a long sigh. “I…” He thinks about his words, deciding to choose them carefully. “I’ll... be good.” He manages and he makes another choice, very quickly. If speaking in this manner will make Gerard look at him like that , he will absolutely do it for the rest of his life. 

Gerard leans over him now, kissing from Frank’s stomach up to the base of his neck. “You sound… so sweet when you say things like that to me,” he whispers into Frank’s skin. “I fucking love it.” He continues to speak and presses the head of his cock against Frank’s ass causing the smaller man to expel a drawn out groan. “Now… Tell me you want it.”

“I want it. I want you ,” Frank’s response is immediate and it is needy as fuck and he doesn’t care , because Gerard is nudging his way inside and Frank has never wanted anything more in his entire fucking life. “Please , Gerard.” He looks up at him with a sense of urgency. “Please.” 

The pace at which Gerard enters him is absolutely excruciating. There is the bite of the stretching, despite the copious use of lubrication, but more than that, it's entirely too slow, and Frank wants him now . Frank attempts to push down on him, but suddenly Gerard has both hands on his hips and is pushing him down into the bed, not allowing him to move. Frank lets out a low whine. “I said please.” The words are a whimper.

“I know you did, angel, I know.” Gerard soothes him and he sounds truly sympathetic, his thumbs rubbing gently back and forth against Frank's hip bones. “And I wanna give it to you, I really do.” He groans as Frank’s body clenches tightly around just the head and he actually has to stop himself, puffing out a few sharp breaths. “But I’ve gotta - ah, fuck- I have to take it easy on you. You are…” He moans again as he gets just an inch inside of Frank’s ass. “You’re so fucking tight, baby, and I have to take it slow. I don’t want to hurt you. Not this way.” He leans over Frank to kiss his lips and there is something so tender about it, that it makes his chest ache.

Frank’s tone is earnest as he tries to assert, “I can take it. You know I can, I did before. You said– Ah!” Gerard pushes again, this time just a bit harder, trying to placate the man beneath him. “You said I did good,” his voice is whiny and tinged with something that sounds like, but isn’t quite, panic.

“And you did!” Gerard pulls back a bit more to be able to look into his eyes. He pushes in another inch or two and he moans, but Frank winces. Gerard frowns, “See?” He says, but he’s not being an ass, clearly, his voice is sincere and soft. “I don’t want to hurt you, Frankie. I want this to be good, for both of us. Just… Let me go slow, okay?” He brushes the hair out of Frank’s face with a touch so gentle Frank nearly comes undone. “Let me take it easy with you first. I promise I’ll give it to you soon.”  

Frank is panting, that last push left a sting deep in his gut and he’s nodding now. Gerard may have stretched him open, but his hand could only go so deep, and his cock reaches in a lot further than his fingers could manage. “Okay…” Frank admits, “Okay, maybe…” He swallows and wills his body to relax as Gerard starts kissing along his jawline, “Maybe slow is good… for now… but–”

Gerard chuckles against his neck now, “But you want it. I know you do. And I want you too. God, I have wanted you for so fucking long…” his words make Frank’s eyelids flutter shut. 

Frank chances his own request, “T-tell me about it,” He mutters, trying to control his breathing, and desperately trying to force his body to stop fucking clenching down so hard. “Maybe it’ll help me… Let go. Tell me about how…How you’ve wanted me.” He waits a beat before adding a soft, “Please” to the end. 

Gerard hums into the crook of his neck, sucking gently at the skin, chuckling as he finds his words, “Baby I want you every single time we walk on that stage. Every time we kiss, no matter how brief.” He sighs, his breath hot, his tongue wet. Frank relaxes into his lips a bit and Gerard rewards this with a sharp, sudden nip, which pulls a breathy little moan out of the smaller man’s mouth.

Frank bites his lip, his hands moving now, one taking up residence on Gerard’s back, the other at the base of his neck, fiddling with his hair. “Me too…” He whispers, “I– I’ve tried so hard to play it co-hooooooool…” The last word lingers on his lips as Gerard maneuvers a hand between them to grab hold of Frank's cock. He pumps it slowly and Frank all but physically turns into a goddamn puddle that soaks into the shitty little bunk mattress. 

“I wish I’d done something about it sooner.” Gerard muses as he strokes. “Instead of being a fucking idiot and just torturing the both of us. I wish–"

Frank can feel his dick throbbing in Gerard’s hand and he lets out a little strangled sort of noise, interrupting the poor man’s monologue unintentionally. He shushes Frank gently and runs his thumb over the tip, “Do you think you’re ready?” His voice is gentle and he’s kissing his way back up Frank’s throat as the smaller man nods fervently.

“I’m good… I– I can get the rest of it if you just– ah– if you k-keep doing that.” Frank manages out, doing everything in his power not to buck his hips into the hand around his cock.

Gerard pushes again, spreading Frank’s insides open and the smaller man lets out a very loud sort of yelping whine before gasping out “I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine, I swear, Gerard PLEASE! ” as the other’s hips stutter and he starts to fucking pull out . “Please, baby, please I- I’m fuckin’ begging you.” Frank can hear his own voice and fuck he sounds like he’s about to cry . “Please I just, I need- FUCK!”

Gerard, who can clearly tell how much he has left, slams the rest of his cock into Frank’s body and it shoves him down into the mattress. The burn is a hot flash right into the center of his belly, but then Gerard is stroking his cock again, much more vigorously this time and Frank grinds into him finally. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit…” He mewls, barely recognizing that the sounds being made are coming out of his own mouth. 

“That’s a good boy, Frankie… Fuck you are–,” It’s Gerard’s turn to let out a drawn out groan and he buries his face into Frank’s neck as if to hide it. It takes every ounce of self control not to demand ' What am I?', b ut Frank manages. Barely. Mostly because he’s being distracted by Gerard biting the absolute fuck out of his neck. It’s going to leave a mark, and that alone has Frank tightening his fingers in the little tendrils of Gerard's hair that his hand is already grasping. And did he just call Frank a good boy?

Gerard starts now, pulling back just a fraction, and sliding back in. He reaches again for the lube bottle and applies even more to the base of his cock as he gives another shallow thrust. The lube makes an alarming amount of difference, and Frank gives a breathy moan, “Fuck, that’s so… Yes…” he whispers into the air.

“That’s it, baby. Take all of it.” Gerard is saying, as he pushes himself up onto his hands so that his body is fully hovering over Frank, their chests not even touching. But he seems to have a bit more control over his hips this way, and Frank can’t deny being thankful for that. He’s still aching a bit, though the pain is dissipating with each inward stroke of Gerard’s dick. 

And he will, Frank thinks, he absolutely will take all of it. He rocks his hips to meet Gerard at the base and the older man lets out a low hum of approval. They get into a shallow, slow rhythm, both making those soft sounds, and once he’s fully relaxed, it is nice .

But Frank doesn’t want nice . He wants to be fucked until he can’t walk . He wants to struggle to fucking play at their next show. He wants– no, he needs– for Gerard to give him more. “Can you…” He manages the words between pants. “Can I have more… Please?” He asks.

Gerard doesn’t even respond, simply picks up his pace, pulling further out this time and pumping into him. Frank makes a noise that is apparently very pleasing to the ear and Gerard is fisting his hands in Frank's hair. He somehow keeps the pace as steady as he can, though Frank can feel him pulling out further and the strokes inside are a bit rougher. “Just like that, sweetheart. I fucking love that,” Gerard tells him and fuck, Frank is so wrecked by the words alone.

It’s so odd, this new feeling. Frank has never really taken much stock before, in what anyone has said to him in bed. Then again, no one else has honestly ever talked to him like this before. 'Wow, you’re hot' and 'Fuck yeah that’s good' have been relatively standard, but Frank can’t remember another time that anyone has spoken to him like this . It’s intoxicating, and it goes straight to his ego. And his cock. He has a moment of hesitation before he utters a request.

“Could you… Tell me more? About how–” Gerard gives a particularly hard thrust, and Frank loses his focus for a moment, gasping for air and making a noise that he doesn’t even fucking recognize. He has to actually take a moment to gain back even a modicum of composure so that he can finish. “About how good I am?”

Frank has honestly underestimated how far asking politely will get him. Which is stupid, he realizes, considering Gerard has made it pretty fucking obvious. But what drives the point home is the way Gerard picks up his pace and how he’s pulling over half way out now, not quite slamming back in, but he’s certainly getting close. He lets himself lower down so that his weight is on top of Frank again, and he works his free hand down between them to start stroking Frank’s cock. 

“You…” Gerard pants into Frank’s ear, “Are so fucking good, baby.” He tells him, starting to line up the rhythm of his hand and his hips so that with every thrust in, his fist touches the base of Frank’s dick, and with every pull outwards, he works his hand to the very tip. 

Frank is moaning desperately underneath him as he starts a rocking motion with his hips, up to meet Gerard’s hand, and back down to accept his cock into his ass. Nearly every movement is met with a soft moan, but he’s intentionally trying to keep himself quiet. He wants to listen to Gerard’s praise. He wants it so bad he doesn’t even know what to do with himself other than fucking hold his breath and try not to pass out, or something equally embarrassing (like cumming again already).

“Everything I’ve asked of you, you’ve given to me,” Gerard continues, moving to start kissing Frank. “It took you a bit,” he says against Frank’s lips, “But you picked it up so fast, Frankie. You learned so fucking quickly,” he cuts off to pant for a moment, like trying to speak evenly is taking a great effort. “And you gave me everything I fucking wanted and you are,” He punctuates this word with a particularly forceful thrust, drawing a gasp out of Frank’s mouth. “So,” He repeats this, “Fucking,” and again, “Good.” He bites down on Frank’s lip fiercely, busting open the wound again and the taste of blood floods both of their mouths and Frank realizes Gerard is moaning just as fucking loud over this fact as he is himself. 

“My sweet angel,” Gerard is moaning into his mouth. “My good boy,” He continues. Frank is coming undone. “Absolutely fucking perfect.” At this point he is slamming into Frank’s body, hard enough to rock him into the mattress back and forth. His hand is still pumping Frank’s cock and it’s still wet form the copious amounts of lube he’s been using and Frank is absolutely positive that this is the best sex he's ever had in his entire goddamn life.

Frank wraps his legs up around Gerard’s thighs and while the other man lets out a deep and very drawn out moan at this, Frank all but sobs because the angle changes. Gerard’s cock is rubbing so sweetly across Frank’s prostate now, and every now and again he pulls out far enough that the head rubs along the bundle of nerves in a rush and he can’t help the fact that he’s basically hyperventilating at this point. That would be because Frank absolutely cannot manage to catch a good breath between his moaning and whining, and he’s squirming and thrusting into Gerard’s hand and, “ Fuck.”

“That’s it, Frankie…” Gerard’s breath is heavy on Frank’s neck and he can feel his hips picking up speed and then faltering. “You… God you’re so fucking tight, I’m so–”

“Hey! We got wings!”

Frank feels like he’s just been completely doused in ice water when he hears Ray’s voice coming from the front lounge area. His eyes are wide and he looks up at Gerard -who is currently as still as a fucking statue- in pure unadulterated panic. “Are you fucking kidding me–” Gerard claps a hand over his mouth so hard it leaves a sting against Frank’s skin and he fights hard enough to hold in a moan at this that his entire body tenses and his cock twitches in the other man’s hand. 

His heart is slamming wildly against his ribcage, and he shakes his head, trying to free his mouth from beneath Gerard’s hand, but to no avail. The man on top of him is staring at the curtain and it feels like his entire body is vibrating. At first Frank assumes this is an anxious response. In Frank’s case, anyway, the silence and stillness is stemming from this sort of terror about being caught. But watching him, he realizes that Gerard, on the other hand, is all but beaming at the curtain, listening intently to what’s happening at the front of the bus. 

He is not seriously excited by this, Frank thinks, but the pulsing of the cock in his ass tells him that, yes, he absolutely fucking is.

“You think they’re sleeping?” Ray asks and he can all but hear their long-time-guitar-tech-part-time-bassist’s noncommittal shrug.

“I mean maybe, but this is Gerard we’re talking about. When have you ever known him to sleep?.” Cortez chuckles in response. There’s the sound of a plastic bag shuffling and then the fucking sliding door to the bunks is opening . “Hey Gee, you up?”

Gerard’s head snaps now to grin at Frank, his eyes sparkling with something mischievous and Frank is absolutely 100% sure that he knows what’s about to happen. “Yeah,” he says, “I’m up.”

Called it .

Matt is kicking off his shoes now. Y’know. In the bunk right fucking across from them. Frank is fully holding his breath at this point and the glee on Gerard’s face is so fucking unnerving but also… The energy radiating off of him has Frank a bit- Well, he’s not sure exactly, but he's leaning towards excited.

“We brought wings if you want any. Frank still up?” Cortez continues. Frank can still hear Ray, James, and Bob milling around in the front.

“Nah, he crashed out like 10 minutes after you guys left.” Gerard says and Frank absolutely cannot believe how steady his voice is considering that the both of them were panting like they’d run a marathon less than half a minute ago. 

He can hear Matt curse under his breath, “Shit, sorry,” his voice is lower now. “Think he’s got his music going or should we keep it down?” 

To Frank’s fucking horror, Gerard reaches to grab Frank’s phone out of the back pocket of his pants where they were discarded and sticks his fucking hand out of the goddamn curtain. He wiggles his arm. “I’ve got his phone. It kept going off and he fuckin’ threw it down here.” Gerard gives a small laugh and winks at Frank.

Why the fuck would you not tell them that I’m listening to music so they’ll be loud and we can get out of this fucking alive, Frank thinks, and Gerard seems to read his expression somehow, pulling his hand back into the bunk and setting the phone down. He puts a finger to his lips and mouths the word ‘don’t’. Frank swallows hard. They’re still not moving, but Frank knows deep down that this isn’t going to last long.

“He’s so dramatic about sleeping,” Ray has entered the small space and Frank wants to fucking disappear because Bob’s larger footsteps are right behind him. 

Bob shushes him impatiently and Frank hears the shuffle of the two men scooting around one another to get to the right bunks. “Dude, if you wake him up and he gets all pissy, I’m gonna lock you in the back room with him and you can deal with his fuckin’ attitude.” He says, keeping his voice down. 

Gerard leans in and fucking kisses Frank on the lips noiselessly and the smaller man arches his chest, letting out a very slow, very shaky, very quiet breath. The man on top of him is very clearly fucking insane. His dick pulses in Gerard’s hand and Frank thinks very angrily about how it is a fucking traitor just like the rest of his stupid body. Now is not the fucking time, but the way they’re laying in silence while their bandmates are speaking in hushed tones just outside the curtain because “I’m serious, man, Frankie’s asleep for once, don’t start with your shit”, and Gerard is licking his way down Frank’s neck... Fuck it's hot.

“I dunno, dude.” Gerard pipes up after he’s given a sharp nip to Frank’s collar bone and put his hand over the other man’s mouth again to keep him quiet. “He seemed pretty beat. Probably hard asleep.”

They can hear Ray easily climbing up into his bunk on top of Bob’s, which is just behind Frank’s head. 

“It’s pretty late as is, may as well crash too.” James hums in agreement across from them, climbing up above Matt’s bunk, and Bob’s mattress creaks seemingly in response as well.

“We put the wings in the fridge. Did you eat?” 

“Yeah. I had leftovers, but he went straight to bed.” Gerard lies , and he is still entirely too casual about this. “He’ll probably end up waking up at balls o’clock to get something.”

“As long as he doesn’t run the goddamn microwave again,” Bob cuts in grumpily. “That fucker is so loud.”

“Mm,” is all Gerard gives in answer to this and he fucking pushes himself into Frank at a rate so slow that it would have made him fucking whine at any rate. Frank is forced to hold the sheets until his knuckles turn white and he looks at Gerard with desperate eyes. But Gerard isn’t paying attention because he’s got his eyes closed and his mouth is open in a silent moan. 

There’s swooshing sounds across from them as Matt shuts himself into his bunk. “Hopefully he’ll just grab a cup-o-noodle or something and use the kettle for water.” he says and he lets out a yawn. “Night guys,” he says, and Ray and Bob give a chorus of goodnights in response.

Gerard regains composure and gives a, “Goodnight,” that is irritatingly steady, the same way all of his other speech has been since the rest of the band walked onto the goddamn bus. Ray and Bob close their curtains and all around the little compartment there’s shuffling and adjusting. And then everything settles into quiet.

Frank meets Gerard’s eyes and he knows he’s in for a wild fucking ride, because this lunatic of a man leans in and says, “You’d better be real fuckin’ quiet for me, angel” into Frank’s ear in a voice that is so breathy it can’t even be classified as a whisper. 

He’s going to die on the spot, Frank thinks. This will absolutely be the end of him. He will have a heart attack and die and then Gerard will be left trying to explain why Frank is laying in his bunk with his dick out, even though he’d told them that he was asleep. 

But Gerard clearly does not have any care for Frank’s cardiac well being because he’s shifted ever so slightly and removed his hand from the other’s mouth. And now he’s pushing into him again. Frank’s mouth opens and Gerard gives him a look of warning, so he shuts it and blows a breath out of his nose as slowly as he can. For this he receives an approving nod, and Gerard picks up an agonizingly slow and gentle pace that makes almost no noise against the sheets. 

Gerard starts to stroke Frank’s cock again and the smaller man closes his eyes. He wants so badly to whine, to moan, to slam his dick into Gerard’s hand as hard as he can, but he can’t. Because even just raising his hips a bit earns him a pinch on the side from Gerard’s free hand. Frank opens his eyes and glares at the man on top of him, mouthing angrily ‘You are not fucking helping.’ 

Gerard fucking shrugs at him as he leans in to start sucking at Frank’s neck, because he’s a goddamn asshole. 

Frank is biting the inside of his cheek fiercely and his cock is throbbing because Gerard is pulsing it lightly in his hand. It’s something he’s never experienced before and fuck Frank thinks it may be his new favorite thing in the entire world. He wants to tell Gerard this, and if he’s lucky, he’ll be able to remember and mention it later.

His teeth are grinding together because Gerard slides almost all the way out and the way Frank instinctively wraps his arms around the other’s waist and digs his fingernails in as hard as he fucking can as the head of Gerard’s cock glides so. Fucking. Slow. across his prostate. Frank draws in a painfully long, shallow breath and his eyes are watering with the effort to stay silent. 

Behind him he can hear Bob starting to snore quietly and from above him Ray gives an irritated huff.

James, from across the way, chuckles, “We need to get him some of those fuckin’ breathe right strips or something.”

Pressing a finger to Frank’s lips as he pulls out again, Gerard chimes in, “We should start just forcing him to stay up until the rest of us go to bed.” He squeezes lightly at Frank’s cock again and rubs his thumb all the way up the underside and Frank scratches the ever loving fuck out of his back. He’s almost positive he draws blood because Gerard actually lets out a hiss. 

“Yeah,” Ray responds to the first statement and then, “You good?”

Gerard gives Frank a glare and he knows immediately that he’s done the wrong thing. “Yeah, just stiff after the show. These mattresses aren’t fucking doing anything for my back, either, y’know?”

“No shit,” Matt says and Frank can hear his mattress groaning under him as he turns over. “When’s our next hotel night?”

“Monday,” James answers him.

They start chatting a bit now. About how they can’t wait for real beds and a real shower and continental breakfast. Gerard takes the opportunity to get one sharp thrust and Frank removes his hand from the other’s back to bite at his fist so hard he wonders if that’s bleeding now too. His head tips back into the mattress for a moment before he looks up again, meeting those gorgeous fucking eyes. ‘Behave,’ Gerard mouths, and Frank gives him the best glare that he can manage considering that Gerard’s hand is starting to slide up and down his dick again.

He’s going so slowly, though. Because there’s a fuck ton of lube on his hand and on Frank’s cock and if he goes any faster, it’s going to make a noise that is absolutely going to give them away, wet, and filthy, but far too loud, which is not fair, because it would sound so fucking good . The way this is driving Frank wild makes him want to fucking scream. It doesn’t help that his bandmates start to quiet down again and he has to fight for more composure. 

He swallows and Gerard starts again with his slow, steady rhythm, and Frank knows that he noticed the response to that sweet spot being massaged earlier -before they were so fucking rudely interrupted- because now he’s doing it with every single thrust. 

Frank’s hands fly to Gerard’s ass now, and he shoves the older man into him all the way down to the base. It’s Gerard’s turn to bear down on his lip now, and he closes his eyes, breathing as slowly as he can. Frank can see every single ounce of tension in the lines of his muscle, the way his hand is clutching at the sheet, and he feels it in the almost imperceptible shaking that’s coursing through Gerard's body.

At least, Frank thinks, he can torture him back. A little. He’s rewarded with a pinch to his hip and Frank scrunches up his face in the effort not to yelp because this one was hard .

This little power struggle they have going on is… erotic as fuck, honestly. Before the boys had come back, Frank was ready to submit to everything and anything Gerard wanted. Now he has more bite to him and he’s not sure if it’s an actual need for defiance, or because he is absolutely appalled that Gerard could possibly still be fucking torturing him when he knows damn good and well that Frank can’t do anything about it.

Thinking about it… Frank is a lot more into this than he first realized. He can’t deny that there is honestly something about the way he’s starting to feel a little heady because of the way he’s being forced to breathe to keep quiet. The way he can’t be loud and whorish like he was earlier. The way Gerard keeps looking at him in warning, or covering his mouth. It's going to be damn near fucking impossible not to snap back with 'make me' the next time Gerard tells him to shut the fuck up because he’s mouthing off backstage or something. Or maybe he just won’t try to hold back on it.

He’s brought out of his thoughts because Gerard is pulling at his hair and he’s barely even really thrusting anymore. He is balls deep into Frank’s body and he’s more rocking and grinding than anything. The hand on Frank’s cock is also getting more erratic, and his own cock is starting to throb in Frank’s ass and–

Gerard’s lips are touching Frank’s ear and he hisses as quietly as he possibly can, “I’m gonna cum. I  wanna fill you up, is that okay?” And Frank answers him by once again slamming their mouths together and shoving his fucking tongue down Gerard’s throat and that’s it. The older man grinds into him so hard it scoots Frank down the sheets by a couple of inches and his hips are twitching. Gerard breaks the kiss so that he can bite down hard on Frank’s collar bone and it leaves Frank thinking delightedly about the bruise it’s going to leave later and how he’s going to have to wear more than just some slutty little tank top to cover it up. And now he's got two of them? Fuck yeah.

The feeling of Gerard cumming, of his dick pulsing and filling Frank is hot, both in the sense of it being physically warm, but also. Fuck . Frank is so close and he knows it. He fists his hands in Gerard’s hair and whispers “Fuck,” over and over until Gerard clamps a hand over his mouth, again, because Frank is clearly being a lot louder than he’s aware of. 

“Shut the fuck up.” Gerard hisses at him after his body has stopped spasming and he’s doing his best to pant quietly. Frank mouths at one of his fingers and pulls it in, sucking gently.

“Okay, but…” He mumbles around the digit, letting his hands uncurl from Gerard’s hair and run down his back, “Could you…?” Frank glances down where Gerard’s hand is still wrapped around his dick and chews at his lip. 

“Sorry,” Gerard pulls out of him slowly and they both hold their breath while he does it, Frank’s teeth grinding again, and Gerard’s eyes closed tightly shut. When he’s out, Frank can already feel himself leaking and damn he might not even need Gerard to touch him. But he looks up anyway, a little expectantly. 

Matt shifts across from them and both of their heads snap to the curtain. He remains silent, though, and the tension in both of their bodies relaxes. Frank hadn’t even realized he had gone rigid like that. He also hadn’t realized that Gerard’s finger was still in his mouth until it wiggles now, and slides gently over his tongue. Frank’s breath catches and he fights off a moan. That feels a lot better than it has any business feeling.

Gerard lets go of Frank’s cock, earning him a glare, but it’s just long enough to point to his own mouth, and then wiggle his finger against Frank's tongue again. ‘Which one?’ he mouths and Frank’s entire body writhes against the mattress. He lifts his hand and traces his own tattooed fingers along Gerard’s lips, who nods and scoots so that he can lay further down between Frank’s legs and maybe this time he'll actually get a full blowjob and not just Gerard sucking on the head of his dick. Gerard hikes the smaller man’s knees up over his shoulders and then…

Then he starts kissing Frank’s inner thigh, around the top and further up to his hip and then nips at the bone. This motherfucker is literally positioned specifically so that not a single part of him is touching Frank's dick. Frank is seething and he can’t even do anything about it because they have to be quiet. All he can do is angrily grab at Gerard’s hair, but the fucker just lifts up and moves his head so Frank can’t reach him and quirks an eyebrow at him.

Frank grits his teeth and locks his ankles around Gerard’s shoulders, trying to pull him in and that earns him another pinch, this time to the inner thigh and Frank once again has to bite his own hand to keep himself from crying out. Gerard is giving him a dangerous look and he mutters, “You’re gonna pay for that on Monday,” a bit louder than he probably should have, because Ray makes a soft grumpy noise and they hear him shift in his bunk. 

Frank grins because, HA! It wasn’t me , but Gerard cuts a scowl at him and it wipes the smile right off of his face. Now he’s gonna pay twice on Monday. When they have a bed. And a room to themselves. And Frank has to be quiet, but not too quiet. And Frank can lay on his chest with his ass in the air and Gerard can fill him up again and tell him how he’s a brat (is he into that now?), and he doesn’t deserve to get his ass fucked, but Gerard is doing it because he loves to see him squirm and–

Gerard seems to have taken Frank's distraction as an opportune time to swallow his entire fucking cock and god fucking dammit. Frank lets out a whimper, head tilting back because it is absolutely devastating how good that feels. Gerard’s eyes are wide and for a split second he looks almost nervous. 

Three times. He’s going to have to pay 3 times on Monday. As if to confirm Frank’s musings, Gerard holds up 3 fingers. This was his last warning. Frank nods, swallowing hard and closing his eyes, breathing through his nose. He feels Gerard’s cheeks hollow out and touch the sides of his cock and Frank digs his heels into Gerard’s shoulder blades. The other man shifts to alleviate the pain Frank must be causing, but he doesn’t pull away. He’s bobbing his head now and his tongue is pressed flat along the smooth underside of Frank’s dick and fuck he is good at this. 

Frank snakes his fingers through Gerard's hair, not pushing his head, but following it as it moves, willing himself not to buck his hips violently upwards because he has already used all 3 of his warnings and he absolutely cannot risk this coming to an end before he gets to finish, he just fucking can't. He'll cry, maybe even sob a little.

Gerard gets a few bobs in, flicks his tongue around the head, grips Frank’s balls with his free hand and that’s really all it takes. He’s been so close already for so long. The foreplay, the teasing, the praise, the fucking, the sudden and very unexpected toe dip into the shallow end of exhibitionism. The hand in Gerard’s hair clenches and his entire body tenses, and he reaches out to tap Gerard several times on the shoulder.

All Gerard does is plunge his head to swallow around Frank’s entire cock and Frank is cumming so fucking hard it makes his head spin. He sees sparks of white, and yellow, and red, and every color of the fucking rainbow and he has tears running down his face from forcing himself to keep quiet. His hips are bucking involuntarily, thrusting into Gerard’s mouth, but the older man mercifully allows him to so that he can ride out his orgasm. Frank feels him swallow. Once. Twice. He knows that he’s shaking and he’s stroking Gerard’s hair and his cheek that’s still full of Frank’s cock and it gives one more solid pulse. Gerard swallows again.

Frank lays limp on the mattress, the only thing left moving is the hand stroking gently at Gerard’s cheek. He pulls off of Frank's cock, kissing the head quickly, and moves up his friend's body to catch his lips. Frank can taste himself there again, a replication of earlier in the night, and he breathes out hard through his nose. He pushes forward to reciprocate the kiss, licking his way around the inside of Gerard’s mouth -who manages to make the world’s quietest, most contented hum before he rolls off of Frank altogether and onto his back. He motions, and Frank moves to curl into his side, trying to catch his breath. 

Now that it’s all said and done, Gerard’s demeanor changes entirely and he wraps both of his arms tightly around Frank’s torso, entwining their legs together. He kisses at Frank’s temples and his hair, he nuzzles his nose against his cheek and whispers, “You did so fucking good,” into his ear. Frank shivers and lets out a long sigh, his eyes fluttering shut. 

“Should I go back to my bunk?” Frank murmurs back, and Gerard shakes his head, but it’s not demanding this time like it had been before. 

“I want you here tonight.” He tells Frank, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “If you want.”

Frank nods, because he does want. He wants very much. He snuggles even further into the embrace, and it’s a tight fit in the little bunk, but Frank isn’t exactly the biggest guy around, so they somehow manage to make it pretty cozy. Mostly because Gerard has Frank’s body half way on top of his and he’s just holding him there. He’s petting his hair and kissing him so softly in so many different places and whispering to him quietly, and at this point Frank isn’t even entirely sure what words he’s muttering anymore. They’re all muffled into Frank's skin.

He feels… So much better than he’s felt in ages. And he’s almost 100% certain that it has nothing to do with the sex. 

All over a silly little stage kiss.